Last summer, south of the Canadian border -- in the land of racial profiling and the proposed Patriot Act -- friends of Ontario writers Marsha Boulton and Stephen Williams were horrified at what they were hearing. The couple had made an impromptu trip to New York, not so much out of a burning desire to see these old acquaintances but, they explained to their friends, to "escape the persecution."

"The Americans were appalled something like this could happen in Canada," Williams remembers.

They weren't the only ones. Even before last week's mind-blowing escalation of a police investigation Williams describes as "purgatory," PEN Canada and the Writer's Union of Canada both condemned treatment of Williams and Boulton at the hands of the Ontario Provincial Police, Crown attorneys and the Office of the Attorney General. PEN representative Christopher Waddell stated, "Writers in Canada should never be treated in this fashion by the authorities. It is simply unacceptable." The Writer's Union has called for a public inquiry.

You may have heard about the Stephen Williams case before last Thursday, when police laid a whopping 95 new charges against him, but you may not have been paying quite as close attention as the situation merited. One reason could be that this complicated story requires mention of serial killers Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka and, if you're anything like me, you want to plug your ears and yell la-la-la whenever these two names pop up. This kind of instinctive turning away, however, is part of the problem Williams -- having published two books on the Bernardo/Homolka murders -- has had to contend with. People don't want to know. They hear that Williams has written on a violent and gut-wrenching subject, that he's been charged with a violating a court order and they suppose, perhaps, that he's getting what he deserves. Some think his choice of subject matter should be illegal in and of itself.

But with Williams facing a staggering 94 new charges, now is the time to overcome any squeamishness and pay close attention indeed to the way in which the powers-that-be have behaved since Williams's first book on the murders was published. In 1996's Invisible Darkness and, most recently, in Karla: A Pact with the Devil, Williams scrupulously documents the bungled police investigation into the murders, and the notoriously reckless deal-making on the part of the Crown -- the fantastic end result of which is Homolka's upcoming, all-too-soon release from prison. Many suspect it's this element of Williams's work that is the real "crime" for which he's being punished.

Back in May, Williams was charged with having posted two banned victims' names on his short-lived Web site. "To be fair," Christie Blatchford noted at the time, "there are so many of these [publication bans], keeping them straight is a full-time job." When Williams heard through the web server that police had complained, he had the site taken down immediately. He then phoned his lawyer, Edward Greenspan, who advised him not to worry -- the worst Williams would get was a fine. "The idea I'd be thrown in jail never occurred to either of us," Williams recalls. But thrown in jail he was, after police arrived at the Ontario farmhouse he and Boulton share at 8 a.m. "Guns drawn, handcuffs -- the whole nine yards."

"They took him down like a drug dealer," recalls Boulton. A stupefied Greenspan compared the tactics to those of a "totalitarian country."

Williams was released the next day, but worse was to come. The Attorney-General's office then launched a civil suit based on the criminal charges. This bizarre tactic ("there are only about 10 civil litigators in Canada who understand what the Crown has done," says Williams) constituted a tightening of the emotional thumbscrews to say the least. The potential of such a case to drag on for years meant that Williams and Boulton were facing the possibility of bankruptcy.

Possibility inched toward certainty after what police did next. In a recent Writer's Union newsletter, Boulton describes having her work and home life upended by yet another cadre of police officers who descended on their farmhouse at 6 a.m. on July 18. Brandishing a warrant, the police ordered the couple off the premises for as long as it took to conduct the search. When they returned the next day, both Williams's and Boulton's computers, files and backup disks had been confiscated.

"I have not been charged with any offence," writes Boulton, her incredulity seeping from the page. "I was not named in the search warrant. My office is distinct and separate, . . . lined with Canadian history books and novels."

In the months that followed, Williams and Boulton received no response whatsoever to requests that their property be returned. Boulton's next novel, due to be released by McArthur & Co. this fall, had to be delayed indefinitely. Their lives were in limbo, and as writers they'd effectively been crippled.

They had hoped last Thursday's court date -- deferred four times previously by the Crown -- would at last give Williams the chance to defend himself against the charges, perhaps finally granting him and Boulton the respite they've sought for months.

Instead, the charges were upped from two to 97.

"It feels," says Boulton, "as though they want to squash us like bugs."