CHAPTER ONE,

Murder in the Moraine

"Murderers are not monsters, they're men. And that's the mostfrightening thing about them."

--Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones

At six foot one and 130 pounds, Don Hillock was what somewould describe as "a tall drink of water." After being turned awayby both the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the OntarioProvincial Police with the suggestion he come back when he'dput on at least thirty additional pounds, Don heard that the po-lice department of Whitchurch--which would become a part ofYork Regional Police in 1971--was looking for a cadet in Aurora.

"I didn't have a clue where Aurora was," said Don. So beganthe first-hand recollection of things I had only read about inold archives. Don and his wife Joan had welcomed me intotheir home in Orangeville, Ontario. Joan and I sat silently at thekitchen table as Don stirred a huge pot of chili and enthusiasti-cally recounted the events as if they had occurred yesterday.

Hillock, who hailed from Alton in Caledon Township, wasfortunate they didn't give a damn how much he weighed. OnOctober 28, 1960, the nineteen-year-old would begin his careeras a cadet. Little did anyone know that eventually he would notonly serve as chief of police for the region, but that the futureYork Region Police headquarters would be established on DonHillock Drive in Aurora. We laughed about the fact that it wasconsiderably easier to Google and find Don Hillock Drive thanit was to track down Don Hillock himself.

However, those achievements were still far off in the futurewhen--nearly a decade into Don's career--the now-SergeantHillock was to arrive at a horrific crime scene. May 6, 1970 wasto remain vivid in his recollections nearly fifty years later. I satback, almost breathless, poised to hear from the person whohad witnessed the initial nightmarish crime first-hand. I couldfinally put meat on the bones of fifty-year-old archival recordsand newspaper clippings.

The beautiful and distinct Oak Ridges Moraine of South-ern Ontario extends 160 kilometres from the Niagara Escarp-ment in the west to the Trent River system in the east andcovers nineteen hundred square kilometres, extending in aline that seemingly dogs Lake Ontario. Mixed forest, bogs,tail grass, prairie, and oak savannah woodlands dot the region,collectively supporting a habitat for a wide array of unique floraand fauna.

The little hamlet of Gormley sits nestled amongst theridges of the moraine, at one time straddling the townships ofMarkham to the south and Whitchurch to the north, later to bedivided by Highway 404. Once the home of the Cement Blockand Tile Company, Gormley stood conveniently placed for ac-cess to the CNR rail immediately to the west. In 1970, Gormleyremained a largely rural area, far from the clamour of city life,yet close enough for commuting. It was an idyllic setting and tothis day remains relatively protected by its placement within theMoraine.

It was during this time that a young couple, Doreen andAlbert Moorby, resided in Gormley with their twenty-one-month-old son, Brent. They had moved to the area in 1961 andnow lived on the Bethesda Side Road in a small but attractivemodern A-frame home. The house sat back from the road, onlypartially concealed by a small row of fir trees.

The weather in the area in May of 1970 was exceptional,with temperatures ranging from a frigid 2° Celsius to a posi-tively balmy 29°. Wednesday, May 6, was bright but cool, anddawned early like most other mornings for parents of a toddler.At 7:45 a.m., Albert left in the family's '68 Chevy Camaro--typically leaving the garage door up--as he departed for histeaching position at Donhead Secondary, where he taughtphysical education. Prior to Brent's birth, Doreen June Moorbyhad practiced as a Canadian Mothercraft nurse, training to assistin the development of healthy babies. For the meantime, withyoung Brent to care for, she had chosen to stay home and givethe toddler her full attention, still putting her chosen professionto good use.