Rage

by Jerry Langton

  Ashley: Good job.

  Later in the conversation, Ashley pressed Tim on his part in the conspiracy.

  Ashley: Are you actually going to?

  Tim: You thought we were joking?

  Ashley: A little bit.

  Tim: A little bit.

  Ashley: Anyway.

  Tim: Oh please, like you know I couldn’t resist. (Laughs)

  Ashley: (Laughs)

  Tim: Killing somebody, Jesus!

  Ashley: Anyway . . .

  Tim: Should know me better.

  Ashley: All right then.

  Tim: I was just an accessory that came over and they’re like, yeah,

  we’re going to kill them. I’m like, well, I’m not really [going to]

  do a lot. More like sit there and drink blood, but okay, fine.

  Ashley: Pierre’s going to?

  Tim: Yeah, Jesus Christ, [unintelligible]. Pierre’s gonna kill a lot.

  Ashley: Are you serious?

  Tim: Yeah.

  At this point, Tim asked Ashley what she was doing that night. She demurred and eventually said that she was thinking of doing something with him, but since he was busy she couldn’t. He freaked out. Tim could hardly believe that Ashley wanted to see him again. He made it obvious that it he was dealing with a dilemma: He would have loved to be with her, but he had a prior commitment he couldn’t get out of. Exasperated, he says: “The one time I can see her . . . Why do I have to kill someone today?”

  That’s when he got the idea that she could come to the house. He told her she could come over and watch. He did his best to sell the idea. “You’ll just be an accessory,” he offered plaintively. When she refused, he told her that the two of them could “hang out in the bedroom while” Kevin and Pierre murdered the family. She refused again. After she demurred repeatedly, he kept pressuring her to come over by cloyingly saying, “blood is on tap here,” as though he was giving her a gift of human blood to drink.

  Throughout the call, the other girls had been writing down suggested questions and showing them to Ashley. When one note instructed her to talk to the other boys, Ashley asked to talk to Pierre, who Tim had mentioned in the first call was with them and whom he was aware she knew from Rosedale Heights. The first thing she did was to make sure this Pierre was the shy, unimpressive Pierre they all suspected it was.

  Ashley: Pierre Pierre?

  Pierre: Yeah.

  Ashley: So you’re killing people now?

  Pierre: Yeah.

  Ashley: Since when?

  Pierre: Since today.

  Ashley: Really?

  Pierre: Yeah.

  Ashley: Good job.

  Finished with him, she decided to move on to Kevin. She’d never met Kevin before, but asked for him anyway.

  Ashley: How are you?

  Kevin: I’m fine, you?

  Ashley: Not bad. You having fun planning the deaths of your

  parents and little brother?

  Kevin: Oh, it’s already planned . . . it’s already planned.

  Ashley: Oh . . . I see, you’re just waiting now?

  Kevin: Pardon?

  Ashley: What time are your parents and your brother getting

  home?

  Kevin: You know, my brother should have been home by now—but

  for some fucked-up reason, he’s not home yet.

  Ashley: I see.

  Kevin: It’s like he knows what’s happening . . . so he’s avoiding it.

  Ashley: Awwww . . . puppy. What time do your parents get

  home?

  Kevin: Ah, my father’s supposed to be home early today. My mom

  may be home around 8:30.

  Ashley: Good job. So where are you doing it? Your basement?

  Kevin: Doing it right here. Wherever they come in.

  Ashley: Really?

  Kevin: Yes.

  Ashley: Good job. What do you guys have?

  Kevin: Uh . . . fists and knives.

  Ashley: Oh, no guns?

  Kevin: I’m not using a gun—too loud.

  Ashley: Ah.

  Kevin: Too loud. Too easy.

  Ashley: Uh, why are you doing it?

  Kevin: I’m just sick of everything.

  That’s when Tim took the phone back from Kevin. Ashley later described him as sounding ecstatic at this point. She asked him why they were doing all this. Tim hesitated. Then he called out to Kevin:

  “What are your reasons again . . . other than that you hate your stepfather?” Although he was already across the room, the tape recorder caught his shouted reply: “I hate my parents . . . I hate motherfucking everything.”

  Tim started begging her to come over again. He offered her money. She refused. He eventually offered her drugs (which he didn’t have)—but she continually refused. Eventually she went back to her original story of being sick, and she said that she was tired and wanted to go to bed. Reluctantly, he let her go.

  As soon as she hung up, Ashley—the talented drama student—broke character and burst into tears. The other girls excitedly ran downstairs to tell Heather’s mother about the call. They played her a portion of the tape and she told them she had to call the police right away. Ashley stayed upstairs, crying.

  At 4:34, Constable Paul Wildeboer received a call from dispatch about a death threat. He and his partner arrived at Heather’s house at 4:42 and were surprised by what they heard. The girls played them the tape, and both cops immediately recognized the gravity of the situation. The police took the girls’ statements, the tape and Kevin’s telephone number. They were disappointed they didn’t get his address—because getting it would mean a trip back to the station and a network search—but they were very impressed by the girls’ detective work, and they told them so. Wildeboer even compared Ashley to Nancy Drew. He then asked them what gave them the idea to tape the phone call. Lindsay told him it was because the police don’t always believe what teenagers say.

  Ralston didn’t normally get out of work until much later, but on November 25, 2003, he finished up at Shopsy’s just before 3:00 p.m. Working two jobs six days a week left him with very little time to himself, so he decided to enjoy what little time he had. On his way home, he stopped at the old Greenwood Raceway. The horses haven’t run at Greenwood since 1994, but the housing development that now stands on the old racetrack grounds still has a betting parlor—a tip of the hat to the track’s former glory. Ralston enjoyed just hanging around, betting on the horses (which now ran at the Woodbine track in the faraway western suburbs) and watching the results on the betting parlor’s many TVs. He even had a few friends there. Ralston was having a great time until the clock caught his eye. It was 4:45 and he knew he’d better get moving. He wanted to get home by 5:30 to make dinner for the kids.

  Sean, a good friend of Johnathon’s, had been looking for him since 3:20. Actually, Sean—in a different grade—got out at 3:10, but habitually played basketball with some other school friends until his buddy’s class got out. Despite their slight age difference, Sean and Johnathon were very close, often walking to and from school together, going to each other’s houses and even on one another’s family outings from time to time. But what they used to like best was to go down to the cyber café and play online video games together. Johnathon had developed a passion for video games, but rarely ever got to play them at home because Kevin dominated the family’s computer. At the cyber café, he could play online games like Runescape for just a few bucks and have a good time with his friends while he was there. He’d gotten to know many of the cyber cafe’s habitués and staff and really enjoyed himself while he was there, even when he wasn’t actually playing.

  On November 25, Sean—as usual—spent the time between 3:10 and 3:20 p.m. shooting hoops with a few other friends. When Johnathon didn’t come out at 3:20, he decided to go home and watch TV. Sean quickly got bored and called Johnathon’s house to see if he wanted to come to the cyber café. Kevin answered. Sean recognized his voice, but didn’t really know him well eno
ugh to chat. He asked if Johnathon was home. Kevin told him he wasn’t there and hung up. Fed up, Sean went to the cyber café by himself at 4:20.

  Not only wasn’t Johnathon there, but nobody else he knew was either. Disappointed, he plunked down a toonie and sat in front of a rented PC.

  Sean was well into his game when Johnathon finally showed up. Since Sean was in the middle of a game, etiquette commanded that they not talk much. When Sean glanced at the clock, it was 4:40. Johnathon asked him if he could borrow some money to play. No way, Sean said. Not only had he spent his last toonie on the game he was playing, he was tired of bailing him out all the time.

  Embarrassed, Johnathon chuckled and shrugged and said he was going back home to get some money. He had a roll of quarters in his room.

  Wildeboer returned to the stationhouse at 5:05 to find an address for Kevin’s telephone number. Since he was shocked by the content of the tape, Wildeboer handed the statements, tape and other evidence over to Detective Sergeant Glenn Gray of the Criminal Investigation Bureau. Gray remembers that Wildeboer said to him: “You’ve got to hear this tape, it’s no run-of-the-mill death threat.” But Gray didn’t have time to listen to the tape yet. He accepted Wildeboer’s assessment of the situation and called Kevin’s number to see if the boys were still in the house. When Kevin answered at 5:32, Gray pretended to be a telemarketer. “I wasn’t trying to sell him anything, just taking a survey,” Gray said later. “It was something annoying, something nobody would ever want to do—I just wanted to get him off the phone quickly.” Kevin was calm and unfailingly polite. Gray quickly determined that Kevin was not only still at the house, but that his friends were still with him and his parents weren’t home yet.

  Gray told Wildeboer and his partner to go to 90 Dawes and arrest all three boys. “If the parents are home and give you any trouble, just get the three guys into custody, and we can play the tape for them,” he said.

  As soon as he got home, Johnathon ran upstairs to get the quarters from his room. He knew something was very wrong immediately. Kevin, Tim and Pierre were in there, drinking wine and smoking, and they had made a complete mess of the room. Johnathon looked at Kevin and said: “I’m telling mom and dad.” Before anyone else could react, Kevin grabbed his little brother by the arm and dragged him down the stairs.

  Downstairs, Kevin and Pierre began to threaten the 100-pound Johnathon. They told him that they’d totally trashed the basement and that he wasn’t going to say anything to anyone because he wouldn’t be able to.

  Johnathon just sighed. He’d lived through his big brother’s rages many times before. They both knew Kevin was much bigger, stronger and faster than him. Johnathon came up to his brother’s sternum, and his chest was no bigger around than one of Kevin’s thighs. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t get away. He couldn’t fight back. Even if he managed to hurt his big brother, he knew instinctively that Kevin would never, ever give up. If he fought back—especially with Kevin’s friends watching—it would only get worse for him. Johnathon realized he just had to put up with whatever Kevin was going to do to him, and he prayed it wouldn’t be too embarrassing in front of the other boys.

  Kevin said he was going to “kick his head in,” which was popular slang among their group for beat up, and something Johnathon would not have taken literally. Pierre seemed to like the idea of beating up Johnathon, and he quickly hooted his approval. Only Tim demurred, openly asking: “What’s the point?”

  Sensing his chance, and attempting to defuse the situation, Johnathon asked to see what the boys had done downstairs.

  As soon as Johnathon got to the top of the basement steps, Kevin slammed one of his outsized fists between his shoulder blades, knocking him down the stairs. Then he told Tim to go get a butcher knife from the kitchen. He did. Tim was very nervous by this point, and when he handed Kevin the butcher knife, he later claimed to have told him: “Just threaten him and get him out of here.”

  Whether Tim said that or not, Kevin had other plans. He ran down the stairs and got on top of his much smaller brother, who was just getting up from the basement floor. After pulling it up behind his head, Kevin plunged the long, thick butcher knife into Johnathon’s face. Then he began pumping the knife back and forth, up and down for what seemed like hours, each time striking at his younger brother’s face and neck. Tim could see Johnathon holding his hands in front of his face out of instinct and Kevin slashing them out of the way.

  There was almost no screaming. Johnathon was just too shocked. Pierre—who had fled to the living room—and Tim were too stunned to make any noise. And after Johnathon’s voice box was slashed and rendered useless, the only noise audible over the music was Kevin’s repeated pounding of the knife into his brother and Johnathon’s gurgling on his own blood and desperately gagging for breath.

  After his brother drove the thick stainless-steel blade through his skin, muscle and bone so many times that Tim lost count, Johnathon was lying on the basement floor struggling for breath, bleeding out and dying.

  CHAPTER 2

  A Stepson’s Revenge

  Ralston Champagnie was a big, strong man. Though not very tall, he carried a solid 250 pounds on his stout, powerful frame. He had thick arms, big hands and wide shoulders. What’s more, he had eyes that seemed to convey a deep inner anger, a look that meant he was indeed not a guy to be messed with.

  According to many sources, stepson Kevin Madden had messed with him a few times. The two simply didn’t get along. Ralston was a strict old-school disciplinarian, and Kevin had a very hard time fitting into his idea of how a household should run. Although nobody said that they had ever seen Ralston physically abuse Kevin, every source I spoke with—even those who described themselves as the man’s friends—acknowledged that Ralston rode him hard, often humiliating him in front of family and friends, and that Kevin bore him a profound and festering grudge. The pair had finally attended family counseling with Kevin’s mother, Joanne, and had come to a workable solution: from that point forward, Kevin’s discipline was to be Joanne’s responsibility; if Ralston found Kevin doing anything wrong, he was supposed to report it to Joanne and let her sort it out.

  At work on November 25, 2003, Ralston was nervous about Kevin. Things had been extra tense at home since he had taken away Kevin’s computer privileges. He’d broken the agreement made about a month earlier, not to punish the boy, by barring him from the PC after a particularly galling display of insolence. Ralston later felt a need to extend the punishment when he caught Kevin on the computer after he was forbidden to use it. Kevin enjoyed his time on the family computer more than anything else and was deeply resentful that his stepfather had taken it away.

  Ralston had overheard something about Kevin planning to skip school that day, and wanted to catch him in the act. He had phoned the house, but there was no answer. That could mean he was at school, or that he was smart enough not to pick up.

  Ralston was angry and ready to deal with Kevin when he got home. But he wasn’t ready for what he found.

  He drove up the alley behind the house, parked his old minivan and walked up through the back yard. As he made his way through the back yard up to the house, he noticed Kevin, a defiant look on his face, standing at the back window staring out at him. Although Kevin rarely stood up to him and never in any meaningful way, Ralston knew he was in for something of a fight, so he steeled himself for a confrontation.

  Ralston didn’t have a key, so he motioned for Kevin to let him in. Kevin ignored him. Angry and confused, Ralston tapped on the glass and repeated the gesture. Kevin eventually complied, but when Ralston got to the door, Kevin blocked his way. Ralston was taken aback. He knew that Kevin had gotten big, but he had never been confronted with his strength before. Even so, Ralston—just as heavy, but about three inches shorter—pushed him aside.

  Once inside the house, Ralston confronted his stepson. “You smell like smoke,” he said. Kevin was not allowed to smoke, and he knew he’d get in trouble if he go
t caught, so, out of reflex, he made up an excuse about hanging around with some kids at school who were smoking. The smell, he claimed, must have come from them.

  Ralston sat down in the living room and was unnerved to see Kevin looming over him, nervous and expectant. Ralston could see wine glasses with cigarette butts in them scattered around the room and smoke in the air. Suddenly, a boy he didn’t recognize (Tim) came running down the stairs frantically. Kevin wasn’t allowed to have guests without a parent present and not at all when he was grounded, and Ralston became very angry. “What are you doing in my upstairs?” he yelled at Tim, more for Kevin to hear than the younger boy. Tim and Ralston locked eyes, and the frightened teenager, tears welling in his eyes, cried out: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and fled through the front door.

  At about the same time, a very sheepish-looking Pierre emerged from the basement. That cut it for Ralston. Not only had Kevin been smoking, but he had two guests over, one of which had clearly done something stupid. Instead of losing his temper entirely, he decided to call Joanne, Kevin’s mom, who was at work. He told Kevin exactly what he was doing.

  Kevin slapped the phone out of his hand, shouting, “No, you’re not!”

  That was enough; Ralston knew he had to put his foot down before things spiraled totally out of his control. “What are you doing?” he bellowed.

  That’s when Kevin lunged at his stepfather with the butcher knife—already severely chipped and scored after Kevin’s attack on Johnathon—stabbing at his heart. As it happened, Ralston hadn’t taken his winter coat off yet, and the knife got caught up in it, barely penetrating it to his skin, leaving a small but nasty scratch.

  But Ralston didn’t know that. The shock of the attack and the pain of the impact convinced him that the knife had entered his chest, endangering his life. Aware Kevin wouldn’t turn back now that the stakes were life or death, Ralston leapt on his stepson, knocking the knife loose.