Unsolved - Robert J. Hoshowsky

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but for the families left behind.

      One final note: Some of the cases in this book have been the subject of numerous theories; a few of these theories are plausible, while others are highly unlikely. Unsolved is based on facts made available to the author up to the time of publication. In order to create as accurate a picture of the crime(s) and subsequent investigation(s) as possible, a number of these theories are included in the book. They are clearly stated as “theories” or “speculation” in the text and are not the belief of the author or the publisher. They have been included to provide the reader with the greatest amount of knowledge possible about each case.

      Visit Robert J. Hoshowsky’s website at www.truecrimecanada.com.

      BACK IN 1967, THE WORLD WAS A vastly different place than it is today. While every generation can stake a claim to a decade as their own, anyone coming of age in the sixties remembers it as a period of unprecedented social change. In the United States, citizens were challenging not only themselves but their government and its policies as race riots were sweeping throughout the county, and fifty thousand men and women protested against the war in Vietnam at Washington’s Lincoln Memorial. In Canada, the country united in celebrating its centennial at Expo 67 in Montreal — and threatened to divide when French President Charles de Gaulle proclaimed “Vive le Québec libre!” (“Long live free Quebec!”), enraging English Canadians and sowing the seeds of separatism. Shouts of equal rights for all were heard as legions of young women, blacks, gays, and lesbians took to the streets, demanding respect. The generation gap was widening, as legions of bewildered parents realized that the expression “Don’t trust anyone over thirty” was not intended for someone else, but for them. Sons and daughters, wearing suits and dresses only a few years before, were discarding their sensible, conservative clothes for tie-dyed T-shirts, ripped jeans, sandals, and scraggly hair. It truly seemed as though the planet had changed overnight, leaving legions of exasperated parents and rebellious teenagers in its wake.

      Across America a new age had dawned, and the cosmic epicentre was San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury district. Named after the intersection of the two streets, the Haight was the perfect place to rent a cheap apartment in one of the area’s massive, old wooden houses. A popular gathering place for students, poets, writers, musicians, and philosophers, the Haight soon became the beating heart of the counterculture movement in America. “Make Love, Not War!” was the chant of the young, as thousands of idealistic, wide-eyed teenagers converged on the area, lured by the promise of free love, cheap drugs, the right to free speech, and music many of them never imagined could even exist. Just a few years earlier, kids and their parents were listening to vinyl records by moral and non-threatening artists like Neil Sedaka, Connie Francis, Pat Boone, and Bobby Vinton. By the mid-sixties these acts were seen as antiquated and boring. A new musical tide was rising, led by reactionary musicians like the Grateful Dead, Janis Joplin, and the Doors, fronted by the sexually hypnotic and deeply disturbed singer-songwriter, Jim Morrison.

      In the late sixties, rock ’n’ roll was still king but a new monarch was coming to court. Her name was Grace Slick, and her band was Jefferson Airplane. The release of the group’s innovative 1967 album Surrealistic Pillow was nothing less than a psychedelic sonic overload. Regarded today as one of the finest acid rock records ever recorded, Surrealistic Pillow spawned the hits “Somebody to Love” and “White Rabbit,” a two minute and thirty-two second aural experience referencing many of the otherworldly characters in Lewis Carroll’s book Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, such as the dormouse and the hookah-smoking caterpillar. The song became an anthem, if not the anthem, for the hippie generation. Back then, no one could predict that Jefferson Airplane would morph into Jefferson Starship before finally landing on the airways as Starship almost twenty years later with their pop hit, “We Built This City,” arguably one of the most reviled songs of all time. San Francisco, once the centre of the psychedelic universe, became, with breathless exclaim, “The city that rocks, the city that never stops!”

      Back then it seemed as though the new ideals would last forever. It was a defining period in history, an age of sexual liberation that became known as the Summer of Love. For some Canadians, the year would be known not as a time of peace, love, and understanding, but for things dark, terrifying, and murderous. Over forty years later, many would come to remember Canada’s summer of 1967 as the Summer of Death.

      Slender, energetic, and still just a boy at seventeen years of age, Richard James Hovey — “Dickie” to his friends — was one of the many thousands of young men and women who flocked to Toronto in 1967. America may have had San Francisco as its counterculture oasis, but Canada claimed its own musical Mecca in the streets of downtown Toronto. The States had bands like Jefferson Airplane and the Quicksilver Messenger Service, but Canada boasted plenty of its own talent, including future legends like Neil Young and Joni Mitchell, many of them playing live in Toronto’s Yorkville area. Hovey came from out east for the musical experience; others were hippies looking for a place to stay, or draft dodgers from the United States, who came because they didn’t believe in the war in Vietnam. Whatever the reason, Yorkville was the place to be that year.

      (Ontario Provincial Police)

       Richard “Dickie” Hovey, lead guitarist for Teddy and the Royals, with his prized guitar, an inexpensive Sears model that he painted white and modified to look like an expensive Fender. Hovey’s skeletal remains were not identified for almost forty years

      Today, the area’s narrow, boutique-lined streets bear little resemblance to the Yorkville of forty years ago. The borders remain the same, decades after the sonic and cultural revolution of the sixties: Bloor Street to the south, Avenue Road to the west, and Yonge Street and Davenport Road to the east and north. The section near downtown is the home to a number of luxury hotels, condominiums, and countless famous designer shops like Vuitton, Boss, and Chanel, exclusive places where money is no object, and if you need to ask the price you should be buying somewhere else. One of the world’s top shopping destinations, rents in Yorkville are among the highest in North America today, averaging a minimum of several hundred dollars per square foot, depending on what side of the street you’re on.

      In 1967, Yorkville wasn’t about expensive handbags, salons, and shoes, it was about the music. It was the place where countless Canadian artists got their start, like Murray McLauchlan and Neil Young. “You could walk down Yorkville Avenue and see Joni Mitchell on her front doorstep playing guitar,”1 said David Clayton-Thomas, lead singer for Blood, Sweat & Tears. Back then, Yorkville was a place without pretension, where you could go to any of the local European-style coffee houses or bars and sit for hours on end, listening to one great folk or rock artist after another. Yorkville was a veritable who’s who of music, where the country’s finest congregated: Young, Mitchell, Gordon Lightfoot, and Bruce Cockburn to name a few. Many American artists also flocked to play at one of Yorkville’s many clubs and cafes, like future funk legend Rick “Super Freak” James, Blues singer and guitarist Buddy Guy, and folk musician Mike Seeger.

      The names of clubs soon became as legendary as the musical acts they hosted. There was the Riverboat, a coffee house featuring a mix of established and up-and-coming Canadian bands. Nearby were the Mousehole and the Purple Onion. One of the most famous was the Mynah Bird, known in equal parts for the calibre of the musical talent and the eccentricity of the surroundings. Yorkville had a lot of great clubs where you could catch the latest groups, but the Mynah Bird was the only one featuring a real talking bird, barely dressed go-go dancers grooving to the music, and live grass literally growing up the walls. The Mynah Bird was the place to see and be seen. It was also where Richard Hovey played his guitar for a few weeks back in 1967. Hovey’s style of dress was decidedly more mod than hippie. He kept his dark blond hair swept forward, and favoured turtlenecks, expensive-looking jackets, and narrow trousers over long, unwashed hair and sloppy clothes. When “Dickie” dressed in his royal blue jacket, his look resembled one of the early British Invasion bands

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