Murder in the Family
Page 32
Dr. Bradford dismissed our uncertainties about why George would be willing to assume such a dangerously high level of risk. Based on what he had read about our father, George appeared to him to have the characteristic personality of a psychopathic narcissist. For people with such a personality, Dr. Bradford said, the risks entailed in violent criminal behaviour are far outweighed by the desire to obtain what they want. Their motivation is all about fulfilling their own needs, in spite of the risk.
In this case, George didn’t lash out blindly, without forethought; he calculated his chances of achieving his desired objective and carefully planned both the execution of his crime and his strategy for concealing it. Dr. Bradford was appalled, however, by the level of assistance George received from government, medical, and police officials to cover up his murderous act.
A related factor, which has astonished me, was George’s ability to handle the crushing pressure to which he subjected himself during the time of Carol’s sickness, treatment, and death, and in the year or so afterwards. He needed an extremely cool head and strong stomach to do what he did and get away with it successfully and without succumbing to a breakdown. I’m sure very few individuals could have done so. Not that this is anything to admire, needless to say—and no doubt it is also attributable to the risk-tolerance of the particular personality type identified by Dr. Bradford.
I would add my personal observation that individuals like George also feed on the adrenalin rush associated with their dangerous enterprise, and relish the sense of power they feel on its successful completion.
And then there was the sang-froid of the medical and government officials who, on the fly, engineered a long-term solution to a very complex problem which threatened to blow up in their faces. It took us a long time to unravel what they put together in a few hours, apparently with the same bloodless calculation and precision as employed by George himself.
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ULTIMATELY, CAROL BLACKSTOCK’S fate was in the hands of men occupying positions of power in the Canadian government and in the law-enforcement and medical fields. Fearful of damage to their own interests and those of their institutions, these men did nothing to bring George to justice and much to obscure what he’d done.
My recent research in Buenos Aires reveals that no referral from the Montreal coroner’s office about the autopsy findings was ever received by the coroner of Buenos Aires. Significantly, such a referral would have had to be channelled through the Canadian foreign ministry. My interview with a senior Argentine official also revealed that, following such a referral, an investigation by Argentine authorities would not have been thwarted by claims of diplomatic immunity. That is because an investigation involving a foreign diplomat is not prohibited by the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations, so long as it does not include diplomatic premises, persons, or property. I think it’s safe to say that the Canadian authorities knew this and thought better of making such a referral. Instead, they decided to let George Blackstock get away with murder.
The government and medical officials wouldn’t do anything because it was a police matter. The police in Canada wouldn’t do anything because, supposedly, they had no jurisdiction over a crime committed in Argentina. The police in Argentina couldn’t do anything because no one bothered to inform them a crime had occurred. And this outcome just happened to serve the interests of all those authorities under the circumstances. A perfect storm for a perfect crime.
I know it’s hard to accept that, in a country that believes in the rule of law, our government, law-enforcement, and medical officials could stand by and do virtually nothing about the shocking death of a young mother of three. I had a hard time believing it myself. But there it was. No investigation, let alone prosecution.
Having worked in the federal government and the Canadian foreign service, I believe I have a pretty good idea of why the authorities covered up our mother’s killing. The decision was based on a calculation of the low probability of success for an investigation and prosecution, and a fear of the very negative consequences for all concerned resulting from a messy scandal, especially for the Canadian government of the day.
Our mother died in an era when women had very little power in a world run by men. Men dominated government, the professions, the police, and other institutions regulating society, even more than they do today. Although Carol was a very capable person, her life and death, and her memory, were all in the hands of men. In Buenos Aires, her doctors considered her neurotic—totally erroneously, and with pernicious results—because of the biases of the men entrusted with her care. The officials who decided not to investigate my mother’s death did so with impunity. My father, the most important man in her life and death, was the chief beneficiary of that.
There was an honourable exception on the part of at least one male official. Dr. J.P. Valcourt did what he could by himself to ensure that Carol’s death by arsenic poisoning would be exposed, however faintly, to the light of day.
Our maternal grandparents, Howard and Gladys Gray, are, of course, in a category all their own in this story. Without our grandfather’s determined investigation and insistence on learning how our mother died, and our grandmother’s disclosures to Julie, we’d never have known the truth, and there would have been no story to tell. What my sister and I managed to find out and relate is a completion of the work our grandparents started.
Others, family members and friends, helped too, in their own way. Aunt Katherine stood up for us at the risk of alienating my father and Ingrid. Louise Krapf helped our mother in Buenos Aires, tried to get the Canadian embassy authorities to do something about her death, and shared information with us years later, which must have been very uncomfortable for her. Other individuals did small things that were helpful.
But there were also many in the Blackstock family, and among our parents’ friends, who did nothing. Some avoided helping us, even when confronted with the story and the evidence, not wanting to “get involved.”
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MY BROTHER, MY sister, and I knew that our mother would have wanted us to get on with our lives, and that is what we have done. I’ve been able to have a great family, good friends, and a satisfying career. So has Doug, who has done so while making his own determination of the limits of pursuing our mother’s story. Julie has also managed to have a very good and full life. Of the three of us, I believe she was the most deeply affected emotionally by what happened, perhaps because, as the youngest, she shared the shortest time with our mother and so her loss was perhaps the greatest.
Many have asked me what the murder of my mother by my father has meant to my life. This has been the most difficult subject for me to put into words, and I’m still not sure I can. I could speak about the anger I have felt over what was done to her, and how terribly she suffered because of it. I could speak about the emptiness I feel when I realize that, after she died, I never had a mother. I could lament about never being able to say goodbye. Or about the horror that, when she died, she was robbed of everything: life, family, friends, all that she had in the world. Or the bitter rancour I feel toward my father, who did this to her. Or my deep, deep resentment of those who denied her the justice she deserved.
My own feelings of loss are not so easy to express: that my mother could never be there to provide her guidance and reassurance during the difficult years after she died, and throughout my adult life; that she was not able to partake of my happiest moments, when I married and had children; that we were not able to share our experiences of raising families living abroad; that she would never know my children and grandchildren; that I would never be able to give back to her and show her how much she has always meant to me.
Ultimately, I find that the deepest meaning of losing my mother is literally inexpressible. I hope only that this book will speak, however belatedly and inadequately, of my love for her, and of the love she inspired i
n my sister, Julie, and my brother, Doug, and that its publication will fill a decades-old void by bearing witness to the beauty and tragedy of our mother’s life.
My father, George Blackstock, circa 1937, with his father, George Sr., who died when the boy was 12.
My mother, Carol Janice Gray, about two years old, circa 1936.
Carol, bottom row, 4th from left, at age 15 in grade 10 just before she married George.
Carol, 16, and George, around his 18th birthday, with the author, 1951.
Carol’s portrait, a source of acrimony with my father and stepmother.
George and Carol, probably in their late teens after they married.
Carol’s diplomatic passport for Argentina, found in our father’s papers after his death.
Our family on our lawn in Buenos Aires, 1959. Carol would never return to Argentina.
The cable from Ottawa to Argentina on July 25, 1959, the day Carol died in Montreal.
George Blackstock at the party for his wedding to Ingrid in Germany, September 1960.
María, our nursemaid and Carol’s confidante, with Martín and their daughter Cristina.
Portrait photo of George Blackstock as a Canadian foreign service officer.
Doug, Julie, Grandpa, and I in our grandparents’ apartment, about 2 years after our mother’s death.
The Montreal coroner investigator’s letter to my grandfather stating the cause of Carol’s death. As my grandfather’s notes indicate, key details are inaccurate.
My grandfather’s poem in memory of Carol with her photo that he kept in his wallet.
From left: Doug Blackstock, Julia Blackstock, and the author in Mérida, México, 2019.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I WISH TO thank those without whom this story could not have been written: my sister, Julia, who believed before I could allow myself to do so, and who has really been as responsible for its telling as I have; my wife, Marie, who has heard the details for decades and has endured countless days of my absence, so that I could sit in front of a computer screen, talk on the telephone, or travel to run down leads; the many friends who read early drafts, gave me helpful advice, or provided valuable information, including Carolina Luna, Cristina Quevedo, Ev Jackson, Bob Brown, Diane Brown, Ric Kokotovich, Alison Wattie, Cherry Muhanji, Regina Kolbe, Allan Stratton, Peter Wallace, Dr. John Doucet, Dr. John Bradford, Dr. Betty Chan, Dr. Robyn Gordon, Dr. J.P. Valcourt, Suzette MacSkimming, Gary Sandblom, Susana van Buren, Margaret McDonald, and my brother, Doug Blackstock, who provided documents and helpful information and advice; the researchers and investigators who uncovered important material, including Arlen Mighton, in Ottawa, and María Fra Amador, in Buenos Aires; our friends Helga and David Zimmerly, who introduced me to my collaborator on the book; our agent, Dean Cooke, who showed faith in this story and took a chance on presenting it to publishers; Penguin Random House Canada, for seeing the merits of the story and taking on a new author; our editor at Penguin, Diane Turbide, whose quick mind and insights were invaluable; Alex Schultz, copy editor extraordinaire; Patricia Gamliel, my personal legal counsel, and Lilia Benaïssa, who worked on the access-to-information cases in Montreal; and, as they say, last but not least, my collaborator and partner, Roy MacSkimming, who believed in the story and has expended countless hours, great editorial skill, and boundless patience in helping to shape and finish this book. To all of them, my undying gratitude.
J.B.