Mike on Crime (6 page)

“I don't think you should be slandering me like that,” an angry Willows told Brodsky in court. “It would be malpractice if I didn't respond the way that I did.”

Wiebe now admitted he planned his flight and even received financial help from a source he refused to identify. Wiebe cut his hair short, dyed it and shaved off his moustache and goatee. He then headed to the west coast. He certainly didn't act like a frightened fugitive. He told police he spent two days sitting inside the British Columbia Superior Court while he was being sought on a Canada-wide warrant and also tried to pose for a picture with an officer he met at a rock concert.

“Could you speculate on why he'd put himself out like that in public?” Brodsky asked Dr. Leon Mowchun, another doctor who has briefly worked with Wiebe.

“It appears he wished to be caught,” Mowchun told the Review Board.

Wiebe was charged with escaping lawful custody, but the Crown stayed the charge after it was confirmed he didn't commit any further crimes while on the loose—a fact Brodsky claimed proved Wiebe wasn't dangerous. The dropped criminal case meant that Wiebe would return to the custody of mental health officials rather than spend a short stint in jail.

Wiebe expressed relief after learning that Willows—who he'd repeatedly clashed with—would no longer be the treating psychologist at Selkirk. That job now fell to Dr. Steven Kremer, who had yet to meet with Wiebe. If Wiebe stayed in Manitoba it would be under far more stringent supervision, court was told.

Wiebe—who was led to court in hand and leg shackles—would only be allowed out of the locked Selkirk facility under the guard of sheriff's officers, said Willows. He had also been placed in the most secure part of the facility where only three other patients reside. “Any other security would be very dangerous. [The staff] would be putting themselves at risk and the public,” said Willows.

Several doctors, including Willows, still believed Wiebe was a high risk to re-offend. Ken Nattrass, the CEO of SMHC, told court that history wouldn't be allowed to repeat itself. But Crown attorney Corrine Deegan said everyone who dealt with Wiebe must be vigilant. “He is a risk to escape. He obviously has the means and the street smarts to sustain himself in the community,” she said.

MONDAY OCTOBER 5, 2009

He had managed to stay out of the headlines for the past three years, seemingly playing by the rules and being on his best behavior. But Joey Wiebe was back in a way that nobody could have imagined. Officials at Selkirk Mental Health Centre had caught Wiebe hiding a knife, drugs, alcohol, cash, cellular phone, laptop computer—and love letters from a female nurse—in the ceiling tiles of the facility in which he was believed to be planning another escape. The alarming discovery prompted several investigations and major security upgrades at Selkirk.

Wiebe was now facing numerous criminal charges after a security guard heard a noise coming from Wiebe's room in and discovered him accessing the stash. Wiebe assaulted and bit a guard during a subsequent scuffle. He was immediately removed from Selkirk and placed in the high-risk ward at the Winnipeg Remand Centre, where he remained on charges including assault, possession of a dangerous weapon and mischief.

Danah Bellehumeur, the chief executive officer of the Selkirk facility, confirmed numerous steps had been taken to prevent a repeat occurrence, including terminating the employee who wrote several lurid letters found in Wiebe's room. She immediately ordered increased searches of all patients and rooms inside the high-security forensic unit, where 14 patients deemed not criminally responsible by the courts currently resided. “We were already conducting searches, but now we are going to do them more frequently and extensively,” said Bellehumeur.

Selkirk was also bringing in an outside agency to conduct a “risk assessment” of security in the unit and was applying for additional government funding to allow for three independent security guards on-site at all times. Currently, just one was stationed full-time in the building. “We want to ensure we're doing all we can. We take this as a learning opportunity,” said Bellehumeur.

Police and Selkirk officials were continuing to probe how Wiebe was able to get the contraband inside his room. “Clearly this represents a gross breach of security. This causes us to profoundly reconsider how he's doing and where he's at,” Dr. Steven Kraemer, Wiebe's treating psychiatrist, told his annual Criminal Code Review Board hearing.

Kraemer said Selkirk officials weren't prepared to welcome Wiebe back under any circumstances: “He has shown the ability to circumvent our security. We could not manage his return to our facility, even in the high-risk area,” he said. Kraemer suggested maximum-security facilities in Saskatchewan and British Columbia would be better fits. Kraemer said the fact Wiebe struck up a relationship with an employee shows how manipulative he could be, adding there were other staff members who were “enamoured with him.”

Wiebe appeared at the hearing without a lawyer and was allowed to cross-examine the two witnesses and make his own arguments. “I don't fear Selkirk. Selkirk fears me,” Wiebe said bluntly.

Security was high in court, with five sheriff's officers guarding a handcuffed and shackled Wiebe. They refused Wiebe's request for a pen to take notes, issuing him a dull pencil instead.

“The conditions I've been subjected to are 90 per cent of the reason these incidents have transpired,” said Wiebe. “There's a lot of lies and half-truths here.”

Wiebe said marijuana was thrown over the fence to him at Selkirk by another patient on the outside. He claimed he obtained the knife and alcohol while on an escorted outing with the nurse he was later found to be involved with. Wiebe said he had help from at least one other patient at Selkirk Mental Health Centre who wasn't in the high-security area. He was never searched upon returning to the facility because their policy at the time didn't require it based on the fact he had been escorted, court was told.

Dr. Lawrence Ellerby, who had worked on Wiebe's case, said that Wiebe might be developing a feeling that “he's got nothing to lose” based on his ongoing frustrations and disciplinary issues. “He feels like he's not able to move forward with his life at all,” said Ellerby.

MONDAY OCTOBER 19, 2009

She was a newlywed with an exciting new job and her whole future ahead of her. But everything changed when she met a dangerous, mentally ill killer she was supervising at the Selkirk Mental Health Centre. “I've basically ruined my whole life, my marriage, my job, my schooling and future career,” the 33-year-old woman told a
Winnipeg Free Press
reporter at a downtown Winnipeg coffee shop. She agreed to speak out—and provide extensive details into the high-profile case—on the condition her name not be published.

The woman said she still had strong feelings for Joey Wiebe despite the damage she'd caused. “I still really care about him, and I believe that he does love me. I saw a different side of him. I do feel that he has a good, kind, gentle side and that I help bring that out in him,” she said. “I really don't want to abandon him. But I don't see [an ongoing relationship] as being good for me.”

Among items found in Wiebe's possession were two love letters that had been written to him by the nursing student, who was hired in May 2009 on a term position while in her third year of studies at the University of Winnipeg. “They weren't overly explicit, but they stated my feelings for him,” said the woman. “I always worried about them being found during room searches, but Joey had told me they wouldn't be.” Also seized from Wiebe's room was a cellular phone he had smuggled in—with her knowledge—and used to take about eight nude and semi-nude pictures of her.

“I know Joey wanted to protect me. I would always tell him I had a lot more to lose than he did,” she said. The woman admits she had sex with Wiebe at least six times on the grounds of Selkirk beginning in July. “I knew it was wrong, that there was a possibility of getting caught. We were always careful, Joey knew a spot that was private, outside the view of the cameras,” she said.

The woman was surprised to find out she'd immediately begin working in the forensic unit at Selkirk upon being hired the previous spring—and even more stunned when told she could begin escorting a handful of dangerous patients into the community within her first few days of work. Armed with only a cellular phone, the woman would take Wiebe and others on various excursions to movies, the mall, the library and restaurants. They were never shackled or handcuffed.

“I didn't think Joey would try to escape with me, I knew he wouldn't want to get me in trouble,” she said. The woman said she took a liking to Wiebe because she felt other staff members weren't treating him fairly based on his reputation as a troublemaker. She claimed to have no knowledge of how he got the contraband into the facility or of any plans he had on fleeing.

“He knew that he needed to be punished for what he did. But he felt staff weren't really advocating for him at all. All of the staff seemed to have a really negative view of him. I just always tried to be nice and helpful to everyone I worked with,” she said. Wiebe surprised her one day by admitting he wanted a relationship with her.

“I was kind of taken aback. I was attracted to him, too. But I didn't really want to go there,” she said. The woman had been married a year earlier but had been struggling with a deep depression. “I just wasn't in a good place,” she said. She began confiding in Wiebe about personal issues in her life. “I was sharing things with him I probably shouldn't have. It ended up with him kind of supporting me. He really listened to me, and you don't meet a person that often that you can really talk to,” she said. “This was just a combination of having this emptiness and having someone who filled it.”

The woman said she was conflicted about what to do—but ultimately followed her heart despite knowing it was wrong. “I didn't want to break up my marriage, didn't want to hurt my husband. I was really confused all summer. I really loved Joey, but I really loved my husband. I couldn't hold onto both forever,” she said. “Obviously there was no real future with Joey, but I didn't want to give up that connection.”

She had no choice when her love letters were found and officials immediately fired her. The woman told her husband about the affair and was kicked out of the home. She was now living with her parents after spending two weeks in crisis stabilization in hospital.

She faced an uncertain future. “I am carrying a lot of guilt for what I did. Nobody needs to worry that I'm not being punished enough. I made some wrong choices and now I'm living with the consequences,” she said.

J
oey Wiebe and the Selkirk Mental Health Centre finally got the divorce they were seeking. It was anything but amicable. Wiebe was sentenced in October 2012 to five years in prison for charges stemming from yet another violent outburst that happened a few months earlier. He pleaded guilty to several offences including assault, mischief and uttering death threats, admitting he attacked a guard and caused more than $50,000 damage by setting off the hospital fire alarm and flooding some of the premises with the sprinkler system. It could have been worse, as the hospital doors were automatically unlocked during the emergency, raising the potential of escapes. Some patients were found wandering on the premises.

Once his sentence is complete, Wiebe will likely be sent to a psychiatric hospital out west. There's no way he's going back to Selkirk. If history is any indication, we likely haven't heard the last of him.

THE BLANCHARD CRIMINAL ORGANIZATION

I
t was a case so wild and so juicy that even Oprah came calling. And while the Queen of all media never did end up getting the scoop—the key player refused her interview requests—I had a front-row seat to this utterly fascinating story. Gerald Blanchard is the most interesting criminal I've ever covered. I couldn't get enough of this story. Our readers couldn't get enough of this story.

There's no question the vast majority of crime cases we see are impulsive acts, often driven by addictions and/or intoxication. Which makes something like this so unique: A carefully planned, complex series of acts executed with brilliant precision, all in the name of getting filthy stinkin' rich. It's still hard to believe, all these years later.

2004

It was a seemingly innocent event in a Winnipeg parking lot—but one that caught the eye of an employee working at the nearby Wal-Mart. Two vehicles were parked outside the brand new Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce on Empress Street in the city's West End, just days before it was set for its grand opening. Curious, the worker took a closer look. There seemed to be nobody around, just two empty cars. He jotted down the licence plate numbers before carrying on with his day. It would be years before anyone realized just how critical a move this was.

THURSDAY JANUARY 25, 2007

They had been dubbed the “Blanchard Criminal Organization”—a group of western Canadian con artists who shared a common goal: make as much money as humanly possible. While they may not have had the same instant name recognition of the Hells Angels, police believed members of the “BCO” had quietly stolen millions since they first formed in the fall of 1999.

A half-million-dollar heist from a series of automated bank machines in Winnipeg. Trafficking in counterfeit credit cards and related data. Defrauding the Royal Bank, CIBC and Bank of Nova Scotia in Vancouver and Winnipeg time and time again. Their high-tech crime spree, which spread as far as Europe and lasted for over seven years, involved taking some Canadian financial institutions to the cleaners and allowed for a jet-set lifestyle. Who were these criminal masterminds? And how had they managed to be so successful for so long, while staying beneath both the public and police radar?

Investigators in Manitoba were being tight-lipped about developments in the case, which involved the culmination of a three-year undercover investigation through a series of search warrants and arrests in Manitoba, Alberta and British Columbia. But court documents offered an introduction into what was expected to be one of the largest and most sophisticated cases of its kind ever uncovered in Canada.

“This is all quite unbelievable,” said a justice source familiar with the investigation.

The eight accused, which included two women, were facing a total of 61 charges, including fraud, theft, conspiracy, credit card trafficking and participating in a criminal organization. According to court documents, the alleged leader of the group was a mystery man named Gerald Daniel Blanchard, 35. He was arrested in BC and was being held in custody, according to his Winnipeg-based lawyer, Danny Gunn.

“This is going to be a very interesting case,” Gunn told the
Winnipeg Free Press
as news of the criminal enterprise began trickling out for the first time.

Blanchard was facing 27 charges, by far the most of any of the accused, and his name was on the figurative masthead of the criminal organization. He had previously lived in Winnipeg, but was most recently on the West Coast. He had also used other identities and was believed to own property around the world “He's a bit of an international man of mystery, a very interesting guy,” a justice source said of Blanchard.

The police investigation began in Winnipeg following one of the biggest heists in recent local history. Winnipeg police were initially stumped and turned to Crime Stoppers to publicize the incident and offer a $2,000 reward for information on the May 2004 theft of at least $500,000 from the Polo Park-area CIBC mega-centre. Detectives believed someone broke into the branch at Empress Street and Ellice Avenue just days before its grand opening and emptied the cash out of eight ATMs. They had now identified two suspects, Blanchard and Winnipeg resident Aaron Syberg, as being responsible.

Investigators eventually got a major break in the case and began exploring the theory that the heist involved a well-organized plot involving several other accused and likely several other crimes in Ontario, Alberta and British Columbia. That put the Winnipeg Police Service's Criminal Investigations Bureau, the main city police detective office, front and centre in an investigation would eventually involve several other Canadian police agencies. And it would take them places they couldn't have imagined in their wildest dreams.

Gerald Blanchard was an international man-of-mystery —even to members of his own family. His father, Gerald Blanchard Sr., told the
Winnipeg Free Press
he was stunned to learn of his son's arrest and alleged involvement in a massive criminal organization.

“All he ever told me was that he buys and sells condominiums,” Blanchard Sr. said in an interview from his home in Strathmore, Alberta. His adopted son, who often went by his middle name of Daniel, usually called each Christmas, but the two hadn't seen one another for years. “We talked just before Christmas and he said he'd call me again on my birthday,” Blanchard Sr. said. “But he didn't. To tell you the truth, I wasn't surprised. I was always kind of suspicious things weren't on the up and up. I don't know why. I just wasn't.”

His son was born in Canada but largely grew up in Nebraska. Blanchard was deported from the United States several years ago after serving a seven-year jail sentence for stealing a police uniform, gun and other property from the Council Bluffs Police Department in Iowa and a police car from the nearby Omaha Police Department. In hindsight, the case offered up some insight into how cunning Blanchard could be.

Blanchard escaped custody from Council Bluffs April 27, 1993 after being arrested for car theft, according to a report in the
Omaha World-Herald
. When no one was looking, Blanchard hid behind a desk, then scaled a wall to hide above ceiling tile until the room was empty and he could leave. He then took with him a police badge, gun, holster, hand-held radio, police cap and coat and duffel bag. He hitched a ride back to Omaha on the back of a motorcycle while wearing the police cap. The next day police found him hiding in the attic of his mother's residence after the stolen police gear was recovered there.

But Blanchard wasn't done with his escape act. While wearing handcuffs, Blanchard stole the Omaha police cruiser from the Central Police Headquarters garage and fled yet again. The two officers who had transported Blanchard to the police garage got out of the car but left the keys in the ignition. As the officers were preparing to get Blanchard out of the back seat, he managed to wriggle his legs up through his handcuffs, putting his hands in front of him. He then slipped into the front seat, locked all four doors, and drove away. Police gave chase. It ended about 20 minutes later after Blanchard parked the police car outside a downtown Omaha steakhouse and fled on foot. He was caught moments later. But it wouldn't be long before Blanchard had authorities on the run once again.

TUESDAY JULY 10, 2007

It was the type of plot that wouldn't have been out of place in a James Bond movie. And now the public was getting its first taste of the elaborate tale behind “Operation Kite”, the complex Winnipeg police investigation which brought down the Blanchard Criminal Organization.

The biggest revelation of all? That the group was accused of stealing a jewel-encrusted broach—the Koechert Pearl Diamond, also known as the Sisi Star—from a castle in Vienna during a daylight robbery in 1998. The priceless heirloom once belonged to Queen Elisabeth, the Empress of Austria, during the 19th century and had been recently recovered by police in a Winnipeg home. You can imagine how this went over in a city more accustomed to hearing about their local gas bar or convenience store getting knocked over by thieves.

Court documents included a detailed list of hundreds of items found in houses, cars and business across British Columbia, Alberta and Manitoba when police executed 16 different search warrants at homes and business of the eight accused. In Winnipeg, police found plenty of electronic surveillance equipment inside an Olford Crescent home linked to co-accused Dale Fedoruk, who was working for Blanchard. On Ashland Avenue, in a home connected to family members of Aaron Syberg, they knocked over a marijuana grow operation. Drug charges against two relatives were now pending. Police searched Syberg's home on Bertrand Avenue and found boarding passes to Cancun and Edmonton, bus tickets to Calgary and Regina, numerous video cameras, handcuffs and a crossbow.

A search of four homes and storage unit linked to Blanchard had yielded a fairly incredible haul that was definitely not the typical starter kit for your everyday common criminal.

Among the more noteworthy items:

• Rocket propelled device
  
• 1,000 rounds of ammunition for a .39 mm handgun and .22-calibre rifle
  
• Airport x-ray film protector
  
• Several ‘pin hole' cameras
  
• Cameras hidden in bird houses and garden lights
  
• Sonic ear enhancers
  
• Night vision goggles
  
• Underwater cameras
  
• Surveillance cameras
  
• Police scanners
  
• Paintball gun
  
• Air Pistol
  
• Egyptian Monkey statue
  
• Blood-stained towel with hotel key from UK
  
• Boxes of adult diapers
  
• More than $10,000 in Canadian money
  
• Egyptian and British currency
  
• Fireworks
  
• Wire cutters
  
• Black grappling hook with 60 feet of rope
  
• Several boxes of ammo
  

All of this was only enhancing the growing legend of Gerald Blanchard—both in criminal and police circles.

WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 7, 2007

Cunning. Clever. Conniving. Creative. Crown attorney Sheila Leinburd needed just four words to sum up Gerald Blanchard and the high-tech criminal investigation he led.

Blanchard had just pleaded guilty to 16 charges and was given an eight-year prison term under a joint agreement between Crown and defence lawyers. He admitted he was the brains behind several sophisticated attacks on banks in Winnipeg, Edmonton and British Columbia that netted his group millions of dollars.

“Add some foreign intrigue and this is the stuff movies are made of,” Leinburd told court. Specifically, Leinburd revealed how the Blanchard Criminal Organization was funding terrorism in Iraq by working under the control of a mysterious London-based leader and his group of Muslim extremists. She described how Winnipeg police were stunned to overhear a conversation with a man Blanchard called “The Boss”—who was based in England and appeared to be calling the shots. The man ordered Blanchard and his associates to fly to Cairo in November 2006 and begin stealing money from bank machines using counterfeit credit cards, said Leinburd. He also sent three of his own associates to meet with Blanchard in Egypt and make sure things were done right, she said.

The group spent 10 days in Egypt and stole several hundred thousand dollars. They all wore burkas —the traditional dress for Muslim women which had them covered head to toe—to avoid detection from surveillance cameras, said Leinburd. Blanchard stopped in England on his way home and met again with “The Boss” to give him his “cut.” Blanchard cleared C$65,000 while the man kept the rest. Police later overheard a conversation in which Blanchard discussed what the money was being used for.

“It was to fuel terrorism,” said Leinburd. She said Blanchard told his associates how “The Boss” was sending money to Kurdish fighters in northern Iraq, court was told.

“And Mr. Blanchard was aware of that?” Associate Chief Justice Jeffrey Oliphant asked.

“Yes, he was,” said Leinburd.

The three Muslim associates tried to come to Canada last year to meet with Blanchard but immigration officials at the airport in Montreal turned them away for not having proper paperwork, she said.

Defence lawyer Danny Gunn said his client cut ties with “The Boss” once he learned of the terrorist connection. “It was at this point he realized he'd gotten himself involved in something pretty serious and with people who didn't abide by the same code as he did,” he said.

Blanchard was briefly held as a “hostage” in England when one of the associates he'd brought with him stole $50,000 and 50 counterfeit credit cards and then fled to Africa.

“I guess it proves there's no honour among thieves,” said Oliphant.

Police heard a frantic Blanchard making calls to get the man to return the goods. He was eventually allowed to return home to Canada unharmed.

Oliphant asked what became of “The Boss,” whose identity was not disclosed in court or by lawyers outside of court.

“I don't know,” said Leinburd. “The authorities in England have identified him, but they don't share information with us.”

Blanchard was not charged with any terrorism-related crimes and Oliphant said it was clear he got in over his head. “I'm satisfied you really weren't aware of where the majority of money you were stealing was going. I guess this just says something about the world we now live in,” he said.

Winnipeg police Insp. Tom Legge, who headed up the Project Kite task force that eventually caught Blanchard, admitted they were surprised at where the case led them. “We have no evidence [Blanchard] is a terrorist. But he is an opportunist,” said Legge, adding the scope of his crimes was “something we've never seen before.”

The Crown detailed how police first began investigating in 2004 following the theft of $510,000 from seven automatic banking machines inside a new CIBC branch on Empress Street just days before its grand opening. They would later learn Blanchard and associates had secretly installed a pinhole camera and two listening devices—including a baby monitor—inside the walls and roof of the bank while it was still under construction. That allowed him to monitor everything going on inside the branch from a remote location—and to know exactly when huge sums of money would be put inside the ABMs.