Poison (37 page)

Pretrial motions in the Dhillon double-murder trial began in the fall and ended early in 2000. To bolster their case, assistant Crown attorney Brent Bentham wanted to show the jury evidence of Dhillon’s marriage to Sarabjit within weeks of the death of his wife Parvesh, and then of the subsequent death of the newborns, and also evidence pertaining to Dhillon’s third wife, Kushpreet. On January 28, 2000, Glithero announced his decision. Ruling No. 1 said he would allow details of Kushpreet’s death as “similar-fact evidence.” That meant it could be used in prosecuting murder counts 1 (Parvesh) and 2 (Ranjit).

“In my opinion,” Glithero wrote, “the Crown has led sufficient evidence to establish the improbability of it being pure coincidence that three people close to the accused died over a relatively short period, in different parts of the world, and in a manner involving symptoms of a fairly rare cause of death.” But he added a caveat. “If the evidentiary foundation for this ruling is undermined” as a result of new evidence from India, he would reconsider his
decision. The judge decided against allowing evidence of the twins’ deaths, at least for now. The Crown would need a stronger link between Dhillon and those deaths. Still, for the Crown, the ruling was a big victory. They could proceed to round up witnesses in India to bring them once again to Canada.

Warren Korol was relieved. With the trial a few months away, all the work they had done, the legwork in India, had paid off. But the depth of their investigation also meant that the case was complex, spread over two continents, involving witness statements gathered from people in two languages. The mountain of evidence seemed the trump card. Korol had no way of knowing that the evidence connecting Dhillon to the death of Kushpreet was a lead weight that was about to sink their ship.

 

 

At his desk in the concrete bunker-like office, CBI Inspector Subhash Kundu read the fax passed to him by his supervisor. It came via Interpol and the Canadian High Commission in New Delhi. Kundu’s services were required again. He carefully read the letter. Kundu enjoyed brushing up on his English. His lips pursed, the brown eyes sparkled. He was proud to once again help the Canadians.

Kundu was asked to contact 19 witnesses to inform them they were required to come to Canada in September to testify against Dhillon. They would enter Canada on special visa permits.

One group of witnesses was from Panj Grain, Sarabjit’s home. The other group was from Tibba, including Kushpreet’s family. But for the Kushpreet witnesses, Kundu was told they needed more than just Kushpreet’s father, mother, and cousin, who had appeared at Dhillon’s preliminary hearing. This time they wanted Kundu to find two additional eye witnesses: the village mayor and the medical helper. Their names were Ajmer Singh and Budram
Singh. The more evidence the better. A CBI driver took Kundu to Ludhiana to meet the prospective witnesses, who had been told to gather there. Kundu checked his list. Rai Singh Toor, Kushpreet’s father and clearly the leader of the group, had brought everybody except witnesses number 16 and 17.

“Bring them to the next meeting,” Kundu told Rai Singh. The old man looked frail and thin, but his eyes blazed fiercely from beneath his turban. On July 17, Kundu met the missing witnesses. Rai Singh was accompanied by a police “gunman,” as he was called, for protection from Dhillon’s loyalists. Rai Singh introduced the two witnesses.

“Inspector Kundu, this is Dr. Budram Singh. And this is Ajmer Singh, the mayor of the village.”

“Are you willing to go to Canada to testify?” Kundu asked.

“Yes,” the two men said together.

“It was my car,” volunteered Ajmer, “that transferred Kushpreet to the hospital.”

Kundu paused. “Show me your ID,” he said.

Neither man replied. Rai Singh spoke up. “They do not have it with them today. I’ll make sure they get the documents. I’ll manage the business with the passports.”

The men each signed a document: “I am willing to attend court in Canada as a witness as and when called by the Canadian authorities, provided that all expenses toward the above said purpose…will be borne by the Canadian government.”

Kundu wrote the final words in his own hand: “Presently I am not having passport.”

Later, Rai Singh took the men to a police station to verify their identities and request passports. He vouched for both; they were “having good moral character.” A police officer approved the application forms. Several weeks later, Kundu met again with the two men to confirm their identities. He drove to Tibba. Ajmer and Budram both had photo identification. Kundu returned to his stark office to write his report. The Dhillon trial was to begin soon in Hamilton. He reported 19 witnesses contacted as requested, 19 witnesses verified willing to testify in Canada.

Everything was under control.

Warren Korol strode into Courtroom 708 carrying a briefcase, his arms and shoulders pushing at the seams of his suit jacket, shoes clicking on the floor. In the four years since he had started the investigation, his dark hair had grayed gracefully in places, offering a tarnished silver appearance under fluorescent lights.

He always chatted with bailiffs and security officers, learning their first names and memorizing them. He brought them coffee and pastries on occasion.

“Hiya, Art,” he said to the bailiff.

“Hey Warren, you’re losing too much weight,” the man chided Korol, who years earlier had carried extra bulk when playing on the line for the Hamilton Hurricanes football team.

The trial about to begin, Korol’s case of a lifetime, he carried himself like a cop who knew he had his man dead to rights. He grinned, joked, blue eyes dancing. Sitting next to Korol in the front pew of the court, on his right hand, was Kevin Dhinsa. He always wore a crisp shirt and dark tailored suit, black shoes polished to a high sheen. On occasion he left court to chat with Punjabi witnesses in the hallway, or went to the Crown’s temporary office to organize notes to help the prosecutors with their questions for witnesses.

As for Dhillon, the beard he had vainly painted pitch black was now completely gray. He still had the stocky, rounded build and thick face. He sat in the prisoner’s box next to a female Punjabi interpreter, who had to put up with his strong body odor day after day. Dhillon wanted people to think of him as a simple
jat
man, a farmer, surely incapable of such a heinous crime. Can’t read or write, not even his own name. Certainly didn’t know any English. It wasn’t true, but he requested an interpreter and got one. That kind of thing wasn’t unheard of in Ontario courts. He might even be able to use it to his advantage in court, to slow down the process and try to draw sympathy from the jury.

The interpreter spoke quietly to him as witnesses answered questions from lawyers, Dhillon looking puzzled whenever English was spoken. Dhillon, Korol thought, the lying bastard.

Brent Bentham reconstructed Dhillon’s story in his opening statement. The jury heard about the three deaths: Parvesh. Ranjit. Kushpreet. They heard about Dhillon’s three weddings in India. Ideally, the Crown would have had evidence of the twins’ deaths included. In the end, Bentham withdrew his motion to introduce it. Strychnine had not been found. They could argue the point further, but why bother? They already had an overwhelming case.

Wednesday, November 1 dawned with sunshine and a gentle breeze. As court began that morning, KLM Airlines Flight 691 was over top the Atlantic Ocean bound for Toronto. It had left New Delhi the night before. Among its passengers were three people who were to testify at Dhillon’s trial about the circumstances of Kushpreet’s death, the “similar-fact evidence” that would help convict Dhillon. Rai Singh sat between men who carried passports identifying them as the mayor of the village, Ajmer Singh, and the medical assistant, Budram Singh.

In the courthouse, Kushpreet’s cousin, Pargat Jhajj, sat waiting for his turn to testify at the Dhillon trial. He was next. Pargat was the one who had carried Kushpreet in his arms to the car. Outside the courtroom, he agonized over what to do. Pargat knew the KLM flight was on its way and that Rai Singh was aboard. He also knew about the men with Rai Singh and was ashamed of what his relative was doing. He decided that he had to tell what he knew, do the honorable thing. Truth may be relative in the justice system back home but this was Canada, and Pargat, for one, was taking it all seriously. He stood and approached Kevin Dhinsa, the detective he held in awe. Could Kevin spare a moment?

Pargat told Dhinsa that two of the witnesses on their way to Canada were not the men they claimed to be.

“What?”

Impostors. Two of the men were impostors. The words took Dhinsa’s breath away. He walked into the courtroom, leaned over, and quietly relayed the news to Korol.

As Dhinsa spoke, Korol’s expression was flat, then his face drained of color. He felt sick to his stomach. He nodded in the direction of Bentham. Tell him. Dhinsa whispered into Bentham’s ear as well. We need to talk. Right now. Bentham interrupted his colleague
Tony Leitch, who was questioning a witness, and asked the judge for a short recess. Outside the courtroom Dhinsa told the prosecutors what had happened. When court resumed, Bentham apologized to the judge for the abruptness of his request and asked for another recess. He would be making a submission to the court and needed time to prepare it. The jury was sent home for the day.

Pargat Jhajj, Kushpreet’s cousin, at home in Tibba

Korol and Dhinsa marched out of the courthouse. Neither spoke. They had a plane to meet in Toronto. Dhinsa told Korol the whole story, as relayed to him by Pargat. The scam had been Rai Singh’s. He had found two replacements for the village mayor and medical assistant as witnesses. He would later say he was simply trying to make sure the Canadians had all the witnesses they needed.

Dhinsa never believed that. What he heard was that Rai Singh met with two men, Amarjit Singh Gill and Bhopinder Singh Grewal. Bhopinder owned a bar in a nearby village. Rai Singh was no stranger there. He owed Bhopinder money. Now Rai Singh had a proposition. He spelled it out over shots of whisky. If Amarjit and Bhopinder pretended to be the two witnesses, they would get a free trip to Canada. Once there, they could all seek refugee status—the impostors, Rai Singh, and his family. In exchange, Rai Singh’s debts would be forgiven. The men accepted.