Mike on Crime (23 page)

“There is a human body, and it is in the city,” Lamb said, according to police affidavits. He declined an offer to consult with a lawyer at this point.

“Mr. Lamb said he was going to do another crime and that he touched the body,” police said. He provided directions to a back lane in the West End, where the body could be found among pallets and wooden crates behind a garage with an antique car inside. “Mr. Lamb indicated he had touched the body three months ago,” police stated. Lamb went on to draw a map and lead police to the body of Lorna Blacksmith. Lamb then suggested he could offer a lot more to police – for a price. “He indicated he had more information to relate about the homicide and other crimes he committed,” said Smyth.

Police consulted the Crown about how to proceed and set up a special “canteen fund” at the Winnipeg Remand Centre for Lamb. An initial $600 was deposited, which Lamb could use to buy personal items such as snacks and magazines. Smyth said it was important to note police were still treating Lamb as a potential informant at that time, not as a suspect.

Investigators then sat down with Lamb, who had plenty to say. He not only confessed to killing Blacksmith, but also slaying Carolyn Sinclair. Lamb was charged with the murders, but told police he would keep talking in exchange for money. “He continued to contact investigators, indicating he would provide more information about other homicides he was involved in,” Smyth said. Police met with Lamb on two further occasions, depositing another $600 and then $300 into his account.” Neither provided investigators with any additional evidence,” said Smyth.

The issue hit the legislature when Progressive Conservative justice critic Reg Helwer said the government needed to review whether it's appropriate to pay criminals to solve crimes they commit.
“The other real issue is, did the justice minister approve this beforehand?” Helwer said. “It's a very distressing way to go about prosecuting a crime if the only way that we can prove guilt is by paying the criminal himself or herself. Is that the direction that our justice system is supposed to operate?”

A spokeswoman for Justice Minister Andrew Swan confirmed the Crown attorney's office advised police after they made a request. Smyth said police were put in a difficult position, knowing there would be no case without Lamb's co-operation. “This brought closure to the families of Carolyn Sinclair and Lorna Blacksmith,” said Smyth. “It was hoped subsequent information would be forthcoming to bring closure to the families of other victims that Mr. Lamb may have been involved in.”

Shawn Lamb wasn't done talking. One day after resolving his high-profile case in court, Lamb was back on the phone from the Remand Centre with a
Free Press
reporter. Lamb claimed police were hoping to pin “as many as 80” homicides on him as part of a massive, Canada-wide investigation. “Their eyes lit up, bells went off. They thought they'd have everything in the past 30 years solved. They thought every murder, especially of an aboriginal person, was at my hands,” Lamb said. Lamb said police showed him dozens of photos and lists of names of other young missing or slain women, hoping he would confess. They included local victims and those from other provinces.

He said the $1,500 police paid him was part of their desperate attempts to clear as many cases as possible. “I had admitted to these [two killings] without any inducement. But then after that, police went off the rails,” said Lamb. Lamb said the money was deposited into his jail canteen so he could buy magazines, crossword puzzles, snacks and running shoes. And while he admitted being in a position of power over the police, he denied manipulating them or the victims' families. “I took responsibility for what I did do. As for the other stuff, I don't know. I guess police will have to go find the people who did it,” he said.

FRIDAY NOVEMBER 22, 2013

It was the result many suspected was coming. And now it was official. The third, and final, homicide case against Shawn Lamb was being dropped. There just wasn't enough evidence to link him to the death of Tanya Nepinak. The biggest obstacle was the fact her body had still not been found despite an exhaustive search of the landfill where it was believed she had been taken. Nepinak had last been seen Sept. 13, 2011 – the day court documents had alleged Lamb murdered her.

“In terms of the murder charge, based on the evidence to date and a careful reassessment of all of the evidence, the Crown has determined that there is no reasonable likelihood of conviction at this time,” Crown attorney Sheila Leinburd told court. “Consequently, the Crown will be entering a stay of proceedings. Should new evidence be discovered, the case can be reviewed for possible future prosecution.”

Lamb had always denied involvement in Nepinak's death. “There really was no evidence against him—there never was,” defence lawyer Martin Glazer said outside court. “In my view, he should have never been charged. To this day, there is no evidence that it's a murder.”

Nepinak's relatives expressed shock at the Crown's decision. Her aunt, Sue Caribou, said they were unaware of what had happened until contacted by the
Free Press
following court. “We had no clue,” Caribou, the sister of Nepinak's mother, Joyce, said. “No clue this was going on.”

Family members held a rally earlier in the week, angered by the fact Nepinak's case seemed to be ignored while Blacksmith and Sinclair's deaths were being wrapped up. “They didn't pay for my daughter; why didn't they do that?” Tanya's mother, Joyce Nepinak, said in reference to the controversial payment police gave to Lamb.

In his final jailhouse interview, Shawn Lamb also took aim at the Lorna Blacksmith and Carolyn Sinclair families, who criticized justice officials for cutting a deal with him. “I'm amazed. All of the family knew this was happening. They were all quite content. Then they all go in front of the cameras and sing a different song,” said Lamb. He didn't stop there, questioning Sinclair's family for not submitting a victim impact statement to the court. “If you cared so much about her, you couldn't even take the time to write a victim impact statement? Come on,” said Lamb.

He also bristled at suggestions he wasn't sorry for his actions. Lamb said he had no doubt he would have walked free if he'd chosen to reject a plea deal and go to trial. “There was no evidence against me except for me. I am the evidence,” said Lamb. “I could have dragged this out for years. Step 1 is taking responsibility. Sorry is not enough. I can say it until I turn blue. It's not going to change what happened. Nobody wants to focus on my remorse, responsibility and empathy. [Regardless] of whether I would have walked or not, I took responsibility. If they don't want to hear that, that's their choice.”

Lamb also commented about the lifestyle choices of his two victims, saying it was “really not their fault.” “Even if these women are prostitutes, you can't blame that. That's how their issues evolved,” said Lamb. “They're living a dangerous lifestyle. Some people get out of it with a minor scare, some with a major one, or some don't until they die.”

Lamb also offered a grim prediction for those fearing he will return to society. “I'm going to be out in a decade,” he said, vowing to get parole at his earliest eligibility date. “Oh yeah. I've got my release date marked down. I'll get out. I'm going to work to make myself a better person.”

S
hawn Lamb stopped calling me a few weeks after his sentencing hearing. In his final voice mail message, he ranted about how “pathetic” I was and claimed I had repeatedly twisted his words. To be honest, I was relieved the phone stopped ringing. I didn't believe a single word that came out of his mouth and truly felt like he was wasting my time.

Lamb had become a frequent caller to my Sunday-night radio show. It made for some truly surreal moments. One night, he called to ask my guest, Manitoba provincial court Judge Ray Wyant, a question about the criminal justice system. It wasn't until he was on-air that we recognized the voice. Obviously an accused serial killer asking a sitting judge questions on live radio isn't an everyday scenario. But Lamb relished it. On another occasion, Lamb wanted to tell listeners how a Quebec filmmaker making videos of models pretending to be raped and murdered was “cool.” And then there was the time he told me how he thought Col. Russell Williams, convicted of brutally murdering two Ontario women and raping several others, “looked good” in pictures tendered in court of him wearing the panties of his victims.

There was no reason for him to be making these outlandish statements short of the “look-at-me” attitude he clearly possesses. I'm just glad he's finally been silenced and is where he belongs. And I'm glad at least a couple families have found the justice they were looking for.

THE LOST SOULS

I
t is remarkable to think in this day and age of social media, where we are seemingly more connected than ever, that a person could die in complete obscurity and anonymity. Yet this sort of thing actually happens more than you might think. I've covered two tragic cases like this.

The first, involving a homeless man, took a remarkable turn after my initial story was published. The second, sadly, is still shrouded in mystery. I think about both of these people often. Not only about how they died, but more about how they lived. And what their sad stories say about us as a society.

MONDAY JULY 4, 2005

It must have been a horrible death. A homeless man, no doubt accustomed to being alone, fighting his own losing battle with a strap that somehow became entangled around his neck. His final, futile breaths came in the fading light of day, on a sidewalk in Winnipeg's popular, often-crowded Exchange District. It was a neighbourhood where he would often be seen pushing around a shopping cart that held his life's meagre possessions. Tragically, the bungee-cord strap that would strangle him was attached to the cart, a lifeline of sorts to ensure he held tightly what he cherished.

Police believed his death was a horrible accident caused when the man tripped and fell. Although there were no obvious signs of foul play, police were still awaiting autopsy results to confirm exact cause of death. “This is so very sad. He must have been very lonely,” said Greg Stetski, who had seen his share of tragic tales while serving as executive director of the Union Gospel Mission just down the street from where the man died. Not surprisingly, police and medical officials had great difficulty tracking down someone, anyone, who cared enough about the man to know he'd died. No one had come forward to claim his body.

Stetski was saddened to hear about the difficulties in finding someone to notify about the death. “So many people lose family and friends, or are shunned by them, when you go in a certain direction,” he said. Stetski recalled seeing the man regularly pushing a shopping cart in the area, but said he rarely stopped in for nourishment at the homeless shelter. He would often see others who clearly needed help, but refused to ask for it. “A lot of [homeless] people are embarrassed,” he said.

Johanna Abbott, director of the chief medical examiner's office, said there were nearly 60 cases a year in Winnipeg where it was difficult to track down family members to notify them about a death. She said the number of lost souls who die in virtual anonymity is a sad reflection on society. Most involved deceased who were down and out, forgotten not only by the public but by their friends and relatives as well. Other cases involved people who were the last living member of their family and had no surviving loved ones. “Not very many cases end up where we can't find anyone at all to come forward,” said Abbott. When all else failed, the Government of Manitoba would take possession of a body and ensure a proper burial occurred.

The Union Gospel Mission had a recent case where an elderly homeless man succumbed to illness. When not a single relative or friend could be found, the shelter sprang into action to ensure his death wouldn't go unnoticed. Led by Stetski, several people gathered at the mission for a funeral service to pay their respects to a man they never really knew, but refused to abandon even in death.

“He was not forgotten,” said Stetski. Sadly, far too many others were.

SATURDAY JULY 9, 2005

His name was Fred Linton—and thanks to some kind-hearted Winnipeggers, the 47-year-old homeless man who died a horrible death on a city street would not be forgotten. It was a tragic end to a life filled with heartache and despair—from the shocking death of both parents at a young age to a lifelong battle with alcoholism.

Like many Winnipeggers, Kevin Sweryd was moved after reading about the man's death in the
Winnipeg Free Press
before he had been identified. “As a funeral director, I believe no life, whether you're the mayor of Winnipeg or someone pushing a shopping cart on the street, should go unnoticed,” said Sweryd, who managed Bardal Funeral Home. “This just seems like one of those sad stories of someone who has slipped through the cracks of society.” And that's why Sweryd had devoted time and energy to organizing a funeral service for a man he'd never met. His idea had taken off beyond his wildest dreams following an incredible sequence of events.

It all started with a phone call two days earlier from Doris Linton, who identified herself as the aunt of Fred Linton. Doris Linton was calling from southern Ontario, where she lived on a farm with her husband. Winnipeg police had tracked her down after finding her name and address on a crumpled piece of paper found among Linton's belongings.

“She asked if Fred could be cremated, and if we could send the remains to her. I asked about having a service, but she didn't think anybody would come,” said Sweryd. He began asking some questions about Fred Linton's life, and learned he'd spent several years working at a Winnipeg scrap metal business until he was let go in two months earlier.

Sweryd called Orloff Scrap Metal, and was surprised by the reaction of the employees. They were stunned and saddened by news of Linton's death. They wanted to know if there would be a service. They wanted to come. It seemed Linton, warts and all, had left quite an impression.

“I was his boss, but I guess I was also one of his closest friends,” said owner Shelby Orloff. He gave a dishevelled-looking Linton a job six years earlier after he walked in off the street unannounced—then had the unenviable task of recently firing him when his battle with the bottle became too much. “His biggest demon was that he drank too much, and it became his relief from the world to get drunk,” said Orloff. “He started coming in, and it was obvious he'd been drinking all night. But he was in denial. I felt very sorry for him, and tried very hard to keep him going with his day-to-day fight with society. But we didn't know what else to do.”

Linton took great pride in his work—quickly progressing from a “lowly labourer” to a crane operator—but was drinking away all his earnings while living in a suite inside the Northern Hotel on Main Street, he said. “Even when he had a job, he didn't live too much better than an animal. He never bought new clothes, and he'd eat raw wieners all the time. We saw the lifestyle he had, and it was very sad,” said Orloff.

Linton's life was on a downward spiral since the age of 13 when his mother was killed after his alcoholic father flipped his car in a drunken stupor near the family's Ontario home, pinning the woman underneath, according to his aunt. Three years later, Linton's father was found dead inside a car of suspected carbon monoxide poisoning. He was naked, along with a deceased young woman found beside him, said Doris Linton, 63. Linton and his younger brother, Kenneth briefly lived with Doris and her husband before hitting the streets to live on their own. Ken Linton had not been seen, or heard from, in many years, she said. Fred Linton moved to Winnipeg in his early twenties after suffering major head trauma in a car accident. “His head was split open, and he spent about six months in the hospital,” said Doris Linton.

Fred never fully recovered, physically or mentally, and lived an isolated and clearly troubled life in Manitoba. His only connection to his family was with Doris, whom he would call nearly every weekend. “The calls stopped coming this year just after Easter. He never called me on Mother's Day, which he always did. I was very worried. He would never give us a number to call him at,” she said.

Even after losing his job, Linton continued to stop by his former employer at the corner of King Street and Sutherland Avenue on a regular basis. It was clear life had gone from bad to worse, as Linton had been evicted from the hotel for not paying rent and was out on the streets with his shopping cart. “He would come by, almost every day, and bring us scraps of metal he'd collected in his shopping cart. We'd give him a few bucks, but knew he was probably just using it to drink,” said Orloff. Just days before he died, a secretary at the company began trying to set Linton up with some social help. But they would never see him again.

Doris Linton was now trying to get funds together to come to Winnipeg for her nephew's service. For Linton, as for most Canadian farmers, times were tough and money was tight. A small private service would be held the following month in Rosenorth, Ontario, where Linton would be buried in a family plot.

“One of the last conversations I'd had with him, he told me out of the blue that ‘I want to be buried with Mom and Dad.' He broke down and cried,” said Doris Linton. “I told him, ‘Well, Fred. You better put my name in your wallet in case something happens.' And I guess he did. I always worried about him. At least I now know where he is.”

TUESDAY JULY 12, 2005

At first he was a John Doe. Then some relatives were tracked down to give him an identity. And now the long-lost brother of Fred Linton had finally surfaced and reunited with his family after a
Winnipeg Free Press
subscriber recognized him as her newspaper carrier.

Ken Linton was delivering copies of the previous Saturday's edition in Fort Frances, Ontario, when one of his customers read him a story about the accidental strangling death of a man on a Winnipeg street. The subscriber said she recognized the name and immediately made the connection.

Ken, who had battled through his own problems and was illiterate, was stunned to discover his brother had died. “I always wondered about him, and never knew where to find him. Fred was supposed to come to my wedding nine years ago. He never showed up,” said Ken. “I tried to call him at the hotel he was living at in Winnipeg, but he never called back. I don't even know if he got the messages, and I never heard from him again.”

Equally shocked by Fred Linton's passing was his aunt. Until last week, Doris Linton had no idea what happened to the brothers, who were on their own in their teens. She had now gone from preparing for an August memorial service for Fred in their Ontario hometown, to planning to reunite with Ken for the first time in almost a decade. The pair had a tearful telephone conversation over the weekend.

“He told me he always thought I knew where he was, but I never did. I always worried Ken would end up the way Fred had,” she said. Ken had turned his life around and was recently honoured for his volunteer work for speaking about fetal alcohol syndrome. He had also developed strong ties with a community church.

“Fred was the most marvellous guy, and he was always a survivor. It's so sad,” Ken said. He came to Winnipeg to attend the funeral service.

Sweryd said his business received many calls from people with no connection to Fred Linton, inquiring about the service and even offering to make donations in his memory. “The [newspaper] article has done a world of good. It's helped reunite a nephew with the aunt who raised him and made it possible for a man to come and say goodbye to his brother.”

SATURDAY APRIL 13, 2013

Somewhere under a pile of soon-to-be-melted snow at Brookside Cemetery was the unmarked grave of a mystery woman. Very little was known about her demise, which came to light the previous summer when a badly decomposed body was fished out of the Red River in Winnipeg. Even less was known about her life—not her name, not her age, not her place of birth or whether she had any living relatives or friends. It is the rarest of cases, an unidentified Jane Doe who had somehow lost her life without a single person coming forward to claim the body or offer information.

And the many lingering questions had Winnipeg police and the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner desperate for answers but open to the possibility she could forever remain buried in anonymity. “This person has lived on this Earth, they have made a contribution to society,” said Gordon Holens, a sub-inspector and statistician with the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. He had spent the past 10 months trying to find anything he could about the woman he had dubbed “Miss X.” “You just don't see this very often,” he said.

Information had been difficult to obtain since a resident who lives just south of the north Perimeter Highway bridge made the grisly discovery on June 15, 2012. The case was initially treated as suspicious because there was plastic wrapped around the remains. Police later determined it was likely debris that had become entangled and ruled out foul play. But other factors—such as when she died and how and why she died remained a mystery, as did anything pertaining to her identity.

Police took the unusual step last September of issuing a forensic sketch of the woman, along with photos of jewellery she was wearing when pulled from the water. The drawing of the woman was a facial reconstruction, not an exact likeness. She was believed to have been between 35 and 50 years old and about 5'5" with a slim build. She may have worn dentures. It was hoped the public plea for assistance would lead to a break in the case. But investigators were met with frustrating silence.

“We have to sometimes think outside the box. We were very hopeful and optimistic at the time it might generate some discussion and get someone to come forward. Unfortunately that hasn't happened,” said police Const. Jason Michalyshen. “The investigators really take these matters very personally. They really want to bring some closure out of respect for the individual.”

Holens said his office held the woman's remains until last October, then finally arranged for a brief funeral service and burial at Brookside. Predictably, nobody showed up. “We view it as a community service to try and make at least some reasonable effort to locate family,” said Holens.

Holens had held his job for 13 years and said this was only the second case he could remember in which a person remained anonymous long past burial. He said there were typically about 70 cases a year in Manitoba in which a person whose identity was known died in relative obscurity and nobody would come forward immediately to claim the body. Usually about half are resolved quickly when a family member or friend is tracked down. The other half are given a service and burial similar to the one Miss X received last fall under the Manitoba Anatomy Act.