It's not a pretty town, but it's prosperous, as mid-north Ontario towns go. There's a military base close by, and the town has a good sand beach on the north shore of Lake Nipissing, which is the size of a small sea. Now, in late August, the holidaymakers were everywhere, happily storing up sunshine on their skins to take back to the office and brag about. I went directly to the police station and found Marcel Dupuis at the counter, tying trout flies. When he heard the door open, he scooped everything into the open desk drawer in front of him and leaned against it, but I knew about his hobby, so I just grinned. He stood up and stuck out his hand. "Hi, Reid," he said, speaking English now that we were face-to-face. "Hi, Marcel. Looked like a Royal Coachman. You have any luck with those Limey flies?" He shrugged. "Me, I fish pickerel like a good Frenchman. No, I 'ave a customer, 'e pay me twen'y bucks a dozen." That took care of the formalities, and we switched to the missing men. The detective had checked all the gas stations and restaurants around the fringe of town, trying to get a make on the car and its four people.
What do You think about When The Killing Starts (1989)?
