Mike on Crime (21 page)

Schwartz agreed the Tessiers' evidence also raised questions and concerns. Despite claiming he lied to the public about who bought the ticket to protect his mother, Larry Tessier was also likely trying to protect against a possible claim from Macatula, Schwartz said. Larry Tessier knew she had bought the ticket and might ask for a piece of the winnings, and concocted the bogus story as a result. “Larry likely, at the time, didn't appreciate the purchase of the ticket could be traced back to Cora's husband [who bought it on her behalf],” said Schwartz.

Al Lesko felt like he'd gone from hero to zero. Three years ago, he was given a commendation by the city of Winnipeg for playing a key role in helping police nab three armed bank robbers, who later pleaded guilty to their crime. In October 1999, Al Lesko was driving a city van when he spotted a trio of suspects fleeing a bank robbery in downtown Winnipeg. He followed the getaway vehicle and called police, who arrested two men and a woman within minutes. Police also recovered stolen money and a handgun used in the holdup.

But now Lesko was deemed an unreliable witness filled with “jealousy and resentment” as his testimony was dismissed in the high-profile Lotto 6/49 trial. The stinging words from Court of Queen's Bench Justice Sid Schwartz had left a bad taste in the mouths of Lesko and his family, who believed his credibility had been tarnished unfairly in a “smear” campaign.

Al Lesko was a longtime co-worker of Larry Tessier who testified that he overheard Larry telling his mother “Don't tell Cora” during a phone conversation at work the morning after she'd won the lottery. Lesko's motives came under attack during cross-examination from the Tessiers' lawyer. John Scurfield accused Lesko of feeling slighted by his friend, and cited comments from some other co-workers who said all Larry brought them after winning the lottery was “a box of doughnuts.” The judge also cited Lesko's apparent unwillingness to speak with the Tessiers' lawyers.

Dianne Lesko said they gave statements to a private investigator hired by the family, and refused on one occasion to speak by telephone with a woman claiming to be one of their lawyers. “If someone would have had the decency to come to the door with identification, we would have been happy to speak to anyone.”

She said her husband never wanted to get involved in the lottery case to begin with because of his longtime friendship with Larry Tessier. “It was I who went behind my husband's back to advise a lawyer what Al had heard. Al was furious with me and was not going to co-operate. After what has happened, I can see why. It does no good to tell the truth, and if you don't know how to play the game you might just as well crawl in a hole and remain ignorant to everything around you,” she said. Lesko said the judgment had damaged her husband's good name and reputation. “My husband has gone through hell for this, and I feel like we've been victimized here.”

SATURDAY APRIL 6, 2002

Life had gone on. Nilo Macatula spent much of the day cleaning the house. His wife, Cora, completed yet another 60-hour work week by tending to the needs of residents at the convalescent home. The couple's two children, Mac and Nikki, juggled homework, sports practice and music lessons, with frequent stops to the baskets of Easter chocolates still piled up in the family's modest Arlington Street bungalow. The following morning, they planned to make their weekly trek down the street for Sunday services at St. Edward's Church. It appeared the Macatulas weren't wasting any time wondering what could have been or feeling sorry for themselves.

Nilo seemed to have adjusted nicely to his role as homemaker since being laid off last fall from his night auditor's job at the Lombard Hotel. It's a duty he accepted with pride, while Cora was working hard during her full-time weekday job as a home-care worker, and her part-time weekend work at the convalescent home. “I love to work, ever since I was young. It's in my system. I don't feel tired, and I enjoy my time with my clients,” said Cora, who doubted even becoming a millionaire would have stopped her from clocking in. “I have to balance my time between my clients and my family, but they come first, especially my children,” she said.

The Macatulas, who had no other close family members in Canada but a tight-knit group of friends in the city, didn't like pondering if life would be any different had there been a different verdict. “Definitely [winning the case] would have changed our lives. It would have changed things financially, but not socially. Presents can't buy friends,” said Nilo.

They insisted they never planned how they would spend their newfound riches, had Schwartz ruled in their favour. There were no thoughts of replacing the home they'd spent the last 10 years in since coming to Canada from the Philippines, and no big trips on the horizon. “It's nice to have dreams, everybody has dreams. But to say, ‘I want this, I want that' ... it's like the saying goes, until you cross the bridge, you can't say you're safe,” said Nilo. “Like we told the kids, just wait and see, you never know what happens.”

The money likely would have been used to ensure a bright future for the couple's children. Mac, 15, was in Grade 10 at St. Boniface Diocesan High School. Already taller than his dad at 5-10, he was a talented basketball player with dreams of being a professional athlete. Nikki, 7, was in Grade 1 at Holy Cross School and a budding performer. She was taking vocal lessons and was involved in theatre and dance. The Macatulas said putting their children in private school was a top priority, despite the added expense and burden on themselves. “We want them to have the best education they can have. That's the foundation of their life,” said Nilo. “We have to maintain to keep things better for the kids.”

The family took offence to the characterization by the Tessiers' lawyer that financial woes provided a motive for making a false claim on the ticket. “I cannot say we have the good life, but we're getting by,” said Nilo. “Everyone has mortgages and loans and payments. We're no different.”

The family members said they'd been overwhelmed by the support they'd received, both from the local Filipino community and from complete strangers who had phoned their home since their lawsuit became public. The calls had intensified since the verdict, said Nilo, with many people expressing their condolences. “People were calling us before, saying, ‘We're praying for you and good luck.' It seems the whole community is supporting us,” he said.

One thing the disappointing decision hadn't stopped was their love of the lottery. The Macatulas continued to play Lotto 6/49 and Super 7 every week, believing lightning could strike twice. “We always play, because you never know. It doesn't hurt to try. And if you don't buy, you have no chance,” said Nilo.

MONDAY APRIL 15, 2002

It was a very interesting document that had never seen the legal light of day. The Queen's Bench judge who presided over the high-profile case and ruled against Corazon Macatula was neither aware of, nor allowed to consider, a May 2000 polygraph examination. Canadian courts had deemed polygraph tests to be scientifically unreliable and would not recognize the results as evidence in any case. And so test results that indicated Macatula was truthful when she said she and Jean Tessier jointly purchased the winning ticket were not presented at the trial.

Polygraph tests are often used by police and lawyers as investigative tools and bargaining chips, as was the case with Macatula, her lawyer, Bill Olson, confirmed. He said polygraph tests had been found scientifically reliable about 75 to 80 per cent of the time, which was not sufficient for the courts. John Scurfield, the lawyer representing the Tessier family, called polygraph tests “bogus science.” “They have never been ruled as being scientifically valid,” he said.

Details of the polygraph test were contained in a voluminous Queen's Bench file and formed the basis for a pretrial motion. Lorne Huff, who operated Huff Investigative and Polygraph Services in Winnipeg examined Macatula two months after the Tessiers announced their lottery win. He asked her a series of questions, but highlighted three he deemed relevant to the case in his report.

Huff's questions, and Macatula's answers, were:

• Are you truthful when you say you had an agreement with Jean Tessier to share in Lotto 6/49 winnings? Yes.
  
• Are you truthful when you say you contributed to the purchase of Lotto 6/49 tickets with Jean Tessier? Yes.
  
• Are you truthful when you say Jean Tessier paid you $2.50 for her share of the Lotto 6/49 ticket for the March 15 draw? Yes.
  

In his report, Huff found the test to be inconclusive on the first question, but it suggested she was truthful on the final two. He said Macatula explained the inconclusive result, saying “she feels the agreement was not discussed too much and should have been in writing.”

MONDAY MARCH 3, 2003

The Tessier family would get to keep their riches by the absolute slimmest of margins. In a 2-1 verdict, the Manitoba Court of Appeal refused to order a new trial in the civil court battle over $11.4 million.

“My clients are tremendously relieved and extremely excited,” lawyer Robert Tapper said after informing the Tessier family the cash was still theirs to keep. He had taken over the case after his colleague, John Scurfield, was appointed as a judge with the Court of Queen's Bench.

The Macatula's took the news in stride. “This is very disappointing. We have hoped that with three judges they might be more open-minded. I'm just not sure what to say. This is somewhat draining,” Nilo Macatula said after learning of the decision. “We thought our chances were always 50-50. For some reason, it just didn't happen.” Macatula said the appeal court ruled the case came down to a credibility issue and they couldn't interfere with the finding of the trial judge.

Tapper said the appeal court judges only disagreed on the application of the credibility test to the evidence, and not on a major point of law. “There is no way the Supreme Court of Canada is likely to hear this case,” he said.

TUESDAY MARCH 4, 2003

There was one final bombshell to drop. Corazon and Nilo Macatula had turned their backs on a $2-million offer by the Tessier family to halt their high-profile case and settle out of court. The proposed settlement, which was outlined in a letter sent to their lawyer, came just one week before their civil court trial began in November 2001. It was only becoming a matter of public record now, splashed across the front page of the
Winnipeg Free Press
.

“If we were fighting for the money, people would say how could you refuse? But we were fighting for principle, for what was rightfully ours,” Nilo Macatula said from the family's Arlington Street home. “Do you offer that kind of money if you're not guilty?” asked Cora Macatula.

The Macatulas said they submitted a counter-offer of 75 per cent of their alleged $5.7-million stake in the winning ticket, but it was refused. The settlement proposal followed an earlier offer of $100,000 in June 2000, before a lawsuit was even filed. The Macatulas promptly turned it down. A third offer of $100,000 was made last April by the Tessiers, after the Macatulas filed an appeal of Schwartz's decision. Again, they turned it down.

Lawyer Robert Tapper questioned the Macatulas' motives for releasing information about the settlement proposals. “This is a stunning development. This is a pitiful and spiteful thing. And my goodness, they should have taken the offer,” he said. Tapper said he would research the law to determine if the Tessiers had any legal recourse against the Macatulas for releasing “private and confidential” information. He said the public would be wrong to view the offers as an admission of guilt by the Tessiers. He believed the Macatulas were simply trying to “embarrass” them after losing their case. “When you walk into a courtroom, anything can happen. Emotions aside, sometimes you have to make a business decision to deal with a lawsuit and you make an offer,” said Tapper. “You can believe in the righteousness of your position, but it's a crapshoot when you go into court.”

The Macatulas said the justice system had clearly failed them. Although Justice Charles Huband ruled a new trial should be ordered, two other judges overruled him in the split decision.

“He was the senior judge. Why couldn't they have seen things his way?” asked Nilo Macatula.

M
any people naturally asked me which side I believed while covering this dispute. My answer was always the same: The Macatulas.

This feeling was cemented by the revelation that they walked away from the $2 million offer. From my perspective, if they knew they were in the wrong and simply after the Tessier's money, why wouldn't they have gladly accepted the proposed settlement? After all, that kind of cash would be life-changing for anyone, especially the Macatula family. But the fact they turned it down told me one thing. This was a matter of principle to them. They firmly believed they had been wronged. And they were going to fight for what they believed was rightfully theirs. In hindsight, it probably wasn't a wise strategy. They lost the legal battle and ended up with nothing. The Supreme Court ultimately rejected hearing the case.

Nilo Macatula ended up filing for bankruptcy in 2004. As for the Tessier family, they never did agree to any post-verdict interviews, despite countless attempts by myself and other reporters over the years. Jean Tessier passed away in 2007. Several other bigger lottery prizes have been awarded in Manitoba since. But none have attracted the kind of controversy that this one did.

THE MASTER MANIPULATOR

I
t's a stunning number: More than 1,000 indigenous women were killed in Canada between 1980 and 2012. More than 100 of those cases remain unsolved. The reality is that there are countless killers who are currently walking the streets, no doubt feeling like they are untouchable. Shawn Lamb certainly fell into that category. He absolutely thought he would get away with his crimes. But a combination of factors—some luck, good timing, a controversial police tactic and Lamb's own big mouth—proved to be his undoing.

I followed this case as close as any I've covered in my career, due largely to the fact Lamb began calling me frequently from jail following his release. For whatever reason, I became his personal sounding board. Those lengthy conversations would reveal his true colours.

MAY 2010

“It's come true, one of my worst nightmares. I'm old and in jail.”

Shawn Lamb stood before the judge in a scene that was all-too-familiar. The 50-year-old drifter and career criminal had just pleaded guilty to 15 more charges, increasing his total to more than 100 in a 30-year span. Like always, Lamb jumped at the opportunity all criminals were given to speak. He had plenty to say.

Lamb described how he was in the process of writing a revealing tell-all book about his troubled past, claiming he wanted to help steer vulnerable individuals away from making the same mistakes he'd made. “The elements-for-life concept is something I've embraced,” Lamb said, in explaining the working title of his inspirational book. His lawyer then handed a sample of his writings to the court clerk, who passed them on to provincial court Judge Linda Giesbrecht and marked them as an exhibit.

“I'm just a coward pretending not to be afraid, sounding confident, powerful looking bold and fearsome as if I could rip off the heads of my opponents,” Lamb wrote. “But in my belly, the wee bottom of my little belly, is a boy still afraid, feeling alone, unknown if what he has will be enough to win, to survive.”

Lamb said he'd been working closely with native elders and a chaplain behind bars to come up with a blueprint for success that he, and others, would follow. “I am now in control of what I do, because I now know what it is that made me do the things I did do,” Lamb said. “I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to hurt anybody anymore. I want to take responsibility for what I've done, to use my writing skills in a positive way to help myself and others in the future.”

Lamb was sentenced to 19 months in jail, in addition to nearly 14 months of time already served, plus three years of supervised probation. His crimes included mugging a young mother of her purse, threatening to stab another man for his beer, stealing a car and passing numerous bad cheques. He was on a conditional sentence at the time for a similar robbery in which he attacked a young mother for her bank card, flipping over a stroller carrying the victim's baby.

Lamb described how all his previous offences had been committed to help feed a drug and alcohol addiction he'd been fighting since the age of nine—when his adoptive parents first started forcing him to play the role of a “bartender” while they entertained other drunken guests in their home.

Giesbrecht told Lamb she was impressed by his honesty—and hopeful he had finally turned a corner following many previous attempts that ended with him back in jail. “You're clearly an intelligent, well-spoken person. You have a gift in your writing and your speaking. It's really too bad you've wasted so many years of the potential that you had. I really hope you're sincere. You appear to be sincere, you appear to be genuine,” said Giesbrecht. “You seem to have very good insight into your past behaviour. If you don't achieve what you hope to achieve when you get out next time, I think you've burned your bridges. Ultimately it is your choice.”

Giesbrecht also expressed sympathy after hearing of Lamb's upbringing, which would be the focus of much of his writing. “I appreciate you had a bad childhood and didn't have the benefits a child should have,” said Giesbrecht.

He was born as Darryl Dokis on a First Nation near Sarnia, Ontario, to a 17-year-old single mother. He told court he was “ripped” away by social services at the age of 2 1/2 as part of the “60s scoop,” taken from his First Nation community and put in foster care for a year before being sent to live with an adoptive white family near Sarnia.

“Once upon a time there was born a baby boy, a little Indian boy as sweet and fat-cheeked and gifted by the Creator as any baby anywhere. He was born innocent, as innocent as a puppy. An innocent baby deserves not to be torn apart from its mother,” Lamb wrote. “Now take a puppy, when he comes up to you, wanting you to pick him up and love him. If you kick that innocent puppy instead, and when he's hungry you throw him out into the cold without food, and when he wants to be warm and safe you let the vicious neighbourhood dogs rip and tear at him. Well, what about that puppy? How will that innocent puppy grow up?”

Lamb admitted to harbouring years of pent-up anger over what he says were years of neglect and abuse at the hands of several important women in his life. Lamb claimed his now-deceased foster mother sexually and physically abused him while also introducing him to alcohol when he was just nine. He made similar claims against his now-estranged stepsister, saying she would play “doctor” with him as a young child and molest him.

“Why did they stomp out the last tiny vestiges of self-worth from this child? What wrong had he committed? Why was he kicked and beaten, raped and abused in both mind and body? Why?” Lamb wrote. “The baby is the wrong nationality, expendable. Send the child away, damn the damage this may cause.”

His lawyer, Aaron Seib, told court this was a deeply damaged soul. “It's clear his upbringing was fraught with physical abuse, mental abuse and sexual abuse. At a very young age he was abusing alcohol, drugs, whatever he can get his hands on. It's something he still struggles with,” Seib told court.

Lamb began running away from home at the age of 12, often spending long periods of time living on the streets of Toronto. He also began experimenting with mushrooms, acid, cocaine and heroin in his early teens and became hooked. Lamb told court there were many times he wanted to end his own life, especially after he began committing crimes to support his habit. He also had stints in psychiatric care in Toronto. “I felt really bad about what I'd done. I wanted to kill myself,” he said. Lamb said he was diagnosed in 2001 as being bipolar and took solace in expressing his deepest, darkest feelings through the written word.

Lamb also had several sexual relationships and became the father of three children, none of which he maintained any relationship with, court was told. They include two sons, aged 26 and 20 and an 18-year-old daughter. Lamb said both his adoptive and biological parents were deceased, but he wanted to try to rebuild the non-existent relationship with his children plus other biological family members. He also expressed a desire to begin connecting with his aboriginal heritage.

“Throughout all a dim light, glimmer of hope, a feeling of worth. Ask for help, unload the shame. I'm wanting and worthy of a better life,” he concluded in the excerpt presented to court.

Crown attorney Susan Helenchilde was skeptical about his chance of success. “It remains to be seen how committed he really is. Hopefully he'll get the message this time around,” she said.

MONDAY JUNE 25, 2012

It was the break a police task force had been hoping for—and the announcement many had feared. Winnipeg police had caught a suspected serial killer. Shawn Lamb had been linked to three unsolved slayings of young aboriginal women—Tanya Nepinak, Carolyn Sinclair and Lorna Blacksmith. He was back in custody, a familiar place for him, facing three counts of second-degree murder.

Winnipeg police Chief Keith McCaskill told reporters how a 36-year-old woman had come forward just days earlier, saying she had been the victim of a serious sexual assault at the hands of Lamb. That triggered an interview with Lamb and sufficient evidence for members of the Project Devote task force to link him to the three cases. Police were being tight-lipped about the specifics of their investigation, knowing anything they say in this high-profile case could be used against them in court. “Sometimes you get a break in the case, and that's what happened here,” McCaskill said during a news conference.

McCaskill said this was the very first sign that a serial killer might be at work. “We never said there was no serial killer, we said we had no evidence to suggest there is one. Now we have that evidence. I don't think we dropped the ball on this,” he said. “The most important thing at the end of the day is that we do the best we possibly can and get that evidence before the courts.”

There was another twist in the case: The body of Nepinak had yet to be found. Sinclair, 25, had been found in March 2012 in a dumpster in a back lane near Notre Dame Avenue and Toronto Street. She had been missing for three months at the time. Blacksmith, 18, had last been seen January 2012 in the West End. Her body was discovered just last week, on the same day as Lamb's sexual assault arrest, near a dumpster on Simcoe Street. Nepinak, a 31-year-old mother of two, was last seen around Sherbrook Street and Ellice Avenue in September 2011. Police admitted all three victims were living what would be considered a “high-risk lifestyle” but said that never impacted their resolve to solve the cases. “They are victims and they should never have been,” said McCaskill.

A team of 24 “Project Devote” investigators—10 from the Winnipeg Police Service and 14 from the RCMP – were continuing their task-force investigation and wouldn't rule out the possibility of linking Lamb to other unsolved cases. There were still 20 slain women, and eight missing women, on the Devote list. Not to mention dozens of other potential victims across the country. Their work was really only just beginning.

THURSDAY JUNE 28, 2012

He had spent the past week stewing in a prison cell as his name dominated newspaper headlines and television newscasts. Shawn Lamb could stay silent no more. And despite the advice of his lawyer to keep his mouth shut, Lamb picked up the telephone and contacted a reporter with the
Winnipeg Free Press.

It would be the first of numerous conversations over many months in which Lamb appeared to be reveling in the spotlight and doing everything possible to ensure it continued to shine brightly on him. On this day, Lamb noted how Winnipeg police were in the middle of conducting an extensive sweep of downtown and West End yards, buildings and dumpsters.

“I imagine they're out there looking for one thing. They're looking for bodies,” Lamb said in a 20-minute telephone interview from the downtown Remand Centre. “They have a list with so many names on it.” But Lamb denied suggestions he could be linked to any other unsolved homicides in Winnipeg or across Canada. “I've given them voluntary DNA, not to include myself but to exclude myself,” he said. “The police are going to say what they're going to say.”

Lamb described how he was arrested on the sex assault charge, then spent more than 48 hours in custody while going through a grilling marathon interrogation with homicide investigators, before the three charges of second-degree murder were laid. “The main thing for me is the victims. There are many people who are suffering out there,” Lamb claimed. He said police wanted to show “their goodwill” to the community by making such a public display of their search.

Lamb said police confronted him with the names of dozens of other young Manitoba women who had been killed or gone missing. There were also ongoing investigations in other provinces to determine whether Lamb could be connected to any cold cases.

“I hope everyone who's responsible will be caught,” said Lamb. He was asked to clarify if that meant there were many killers still walking the streets.

“Exactly,” he replied. “It's a sad thing for the victims and their loved ones. There are so many questions.”

Lamb was specifically asked if he planned to fight the allegations he killed Blacksmith, Sinclair and Nepinak. He refused to give a direct answer.

“I'm definitely going to fight to make sure this is done properly,” said Lamb. He said that meant his “charter rights” must be upheld, but he offered no further details.

Lamb decried the conditions in jail, where he was confined to a maximum-security segregated cell 23 1/2 hours per day. “I know I'm not getting out of here any time soon,” said Lamb. “I don't have a radio, I'm last on the list to get a newspaper. I get out for half an hour a day to shower and use the phone, that's it.”

Still, Lamb expressed concern about some of the news coverage he'd been able to catch, wondering why media outlets were focusing so much on his tragic background. Lamb said he was able to visit the grave of his birth mother for the first time during a visit to Ontario last month. It was on the day he returned to Winnipeg that he was arrested.

“I found the closure I was looking for,” he said.

MONDAY FEBRUARY 25, 2013

Shawn Lamb was playing games again. Frustrated that his case was dragging—and his name had largely disappeared from the public eye—Lamb was back on the phone. He claimed he had specific information that could help police solve at least five more cases of missing and slain women. And he expressed growing frustration that homicide investigators and a joint task force involving the RCMP, dubbed Project Devote, hadn't acted on his claims quickly.

Lamb said he was willing to co-operate and police were denying closure and justice for several grieving families. “Homicide doesn't seem interested in finding some more bodies,” he said. Lamb threatened to go public to local aboriginal leaders and even begin calling families personally from the Remand Centre if immediate action wasn't taken. “I'm sure the cops don't want that to happen,” Lamb said. “I told them I want to clear this up, for myself and to give closure to these people. Today would be ideal.”