Crown attorney Cathy Everett said a strong message needed to be sent to anyone considering getting involved in this type of “brutal, tragic, cold-blooded offence.” Defence lawyer Jim Macdonald told court his client was an otherwise law-abiding young man who was on the honour roll in grades 7 and 8 and got pressured into helping hide the weapon other gang-involved peers. “He is not a gang member, but lives in a neighborhood riddled with gang members,” Macdonald said.
The judge questioned why all of these young people, including Beeper, were out so late at night. “One has to ask what happened to the parenting that night,” said Ashdown.
THURSDAY APRIL 24, 1997
They sat in the prisoner's box, trading jokes and giggling as if they were in the back row of their high school classroom. Perhaps they were laughing at the justice system, which was about to give them a sweetheart deal. The three Winnipeg teenagers charged with first-degree murder in the drive-by shooting of Beeper Spence had all struck plea bargains to reduced charges. Conrad Johnson, now 17, who fired the fatal shot, admitted to second-degree murder. Kami Pozniak, now 18, and Fabian Torres, now 19, entered pleas to manslaughter. All three would be given adult sentences, meaning their names could now be published. Lawyers on both sides refused to discuss details of the last-minute resolution, which came just as the jury was about to be picked for the start of their six-week trial.
Crown attorney Sid Lerner gave a brief outline of the facts they were pleading guilty to. He described how Beeper was shot in the back as he was biking home. And he told court of a “celebratory” mood amongst his killers, who traded high-fives and literally patted Johnson on the back for pulling the trigger. He said Johnson was bent on revenge that night because he had found out his friend had been badly beaten by rival gang members. Beeper had nothing to do with that, of course. But that didn't matter. After obtaining the sawed-off shotgun from a friend, the trio talked about payback. And so as they snaked their way through the North End, they spotted Beeper and decided his life would end at their hands. It was a cowardly act, one that simply could not be rationally explained. Now the killers would pay. But at a greatly reduced price.
FRIDAY MAY 23 1997
It was an emotional ending to a case that had sparked plenty of anger and sadness. The mother of Beeper Spence lashed out at her son's killers as they appeared in court to be sentenced. Nancy Flett aimed much of her rage at Queen's Bench Justice Sid Schwartz after he spared a jail sentence to one of the accused. Fabian Torres was given a one-year conditional sentence to be served in the community. The Crown was seeking prison and would eventually get their way on appeal, when the penalty would be increased to three-and-a-half years.
“You might as well do the same thing for the other fucking ones,” shouted Flett as the judge handed down his surprising sentence. She then turned her attention to Torres's father, who was also in the courtroom. “You have your son Mr. Torres. I don't have mine,” Flett said before storming out of court.
Kami Pozniak was given two years behind bars for her role after admitting to manslaughter. Conrad Johnson was given a mandatory life sentence with no chance of parole for six-and-a-half years after pleading guilty to second-degree murder. There was no guarantee of ever being released, but he wouldn't have to wait too long before he could apply. Schwartz told court he wasn't going to bow to public pressure and dish out “high sentences on children.”
“Mr. Torres will go through life knowing he helped Mr. Johnson in the killing. Someday I hope [Torres] has a son and every time he looks at him, he will wonder if his son is at risk. That's pretty heavy,” the judge said.
Torres was the first of the killers to apologize for his actions: “First of all I would like to express remorse and tell the family how sorry I am,” he said. “It's one thing for me to talk to the priest and tell him how sorry I feel about what happened and what I did and my involvement in this, but it's a different story facing the family altogether.” According to the Crown, Torres had urged Johnson to shoot Beeper, telling him to “bust a cap in his ass.” Pozniak also addressed the court, but by then Flett and her family had exited. “If the Spence family were here, I'd want to say I'm sorry again,” she said. Her lawyer, Evan Roitenberg said she is “not a monster” and simply got herself into a terrible situation through her peers. Johnson chose to remain silent.
JULY 2000
A service was held on the five-year anniversary of his killing. Nancy Flett helped organize the event at a local drop-in centre that bore his name, which drew children from the neighbourhood and included face-painting and traditional native dancers.
“I want to show kids the good way of life,” Flett told the
Winnipeg Free Press.
“To bring people together and to show the youth there is more to life than hanging around on street corners and getting into trouble.” Sadly, she said, the gang and violence situation in the city only seemed to be getting worse. And she thought the weak-kneed justice system was partially responsible. “I do not like this at all. They should have gotten life. They all played a part. I try to be strong for my girls, and I think I'm doing good for how far I've come. But every day I really wish my son was still alive.”
2008
It appeared Canada's catch-and-release justice system was alive and well. Despite being convicted for their roles in a notorious Manitoba murder more than a decade earlier, parole documents revealed just how little time the three killers served behind bars and how their downward spirals had continued.
The man who gunned down Beeper Spence at the age of 15 walked out of a federal penitentiary in late January 2008, less than 10 years after he began serving a life sentence. It marked the second time the National Parole Board decided to take a gamble on Conrad Johnson's freedom. His first bid at day parole didn't work out so well. Johnson was first released in July 2006 but failed a drug test weeks later. He was displaying what parole officials called “deteriorating” social behaviour including throwing temper tantrums and lying. However, Johnson was given several additional chances to succeed. Parole officials didn't revoke his release until February 2007 after several more drug test failures and increasingly problematic behaviour. Back behind bars, Johnson admitted his mistakes and blamed them on being given too much, too fast.
“You believed you had to catch up on your lost youth and began hanging out with people who had no goals or values,” the parole board wrote. “You started smoking pot in an attempt to fit in with your peers. You then began lying to your support network because you were scared to go back to prison.” Parole officials, in their January 2008 decision, felt Johnson had learned from his mistakes and was ready for another chance: “You have come to realize that being back in jail was a waste of your life... and that prison is not the place you want to be,” they wrote. “You stated that this was an experience you needed to awaken you. You now state that you are motivated to change your lifestyle and have taken positive steps in reaching this goal.”
Johnson had remained silent at his sentencing but was now discussing Beeper's killing in some detail, admitting he mistakenly thought the 13-year-old was a rival gang member who'd assaulted one of his friends. He said he smoked marijuana and took LSD just prior to pulling the trigger on the sawed-off shotgun.
“You admit during the first several years of your incarceration you cared about little, gave no thought to the future and thought little about the crime you committed,” the parole board wrote. “You have [now] displayed what the board believes to be sincere emotional empathy for the victim. You compared the loss this family must have suffered to the loss you felt when your mother passed.”
The parole board applauded Johnson for taking steps to address his many problems, including drug abuse, poor relationship choices and anger management, by taking jailhouse treatment and programming. But they also cited his less than stellar track record behind bars as grounds for concern. He'd been hit with dozens of institutional charges, mainly for assaulting fellow inmates, being caught abusing contraband drugs, associating with gang members and abusing staff. Johnson also survived a brush with death after being stabbed in prison, then lashed out after his mother died and he couldn't attend her funeral. Family, friends and associates had been caught several times trying to smuggle drugs to him during visits. However, since 2003 Johnson had showed “steady improvement” as his security status went from maximum to medium to low, where it currently stood.
Johnson was raised in a home “plagued with violence and abuse,” the parole board wrote. He became a habitual runaway by the age of 10. He only completed grade six. He began using drugs by 11, drinking excessively by 12. He started selling drugs as a young teen to support his addiction, then found a “surrogate family” in the form of a street gang.
The parole board rejected Johnson's bid for full parole in January 2008, meaning he had to still report each night to a halfway house. They called a full release “premature at this point.” But they said he was on the right path, provided he avoided falling back into the same poor lifestyle choices that have seen him waste most of his life to date.
Despite being given numerous breaks by the system and cracks at freedom, Fabian Torres kept finding a way to land back in prison. Yet a forgiving parole board had ensured his stints didn't last long. Torres's first break may have been when he was convicted of manslaughter instead of second-degree murder for his role in the killing of Beeper Spence. He was originally given a 12-month conditional sentence, increased to three-and-a-half years in prison on Crown appeal. Still, Torres dodged a bullet and was back on the streets after serving only one-third of that penalty.
But he quickly went back to the gang and criminal lifestyle, culminating in an August 1998 home invasion. The victims were several adults and children. Torres and three co-accused, clad in masks, looted the home and stole the family's van. They were nabbed after a brief chase with police. Torres's parole was revoked, and he eventually received an additional 11 years in prison for the violent robbery.
Just six years later, Torres was back out. He was given day parole, which eventually turned into full parole in the fall of 2005. At the time, parole officials said Torres had made great progress in dealing with his demons, which stemmed from an abusive childhood, drug addiction and poor peer choices. But success was short-lived once again. On December 9, 2006, police stopped a speeding car. Torres was behind the wheel, the smell of marijuana in the air. Torres was arrested, but his parole was allowed to continue with a condition that he live at a community residential facility until his condition “stabilized.” Torres was allowed to go home a few weeks later. But he failed to appear in court on the drug charges and a warrant was issued for his arrest. He was nabbed by police on Valentine's Day 2007 after being caught driving without a licence. The parole board gave him yet another chance. But Torres blew it when he failed to meet with his parole officer in early March 2007.
Another warrant was issued and this time, parole was revoked. A drug test found Torres provided a false urine sample by using a device to store “clean” urine. He failed to say what drug he had been using. Torres spent two months in prison before the parole board decided to give him yet another chance in the summer of 2007. They said his breaches were serious but his risk “did not rise to an unmanageable level.” Torres was ordered to live at a halfway house and continue getting psychological counselling.
“It does not appear you have learned from your mistakes and you are indeed fortunate that you have not been revoked and returned to jail,” the parole board wrote. “Your impulsivity, poor decision-making and your inability to follow the conditions of your parole over the long term suggests you have a well-entrenched criminal mindset and values. Your behaviour suggests that you continue to require the structure, monitoring and controls of a halfway house.”
Kami Pozniak just couldn't stay out of trouble. Court records show Pozniak had been convicted of 11 separate offencesâincluding drugs, prostitution and failing to comply with court ordersâsince 2003 alone. Pozniak had been in and out of custody for much of that time, often getting released on bail only to be re-arrested on breach allegations or new substantive criminal charges.
During her sentencing for manslaughter, it was suggested Pozniak had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time and made poor choices about her peers and lifestyle. Hope was expressed that some time behind bars would give her the chance to escape the past and move forward to a brighter future. Yet the sentencing judge heard Pozniak had not been making very good use of the time. Instead of focusing on treatment and programming, she was getting into violent disputes with other inmates and guards that landed her in segregation. She eventually got outâbut like her co-accused Johnson and Torres, the revolving door of justice kept on swinging. In 2000, Pozniak appeared before a parliamentary standing committee in Ottawa that was exploring possible changes to the Youth Criminal Justice Act. One of the big issues then was whether youth criminals who were raised to adult court should be named in public, as Pozniak was.
“Every day when I go out, lots of people recognize my name when I get introduced to people. I have a hard time getting a job. When I attended school, the teachers knew who I was, and my law teacher knew who I was,” Pozniak told federal lawmakers, including Peter MacKay. “I find it very difficult to be known just as [a convicted criminal] instead of being known as me, being known as something I was labelled for in the past. It still reflects in my face every day I live out in the community.”
Kim Pate, executive director of the Elizabeth Fry Society, described Pozniak at the time as a “young aboriginal woman who is struggling to complete school... is basically struggling to get back on her feet after that.” She told the committee that Pozniak had attempted suicide on multiple occasions and frequently found herself in segregation. “She unfortunately has had some of the worst experiences of our system and some of the worst experiences of the current system.”