Final Appeal. Anatomy of a Frame

428 Pages·2010·1.59 MB·English

by  Colin Thatcher

FINAL APPEAL
Anatomy of a Frame
COLIN THATCHER
ECW Press
ECW Press
Copyright © Colin Thatcher, 2009
Published by ECW Press
2120 Queen Street East, Suite 200, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4E 1E2
416.694.3348 / [email protected] All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any process — electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise — without the prior written permission of the copyright owners
and ECW Press.
LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION
Thatcher, Colin, 1938– Final appeal : anatomy of a frame / Colin Thatcher. ISBN 978-1-55022-879-3
1. Thatcher, Colin, 1938-. 2. Wilson, JoAnn, 1939–1983. 3. Murder — Saskatchewan — Regina. 4.
Trials (Murder) — Saskatchewan — Regina. 5. Judicial error — Saskatchewan. 6. Politicians —
Saskatchewan — Biography. 7. Criminals — Saskatchewan — Biography. I. Title. HV6248.T43A3
2009 364.152'3092 C2009-902521-3
Typesetting: Mary Bowness Printing: Transcontinental 1 2 3 4 5
The publication of Final Appeal has been generously supported by the Canada
Council for the Arts which last year invested $20.1 million in writing and
publishing throughout Canada, by the Ontario Arts Council, by the
Government of Ontario through Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit,
by the OMDC Book Fund, an initiative of the Ontario Media
Development Corporation, and by the Government of Canada through
the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).
Printed and bound in Canada
Acknowledgements
Bruce Dunne of Maxim Research & Consulting Corporation Ltd., Calgary,
Alberta, expended untold hours and effort into unearthing the evidence that
would overturn my conviction. The fruits of his investigation would have been
sufficient in most cases; however, the politics of the day made the hill too steep
in mine. Bruce Dunne rates at the top of his profession.
Gerry Albright, now Mr. Justice Albright of the Saskatchewan Court of
Queen's Bench, put his heart and soul into my defence at trial, the
subsequent appeals and the Section 690 application. No client could have
asked for more effort from his attorney.
After my conviction, more than four hundred donors, many from my old
Thunder Creek constituency, without solicitation graciously contributed to a
defence fund because they perceived an injustice. To each and every one of
them, my heartfelt thanks.
My thanks and compliments to ECW Press for their courage in
publishing a controversial manuscript. The opportunity to work with such
fine professionals was a thrill I shall always cherish.
The unflinching support of my three children was my anchor and
linchpin throughout the dark years. No parent could ask for more.
PROLOGUE
After five days of deliberation, the jury had reached a verdict. My lawyer had
told me that you could usually predict their decision as they filed back into their
jury box seats. A happy, smiling jury who make eye contact with the defendant
usually signals good news for the accused. As they took their seats, this jury did
not fit that description.
The jury foreman had come to court each morning wearing a drugstore-
type western hat and made it obvious on day one that he wanted to be
noticed. It was no surprise when he had become the jury foreman. As he
stood to read the verdict, it was apparent he was no longer enjoying his role.
Blandly, he pronounced the dreaded words.
“Guilty as charged.”
Obviously, I knew the possibility of being convicted was real, yet I truly
had not expected it. The jury had been out for five days, suggesting some
division and cause for hope. Regardless of the verdict, I had resolved not to
show any emotion; however, the words hit like a blunt spike being driven
into my chest by an imaginary hammer. An involuntary recoil wracked my
body, and my knees sagged for a split second. I caught myself and remained
determined not to give the massed reporters anything extra to describe
during sentencing.
Shock was setting in as I thanked my lawyer, Gerry Allbright, for a
valiant defence. Gerry was visibly upset as we exchanged handshakes. The
RCMP constables quickly took me downstairs to change clothes for the trip
back to the correctional centre where I would be held for thirty days prior to
being sent to prison on a twenty-five-year life sentence.
The odyssey had begun.
CHAPTER 1: Arrest
1984
Nothing can prepare you for being arrested for murder. Everyone has seen it at
one time or another on television or in the movies. That is of no help when it
happens.
The Regina Police did it very skilfully shortly after 8 a.m. on a dull,
damp morning on May 7, 1984. Because of the weather, I was in no rush to
leave for the ranch some fifteen miles west of Moose Jaw and drank an
extra couple of cups of coffee. My three-quarter-ton GMC was low on gas.
My son Greg had his own vehicle and had a stop to make en route. I asked
him to travel Highway 1 in case I ran out. We both left at the same time.
I sipped on a cup of coffee as I turned north on Highway 2 toward the
overpass north of Moose Jaw. I saw a police car in the rear-view mirror and
glanced at the speedometer and concentrated on the speed limit. The black-
and-white remained behind me as the overpass neared. I realized my seat
belt was not fastened. The police car closed as I exited onto the approach
ramp for Highway 1. The red light on top flashed. I pulled over, expecting a
seat belt ticket.
I opened the driver's door quickly before the officer could approach my
truck. I did not want to be caught red-handed with an unfastened seat belt
and started to step out. A car roared by, narrowly missing the open door. It
braked to a halt in the middle of the road; cars and cops swarmed from
nowhere. A lone figure sprinted to the side into the ditch and pulled out a
camera; they had even brought their own photographer.
The seat belt ticket would have looked pretty good about then. Plain-
clothed cops surrounded me, their hands poised above handguns in hidden
holsters and body language suggesting they were itching for an excuse to
shoot me on the spot. Someone snapped a pair of handcuffs on my wrists.
To my left, I saw the approaching chief of detectives, Edward Swayze. In
shock, I listened without hearing while he read me my rights.
A cop was assigned to drive my GMC back to my home. They guided me
into the rear seat of a sedan. Sergeant Wally Beaton slid in on one side, a
cop named Street on the other. The car pulled onto Highway 1 and headed
west toward the Ninth Avenue turnoff and U-turned for Regina. As we
returned toward the overpass, my truck was on the overhead proceeding
south toward Moose Jaw. Greg was following, obviously unaware that I
was not the driver because of the GMC's high-backed bucket seats.
A bizarre thought occurred to me. Unaware that Beaton and Street were
wired, I asked a question that would lead to speculation for years by some
who would follow the case.
“Did you arrest Greg?” I asked Beaton.
He said no.
Numerous inquiries grew out of that innocent question in the years
ahead. Many absurdly concluded that Greg had murdered his mother, a
notion held by some to this day. In fact, my concern was merely that a cop
might be driving his truck too.
A myriad of thoughts ran through my mind during the drive to Regina,
some simple relief. My lawyer, Tony Merchant, had always believed I
would ultimately be charged in the murder of my ex-wife, JoAnn, if only to
allow the Regina Police to clear their books of an investigation in which the
local media had regularly roasted them. For over a year, they had made no
secret that I was their one and only suspect; they had bluntly told people I
would eventually be charged, especially those whom they knew would
immediately pass on this information to me. Six months earlier I was
expecting it but not on that dull Saskatchewan morning. I was in mild
shock.
I first met Sergeant Beaton in 1981 after the first shooting of JoAnn and
considered him a decent, fair-minded cop. Street, the officer on my right,
looked and acted like a goon. Other than a couple of questions to Beaton
about what would follow, we rode in silence.
They presented me to a desk sergeant and removed my cuffs. He emptied