by Jon Wells
“The signs of blunt force trauma to Mr. Rozendal’s body — are those injuries a significant contributing cause to his death?”
“Yes,” replied Dr. John Fernandes.
The preliminary hearing at John Sopinka Courthouse in Hamilton was underway. The forensic pathologist answered questions on the stand from assistant Crown attorney Joe Nadel. The hearing before Justice Richard Jennis would determine whether the case made it through to a second-degree murder trial. A key issue was the cause of death.
Fernandes had signed off on his post-mortem report on September 7, concluding that the cause of death was “blunt force trauma to the head, neck. and chest. and evidence of chest compression” as a consequence of “stomping while under the influence of alcohol.” That was not what Mike Maloney wanted to hear. To prove murder in court, it was better to have an unequivocal cause of death — blunt force trauma, period, without contributing injuries and other factors like alcohol consumption to muddy the waters.
Defence lawyer Edward Sapiano cross-examined Fernandes.
“Let me ask you this: Could one sustain two kicks to the head and not die?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, one could sustain 10 kicks to the head and not die, correct?”
“Yes.”
Art died when his heart stopped, which was in part caused by a lack of oxygen to the brain. The alcohol level in his blood was 234 milligrams per 100 ml of blood. (Art was not driving that night, but by comparison, the legal limit is 80 mg/100 ml.)
“Diluted blood carries less oxygen, correct?” Sapiano asked.
“Yes.”
“So to the extent there was alcohol in Mr. Rozendal’s system, given the lack of oxygen to the brain, the alcohol played a role?”
“Yes.”
“Given what we have seen here in terms of the manifest injuries,” Sapiano said, “I’m going to suggest that Mr. Rozendal’s demise was not something that was readily predictable.”
“If I beat you — if I beat you enough — I think most people would expect that, yes, some of those injuries could kill you,” Fernandes replied.
The Crown called nearly 20 witnesses to the hearing, to re-create the night Art died and paint a picture of the evidence pointing at Kyro Sparks, Cory McLeod, and the youth as his killers. Through it all, week after week, Brenda Rozendal sat in the hallway outside court. She was not permitted inside because she would be called as a witness if the case went to trial. The police had gathered layers of evidence. But did they have enough for a murder conviction? Standard procedure was to set the bar high in every homicide investigation — first degree murder — then work from that. But Maloney knew things changed when the results of an investigation started to pass through the legal system.
On October 13 Maloney and investigators Greg Jackson and Peter Abi-Rashed met with prosecutor, Joe Nadel. Four days after that, they met with Brenda and her family. They had some bad news. The charges against the third guy, the youth, were being dropped. They had enough evidence to get the youth committed to stand trial with Sparks and McLeod, but the Crown felt there wasn’t sufficient evidence to get a conviction. Eyewitnesses and DNA put the youth in the bar and in the back hallway, but no direct evidence had been uncovered that he had hit Art.
Maloney and Jackson visited a youth detention centre where he had been held since they arrested him.
“We got some good news and some bad news,” Maloney told him. “The good news is, you’re getting out. The bad news is, we’re serving you with a subpoena to testify.”
On November 4 he took the stand at the preliminary hearing.
“Would you like to see Mr. McLeod convicted or acquitted of the murder of Arthur Rozendal?” Nadel asked.
“Acquitted.”
“Would you like to see Mr. Sparks convicted or acquitted of that crime?”
“Acquitted.”
“Do you know of a crew in Kitchener called the Kings?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a member of that crew?”
“No.”
“What about Mr. McLeod, is he a member?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about Mr. Sparks?”
“I don’t know.”
He admitted to being in O’Grady’s the night of the homicide. He then offered an entirely different version of events in the bar. He said that there was a fourth guy with them, someone he had never seen before. Said that this other guy had gotten in an “argument” with Art in the hallway, punched and kicked him. Then Kyro and Cory had happened on the scene. Going on, the youth told Nadel that Cory tripped over Art and then they see him on the floor. According to the youth, when they saw Art lying on the floor they had “puzzled looks on their faces.”
Kyro then “nudged him with his foot to see if he was all right” and said, “Yo, are you all right man?”
Jackson sat in court trying to hold back a smirk of disdain. A joke. Nothing but a joke. The story ran contrary to all of the eyewitness and forensic evidence. Clearly, the youth was lying, protecting the other two. His testimony was worthless. Neither the Crown, nor surely even the defence, would bother calling him to take the stand down the road; nobody would believe a word of it. The youth was now out of the picture, although Maloney kept him in the rear-view mirror. If someone spilled more information down the road about his role in Art’s death, they could still bring a fresh charge against him. Maloney requested a photo lineup with the youth in it for future reference.
The preliminary hearing ended on November 7. On December 13 the judge made his ruling: Kyro Sparks and Cory McLeod would stand trial for second-degree murder.
And then, eight months later, everything changed.
On August 23 Brenda, Art’s mom, Frances, and other family met at the Crown attorney’s office with, among others, Nadel and Maloney. The family was told the news. Sparks and McLeod wanted a plea deal. They would, finally, admit that they beat Art — in exchange for the Crown downgrading their charge from second-degree murder to manslaughter. Nadel wanted to sign. Brenda was angry, but not with the Crown or the detectives. She wanted the maximum penalty, wanted the murder charge to stick on the killers for what they did to Art. Maloney had prepared her for the possibility the charge could change. In fact he had had a gnawing feeling since he first worked on the homicide that, no matter how solid a case they built, with an apparently random homicide like this one, it might end this way.
He knew one weakness of their murder case was the relatively ambiguous cause of death. The other, was proving intent. Sparks and McLeod had never met Art before. There was no suggestion of premeditation. After the homicide they had walked from O’Grady’s, as though being unaware that had Art died. Kyro had hung around in the area afterward. A jury might be convinced that they had not acted like murderers after the crime.
Cory’s drawing of the three kings could have been used to show that he had celebrated a murder — except he claimed he had drawn the sketch long before the beating. Their paid informant had quoted Kyro saying that Art “deserves to die” — but that could not be raised in court because the informant refused to testify. And Sherri Foreman and Katrina McLennan had revealed nothing about what their boyfriends said after the homicide. Brenda agreed with the Crown. She didn’t want to risk the killers walking free.
“Take the deal,” she told them. “Put them behind bars.”
The Crown officially accepted the deal in court on August 25. At the sentencing hearing on November 2, 2006, at John Sopinka Courthouse, Brenda stood and read her victim impact statement. The judge, Justice James Kent, would consider the information in handing down the sentence. She talked about her pain missing Art, and the difficulty of living with her sense of safety for her family ripped apart. Brenda’s sister, Bev, also spoke, as did Art’s sister, Debbie.
Neil, their eldest son, took the stand, felt himself shaking. He didn’t have to speak, but was determined to stare down his dad’s killers. Neil talked about how much he loved his dad, how
much it hurt with him gone. He barely looked at the pages as he looked into the faces of Sparks and McLeod. When he finished Neil stepped down and gave the finger to the killers. He kept going out the door. He entered a bathroom, threw up, and wept.
Assistant Crown attorney Tony Leitch argued for 15-year sentences. The defence argued for seven to eight. On November 3 the judge ruled: 11 years, less time served. It wasn’t the maximum. Brenda tried to keep reminding herself that they also could have received less. At least they would do hard time. And then something unusual happened.
After the killers were led from the courtroom in shackles, Brenda and her family gathered, then moved across the aisle and met with Cory McLeod’s parents. (Kyro Sparks had no family in court.) The two families exchanged handshakes and hugs and shed tears. There was Art’s family, showing empathy for the killer’s family. Nobody who worked in a courtroom had ever seen anything like it. A nice moment, Mike Maloney reflected, but then the warm feelings did not last.
The sentence was yet another in a string of homicide cases that had left the detective with a bitter taste in his mouth. Hamilton: the manslaughter capital of Canada, he vented. He knew that, given the evidence on the table, manslaughter was probably the most they could get. But those two guys didn’t get enough time. You could never get enough for taking a person’s life, he felt. Maloney lamented that he worked in a legal system, not a justice system. He was tired of apologizing to families about how it worked.
— 13 —
Winding Roads
Cory McLeod fears his dreams, and so stays up late each night in his cell, till 2:30, 3:00 a.m. — it allows him to drift into the kind of unconscious sleep where images of his past do not visit. It’s the things he has seen — the graphic photos of Art Rozendal the police showed him among them. When he does dream, sometimes it is of that night at O’Grady’s. Except sometimes it plays out differently; he and Kyro don’t beat up Art. Or Art even beats on them. Or nothing happens between them at all.
In Millhaven, a maximum security prison near Kingston, Ontario, Cory has a prayer mat in his cell, says he has found religion, is a practising Muslim. He speaks quickly, is animated. He expresses remorse for what happened; believes he and Kyro deserve every punishment they got, if not more. He lives in J-unit, where Canada’s hardest criminals are kept. The way Cory sees it, he can use his time in jail to change who he is. In a way, he thinks, somebody lost their life so he can better his, even if that “might seem a fucked-up way to look at it.” He feels he owes it to the Rozendals to turn his life around.
Does Cory mean what he says? Is he just playing another game? If so, to what end? He sees Kyro in jail regularly; they are on the same security range. They are still close friends. Workout at the same time with weights. Not together, though. They can’t agree on the routines. Cory still loves Sherri Foreman, was shocked she did that for him, stonewalled the police. He is proud, in a way, but also wishes she hadn’t done it. If she had co-operated with police, they could still be in touch today. As it is, Sherri is legally prohibited from any contact with him.
In February 2007 Sherri Foreman and Katrina McLennan pleaded guilty and were convicted for obstructing police. The judge said the girls had been “attracted to the gang lifestyle.” Their conduct “struck at the heart of the administration of justice,” and “showed a lack of respect for human life and a lack of respect for the people of Hamilton.” Due to the timing of their bail hearings, Sherri ended up spending 50 days in jail, Katrina 23. The judge sentenced them to time served and three years’ probation. They must stay out of Hamilton and have no contact with Sparks or McLeod.
Kyro Sparks? He wears a white Nike hat perched sideways on his head, the price tag still attached. Unlike Cory he speaks guardedly, measuring his words. Won’t talk about the homicide, or his version of what happened in the bathroom.
“I’d like to talk about it,” he offers, “but not until I talk to my co-accused.”
Why did he beat up Art?
“I’ll decline to answer that question.”
Does he wish Art had not died that night?
“I don’t wish death on nobody, not even my worst enemies.”
Does he feel the Rozendal family’s pain, having lost a father and husband?
“Do I feel their pain?” he repeats, a puzzled look on his face.
He looks away in thought for several seconds. Before he can form an answer, a guard comes and takes him back to his cell, the thick black steel door automatically clanking into place behind him.
Art’s old friend from work, Charlie Montgomery, drove up the Mountain to visit Brenda. He had some things to give her. In the coke ovens at Stelco, Art’s locker had remained untouched long after he died; inside were his tools, his clothes — and the tarnished helmet that hung from a hook on the wall. None of the guys could bring themselves to touch any of it, least of all Art’s supervisor, Ken, a guy who wore his heart on his sleeve. Finally, Charlie decided that it was time. So on an August day, two and a half years after Art was killed, when Charlie pulled up Brenda’s street, Art’s clothes were in the back of his car. He had carefully set the helmet on the front passenger seat. Felt good to hand the helmet over. Art’s boys should have it.
Art’s oldest son, Neil, talks openly about his father’s death and the effect it has had on him and his family. It helps him to deal with his loss. He talks, to a journalist, family, about his dad, the pain. That’s his way. Jordan, who is quieter, keeps to himself, says little. He inherited Art’s mechanical abilities. Eventually, Jordan found his way into Art’s garage, the one that still has the girlie tool calendars, a collection of dented licence plates — and a ’68 buttercup-yellow Buick GS 400. Art had taken it apart, the engine sits on the floor. Never did finish it. Jordan took over the project.
The day Charlie Montgomery came out, Brenda held a backyard barbecue for a few friends and family. A good time, but then it seemed to collectively hit everyone at once. Brenda had bought these great steaks. But who would cook? Anyone can grill a steak, but nobody did it like Art. He had his special marinade, and the way he seared them locked in the flavour. Everyone just stood there, staring at the empty barbecue, and that’s when it occurred to Charlie. The family is still living with Art. Except he’s not here.
On the third anniversary of Art’s death, Brenda awoke early with tears in her eyes. The morning broke grey, shrouded in fog. She drove with Neil and Jordan to Woodland Cemetery. They gathered at Art’s plot and held hands. Bev had put a little angel figure there. Inset in the stone is a picture of a red ’71 Buick Skylark, the first one Art got Brenda. On the stone Brenda had a quote inscribed: “The love we shared will never die.”
Like every time she visits, she laid three single roses. The yellow rose symbolizes friendship, the white symbolizes purity, and the red, love. Then Art’s wife and two sons left, drove over a wooden bridge crossing an inlet of the lake that bends into the property, where Art and Brenda had once posed for their wedding photos.
Brenda visited the cemetery every day for about a year after he died. Then it was probably once a month, when she had the day off from her work in home health care. She keeps busy with the boys, work, friends, family, and volunteering with Hamilton Police Victim Services, where she helps counsel loved ones of homicide victims. She misses Art every day, but also fears forgetting too much, worrying that with time he will fade. What did he sound like? What did he smell like?
She worries that the strongest memory lodged in her mind’s eye is not the smile and laughter, but Art dying in O’Grady’s. She swears she can still taste his blood on her tongue, and no amount of cigarettes can make it go away.
On that anniversary of his death, the fog cleared, the wind picked up; the air was bitterly cold. She drove with the boys up Upper James Street to the bar. It’s not called O’Grady’s Roadhouse anymore. Neil wanted to go. He drops in the bar once a year by himself; Brenda doesn’t like him doing it. Today, she didn’t want to go, but went to be with him. Jorda
n remained in the van with a friend of his. It was quiet inside the bar: two, maybe three people, middle of the afternoon, sports on TV. Brenda and Neil sat near where their old table had been. A waitress came over. “Can I get you a drink?” They ordered two Canadians.
“To Art,” she said, her voice shaking. Neil stared at the spot at the bar where he had last seen his dad alive. Then he stood and walked to the back hallway. There was no longer a door concealing the back; you could see right through to the bathroom area. Brenda looked over her shoulder at Neil. Her hands shook, just a bit, and her eyes looked glassy.
She had done this once before, last year; came to the bar to confront the demons. And here she was doing it again, as though forcing herself to feel pain, because even the pain of remembering how he left her was better than not feeling him at all. Neil punched in music on the juke box. One of Art’s favourites: “Wonderwall” by Oasis.
And all the roads we have to walk along are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
Before Brenda and Neil were ready to leave, Jordan entered through the front door. The family was in the place all of 20 minutes. Brenda and the boys walked to the back hallway, stood, bowed their heads for a moment. Then the three of them turned and walked out the front door.
Art’s younger brother Darren moved back to Hamilton and got a place in the north end; found work dealing with heating and cooling systems,
Art’s brother, Darren, struggled to cope with his anger.
John Rennison, Hamilton Spectator.
duct work. He is around Brenda’s place nearly every day, helping out with the boys, fixing stuff.
He is not coping. It’s not just the grief, which is constant. He thinks of Art every day. When Art died Darren lost a brother and father figure on the same day. He just misses having him around. More than grief, though, he feels anger. It will not leave. The thing is, he knows Art would actually have had it in his heart to forgive the ones who killed him. He really would. Art was just like his mom, had strong faith. Darren? Forgive? No. Truth is, he’d like an hour in a room alone with each of those guys. Eye for an eye. It’s in the Bible. He knows Art would tell him, “Darren, you have to forgive. Have to move on. Don’t think about the past.” But see, Art’s not here to say it. Because they took him away.