Day 6

Dan Malloy finds himself in the city archives first thing Tuesday morning, pulling the planning records for the Cannery, 1975-1995. He's following a hunch which, at the time it was pitched to him, seemed better thought out than it does now. At the time, it seemed as if the girl - Maggie, it turns out her name was -.was privy to concrete information. Now, by the clear light of day, he found himself wondering why a street girl would have any idea about lot sizes or permit statuses.

Dan Malloy has decided that Maggie Kilcraegie is without a doubt an odd duck. She seemed prepared to spend the night in prison until the moment the two female attendants came and informed her that she was going to have to change and bathe. Dan had never seen someone flip-flop so quickly. Suddenly she was willing to identify herself and, unexpectedly, post her own bail. He shouldn't have been so shocked - after all, plenty of homeless people had money and resources; just not the wherewithal to use them - but it was dawning on him moment by moment that he'd incorrectly diagnosed her as an angry, drug-addled street punk.

“Maggie Kilcraegie.” The outgoing officer had read as he input the name into the system. “No outstanding warrants or fines. You’re all clean, Miss Kilcraegie,” He looked up at her over the rim of his glasses. “In a matter of speaking.” He looked back at the screen. “Wait a minute. What have we here?” A few more keystrokes, some clumsy maneuvering of the mouse. “Well I’ll be damned. Your parents have filed a missing child report, young miss. I’m afraid you’ll have to…” Maggie, looking younger than ever resting her chin on the high counter of the bookings desk, bit her lip and interrupted,

“Keep reading.” The duty officer did. He frowned. “That report is at least fifteen years old. I’m not missing and you have no right or duty to report my whereabouts on that file.” Maggie fixed the officer with the same look she'd given Dan, the one that brokered no argument without being overtly threatening. The officer said nothing, but looked at her and clicked a few more times. The printer spit a form out, and he drew an X where Maggie was to sign.

“There.” He said quietly. “You’re found.”

Maggie offered Dan no explanation and refused all attempts to entreat her to see the street councilor he'd lined up. She slowly shrugged on her knee-length black leather jacket with a momentary pained wince that made Dan suspect the arresting officers might have roughed her up a bit and then took his card and promised to call him the next morning to check in. Then she hobbled off into the night, leaving him with nothing but the growing, unfounded sense that he'd been had.

But Dan Malloy is, if nothing else, a man of honour. He stands in front of a pile of blueprints scattered across the map cabinets of the planning office and taps his pencil against his bald pate, bored. A promise is a promise, he sighs to himself. The Bellview Place plan from 1975 stares at him from under its laminate dressing. There's 179 alright; at the time a big abandoned textiles factory. The neighbouring lot is zoned a parking lot. Dan pulls out the next sheet.

Bellview Place, 1985: 179 is unchanged, as is its parking lot. But some development on the north side has been sketched in as approved but unbuilt; a row of townhouses facing Tremond St., stretching from MacDonald to Yew St. Dan smiles to himself at the optimism of this map. The block is designated a "Neighbourhood in Transition" and references the 1984 New City Plan. New blocks of development are cheerfully littered all up and down the grid. The 1990 map seems to reflect some political stagnation: the Tremond St. townhouses seem built but nothing else is. The reference is now to the 1988 New City Plan Revised. Dan wishes he were sitting on the patio of a cafe somewhere, sipping an iced chai latte. It's a beautiful day outside the walls of the archives.

Bellview Place, 1995 features the outline of the complex that is destined to become the 177 Bellview Place complex. The plan designated the old parking lot and gives a high density, meaning a tall building will be built on the lot. The only other information available is the name of the developer, R.W. Richardson Associates. Dan chews his pencil now. There's nothing noteworthy here.

Caught up now in the narrative of the developing neighbourhood, Dan idly shuffles over a few meters and digs out the latest survey. He wants to know how the story ends. The 2005 offers a satisfying climax to the thirty-year building period. The map looks like a moderately well-executed game of Tetris, with interlocking geometric shapes wedged in wherever space can be found. Not surprising: the neighbourhood has been a hot real estate commodity since redevelopment really picked up in the late nineties. Approved developments overwrite old lots in heavy black lines and new boulevards have been artfully arranged where once single monolithic blocks existed. The apartments at 179 and 177 Bellview dominate the map, while the townhouses on Tremond St. seem to have been redefined as larger mid-rise buildings. Dan frowns.

The alley where his crime was allegedly committed is clearly visible on the map; a narrow gap between 177 and 179 that ends abruptly against the back of a Tremond St. six-plex. What bothers him, however, is the orientation of the Tremond St. building. Not only is there no back gap for fire vehicle access like there should be, but the western edge of the building is several meters too far west, causing the abrupt end to the alley. Dan flips back to the arrangement of the 1995 plan.

What he sees makes his heart leap. The lot newly zoned residential, the parking lot that was destined to become 177 Bellview Place and the source of his current caffeine hangover, ended a clear five meters further west than the building was built. Maggie was right. Not only was the abortive alley she lived in the property of 179 Bellview, but so was nearly 4800 square meters of the 177 Bellview building itself. Dan Malloy stands up straight and starts tapping his foot. He's shot up with an excited shot of adrenaline. His brain churns out the possibilities of this error. A building of that size, 16 storeys and probably 110 good-sized units, doesn't get built without a lot of money and a lot of labour. You don't accidentally extend an undertaking of that kind onto someone else's lot. Construction watch-dogs weren't notorious for being hawk-eyed, to be sure, but usually we're talking a foot or two here or there. Maybe some cheating when it comes to width of fire escapes or gauge of wiring. An extension of this kind probably housed 30 full units. Given the current cost of condos in The Cannery... that's an awfully profitable mistake.

Dan Malloy's weakness is his naive enthusiasm for justice. He took his graduate degree in social justice in Latin American economies (Dept. of Political Science, University of Windsor). He was in Quebec City for the Summit of the Americas back in '01. He was once in love with a girl who called herself 3:14 and chained herself to a tree in Tamagamy. He collects Daredevil comics. Today, he makes full-sized photocopies of the zoning and surveys of Bellview & McDonald and starts putting a case file together to discuss with his boss. He thinks he’s on to something worthwhile.