Poison (53 page)

Dhillon filed his appeal soon after his convictions, but as of the spring of 2008, it had still not been heard at the Ontario Appeal Court in Toronto. He retained a stubborn belief that he would somehow be found innocent in the end, but those familiar with the case know that he does not have much ground on which to stand. He was tried on the murders of Parvesh and Ranjit separately, the presiding judge kept damning evidence about Dhillon’s scheming and murderous behavior from two juries, and yet they still convicted him. His convictions seem as appeal-proof as they come.

Tony Leitch, now 42, keeps a busy schedule prosecuting high-profile murder cases, and his work of late includes a special assignment to work an ongoing, exhaustive case in Toronto in which police corruption is the focus. He says he aspires to one day work as a head Crown. And an appointment as a judge some day? He’s not going to jinx that by even talking about it. As for the Dhillon case, he will never forget it, a young prosecutor having the opportunity to work the case of a lifetime, along with the team of Korol, Dhinsa, and Bentham.

“No doubt I’ll never do another strychnine poisoning case,” he said. “It was an amazing case. And it remains the best cocktail party story I have.”

As for Bentham—“the best Crown in Hamilton,” in Leitch’s words—the lead prosecutor in the case, true to form, says little. Friends say he does not covet a judgeship or head Crown position. It is not part of his wiring. He prefers mucking in the trenches, putting offenders in jail, and saying little about it. For the taciturn Bentham, one has to read between the lines when considering the impact of the Dhillon case. The walls in his office downtown had always remained bare, absolutely nothing hanging, no framed citations, no newspaper clippings from one of the most storied prosecution careers in Hamilton; no personal photos or art of any kind. At work Bentham has never adorned, commemorated, or celebrated, as though glancing at the past and savoring it even for a moment would take the edge off his performance.

Today, there is one exception. One day, long after the Dhillon case had been put to bed, Tony Leitch walked into his colleague’s office. Tony had mounted a full page from
The Hamilton Spectator
, a spread from the series on the case called “Poison” that had caused a big stir in the city during its five-week run in the newspaper. He had one made for Brent as well. But Bentham, true to form, ignored it, and the board sat on the floor in his office, leaning against a wall for the longest time. But eventually, somehow, it found its way onto a hook. To this day it’s the only thing hanging on Brent Bentham’s wall.

Warren Korol nurses his coffee. Does he still think about the case? It crosses his mind quite often, and that includes each time he pulls one of the custom-made suits he had ordered from the Punjab out of the closet, or grabs some Indian takeout at the restaurant on Main Street he frequents. He had never really eaten Indian cuisine before the big trip, but over there he developed a taste for the spices, samosas, curries. He’d love to make a return journey to India someday—under more relaxed circumstances this time. He still meets on occasion with Bentham and Leitch, to bounce ideas off them or just for a beer. They all became so close during the trials. The bond will always be there.

As for the appeal, Korol isn’t concerned about it getting anywhere. But if it does see the light of day, he’s more than ready to get back in court again. In the end he never could fathom Sukhwinder Dhillon. Korol had always believed some people are simply fundamentally good, and that Parvesh was one of those people. Dhillon? How could he have it in him to do the things he did, especially to his wife, a good and beautiful person like her? Korol was unable to answer his own question. All he could ever really conclude was that Dhillon was an evil man, pure and simple.

But in the days and months after Dhillon was shipped off to prison for life, while Korol took pride in a job well done, his thoughts focused not on the killer, but the kids, Parvesh’s daughters, Harpreet and Aman. It kept playing over and over again in
his mind. The young girls had watched their mother die, were called to testify in the murder trial against their father, and then seen him locked away. And Korol was the one who put him there. It got to him. How could two young girls deal with that? He was not a religious guy, but Korol prayed for the girls. Ultimately, a few years down the road, he heard the best news of all. The girls had continued growing up in the house in east Hamilton, raised by a guardian, and Harpreet recently graduated from McMaster University, in nursing, and at the top of her class. She is now 23 and went overseas to do work, enrich her education. Aman, 20, the younger daughter, is still attending McMaster and doing very well also. Successful young women.

Out of all the ugliness, the death, the lies, Korol thought, came something good, a happy ending of sorts. He smiled. All the obstacles thrown their way, he reflected, it would have been easy for Parvesh’s daughters to lose it all, to grow up bitter at the world, but they rose above it, became good people. The kids were going to be okay. It made him feel—settled. Yes. Warren Korol took a final sip of coffee, rose from the chair, buttoned his trench coat, and marched back to the police station.