Fall from Grace

by Wayne Arthurson

  Despite the uproar, every single cop in the Overtime saga, except for the one who implemented and supervised the investigation, was cleared of any wrongdoing by an internal police inquiry. They found there was nothing really wrong in how the investigation was conducted, because in the end, even if they thought something was amiss, or not right, they were only following orders. The sergeant who initiated the investigation in the first place only received a ten-hour suspension.

  “He wrote one column,” Weinel said, holding up an index finger. “Just one, in which he suggested that photo radar was designed to raise money and may not deter people from speeding because you get no demerits. That’s it. He never even said anything about the members of the police who were given Oilers tickets and trips to Vegas by the company bidding on the ninety-million-dollar contract to provide the photo radar equipment.

  “All he did was question whether photo radar actually deters speeding, and he was targeted by someone in the police department.

  “And if you run this story, you must be prepared for the possibility that someone will target this paper because of it. Most likely Leo here, because it will be his byline on the story. So to minimize that risk, we must act in good faith and return this document to the police, as soon as possible.

  “The law states that if a person who comes into possession of stolen property arranges to have it returned to the rightful owners, or contacts the proper authorities about the property, he should not be charged. And since the rightful owners and the property owners are one and the same, we only have one call to make.

  “Leo, you said you received this file only a couple hours ago, so as long as we contact the police within a half hour and arrange an immediate handover of it, we should be fine.”

  “But if we don’t have the document, then we can’t run the story,” I said.

  Weinel sighed. “I’m sorry if I’m telling you guys how to do your job but when I said you had to return the document, I didn’t say you weren’t allowed to make copies. As long as the police have the original file that was taken from their archives within a reasonable period of time, then in no way can anyone be charged with possession of stolen property.”

  “But what if the police ask me where I got this file from? What do I say to that?”

  “Say what you want because based on the date of this file, I believe Gardiner may be beyond the statute of limitations. That said, you never know. They might charge Gardiner with possession of stolen property. You decide what you think is best.

  “From a legal standpoint, you are not obligated to tell the police any details about how and where you received this document or who gave it to you, no matter how they’ll try to tell you otherwise. If you feel uncomfortable with giving a name, I would recommend that you say you received it from an anonymous source and then reiterate the fact that you are returning the documents.

  “There will be no need for you to undergo any sort of interrogation because of it. You know, in fact, I believe I should be present when this handover occurs, that way we can confirm that a handover has occurred and I will be able to support Leo here in case things get out of hand.”

  “How the hell will things get out of hand?” Larry asked.

  “I have no idea, but it’s my job to realize that such things may happen and to assist our staff members if they do,” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Leo. It will all be fine.”

  I smiled because I was not worried about getting in trouble because of something as minor as this: I had bigger worries. I also had a more important question. “Thanks. But in the end, will we be able to run this story?”

  Weinel nodded. “I see no reason why you cannot run this story, albeit with a few limitations.” Before anyone could ask the obvious questions, she continued.

  “Because none of the people on this list were charged with any crimes, only named in the investigative file, you cannot identify them in any way. You cannot name them, cannot give their proper titles and place of standing in the Edmonton Police Service because that would identify them.”

  “What about the two chiefs? The story loses a lot of its bite if we don’t mention that.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that, and in my opinion I would say it would be okay if we mention their names, especially since they aren’t the actual targets of the investigation, just that one was named as one of many associates of the constables listed and the other was the superior of the investigating officer whose name appears on a memo recommending charges not be filed.

  “From a legal standpoint, I would highly recommend two things appear in the story. First, when you initially mention the name of either the present and/or former chiefs of police, I would suggest that you include a line stating that neither of these people has been charged with any crime either relating to this investigation or any other, if that is the case.

  “And second, I would suggest that, at the very least, someone attempt to get an interview with either the present or former chief, or both, to get their side of the story. If they agree, then you can question them about the file, and if they don’t agree, then you can at least say you tried but were refused. That’s what I would recommend.”

  Larry nodded, his big smile rising. “We’ll also make sure that we have a shooter on site so he can take a photo of one of these guys during the interview. That’s a nice front-page image, if you ask me.”

  I couldn’t care less if there was a shooter or not. I just wanted to get the story in motion. Weinel shrugged. “You may lay it out as you wish, but I would request that, for legal reasons, I get to see the story before it goes to press.”

  Larry gave her a thumbs-up. “Sure, Karen, you got it. Thanks for all the advice.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” she said. “But first, as I said earlier, we must arrange the return of the file and get that out of the way.”

  “Should you arrange that or what?” King said, breaking his silence.

  “I believe it would be best if Leo made contact with someone in the Police Service and handed over the file. Doesn’t have to be anybody in a position of authority, just someone that Leo knows and has a bit of trust with.”

  They all looked at me expectantly. I had a pretty good idea who I could contact but I knew he wouldn’t like it.

  30

  It had taken a lot of convincing to get Detective Whitford to even talk to me on the phone, but when I told him it was extremely important and he was the only one in the EPS I could turn to, he relented. Another reason why he was a good cop; despite his personal feelings, he knew the important thing was that someone needed his help and it was his job to offer that help.

  Detective Whitford burst into the police interview room, looking angry and annoyed. “This fuckin’ better be…” he started to say as soon as he opened the door, but when he saw that I was not alone, but with Karen Weinel, dressed in her finest newspaper-lawyer ensemble, complete with legal briefcase, Whitford came up short. He spent several seconds taking in the scene, and once he adjusted to the new situation, he sat down across from me at the table. He was no longer angry but he was still annoyed, probably even more so.

  “Who’s the legal help?” he asked me, as if Weinel wasn’t even in the room with us.

  I was about to introduce Weinel but the lawyer beat me to it, reaching across me and the table with her hand. “Karen Weinel. I’m the head of the legal department at the paper. I’ve heard many positive things about you, from Leo here and other reporters at the paper.”

  Whitford took a whole second looking at Weinel’s hand. Like many cops, he was distrustful of lawyers, especially those appearing across the table in a police station interview room. But then he grabbed it and gave it a shake. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Weinel, but you’ll pardon my bluntness when I ask, What the fuck is this all about?”

  “In the course of investigating a story, Leo here came upon, let’s just say an awkward situation, in which he came into possession of property of the Edmonton P
olice Service. And when I became aware of the situation, my advice to him was to return this property in order to prevent any charges resulting as a consequence of his possession of this property.”

  Whitford’s entire body loosened up so completely that it looked like somebody poked a hole through his skin and let out all the air. His face softened into a relieved smile. “Thank God. For a second, Leo, I thought you had done something wrong and you had brought a lawyer along so you could confess to me.”

  Although I wasn’t insulted by that assumption, Weinel was taken aback. She went into defending-lawyer mode. “Mr. Desroches is a respected member of our staff at the paper and we find the assumption that he had done something wrong irresponsible.”

  I waved Weinel down. “It’s okay, Karen. Whitford and I understand each other, and in all honesty, it isn’t wrong for Detective Whitford to assume that I may have done something wrong.”

  “What!” Weinel said, shocked, but Whitford ignored the outburst.

  “Not wrong, just maybe misguided.” Whitford leaned in close, still grinning. “So somebody gave you something, eh, Leo? I sure hope it’s not an old service revolver or something like that. Those things are dangerous and any community police station would have taken it in, no questions asked, except where you found it and when. You didn’t have to call me.”

  “It wasn’t a gun,” I said. “Theoretically, it’s not as dangerous but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

  “All right. I’ll admit that my curiosity is piqued. What is this police property?”

  I turned to Weinel, who was carrying the file in her briefcase, but she was still in a state of shock at my previous admission. I had to call her by her first name twice to get her attention. When she finally snapped out of it, I told her to get the file. She reached into the case, brought it and a sheet of legal foolscap out, handed the file to me, and I handed it to Whitford.

  “An old police file, that’s it?” he asked. I nodded.

  “At this moment, I’d like to state that I have witnessed Leo Desroches hand over said item to Detective Allan Whitford of the Edmonton Police Service,” Weinel said, writing the same thing on the legal sheet. She called out the date and time and also wrote that on the sheet.

  Whitford chuckled. “Like a gun, you could have dropped this off at any community station, to any cop you met on the street, and there would have been no questions asked. You didn’t have to call me, ’cause it’s only an old file. Hate to say it but we lose a few of these every year. Some gung ho cop takes one home to do some overtime and then forgets it, stuff like that. Most of the time they’re really minor cases, misdemeanor things that a typical member can’t get done in their typical shift and they got to go home and feed the kids.”

  I nodded but then shook my head. “This is nothing like that. This one wasn’t taken and accidentally left at home. This file was taken and kept on purpose. And now I’m returning it. Read it and find out.”

  Whitford opened the file with a sigh that said he had better things to do with his time and was only doing this as a favor to me. But his mood changed within a few seconds. He looked up at me, staring into my eyes like an experienced homicide detective sizing up an obviously guilty murder suspect. I leaned back in my chair and my heart rate jumped a couple notches. I felt an uncomfortable desire for water.

  When Whitford demanded to know where we got the file, I wanted to tell him everything, about Gardiner, about his file, about my bank robberies. But Weinel stepped in and came to my rescue. “At this moment, we’d prefer not to share that information.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Well, precisely because we knew that a file containing such information as this one holds would create such a reaction from the Edmonton Police Service. And that’s why—”

  “You’re returning the file in this way,” Whitford completed the thought. “You’re worried about retaliation in some way from members of the police service. And that tells me that while you’ve returned this file, you’ve also made copies and are prepared to write a story on this, am I right?”

  I nodded. “This meeting was only requested in order to return the file. This is not an interview.”

  “Yes, Detective Whitford, we are not interviewing at this time, only returning the file in good faith to its rightful owners.”

  “There’d be no fucking reason to interview me anyway, ’cause the instant I leave the room, I’m taking this file to Internal Affairs, telling them who gave it to me, and then walking out the door. And when I get back to my office, I’m going to contact my immediate superior and tell him about it. And then I’m going to type out a report outlining all that shit so I can cover my butt to them. And then I’m going to forget it ever existed.

  “But as a friend, Leo, I have to warn you that despite your efforts to reduce any chance of a retaliation, take care of yourself,” he continued. “A large number of EPS members, including myself, won’t like it when this story runs. Our reputation sucks at the moment; it’s going to suck even worse when this shit hits the fan. And certain members will blame the messenger rather than look deeper.”

  “Excuse me, Detective Whitford,” Weinel said with indignation. “Are you threatening Mr. Desroches here? Because if you are, then—”

  Whitford cut her off. “I am in no way threatening Leo with anything. I’m not that kind of cop. However, I am not blind to how some members function, and since Leo is a friend of mine of sorts, I’m just making him aware of the possibilities. He’d be stupid not to understand that.”

  31

  As per Karen Weinel’s suggestion, I contacted the Public Affairs Department of the police, told them in detail the information I had, and asked for someone, hopefully the chief, to respond. A day later, he did, agreeing to a sit-down interview in his office. We were not alone. In the room with us was the head legal counsel for the police department, the manager of public affairs, the chief’s personal lawyer, and Karen Weinel.

  The chief was blunt, yet respectful toward my questions. He stood up for the members of his department, denied any personal wrongdoing, and chided Gardiner for his sloppy detective skills, his lack of professionalism, his theft of police property, among other things. Although he didn’t mention Gardiner by name, he said that my source was a disgruntled ex-detective with a history of disciplinary charges on his record, most for insubordination.

  He also said that since no charges had been filed in the past, there was no reason to investigate further. The police counsel added that even if the police did investigate, most of the charges claimed in Gardiner’s report were past the statute of limitations.

  I interviewed the head of the police union, who supported his members; more vocal members of the Police Commission who suggested that the chief might have to resign, a Crown Prosecutor who said the investigation looked flawed, and a criminal lawyer who said the investigation seemed fine and that charges should have been laid.

  I tried to contact people Gardiner had named in his file but they referred any questions about the case to Public Affairs and the chief. I contacted the mayor, and while he also declined to comment, he noted that he supported the chief and the good job he was doing.

  I wrote up all of this, along with Gardiner’s accusations, and waited two days while Karen Weinel and her legal department dissected the story. The changes they made were minor, the removal of a name and a couple of quotes from the Police Commission politician that could be deemed libelous.

  When that was completed, Larry rubbed his hands together with glee as he sent the page off to the printer. The story broke the next day and we waited for the city to come to a grinding halt. It didn’t.

  Sure, the other media outlets covered the story and there were even a few requests from other media to interview me, but we rebuffed those. I hated talking to reporters. They had so many questions and I really didn’t have all the answers. And while there were calls of outrage from various sides of the story, it didn’t seem to bother the average Edmo
ntonian.

  Maybe it was the fact that Edmontonians were very forgiving of their leaders. One mayor, William Hawrelak, had not only been forced out of office twice for shady business dealings, he had been reelected seven times, becoming Edmonton’s longest-serving mayor. The city’s largest and most popular park was even named after him.

  A few other things worked against the story. The Oilers had won only two games in their first ten, the local CFL team, the Eskimos, was heading to a Western Final, and the temperature had dropped into the minus twenties with nary a hint of snow. It didn’t matter what news was breaking, sports and weather will always trump it. Especially in a city like Edmonton where the two major topics of conversation at this time of the year are sports and weather.

  I, too, had more important things to worry about. After the Gardiner story faded, I asked Larry if there was any way the paper could spot me some tickets to an Oilers game. He contacted Bill King, who sent down two tickets in the paper’s corporate box, left over from the time it had been a minority partner in the team. Normally, the folks in ad sales had dibs on these seats to reward advertisers, but when Bill King found out I was looking for tickets, he sent down the corporate seats.

  I then contacted Joan and set up the hockey date with Peter. We met at the same coffee shop, but this time Peter was glad to see me. He was wearing a brand-new Oilers jersey and a bright smile.

  That smile got bigger when he discovered that we were sitting in a corporate box. “Fuck!” he gasped. And then he quickly apologized.

  I gave him a cliché ruffle of his hair. “Don’t worry about it. We’re just two guys at a hockey game so if we feel like swearing, no one’s going to give a shit.”

  His face was one of shock and glee at that statement. When I was a kid, I loved those times when I used to hang out with my dad when my mom and sisters weren’t around. Dad figured he could turn his filters off and swore the way he did at work, which was a lot. I thought it was one of the greatest things ever; too bad our times like that were few.