No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP (14 page)

During my early years in the Force, general duty personnel routinely logged 300 hours per month. Municipal and traffic units worked fewer hours. Detachment or district members worked a regular day shift conducting investigations but had to respond to all calls after hours. Senior management and detachment commanders considered manpower to be a limitless resource, and there was no requirement to curtail hours. Special events, such as country dances, rodeos, exhibitions and public performances constantly required additional policing. Members were assigned to assist communities hosting these occasions for as long as necessary; meanwhile, those remaining at the detachment worked double shifts for the absentees. Time off and annual leave were deemed to be privileges, not rights, and were granted only when they would cause no inconvenience to the organization.

Even though we always had to listen for the telephone, there was time to get to know some of the community members. Father Gordon Graham, a young local priest, observed a number of fallen-away Catholics within the detachment and decided to bring these sinners back to the fold. Attending our social functions, he became friends with several members. As the months passed, it became obvious the young priest was enjoying our lifestyle to the fullest. We learned later in 1966 that Gordon had left the priesthood and found a girlfriend, and was considering marriage. His replacement, Father James Toner, a young man with world-class musical talent, also decided he would embark on saving wayward mounted policemen. Father Jim learned to appreciate the anonymity and confidentiality of our convivial happy hours. Entering our informal lounge, he would pull off his clerical collar and reach for a beer. Father Jim provided valuable support to a member who had been traumatized by the failure of his marriage and even contemplated suicide. This caring priest intervened with empathy, understanding and positive counselling and probably saved the man’s life.

Several of our group were musically inclined and gathered from time to time for an off-duty jam session at the local Legion. Our very musical cleric would join in occasionally. The local parish priest did not encourage Father Jim’s rapport with community members, youth and the constabulary. He upbraided his understudy for ungodly musical appearances at the local watering hole and largely ignored the positive relationships the young priest had established. Once again, the crusade embarked upon by this second man of the cloth became diverted, as he too departed the priesthood, married and became a professional musician.

After a year on traffic, I transferred to general duty. I preferred the diversification of detachment investigations and was pleased to return to that line of work. Our highly respected detachment commander had moved on and unfortunately was replaced by another individual with a serious alcohol problem. The operation functioned in spite of him. Each night Sergeant Walker would retire to his quarters on the second floor of the detachment, crawling inside a bottle of whisky and becoming incapable of making any decisions. Luckily, Walker was seldom seen after 5:00 p.m. During detachment social functions, he would habitually drink to excess. He utilized these occasions to single out one or more of us for verbal abuse. Even though Walker was the senior man on post, he was largely ignored due to his minimal credibility. In spite of his incompetence, the code of silence among the members prevailed, and Walker’s alcoholism was never divulged to senior management.

I was given the responsibility for policing Mustard, a village just east of Valley Bluff. For years, the small community had been intimidated by the members of one family. One set of brothers had inflicted their cruelty upon the populace and moved on, but now the second generation was coming of age. We were aware of the family’s reputation, and it was part of my mandate to ensure that the locals were living with a measure of tranquility, not fear. Not long after my new responsibilities were assigned, I learned that one member of this clan in his early 20s was approaching seniors on the street and demanding money. He uttered veiled threats that included arson if people did not cooperate. Many of the village’s older citizens were immigrants who harboured historic fears of police and authority figures; they did not see complaining to the police as an option.

One evening, along with another member, I conducted a patrol in Mustard. We had just checked a vehicle and were standing on the road when we heard the roar of an engine coming at us on the darkened street. As the car bore down on us, headlights out, we leapt aside, narrowly avoiding being run over. We ran to our car and gave pursuit with emergency lights on. We chased the car in and around town until it failed to negotiate a turn and ran into a ditch. Inside the car were three young men, and we found that one of them was the low-life who had been threatening seniors. Two of them surrendered, but the ringleader resisted. Perhaps he was trying to impress his friends, but he did not anticipate the wrath of those he had attempted to run down. He resisted and had to be aggressively arrested for dangerous driving, and all three men were taken to detachment cells. The ringleader continued to be arrogant and defiant, but was warned to stop intimidating the community. He appeared before a Justice of the Peace on several charges the following morning and was released on bail.

During this period, I was working with a junior member. Several nights after the Mustard arrests, he was parked in the village observing traffic. The recently released individual, again in the company of his gang, approached the lone policeman and threatened him, giving him an ultimatum to get out of his town. My junior partner called me about the predicament via police radio. I immediately drove to the village, talked to my partner and located the suspect at his residence. It quickly became obvious he had forgotten the conditions laid out for him a few days earlier. I arrested him for threatening a peace officer and violating his bail conditions. Because he was still resisting and defiant, I had to knock him to the ground and handcuff him before taking him once again to detachment cells. The following day, I was contacted by his lawyer, John Koshuta, who alleged his client had been brutalized. I knew and respected Koshuta, so I felt confident I could be candid with him. I explained how difficult this individual had been, justifying my use of force, and told him of the intimidation and harassment of senior citizens, the attempt to run us down and the threatening behaviour toward the constable. When court was convened, Mr. Koshuta pled his client guilty to assaulting a peace officer and dangerous driving. A lengthy jail sentence was imposed, and the offender did not return to the community on his release. We received many expressions of appreciation and votes of confidence from Mustard’s citizens, who were relieved that the scourge had been removed.

Unfortunately, other lesser miscreants continued to plague Mustard. A local gang was committing a chain of break, enter and thefts. Although we knew who was responsible, acquiring sufficient evidence to support arrests and charges was a challenge. On a morning following yet another invasion of a local business, we knew some kind of intervention on our part was necessary. Glancing up at a large poster of a fingerprint in the detachment office, I was seized with an idea. I met with fellow investigators and we decided who among the suspected gang was the most vulnerable. We immediately picked up our target and brought him in for questioning. We let him stew for an hour or so, then I suddenly burst into the interview room with the large fingerprint poster. I asked him if he was prepared to talk, informing him that this was his fingerprint and it was found on the glass display case of the business that had been broken into. He remained mute for some moments, finally explaining that my accusation was impossible. When asked why, he blurted that he had been driving the getaway car and had never entered the building. His face turned white when he realized what he had confessed to. Omerta—the code of silence—had been broken. He eventually gave a full statement that implicated his accomplices. They were subsequently rounded up and charged with over a dozen break and enters that had occurred over several months. Five young criminals were convicted and sentenced to jail terms.

BIZARRE ACTS OF
deviant behaviour can occur in any setting, including northern Alberta, but they are always astounding and shocking. The wife of a local farmer called us after finding three strange packages in the bottom of her deep freeze. When we arrived at the farm, we found three human fetuses or newborns frozen solid, wrapped up like chickens. The woman related that her 30-year-old daughter lived in nearby Edmonton and often visited the farm. Upon being contacted and interviewed, the daughter broke down and admitted that she had given birth on three separate occasions in her city residence, unbeknownst to anyone. She had become pregnant three times by different unknown men. A large girl, and rather slow mentally, her pregnancies might very well have gone unnoticed. She did not know how to care for the children and was unsure if any of the babies were alive when they were born, but autopsies indicated at least one of the babies had been born alive. She admitted to putting each one in her mother’s freezer. While it was clear we had grounds to lay one murder or manslaughter charge, our discussions with the prosecutor produced a consensus that there was little value in using the full weight of the law against the accused. She had suffered enough through these tragic events. She was charged with three counts of disrespecting a human body and received a suspended sentence with a recommendation for counselling.

The case exemplified the type of human misery that can have a severe and lasting psychological impact on law enforcement officials. Even now, years into retirement, a dream will descend upon me and I will awaken in a cold sweat. The details will be vague, but I will recall enough to be reminded of a traumatic murder, a fatal motor vehicle accident or a suicide scene from my past. Recounting the incidents in this book has released memories that I thought were locked away forever. As I recall one, another suddenly follows, almost physically jolting me. It has been astounding to discover what I had hidden away, and I’m sure this is true for most former police officers.

Another strange and disturbing case occurred in Valley Bluff in 1967. An entire family—a husband, wife and three school-age children—had gone missing from their nearby farm. There were absolutely no clues as to what had happened to them. Relatives were contacted, police agencies alerted and bank accounts examined, but there was still no sign of the family. A small pond on the farm was dragged in case something had happened in the water. Months passed with no news or developments, and relatives were pressuring the police to do more. As the disappearance had created much stress and angst in the community, countless hours were dedicated to the file, yet no clues surfaced.

Then a neighbour reported seeing the father in the farmyard as the sun was setting. An immediate patrol was made and all buildings were searched, still without success. Although a police service dog had been involved earlier in the search, it was again called to the scene. The dog scoured the property, eventually leading its handler to what appeared to be a root cellar, locked from the inside. When the cellar door was pried open, we saw the missing family, dirty, gaunt and frightened, huddling together in the darkness. It was obvious the father was not pleased to see us. When asked for an explanation, his response was rambling and disjointed. He reported that the end of the world was near, and he had commanded his family to take refuge in the cellar; he went out at night alone to forage for food. They would ride out the end in this hole in the ground, armed with nothing but a bible. It was obvious he was in a detached mental state and had lost touch with reality. He had placed his family in considerable jeopardy, yet they were too intimidated to challenge him. They were all taken to hospital for examination and treatment, and the father was placed in a mental institution, where he remained.

While serving at Valley Bluff, I observed a classic example of good investigative work. The initial complaint involved what appeared to be an intentional poisoning. A bitter rivalry had developed between two men from Mustard. After drinking coffee in a local restaurant, one of the men became violently ill and was rushed to the hospital, where they discovered strychnine in his system. The detachment was alerted, and investigators traced the activities of the stricken man from the time he became ill. They examined a sugar bowl in the restaurant and determined it had been laced with poison. The victim’s rival had been seen in the café on the date the poisoning took place.

During the course of investigator George Apps’s enquiries, he learned the wife of the alleged poisoner had died under suspicious circumstances several years before, and her death had been attributed to a heart attack. Constable Apps realized he was on to something and began to research the wife’s death. He learned that on the day she died, the wife had seen her husband off to work in the morning. Her routine was to accompany him outside, where she closed the garage door as he left. Then she returned to the house and had a cup of coffee with sugar. The deceased’s mother happened to be at the house that morning and had been with her daughter when she died. When she described the manner of her daughter’s passing, it appeared to have all the earmarks of strychnine poisoning. With this information in hand, Apps applied for a permit to exhume the wife’s body in order to conduct an autopsy, which had not been done at the time of her death. Constable Apps subsequently visited the husband, who pumped gas at a local service station. He confronted the suspect, explaining that not only was he being investigated for the poisoning of his associate, but his wife’s body was being disinterred for further tests.

At about three o’clock the following morning, which happened to be New Year’s Day, news arrived at the detachment that the suspect had been found dead at his residence. He had thrown a large party to commemorate the new year and retired late in the evening. The cause of death was strychnine poisoning. The results of his wife’s autopsy confirmed that she had also been poisoned with strychnine.