No Easy Ride

by Ian Parsons

  Every session started in a similar fashion, and during breaks members would come and ask me why we had to listen to tales of long ago. I told them to be patient. Even though they were initially defensive, the members learned much about First Nations culture and developed empathy for what these people had suffered. As each three-day session progressed, it moved into discussions of what police could now do to improve relations. The members’ willingness to sit and hear grievances was exactly what was needed. The sessions concluded with a wonderful traditional feast put on by the band. Many RCMP members, spouses and children participated and left with changed attitudes and a much greater understanding of First Nations people and culture. Yet despite all the steps taken to improve the RCMP’s attitude toward Native people, I was troubled to see that some senior personnel still harboured prejudice and dislike for them. No amount of positive interaction with Native people seemed to change their entrenched opinions.

  Even with my long experience with First Nations, both in the field and in the classroom, I had more to learn. While formulating course material, I commented to some members of a north island nation that another nation to the south and west of them had introduced a series of cross-cultural experiences for the police that had been very successful. Sensing a cool reception, I asked one of the elders why my suggestion was not looked upon with favour. The elder told me that the Native group I mentioned was traditionally an enemy of the northern people, and communication between the two groups was minimal. Any suggestion that ideas from the south be implemented was clearly inappropriate. The following day I made amends and assured them that adopting ideas from other groups would not be an option. This seemed to satisfy the participants, and we went on to design a course almost identical to the one being employed to the south.

  The troubling case of Roy Hunter demonstrated how the unwieldy RCMP bureaucracy more often than not overrode important local policies and ideas. Roy was a Native special constable attached to the Alert Bay detachment on Cormorant Island, just east of the northern end of Vancouver Island. The culturally intricate community had always been a challenge to police, and Roy had contributed much to the RCMP operation there for 17 years. In 1994, a woman in her 30s disclosed to a social worker that she and Roy had been sexually intimate when she was 15 years old, and she had been guilt-ridden since that time. Roy had been 16 when the sexual activity had allegedly occurred. The social worker relayed the information to the detachment commander, and an investigation was commenced. Roy readily admitted to being involved, but in view of the tender age of both parties, the prosecutor, the police and the community concurred that the case might be handled via aboriginal justice and a sentencing circle of elders. The complainant was also in agreement with this alternative. Earlier in 1994, Commissioner Norman Inkster had issued a no-tolerance policy for any RCMP member involved in a sexual offence. Perpetrators would be dismissed forthwith. However, Roy’s case had been discussed within “E” Division British Columbia, and it had been agreed that we would proceed by way of aboriginal justice. Special Constable Hunter appeared before the elders, where an apology to the victim was ordered along with some community constraints for a period of time. Everyone involved seemed satisfied with the action taken.

  A couple of weeks after the aboriginal hearing, a directive from HQ Ottawa arrived, ordering Constable Hunter’s immediate dismissal. I was to go to Alert Bay, inform him of this decision and obtain his RCMP revolver, his warrant of appointment and his badge. We tried to countermand the order but were summarily commanded to proceed. It was one of the longest helicopter flights I had ever taken. Constable Hunter was waiting for my arrival and had no idea of the purpose of my visit. He later told me when I asked for his badge and his gun, his entire world collapsed. As I returned to Courtenay, many thoughts ran through my mind, including offering my resignation. I was seeing more and more irrational decisions that were adversely affecting members. Senior management regarded officers as part of the problem and made decisions with no input from us. In addition to the trauma Constable Hunter endured, it also lowered public regard for the Force in Alert Bay. Shortly after this incident, I did decide to retire. While Hunter’s dismissal was not the only reason for my decision, it did leave a bad taste in my mouth.

  I later learned that one of the division staff relations representatives whom RCMP members appointed to act on behalf of members with grievances had taken up Constable Hunter’s case and instigated an appeals process. It took two years and several boards, but the decision against Hunter was reversed and he was reinstated. When he was phoned about this news, his wife answered, as Roy was not home. The party disclosed the news of the reinstatement and told his wife to pass it along. It was an unnecessarily terse communication from management to someone who had been waiting for this decision for months. Constable Hunter relocated to Port Hardy at the north end of Vancouver Island and returned to serving his people, the RCMP and Canada.

  My travels to meet with First Nations people or visit outlying detachments took me to many locations in northern Vancouver Island and the adjacent smaller islands—surely the most spectacular setting in all of Canada, if not North America. Many of our detachments were located on coastal islands or on the edge of remote areas of the mainland that could only be reached by ferry or helicopter. I had purchased a cruising boat for my own enjoyment and would occasionally use it to travel to detachments, where I conducted inspections and interviewed members. Travelling in this manner also allowed me to visit isolated villages and evaluate community satisfaction with the RCMP. During my off-duty time, I often went salmon fishing.

  The largely unpopulated wilderness of the West Coast has long been attractive to marijuana growers. Two major drug busts occurred during my tenure on Vancouver Island, and both indicated to me that the war on drugs long waged in both Canada and the United States was being lost. A sophisticated grow operation was discovered on a remote island in a pristine area called Desolation Sound. Anything but desolate, it is an ocean paradise frequented by pleasure boaters from all over the world. It is vast, with mountainous terrain, and only accessible by boat or plane. Although the waters of the sound are frequently travelled, the coast and islands are virtually uninhabited. Police regularly fly over the entire area, looking for the distinctive green that identifies marijuana plants. In many areas, the natural vegetation is so dense that discerning marijuana grow ops is a challenging task. Such was the case on an island in Desolation Sound.

  REGIMENTAL ELK

  Gold River is a picturesque community west of Campbell River at the head of Muchalat Inlet. In 1990, Corporal John Ollinger was the detachment commander supervising two constables. Christmas was looming and they were trying to design a unique greeting card that would represent the detachment. On the highway leading into Gold River there is a spectacular wooden elk, easily 20 feet high and with a majestic set of antlers. It is a stunning sight and very realistic except for its exaggerated dimensions. The three innovative guardians of the law decided that this elk should figure in their Christmas card. When Christmas rolled around we received our annual greetings from the boys in Gold River. When we opened the card, all we could do was gasp. There, seated one behind the other on the back of the elk, were the three members of Gold River detachment, clad in red serge. They had used an extension ladder to climb up onto the elk for the picture. Of course, they sent the card all over the country, including to Division Headquarters in Vancouver. The response from Vancouver was less than enthusiastic. They called it frivolous and unprofessional. We called it the RCMP Christmas card of the decade.

  A woman disclosed that her unfaithful lover was involved in a major illicit marijuana operation, even describing its location. With the assistance of one of the police patrol catamarans and an emergency response team, the drug squad swooped down on the island. Even when on top of the location, it was virtually impossible to determine its scope. Eventually, a hothouse almost half the size of a football field was discovered. It was illuminated with artificia
l light supplied by commercial-sized generators and irrigated by an automatic system. The building was ingeniously camouflaged and built around gigantic Douglas firs, making it completely invisible from the air. Thousands of juvenile and mature marijuana plants were thriving under careful nurturing. As there was no one present at the scene, we hid all evidence of our presence and awaited the arrival of the amateur botanists. After a while, a large vessel appeared, ostensibly to take on a load of marijuana. The men aboard were arrested, and the vessel and all paraphernalia were seized. It was impossible to determine how long the operation had been in existence or how many marijuana crops had been taken off in the past. It was estimated that a single crop would generate $9 million on the street. A small helicopter was also seized and several individuals were charged under the Narcotic Control Act.

  Another major drug case occurred in Courtenay. A concerned citizen reported strange comings and goings in a neighbouring home. Large cube vans were arriving late at night and unloading unidentifiable cargo into an outbuilding next to the residence. As the activity had been going on for some weeks, the drug squad set up surveillance. Over a period of time, they found that the initial cargo was being off-loaded at a small ocean cove on the west coast of Vancouver Island and transported to a residence. One of the van drivers was identified as someone who had previously been involved in drug trafficking. A search warrant was obtained for the suspicious building, and one night, when delivery activity was at its peak, the drug squad, backed up by the emergency response team, descended. Another well-organized operation was discovered, along with two tons of hashish, valued at millions of dollars. The bales of hashish had obviously come from a mother-ship operation that moved drugs from Mexico up the coast and delivered them to remote locations. Once at the destination, the material was packed into tidy wooden crates professionally labelled “BC Fish Product” and loaded back into the vans for shipping to eastern Canada and the USA.

  Once again, several were charged under the Narcotic Control Act. The drugs were ordered destroyed, which presented a logistical problem since a large commercial furnace was needed to efficiently dispose of the huge volume of hashish. We made arrangements with a pulp mill to use their blast furnaces for the purpose. When burning day arrived, the drugs were transported via truck, accompanied once again by the drug squad and emergency response team. With security at a high level, members carried out the demanding physical task of heaving the hashish bales into the furnace. Great plumes of white smoke rose from the stacks as many of the workers stood by, mourning all the highs that were not to be. That particular afternoon, as the seagulls swooped over the mill, we wondered what kind of psychedelic trips they might be experiencing.

  Both of these major drug operations would have gone undetected had citizens not passed on information to the police, which makes me wonder how many others operate with impunity. In spite of millions of dollars and untold manpower hours expended by law enforcement, illegal drug activity continues growing at an unprecedented rate. It is difficult not to make comparisons with the prohibition of alcohol in the 1920s and ’30s. When alcohol was interdicted, it was forced underground, creating a perfect environment for organized crime to flourish. In addition to the loss of revenue through taxation, governments devoted immeasurable law-enforcement resources to banishing the manufacture, sale and transport of alcohol. When they realized the futility of the process, prohibition was repealed and the production and sale of alcohol was again legalized and taxed. The money and manpower expended on the drug war dwarfs that spent enforcing prohibition, yet law makers fail to see history repeating itself.

  Rex Forteau was one of the most successful northern Vancouver Island drug traffickers. Try as they might, the drug squad seemed incapable of nabbing him. Because he was Metis and had such great success eluding prosecution, the local Natives believed he was a shaman who could not be harmed. Forteau’s profits allowed him to live a life of opulence. He owned a large property just outside the city of Campbell River, countless boats and vehicles and a resort in the BC Interior. Women were at his beck and call. It was almost as if the RCMP had given up on him, as he brazenly continued to ply his business without interference, likely raking in millions of dollars.

  Forteau’s only mistake was the company he kept. He frequently associated with Mike Flynn, locally known as a boozer and a cokehead with a monumentally bad temper, especially when he was drunk or high. Forteau and Flynn had picked up a couple of girls, and with George Foot, another associate, drove out into the boonies to have a party. While they were parked on a remote logging road south of Campbell River, Flynn got into an argument with one of the girls. He slapped her, and the other girl tried to intervene. Both girls were seated in the back seat of the vehicle with Foot. Enraged, Flynn pulled out a revolver and shot both girls, killing them instantly. Foot, terrified by what he had seen, dove out of the vehicle and ran into the bush. When the girls failed to return home, their families registered missing-persons’ reports with the Campbell River detachment. Several weeks later, a hiker stumbled onto the shallow gravesites of the two girls and immediately called the RCMP. Detectives soon traced the girls’ last movements, learning that they had been in the company of Forteau, Flynn and Foot at a bar in Campbell River the night they went missing. There was no sign of Forteau or Flynn, but Foot was located and brought in for questioning. When confronted, he became extremely upset and blurted out the complete story.

  The RCMP was now hot on the trail of Forteau and Flynn and determined they were hiding out at Forteau’s resort at Babine Lake in central northern BC. They were arrested and brought back to Campbell River to stand trial on two counts of first-degree murder. Once again, it appeared as though Forteau was leading a charmed life. He claimed to be only a witness to the murders, even though it was known he assisted in disposing of the bodies. In spite of Crown objections, Forteau was released on bail, though Flynn was held in custody. However, inexorably, it began to appear that Forteau was no longer invulnerable. One of the murdered girl’s brothers was an affiliate of the Hells Angels chapter in Nanaimo, BC. Unconfirmed intelligence indicated the brother approached the Hells Angels for some assistance in the matter, and possibly revenge.

  Prior to his upcoming trial, Forteau was relaxing in his country estate, watching his giant television in his sumptuous living room. The home was alarmed, and the entire property was surveyed by video cameras. While Forteau and his lady sat in the living room, visible through the large picture window, they were mowed down by what was determined to be a .45 calibre machine gun. Forteau died instantly, and his partner was crippled for life. Mysteriously, the alarms and video cameras were not working on the night of the murder. The investigation into Rex Forteau’s murder is ongoing to this day, and the Native people no longer consider him a shaman. Mike Flynn was convicted of two counts of first-degree murder.

  A TRAGIC MURDER that occurred in Courtenay demonstrated clearly the dedication, work ethic, skills and knowledge of younger members. The strangled body of a six-year-old girl was found at the edge of a forested area adjacent to some apartment buildings. The murder of a child throws a community into a state of fear and panic. National and local media shone their glaring lights upon us, and the pressure to determine who was responsible was intense. Investigators worked 24/7 to solve the terrible crime, a good part of that time being voluntary. The eventual encounter with the troubled, youthful killer was a classic example of top-calibre investigational and interrogation techniques. The processing of the scene and all evidence was precise and meticulous. The accused was arrested and eventually convicted and sentenced to life in prison, where he later committed suicide. The case proved to me that the expertise of modern RCMP investigators matches and even surpasses that of previous generations.

  WAS IT JOE PARSONS’S LUCK?

  In 1994 I learned that a newly arrived junior member to Courtenay detachment had just received an award for scoring the highest mark ever recorded on a Recruit Field Training exam. Thinking this a
rather special accomplishment, I called the young member and his trainer up to my office. I had a spare pair of old-style RCMP collar badges, or “dogs” as they are known in the trade, that had been issued to my father, Joe Parsons, who wore them throughout his service. I had inherited them and worn them in turn. They are quite rare and much coveted within the Force. I congratulated the young member and presented him with the collar dogs.

  I retired later that year and time marched on. One of my recruits, Guiliano Zaccardelli, was appointed commissioner. The first woman commissioner, Beverley Busson, replaced Zaccardelli on an interim basis. When she stepped down, William Elliott, the first civilian commissioner, took the reins. It was a time of chaos and scandals for the Force. When Elliott resigned, there was a careful search for the next commissioner, who was expected to bring the Force into the 21st century. When the announcement was made, the name of the new commissioner was vaguely familiar. I sent him an email asking if he was the young constable to whom I had presented the collar dogs in Courtenay. Commissioner Bob Paulson replied that he was in fact that person, and he wore the badges proudly on his dress uniform. I told him that somewhere up there Joe Parsons was looking down with a big grin on his face, knowing that at least his collar badges made it to the highest office in the RCMP.