was never hugely child-oriented. He was good when kids were around, but he would only tolerate them so far,â says Farquhar.
Harrimanâs father, Frederick, was a former military man and Second World War veteran who later became a geologist with a mining company in the small northern Ontario town of Madsen, where he met his future wife, Irene, and where Mary Elizabeth was raised. Williams warmed to both his in-laws, and was happy to school Fred Harriman in the use of computers. Both the older Harrimans have since died, but after Williams and their daughter bought a home in Orleans in 1995, Fred and Irene were for several years occasional visitors.
Back at Portage la Prairie, Williamsâs two-year stint as a pilot trainer was nearing its end. And as it did so, there came a strange glimpse of the low-key but unmistakably narcissistic facet of his personality that ultimately would have such a bearing on his hideous life of crime: his love of taking pictures of himself, and of being a showman.
The occasion was in 1992. A much-admired, now-obsolete air force demonstration team nicknamed âMusket Goldâ was to perform its final air show, flying four bright-yellow, single-engine CT-134 Beech Musketeers that were soon to be taken out of service. McQuaid, Williamsâs boss, handpicked him to be one of the four pilots, and the Musketeers, as they were dubbed, spent weeks training for the teamâs swan song. The exercise wentoff flawlessly and Williams added a special touch. He brought along a VHS video camera and filmed himself inside the cockpit, smiling widely against a backdrop of the other Musketeers wheeling and maneuvering their planes high up in the sky. He edited the footage and added a soundtrack, the eerie song âExileâ by the Irish artist Enya, featured in the 1991 movie
L.A. Story
. The other pilots were given copies of the video as mementos.
The air show was a huge personal success for him, and he was promoted to captain soon after. His two years at Portage la Prairie were a natural springboard for the next phase in the steady upward trajectory of his career: electronic war games, played high above the Atlantic ocean.
In July 1992, Williams and Harriman sold their home for a small profit and headed for Canadian Forces Base Shearwater in Nova Scotia. Harriman took a job with a provincial nutritional-awareness program. Located on the eastern shore of Halifax Harbour, CFB Shearwater was home to the 434 Combat Support Squadron, and one of the smallest air bases in the country. Williamsâs new mission was at the controls of one of the baseâs three CC-144 Challenger jets, small, versatile planes designed primarily for electronic warfare and coastal patrol work.
This might have been the moment heâd been waiting for since his repeated viewings of
Top Gun
at university. In much the same way police training works, the exercises involved deploying against a simulated enemy. The squadron also had a couple of T-33s, a 1950s single-engine plane that resembles a missile and which played the role of intruder. The two types of planes feigned combat, the Challenger trying to disrupt the enemyâs communications system as the planes soared and swooped around each other.
Williams and Harriman spent three uneventful years in the community, which they later told friends they viewed as a backwater. But for both, it was also a stepping stone. Harrimanâs work with Nova Scotiaâs nutrition program opened the door to her job with the Heart and Stroke Foundation, while for Williams, opportunity beckoned in the form of a spot with the highly prestigious 412 Squadron in Ottawa, known as the VIP squadron.
In those days, the CC-144 Challenger in which he had circled and swooped in the skies above Shearwater performed double duty. As well as being a reconnaissance and electronic-warfare plane, it was a people mover and business jet, and the plane of choice for 412 Squadron. Then as now, the
Harrimanâs father, Frederick, was a former military man and Second World War veteran who later became a geologist with a mining company in the small northern Ontario town of Madsen, where he met his future wife, Irene, and where Mary Elizabeth was raised. Williams warmed to both his in-laws, and was happy to school Fred Harriman in the use of computers. Both the older Harrimans have since died, but after Williams and their daughter bought a home in Orleans in 1995, Fred and Irene were for several years occasional visitors.
Back at Portage la Prairie, Williamsâs two-year stint as a pilot trainer was nearing its end. And as it did so, there came a strange glimpse of the low-key but unmistakably narcissistic facet of his personality that ultimately would have such a bearing on his hideous life of crime: his love of taking pictures of himself, and of being a showman.
The occasion was in 1992. A much-admired, now-obsolete air force demonstration team nicknamed âMusket Goldâ was to perform its final air show, flying four bright-yellow, single-engine CT-134 Beech Musketeers that were soon to be taken out of service. McQuaid, Williamsâs boss, handpicked him to be one of the four pilots, and the Musketeers, as they were dubbed, spent weeks training for the teamâs swan song. The exercise wentoff flawlessly and Williams added a special touch. He brought along a VHS video camera and filmed himself inside the cockpit, smiling widely against a backdrop of the other Musketeers wheeling and maneuvering their planes high up in the sky. He edited the footage and added a soundtrack, the eerie song âExileâ by the Irish artist Enya, featured in the 1991 movie
L.A. Story
. The other pilots were given copies of the video as mementos.
The air show was a huge personal success for him, and he was promoted to captain soon after. His two years at Portage la Prairie were a natural springboard for the next phase in the steady upward trajectory of his career: electronic war games, played high above the Atlantic ocean.
In July 1992, Williams and Harriman sold their home for a small profit and headed for Canadian Forces Base Shearwater in Nova Scotia. Harriman took a job with a provincial nutritional-awareness program. Located on the eastern shore of Halifax Harbour, CFB Shearwater was home to the 434 Combat Support Squadron, and one of the smallest air bases in the country. Williamsâs new mission was at the controls of one of the baseâs three CC-144 Challenger jets, small, versatile planes designed primarily for electronic warfare and coastal patrol work.
This might have been the moment heâd been waiting for since his repeated viewings of
Top Gun
at university. In much the same way police training works, the exercises involved deploying against a simulated enemy. The squadron also had a couple of T-33s, a 1950s single-engine plane that resembles a missile and which played the role of intruder. The two types of planes feigned combat, the Challenger trying to disrupt the enemyâs communications system as the planes soared and swooped around each other.
Williams and Harriman spent three uneventful years in the community, which they later told friends they viewed as a backwater. But for both, it was also a stepping stone. Harrimanâs work with Nova Scotiaâs nutrition program opened the door to her job with the Heart and Stroke Foundation, while for Williams, opportunity beckoned in the form of a spot with the highly prestigious 412 Squadron in Ottawa, known as the VIP squadron.
In those days, the CC-144 Challenger in which he had circled and swooped in the skies above Shearwater performed double duty. As well as being a reconnaissance and electronic-warfare plane, it was a people mover and business jet, and the plane of choice for 412 Squadron. Then as now, the
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