“More and more, he terrorized me with guns. He started threatening to hurt other people – my parents, the children, even the dog. He said he’d kill them and bury them where no one would find their bodies. He said he’d been studying medical textbooks and he knew how to break my neck and make it look like an accident.
“For a long time, I’ve cried every day – in the shower, so no one would see, no one would hear, and no one would notice. I’m sorry it’s come to this, but I now understand that it’s not my fault. I could have told someone and left him sooner. But I was brainwashed and beaten, abused, and oppressed – caught in the trap of domestic violence.”
Catherine stood tall. “But I’m not dead yet.
“Since Christmas, with the help of my family and friends, I have faced reality. I’ve started divorce proceedings. I’m ready to break free from my past. I want a new life for my children and me – one in which I will forget to be afraid.
“I know Paul will do everything in his power to stop me. If he’s released, he’ll try to make me reconcile with him. When I don’t, I sincerely believe he will kill me. I know this truth. Paul has taken away my health, my job, my happiness, my self-esteem. Please don’t let him take my life.”
Chapter 6
Monday
Catherine clutched the wrinkled witness statement in her hand. When her eyes caught her son’s, she managed a brave smile.
“Mrs. McMillan, thank you for your statement,” the judge said. “Now, I’m sure Mr. Miller has some questions for you.” Judge Cunningham lifted his pen. “Mr. Miller?”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” He smiled sympathetically at Catherine. “Mrs. McMillan, any time you need a break, just say so.
“Ma’am, in your statement, you claimed your husband physically assaulted you many times throughout your marriage. Is that correct?”
“Well, not during the first couple of years, but since then, yes.”
“Can you estimate how many times?”
“I didn’t keep count.”
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply that you should have. I just would like an idea – dozens of times?”
“Many dozens of times.”
“A hundred times?”
“More.”
“Ma’am, other than the three criminal convictions, did you tell the police about any of the other incidents?”
“No.”
“Did you tell friends?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“Co-workers, neighbors?”
“No.”
“Doctors, counselors, psychologists?”
“I might have told the marriage counselor, but that was a long time ago.”
“Did you seek any medical treatment for any of these unreported assaults?”
“I couldn’t very well do that and still keep them secret, could I?”
“I’m sorry Ma’am, I don’t mean to offend. I just need to know what happened.”
“I’ve told you what happened.”
“Yes, well, thank you very much. Your Honor, those are all my questions.”
Catherine blinked. “That’s it?” she asked, looking around for help. Judge Cunningham put down his pen. “Madam Prosecutor, anything arising?”
“No, sir,” she replied.
“Very well.” The judge turned to Catherine. “Thank you for your evidence today, Mrs. McMillan. You are excused.”
Catherine didn’t move. “May I add one more thing to my statement?” she asked the judge.
He looked at both lawyers, who nodded their agreement.
“Go ahead.”
She took a deep breath. “Just because I didn’t report the abuse, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Paul wants me to look like a liar, and I was one. His treachery and abuse turned me into a…a champion liar. But I’m not lying any more.”
She looked at Paul. “What about me?” she asked, shaking the impact statement at Paul. “Do I still have to be his victim? Here he’s done it again, hasn’t he? He pleaded not guilty when he knew he was guilty.”
Her arm swept across the courtroom. “This whole legal process he’s put me through – for him, it’s just a way to grind me down again.”
She looked directly at the judge.
“And he’s never going to stop.”
Chapter 7
Monday
Danny and Catherine followed Sandra to the courthouse cafeteria. Sandra bought Danny a burger, but when it was time to return to the courtroom, Danny dropped his tray on the conveyor belt where his untouched food inched out of sight.
Judge Cunningham started the afternoon session precisely at 2 p.m. “On June 21st, 2002,” he recited, “this Court found Paul Frederick McMillan guilty of aggravated assault and uttering threats against his wife. I’ve heard evidence for sentencing from both sides. Now I’ll hear legal argument. Ms. Johnson?”
“Your Honor,” the prosecutor said as she picked up a copy of the Criminal Code of Canada, which bristled with yellow stickies. “Today, you must apply the law to the evidence you’ve heard and formulate a just sentence for Mr. McMillan.” She held both her hands out in front of her at waist height, palms up. “All of that evidence, taken together,” she said, as she cupped her palms into a vessel, “brands him as a dangerous man – a very dangerous man.” Stepping toward a podium, she grasped its sides and leaned forward. “He’s been convicted three times for seriously injuring his wife. There is a pattern of escalating violence. So… what happens next?”
With measured slowness, Sandra turned until she faced Paul, who continued to sit politely and attentively, his face neutral. “We know what happens next. He’s said so himself.” A pregnant pause. “He’s going to kill her. And he’s going to do it with a gun.”
Danny’s heart sat like a stone in his chest. Grandma and Grandpa had arrived quickly on that long December night. One of the officers had tried to question Danny, but her words blurred together in Danny’s head and he couldn’t answer her. The officer stretched a towel over the bloodstain at the base of the stairs and said she’d come back in the morning. Eventually, all the others left, and the house fell silent.
Danny let Grandpa lead him up the stairs and tuck him into bed. Grandpa stroked his grandson’s forehead. Everything’s going to be all right. We’ll take care of you; don’t worry. After a while Danny’s jaw relaxed and he noticed how much his teeth ached. Grandpa stayed with him until he dozed off.
But deep sleep wouldn’t come. His father’s voice rang in his head like an intruder. I’ve got my gun. I’ve got it right here, under the bed. You know I’ve got my gun, don’t you. Wanna see it? I’ll shoot you right here. Right now.
Buddy lay unmoving at the foot of Danny’s bed, his head down, eyes open, on watchful guard. Danny pulled back the covers and slid out. “It’s okay, Buddy,” he whispered. He crept into the hallway, skirted around the spot where the lamp broke over his mother’s head, and tiptoed into his parents’ bedroom.
The moon shone through the open curtain and illuminated the carpet. He stepped beside the bed, dropped to his knees, and lifted the edge of the tasseled bedspread. A long, dark shape stretched underneath. The end caught a glint of moonlight as he reached for the object. When he grasped it, it felt familiar. He knew for certain what it was.
The summer after he’d turned ten, he and Dad had gone to fish the Elk River, just the two of them. The sky was brilliant with morning sunshine as the SUV bumped along beside a canola crop that bloomed the color of ripe lemons. They parked as near to the river as they could and fished all morning, catching six rainbow trout – enough for the whole family. Dad gutted the fish, and Danny slid them into a plastic bag and placed them gently into the cooler amid the ice packs and beer cans. Dad lifted the cooler into the back of the truck and reached under a blanket to lift out a narrow, brown, padded bag with two loose strap handles. Resting the bag on the bumper, Dad unzipped it and pulled out the rifle.
“Wanna give it a
try? Think you can be a deadeye like your old man?”
Danny was thrilled. He scrambled down the rocky riverbank after his father. The rifle was already loaded. Dad clicked off the safety catch.
“You can just shoot along the water up into the embankment there, where the river turns.” He placed the loaded gun in Danny’s arms. “Stand in front of me, like this,” Dad said, grasping Danny’s shoulders and maneuvering him into position. He felt his father’s athletic torso braced behind his own small frame.
“Hold the barrel in your left hand – here – underneath. Put the stock against your right shoulder. Move your right foot back and turn your toes out a bit. Use your right hand to grasp the bottom of the stock, and put your finger on the trigger.”
The directions came fast and Danny struggled to hold the gun steady. It was heavier than he expected, and the barrel bobbed up and down as he pointed the rifle upriver.
“Now lift up the gun so you can look through the sight, and aim at the middle of the embankment. When you’re ready, squeeze the trigger gently.”
Danny closed his left eye and squinted down the swaying barrel with his right. He felt his father’s arms under his own, his father’s head lowered beside his. The acrid smell of gun oil filled his nostrils as he held his breath and pulled the trigger.
He didn’t know which startled him more, the loud crack! that vibrated through his whole body, or the sudden assault of the gun butt on his shoulder that knocked him back into his father. Stones sprayed from the embankment as the bullet hit, and a flock of starlings lifted off from the trees behind them, squawking indignantly.
“Great shot, Danny.” Dad sucker-punched him on the arm. “You’re a natural.”
In the moonlit bedroom, Danny had pulled the rifle the rest of the way from under the bed. He was kneeling. The rifle lay before him. Then he noticed a white tag, the sort usually used as a price tag, attached to the trigger by a short piece of string. He turned it over and stared.
It read, ‘For Catherine.’
The prosecutor motioned toward Catherine, who sat straight-backed and rigid beside Danny. Her body was as taut as a stretched rubber band, and her mouth a tense line over clenched teeth.
“Sir,” Sandra continued, “you’ve heard Mrs. McMillan speak of her fear, and no one can doubt it is real. Dr. Hamilton testified that the most dangerous time is immediately right after the separation. And you’ve heard him describe Mr. McMillan as one of the most dangerous men he’s ever met.
“What does experience tell us?” she asked. “It tells us that battering is the most common way North American women are injured every year. We know most murderers already have criminal records, including a violent offence. We know one-quarter of all murderers use guns.
“It is a continuing failure of our criminal justice system that Mrs. McMillan’s situation isn’t unique. But today this Court can right that injustice.
“Your Honor, our society owes it to Mrs. McMillan to protect her. Our society owes it to the people close to her – her family and her children – to protect them from harm. No one should have to endure the constant fear she will live with every day if her husband goes free. No victim of domestic violence should have to worry for the safety of her children at the hands of their own father.
“Sir, this Court must send a message. It must say, firmly and without hesitation, that all people who commit these crimes will be held strictly accountable. As a society, we cannot afford to be tolerant of domestic violence.
“This message must reach not just those who batter their spouses. It must reach those who abuse their children. It must reach those who abuse vulnerable elders. In short – it must send a signal to all, that our society will protect those who cannot protect themselves.
“Your Honor, I submit that the evidence supports – and justice demands – that Mr. McMillan be designated a dangerous offender and sent to jail for at least seven years. Anything short of a long prison term for Mr. McMillan will be a death sentence for his wife.”
Chapter 8
Monday
Judge Cunningham removed his glasses. “Mr. Miller, may I hear from the defense?”
“Of course.” Mr. Miller addressed the judge in a calm and reasonable tone. “Sir, no one doubts the heartache Mrs. McMillan’s husband has caused her.” He paused. “However, it is still the Court’s duty to treat him fairly and according to law. And fairness means this Court must follow the rules.” He picked up the Criminal Code. “And this is the rule book. These rules apply to every criminal proceeding – including this one. These rules of evidence, developed over the centuries, are the cornerstone of our justice system. Without them, our system of justice would disintegrate.” He laid the Criminal Code on the table on top of the Summary of Convictions. “This is the heart of the matter,” he said, cupping his hands as if holding a precious stone. “Even if it seems unfair, the rules say you must ignore everything in the victim impact statement other than about the three convictions. Nothing else is admissible.” He softened his tone, as if expressing condolence for another’s loss. “We’re not challenging Mrs. McMillan’s sincerity. However, saying those things doesn’t prove they happened. Mr. McMillan is being sentenced for this crime, not for all his alleged crimes. His criminal record is relevant because the two other assaults were proven in a court of law – but nothing else.
“There are two important legal principles at stake. First, an accused person is entitled to a full trial on every alleged breach of the law. He must be permitted to hear the evidence and test it by cross-examination. Second, the judge must always hear both sides of a story. It can never be fair to make a decision when you’ve heard only one side. Today, you heard Mrs. McMillan’s narrative of this sixteen-year marriage, but not Mr. McMillan’s.”
He paced a few steps back and forth. “Now what does that mean regarding the psychiatrist’s conclusions? He said Mr. McMillan showed a strong pattern of violent behavior. To reach that conclusion, he relied on all the things Mrs. McMillan told him. But, when you strip away all the conclusions he based on the unproven assaults, his risk profile falls far short of showing a pattern of behavior severe enough to label Paul McMillan a dangerous offender.
“Mr. McMillan may be a bully, but that doesn’t prove he’ll assault his wife again. Now, I’m mindful that Dr. Hamilton has a very damning opinion about Mr. McMillan – his gut reaction, he called it. But courts don’t run on gut reactions. They run on evidence.
“Also, it’s far too early to say this man can never change. It’s far too early to say society must lock him up and throw away the key. He’s not an alcoholic or drug addict. Perhaps therapy can give him the tools he needs to control himself. We don’t know, because it hasn’t been tried.
“Your Honor, Mr. McMillan accepts that his marriage is over. He knows he has forever lost his wife’s trust. However, they are the parents of two children, and nothing will ever change that. He wants to remain an active father and participate in raising his children, just as any father would. There isn’t any admissible evidence that he’s a threat to his children – not in the past, not at present, not in the future.
“Your Honor, the defense believes there should be a firearms prohibition, plus a jail term of two years. The rest belongs in the civil divorce court. Mr. McMillan doesn’t oppose a long-term restraining order. The divorce court will also work out the delicate balance between Mrs. McMillan’s right to be divorced and end all contact with her husband, and her children’s right to know and have access to their father.
“In summary, you cannot today sentence Mr. McMillan for what he might have done in the past. You cannot sentence him for what someone fears he might do in the future. You can only sentence him for the case before you. If this Court gives him seven years, it will be punishing him as severely as murderers are punished. He has abused his wife, yes. But he is not a murderer.
“That is all, Your Honor.”
Chapter 9
Monday
Judge Cunningha
m leaned back and tapped the side of his pen lightly against his lips. “Thank you, Mr. Miller. Any rebuttal by the Crown?”
“Yes, sir, several points. First, each assault took place in the victim’s home. The assaults were a betrayal of everything a home should be – a place of peace, safety, security…a place of love. Mr. McMillan single-handedly changed this refuge into a place of private torment. Behind closed doors that were meant to keep the world out and give her a place to get away, he abused his wife. If a person can’t be safe in her own home, where can she be safe? So the very private nature of these assaults is an aggravating factor in sentencing.
“Second, none of these assaults happened when Mr. McMillan was drunk or on drugs. Mr. Miller says this is a mitigating factor and suggests that Mr. McMillan is teachable. However, the prosecution believes it is an aggravating factor. His actions, if not planned, were certainly deliberate. Given the chance, he will soberly and deliberately assault his wife again.
“Now, the defense suggests Mrs. McMillan will be safe with a restraining order. But a restraining order isn’t justice, Your Honor, it’s a piece of paper.” She picked up a page of the victim impact statement and held it by the top edge, dangling it in front of her. Then she turned toward Paul and positioned it between their faces. “And it won’t stop a bullet.
“Third, yes, Mrs. McMillan has filed for divorce. Whether Mr. McMillan agrees or not, it’s going to happen. Mr. Miller suggests the divorce and a firearms prohibition will put an end to her problems. We believe it will increase them. Statistics bear this out. The time in which a woman is most likely to die at the hands of an abusive spouse is in the months just after a separation or divorce. For Mrs. McMillan, that time is now. She needs more than just a piece of paper.
“Fourth, Mr. Miller says there’s no evidence that Paul McMillan ever abused or threatened to harm his children. What about threatening to kill their mother? Can there be any clearer example of child abuse? How can we possibly consider him a caring and loving father?
The Second Trial Page 4