No Easy Ride

by Ian Parsons

  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.

  Not all duties were as interesting or challenging as a murder investigation. One of the many and varied duties foisted upon RCMP members is acting as agents for the provincial public trustee. In cases of sudden death where there are no apparent survivors of the deceased, RCMP members must take inventory of all items found in the victim’s possession. It is often an onerous task, as many elderly people living alone tend to eccentricity and some are hoarders who have not taken care of themselves or their property. In one such case, we removed the body of an elderly man who had died in his shack, surrounded by boxes filled with his possessions. I knew the job was going to be challenging, so we began to separate items of some value from those that had to be destroyed. It was going to take days of painstaking work to clear everything away.

  On about the third day, I was starting to deal with the kitchen area, which was laden with packages of unopened foodstuffs. Just prior to throwing a large tin of flour onto the garbage heap, I opened it and sifted my fingers through the flour. I will never know why I did this, but my fingers felt something solid in the flour. I pulled out a tobacco tin that had been concealed there. Opening it, I was shocked to discover that it contained $2,500 in cash. I immediately called for another member to witness my discovery and filed an exhibit report about the money. My find generated a human-interest story in the local paper, which included the deceased man’s name. Subsequently, a living relative and his wife appeared on the scene to claim the money. At that point a good news story turned rather ugly. The great-grandson of the decedent alleged that the old man had been hiding money for years and that there should have been much more, implying that the police had found a larger stash and kept it for themselves. There was no basis for their claim, and we were exonerated.

  Valley Bluff contributed many building blocks to my development as a peace officer. It was a stable community with a strong agricultural base. My work was complex and varied, offering many opportunities to practise the craft of law enforcement. Partway through my tour of duty, I was assigned to court detail. During the time I served at Valley Bluff, the member handling court detail performed all the duties of a modern Crown Counsel. Today, Crown Counsel manages court proceedings, including the approval of all charges. Formerly, the police decided on the approp
riate charge, except in the most serious offences, when the Crown would be consulted. Although the current system better reflects the fundamentals of jurisprudence, I found that I learned a great deal through determining appropriate charges, handling a court docket, prosecuting less serious cases and even conducting preliminary hearings. It gave me confidence to express my point of view and is perhaps one of the reasons I was eventually identified for the training division as an instructor.

  Our provincial magistrate, Orest Melnyk, was a retired farmer. His knowledge of the law was limited to his on-the-job reading, and his daily contact with members of the bar. The processing of the weekly court docket illustrated the close relationship the police enjoyed with the judiciary, which gave RCMP members a position of elevated community responsibility. In those halcyon years of the 1960s the police were allowed liberties that would be unheard of today.

  Each week, prior to opening court, Magistrate Melnyk and I relaxed over a cup of coffee and went through each of the police files. We discussed each set of circumstances, and the magistrate “consulted” me regarding the penalty in the event of a guilty plea. A considerable amount of tact was required on my part, but if the individual was a repeat offender or was uncooperative at the time of the offence, I suggested that those factors be considered. Often the magistrate asked me to suggest an appropriate fine. In some cases of repeat offenders, I thought a jail sentence was appropriate. In each case, the penalty suggested by me or other RCMP members was followed to the letter. This approach worked to the advantage of the justice system and was quite equitable, as long as the police handling the court docket were not vindictive. However, it’s easy to recognize the pitfalls of such procedures, which have long since been stopped, particularly with the demise of lay magistrates. In accordance with the timeworn adage “Not only must Justice be done; it must also be seen to be done,” it became necessary to remove the police from such an intimate relationship with the judiciary. In the contemporary judicial system in Canada, the responsibilities of Crown, defence and police are clearly delineated.

  Back then, the neutrality of the justice system was occasionally sorely tried. In one such case, an accused person appeared before a lay magistrate in a court close to Mountain Park. When this hapless chap entered a plea of “not guilty,” the magistrate roared, “‘Not guilty’? What do you mean ‘not guilty’? The RCMP would not have brought you before me if you weren’t guilty!”

  In those earlier days of prairie justice, it was not unusual for defence counsel to nurture the prosecuting constable, prompting him if he had forgotten potentially vital components of his case. The constable would quickly include the missing component, which might very well win the case for him. Such was the positive relationship between police and many solicitors.

  DURING THE 1960s, in response to impaired driving and the resulting highway carnage, the Borkenstein Breathalyzer was invented to analyze breath samples to measure the amount of alcohol in the blood. I was interviewed to determine my interest in becoming a Breathalyzer technician/operator. Realizing this qualification could stream me back into traffic enforcement, I approached the opportunity with some hesitation. The Breathalyzer, however, was cutting-edge technology, and I wished to be involved. I returned to Regina for training, which was extremely rigorous. After successfully completing the course, I returned to my detachment, but not for long. In the winter of 1968, I relocated to Rostad, Alberta.

  CHAPTER 7

  DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO

  THE BREATHALYZER OPERATOR in Rostad, which was located northeast of Valley Bluff, had been working alone and under considerable stress thanks to the demands of the new technology, so I had been sent there to give him some relief. When I arrived, however, my counterpart was transferred to another location. As the sole Breathalyzer operator, I was on 24/7 stand-by, in addition to my traffic responsibilities, which entailed alternating day and afternoon shifts.

  During my first year at Rostad, I administered 300 breath tests. Life became a treadmill. Many of these breath tests were administered while I was on my regular shift. During the other 16 hours of my day, impaired drivers kept appearing and calls for my assistance did not stop. I simply sat at home and waited for the phone to ring. Because the Breathalyzer was new technology, many impaired driving charges supported by breath evidence were appealed to district court, compelling my evidential presence. The legal profession was challenging every aspect of the new impaired-driving legislation, thereby establishing court precedents through case law. While it was exciting to be involved in an initiative that would change community attitudes toward drinking and driving, it was also a time of inordinate physical and mental demands. Another operator came on board during my second year at Rostad, bringing some relief. At the same time, I was transferred to municipal duties.

  Our second child, Michelle, was born in April 1968. This brought additional worry and stress, as she suffered from Rh disease and needed three blood transfusions shortly after birth. Because the local facilities were inadequate, she had been born in an Edmonton hospital and had to stay there until she was healthy enough to be brought home.

  While the Breathalyzer duties were now shared, work on the town detail was equally demanding. Rostad was populated by francophones, English and Irish and was situated next to one of the largest Cree reservations in western Canada. The town detail consisted of a corporal and two constables, leaving only one person on the evening shift. The two hotel beer parlours were the source of many disturbance calls, especially on welfare and family-allowance payment days. Alcohol abuse was rampant, and the constable on duty, particularly during the evening hours, was solely responsible for preserving the peace and tranquility of the town.

  In this occasionally unruly community, I witnessed the disruptive power of a woman. I will call her Agnes Stone. While her name is not important, her physical prowess most certainly was. Standing five feet four inches tall and almost as wide, she possessed a great capacity for alcohol but became extremely anti-social when drinking. If she was spotted under the influence, RCMP members would cross the street rather than initiate a confrontation. Much like the wolverine in the wilderness, it was in everybody’s interest to avoid crossing her path. When she was in town, the entire detachment was on edge, secretly hoping she would quietly take on her load of liquor and pass out peacefully in a state of alcoholic bliss. Occasionally, she would find fault with something or someone, and the dreaded call requesting an intervention would arrive at the detachment.

  On one of her more memorable junkets, Agnes created a disturbance at a local hotel. We knew more than one police officer would be required, so straws were drawn, and three stalwart guardians embarked to preserve the peace. We confronted Stone, respectfully asking if she had any interest in joining us in the police vehicle. She responded by throwing a chair at one of the members. Eventually, three sweating, torn and forlorn defenders of the peace returned to the detachment with our guest. When asked to vacate the police car, Stone promptly kicked out the back window. Sergeant Page, himself a large, intimidating presence, heard the disturbance and appeared on the scene to demonstrate how to deal with intoxicated persons. Assuming that our client would respect his rank, Page leaned into the back door of the police car to demand the lady’s exit. As he placed his head in the car, she hit him with a Mike Tyson right jab on the side of the jaw, knocking him senseless to the pavement. Thirty minutes, several torn uniform shirts, one broken pair of glasses and very little dignity left among five exhausted RCMP members later, Stone was safely ensconced in a detachment cell. We could only hope this lady would someday marry and become enthralled with domestic life.

  Rostad was my first exposure to a large Native community. At the time, communication between the detachment members and Native people was dismal, and encounters between the two groups were often accompanied by conflict. The predominant RCMP mindset toward Aboriginals was antipathy. It was not uncommon to witness aggression and occasional brutality in the cellblock. When a social
gathering or dance was scheduled on the reserve, tension would build at the detachment. No proactive measures were initiated to reduce the possibility of trouble, but the police contingent was always highly visible at the event. Resentment and distrust were rampant between the factions, setting the stage for confrontation. Inevitably, police vehicles sustained damage, and from time to time members were injured. The response of many Native communities during this period of emerging militancy was predictable. Canada’s federal police force was not welcome on their home turf and some Native youths viewed the RCMP as an “army of occupation.”

  COMPLIMENTARY TRANSPORTATION FROM THE QUEEN

  There are occasional examples of individuals in the Force who resemble Joe Btfsplk from the old Li’l Abner comic strip, a chap who went through life with a visible black cloud over his head. There was one such member in Rostad. Never was there anyone who worked harder or tried more diligently to uphold the law than Rod Bowman. But more often than not, he would find himself rubbing up against some regulation or policy. One frigid winter evening, he was conducting property checks. It was 3:00 a.m. and -30°F. To carry out these security duties thoroughly, members would routinely park and lock the police vehicle, leaving it running. This meant we needed to carry two sets of keys. On this night, the town was virtually dead with not a soul stirring. Constable Bowman had forgotten his spare set of keys, but as it seemed there wasn’t anyone up and around, he left the police car running and unattended while he walked the back lanes. Returning to retrieve his car, he found nothing but tire tracks in the snow. In a panic, Bowman woke up his corporal, who alerted the sergeant. Several members were also roused, and an immediate search began, with all police personnel in the province being advised via police radio.