I didn’t know Tess, but I’ve walked in her footsteps
Eight missing person cases and two homicides have sent a ripple of fear through the Church-Wellesley Village. The Star’s Jenna Moon gives a first-person account of the mood in the popular neighbourhood
It’s a night I’ve had dozens of times — a night out with friends, in an area of the city where I’ve typically felt safe.
Around midnight on the occasional Friday, my roommate and I will pile into an Uber and make our way down to Crews and Tangos, flanked by our significant others and a rotating group of friends. The majority of us are LGBTQ, and we are all deeply connected to the Village.
There will be dancing, there will be tequila shots. There will be pizza, which we will consume drunkenly at 4 a.m. on a friend’s front porch. Someone will undoubtedly drink too much and spend the next day curled up on the couch in our living room, nursing a hangover.
Though I live in Midtown, trips into the Village are frequent — my group of friends heads down every summer for Pride, and often spends afternoons walking the Church St. strip. We share pints at O’Grady’s or the Churchmouse. For Halloween we go to the street festival, wandering for blocks to take in drag queens and lavish costuming.
I have passed the intersection where Tess Richey went missing more times than I can count. I have never met her, but it’s easy enough to see myself as her — I’m just a year older, and we frequent the same bars. Walking up Church St., I see her growing memorial. It gives me chills. On Friday, Toronto police Chief Mark Saunders announced there would be an internal review of how the force handles missing persons reports in the wake of four high-profile cases in the city’s Church and Wellesley neighbourhood this year.
Saunders made the announcement at a news conference that included updates on the homicide of Richey, the death of Alloura Wells, and the disappearances of Andrew Kinsman and Selim Esen.
Richey’s disappearance was only the latest ripple of fear through the community, where at least eight people have vanished this year.
In my own circle, text messages and calls are flying: friends warning each other to walk with a buddy at night, to call home for company. My friends say that they feel less safe, though my girlfriend swears she won’t stop going to the community she loves.
In the University of Toronto library, where I am studying for finals, I overhear whispers from a girl seated at the table next to me. She is reading aloud a report that I wrote, confirming Richey’s homicide. I hear a faint “Oh my God.”
Richey’s story seems to follow me everywhere. She is in my community, my school, my workplace. I simultaneously want to shut it out and keep hanging on to the information I have about her.
There is a public mistrust of police — not just in their handling of Richey’s case — in that the community seems more concerned than ever that they are being overlooked by those who swear to protect them.
The number of missing persons flyers taped to lightposts around the Village seems to grow, but people don’t feel much closer to finding their loved ones. 51 Division’s Project Prism has been searching for Andrew Kinsman and Selim Esen since August.
In August alone, police met with more than 200 community members to discuss their involvement and concerns with the case.
Meanwhile, Wells’s disappearance is met with an alleged cold shoulder from police, and Richey’s body is found not by law enforcement, but by her own mother.
Both of these women turn up dead, neither is located by police and a marginalized community continues to feel marginalized.
Toronto police spokesperson Mark Pugash noted in November that allegations the Wells case was not considered “high priority” were “not the proper response.” Some of the information about disappearances around the Village is misleading. Four of the people who have been reported missing, to police or on social media — Francis Doyle, Joan Lenahan, Troy Mussington and Drew Phelps — have all been located.
Information added to a widely circulated map called Village Watch, which plots 11 missing persons in the Village, includes these located individuals, as well as people who have been missing for several years.
Police say they have no evidence linking any of the disappearances to each other.
Still, fear in the neighbourhood continues. In one conversation, a friend tells me about his fears about remaining at the apartment he’s lived in for two years. He hasn’t been going out at night and he and his girlfriend are considering moving.
They live kitty-corner to Church St. and Dundonald St., where Richey’s body was found.
On Dec. 3, I spend my day at the Star reaching out to Richey’s family for statements. None of them acknowledge my request, and I can understand why.
Outside of the grief that they must be experiencing, the media’s response to her death must be devastating. An allegation that Richey was an escort permeated into early media reports and likely shocked them.
Returning home from work that evening, I sit down on my couch. I update my roommate on what I’ve learned over the course of the weekend about the case we’ve been following so closely. She sighs and I can see she’s teary-eyed.
“Jenna —” she says, then hesitates, her voice cracking.
“We’ve had that same night out so many times.” Jenna Moon is a fourth-year student at the University of Toronto and a reporter in the radio room at the Toronto Star.