bottle of Somnotol—an anesthetic that just happened to be a controlled substance—down the drain. Karla explained, “I was dusting shelves and noticed a lot of drugs out of date, so I decided to throw away the out-of-date drugs… .”
Karla should have known that Somnotol was not date-sensitive, nor were veterinary personnel allowed to dispose of it in that manner. The Somnotol incident happened before Karla settled on halothane as her anesthetic of choice.
After considerable obfuscation, Karla admitted she had stolen another bottle of halothane after she and Paul moved to Bayview. She added the caveat that Paul had made her do it.
MacDonald wanted to know if Karla knew what the side effects of Somnotol were; whether or not she had ever looked it up in her pharmaceutical compendium; whether she had ever highhghted it. The answer to all those questions was “y^s.”
The defense had ascertained, through Dr. Patti Weir, that Karla had attended many autopsies on various animals such as mice, cats and dogs. Karla positioned this as quite a normal practice.
MacDonald asked her if she had ever extended an invitation to Paul to attend a clinical autopsy on an animal.
“I don’t recall specifically. I may have,” Karla responded quickly, then reconsidered. “Actually, I think I did. For the reason that he was so interested in doing an autopsy on a person. I figured, ‘Well, look at an animal,’ It was basically the same thing, you know. We have got almost all the same organs.”
But Paul never attended an autopsy.
MacDonald asked if Karla brought implements such as scalpels home from the clinic and Karla said “no.” MacDonald knew that the police had found a #10 scalpel, which had been taken from the clinic, among Karla’s effects at 57 Bayview.
MacDonald wanted to know how much Karla knew about the process of administering anesthetic and if the animals were given some other sort of sedative before the anesthetic was administered.
“Well, not always,” Karla explained. “An animal can be what is called ‘masked down,’ where they are given a high dose
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of halothane through a face mask and they inhale it and go out that way, or they can be given … there’s lots of different ways. There are different medications that can be given.”
“Is a sedative sometimes given in combination with halothane?” MacDonald asked.
“Yes.” Karla replied matter-of-factly. This was Karla’s territory—her expertise. Not understanding or taking time to appreciate the relevance of these questions, it was one of the few times Karla let down her guard. “Because first of all when an animal is being ‘masked down’ they resist, they become almost violent, and when you have a one-hundred-pound dog, you can’t mask it down.”
Sedating the animal first made the effort “less traumatic and easier.”
Karla remembered that Tammy Lyn had called Norma Tellier after she drank the Rusty Nail on December 23, 1990. MacDonald wanted to know how in the world Karla could remember something like that but could not remember what happened to Jane Doe or when? Because she had been talking to her mother a couple of weeks earlier and they had been discussing it, Karla replied dismissively.
Besides, Karla had been in Tammy’s room and had overheard her talking to Norma. She also remembered that Paul was wearing his UCLA sweatshirt that night. “Like, he wanted to keep the sweatshirt because it was the last thing he was wearing when he was with Tammy. Just like he had a Captain Crunch cereal box that she was eating out of … Well, Paul kept that box, because it was the last cereal box that she had eaten out of, kind of thing.”
MacDonald looked at Karla. “What does the devil represent to you?”
“Well,” Karla said as if she were about to tell the teacher what she did on her summer vacation, “the devil is the devil. He is a terribly bad guy. He is the worst guy there is. … I don’t think the devil has any values. Not values, as values.
meaning a normal person has values, you know what I’m saying? Any values he has are bad values, put it that way.”
“Does death have anything to do with your conception of the devil?” MacDonald asked.
“Well, only in the way that when you die you go to heaven or hell, or either go to God’s kingdom or the devil’s kingdom.” Karla said ingenuously.
“Is there a difference for you between the concept of the occult and satanism?” MacDonald continued.
“Yes. I beheve that the occult is more involved in the spiritual world and doesn’t necessarily have to do with the devil,” Karla postulated, enjoying her dissertation. “Although some people would say that being involved in the occult is being involved in Satan’s world. Some people believe that astrology is the devil’s work.”
Over the seven days MacDonald and Ken Murray spent asking Karla questions, they covered a great deal of material. They even returned for extra time at the end of July. Because MacDonald was so heavily influenced by Murray, who each night, given Karla’s responses, would suggest a new series of enigmatic questions that did not necessarily make any sense to MacDonald, her approach was scattered. MacDonald felt she was vulnerable, at sea, that she was being bested.
MacDonald asked Karla whether battered women were part of her womens’ studies program at Queen’s? Karla replied, “No, not yet. I believe that’s a very small portion of the course, near the end.”
They went through a whole discussion about the symptoms of a sadistic sexual psychopath, and MacDonald asked Karla about trophies: “After he was questioned by Metro he threw everything away. Like, he used to keep ID but after, he threw everv^thing away.”
This directly contradicted her earlier comments to the police during her “induced” and “cautioned” statements in May, 1993, that she did not know Paul was the Scarborough rapist until he told her on their wedding mght. How could Karla know that Paul had thrown all his trophies away after being interviewed by the Toronto police in November, 1990—right
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ifter he had come to her window that same Tuesday night—if he did not know he was the Scarborough rapist?
MacDonald asked Karla about underwear, things related to Fammy and sexual props. “Tammy’s hair was in a silver-gold )ox,” Karla replied. “Which I have, and I think it is all there.” >he denied ever using Tammy Lyn’s underwear as a prop.
“Is it your evidence that you had no sexual contact with Jane :)oe?”
“Yes.”
“Is it your evidence that the sexual contact between Jane and J’aul when she was unconscious only happened on one occa-ion?”
“Yes.”
“And only one Halcion was used on Jane?”
“Yes.”
“Was there an occasion when halothane was used on Jane 3oe?”
“No.”
“Were there any occasions, other than December 23, when lalothane was used?”
“No.”
Karla was lying through her teeth, and Ken Murray knew it. rhe only question now was, how and what was he going to do ibout it?
Sergeant Bob Gillies and Staff Sergeant Steve MacLeod had :alked to Karla on August 8. They were going to provide her psychological and psychiatric records to three new doctors. The examination by Murray and MacDonald had perplexed Ray ^oulahan. The tape with Jane Doe and Karla’s answers when ;he was questioned were difficult to reconcile. The prosecution low felt it needed more and better psychology and psychiatry 3n Karla. Karla was happy to oblige.
The selected team was all male. Dr. Peter Jaffe was a psychologist and a recognized expert in battered spouse syndrome. He tfvas from London, Ontario. Dr. Stephen Hucker, a forensic psychiatrist recently relocated to Kingston, Ontario, from the
46o STEPHEN wiiii^ms
Clarke Institute in Toronto, had assumed the position as head of the forensic unit at the Hotel Dieu in Kingston and Dr. Chris Hatcher, a California psychologist, was allegedly an expert in posttraumatic stress disorder. Karla was very much looking forward to meeting
these new doctors.
John Rosen thought it must be something serious because Ken Murray was uncharacteristically early for his appointment at Rosen’s offices on Bloor Street in downtown Toronto on August 15. And Rosen was late, so he was even more surprised to find the normally impatient and fidgety law^^er still waiting in the foyer.
Rosen knew who Murray was. At that point, everybody did. Murray was Paul Bernardo’s lawyer. But Rosen knew him for other reasons. He had been co-counsel on a case with Murray a couple of years earlier. Also, one of his junior partners, Tim Breen, lived with Carolyn MacDonald. Rosen was not only one of the most respected criminal lawyers in Toronto, but he was also one of the busiest.
A clear-eyed, cherub-faced, well-groomed man in his forty-ninth year, Rosen’s nickname was Mr. Murder. Charismatic, he had a deservedly substantial reputation for his eloquent and persuasive jury addresses; his abiHty for searing, devastating cross-examinations.
During long, often tedious trials, Rosen would slump in his chair at the defense table, and under the pretense of reading transcripts or law do the crossword puzzle from the morning paper. Even on his bad days, he had more law at his fingertips than any ten judges. But it was his ability to translate the law and articulate it that made John Rosen a truly remarkable figure on the judicial landscape.
From behind, slumped down in his chair, Rosen looked almost exacdy hke Danny DeVito as he had appeared in Other People’s Money. He had dark hair and a bald spot on top. Visage-wise, he bore a reasonable resemblance to the height-challenged actor as well. But whereas DeVito was short and
INVISIBLE darkness 4^1
>aunchy, Rosen was tall—almost six feet and in top physical ondition.
Clients he could not get off—because they were so evidendy juilty that a deaf, dumb and Wind jury would find against hem—he invariably got convicted on reduced charges and sen-enced leniently.
When Murray showed up that day in mid-August, 1994, ohn Rosen was in the process of defending a Russian emigre, rhe man had stabbed his wife in the heart with a butcher knife welve times in fi-ont of his two children. The final time he tabbed her, he left the knife in. His youngest daughter pulled it )ut of her dying mother’s chest. Charged wdth first-degree nurder, Rosen’s client got eight years for manslaughter. In to-al, the guy would do a little more time than Karla—but not nuch. Then he would be deported.
Murray had first called Rosen on July 28. Rosen finally got )ack to him on the fourteenth. And now here he was, waiting, i^osen was right. It was important. Murray wanted Rosen to ake over the Bernardo case.
Murray was pleading with Rosen, saying that he had come :o realize that he simply did not have the resources for the Bernardo case. He did not have the staff or the physical plant or :he stamina. He simply did not have the wherewithal in any :ategory. Unfortunately, it had taken him a year and a half to ■ealize it. Murray said it was getting worse. New motions every ;econd week and endless court appearances—Murray must have Deen in court two dozen times, without any end in sight.
The Bernardo case had no appeal for a lawyer of Rosen’s >tatus. The best criminal lawyers liked cases they had a chance :o win; failing that, some reward—financial or political—commensurate to their efforts. All the major lawyers had been watching Murray’s antics with quiet bemusement. Firstly, they wondered how Bernardo had ever found such an obscure lawyer from Aurora, Ontario. One story said his father’s lawyer organized it. Another rumor had Murray representing Bernardo’s errant brother, David, on some petty charges. However Bernardo got his number, Paul originally called Murray collect from the jail and asked him if he would come and see him. The
larger question was, how the hell had Murray managed it this long?
The Bernardo case was sordid, and as far as Rosen could tell, unwinnable. It was wholly funded through Legal Aid. The Green Ribbon Task Force was the largest task force assembled in Canadian history. There were more prosecutors working on the Bernardo case than worked on some major federal-com-bmes cases. And that was only with regard to the murders. The government had gone right off the deep end. There was no up side.
It was the last thing on earth Rosen wanted or needed. But the word “no” was not in John Rosen’s vocabulary. He was simply one of those men who had always had great difficulty turning anyone down who got far enough to pose the question-He told Murray he would have to consult with his partner and his family and let Ken know.
His partner, Jim Fleming, who was also his brother-in-law, his wife, his two grown daughters and his teenage son all said no. Rosen called Murray the next day. Typically, he could not get Murray on the phone, so he left a message. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Murray called him back the following day. He implored Rosen to reconsider. Again, Murray pleaded with him. He wanted Rosen to talk to Carolyn MacDonald before he said an unequivocal “no.” MacDonald was on holiday in Utah with Tim Breen.
On the telephone MacDonald told Rosen that after completing her examination of Karla Homolka she had told Murray there was no way she would stay on the case if Murray remained as lead counsel. The rift had been serious enough that Murray had canceled the final day scheduled with Karla.
She confirmed what Rosen already suspected—the thing was completely out of control and off the rails. There was something else as well; something less specific, on which MacDonald could not quite put her finger. Whatever it was, it was insidious. Murray had instructed MacDonald to ask Karla questions that seemed to come out of nowhere. Even the prosecution noticed it. MacDonald had an idea where they were
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coming from, but she did not feel it was her place to speculate. The cross had been ineffective and all over the map.
Still MacDonald found the case and aU its machinations enthralling, as any young criminal lawyer might. The way it was when she left on vacation, the whole thing was an unresolved disaster. If Rosen took the case, MacDonald would stay on to provide the continuity. She was sure their law clerk, Kim Doyle, who was just then on maternity leave, would want to return to work on the case as well.
Rosen thought about it. Murray had said to him that the case was “an issues junkie’s dream.” So that was what Murray thought Rosen was: an issues junkie. There might be some truth in that. It was also very high profile. Not that Rosen needed the profile, but unlike many of his Canadian brothers-at-law, Rosen’s appreciation for the media was positively American. He Hked the media. He hked the spodight and he was not the shghtest bit timorous in the camera’s glare.
Without further consultation with his partner or his family Rosen called Murray and said he would take the case, on three conditions: the chent had to agree. Legal Aid had to approve the transfer and the judge had to agree to a lengthy adjournment in order to allow Rosen time to properly prepare.
Murray had already gone ahead and stupidly allowed Bernardo to be formally arraigned. He had entered a plea—not guilty—and had agreed to start the trial in the fall of 1994, which was far too early for Rosen, given the volume of Crown disclosure and his own full calendar. In addition, Rosen was concerned that the prosecution was gearing up for a trial in St. Catharines, without considering the dilemma of jury selection in a traumatized small town or the implicit logic of a change-of-venue application.
On Paul Bernardo’s thirtieth birthday, August 27, 1994, Rosen and Murray drove to the Niagara Regional Detention Center in Thorold, Ontario, to talk to the prisoner. Bernardo was housed in a tiny, windowless cell on the ground floor of this bunkerhke, thoroughly unattractive block-and-brick building.
Murray asked to speak to Paul Bernardo alone for fifteen
minutes. Rosen found it a bit odd at the time, but did not give it a great deal of thought. He assumed Murray had been too busy to discuss his wish to get off the record any earHer. As it turned out, Rosen was right. Murray had neglected to mention it. Until that minute, Bernardo had no idea his lawyer was quitting.
Fifteen
minutes later Rosen went into the jail. Bernardo looked exactly like his pictures. In turn, Paul said he had heard a great deal about Rosen.
There had been a prison guard, named Johnson, whom Rosen had defended. The guard had murdered an attractive trans-vestite prostitute and he had been held at the Metro East Detention Center for part of the time Bernardo was there. Nothing but praise from that corner, Paul Bernardo told John Rosen.
Like most criminal-defense lawyers, Rosen was susceptible to praise. Bernardo told Rosen he would be very happy if Rosen took over his defense. Rosen wished him a happy birthday. He explained the other conditions and assured Paul he was considering the case and would let him know, one way or the other, very soon.
The following day, Rosen contacted Legal Aid. They had no problem if he took over the file. Rosen had a well-deserved reputation for integrit). What most appealed to the administrators at Legal Aid, however, was his speed and efficency, particularly with his forte—complex murder trials.
The trial judge was Associate Chief Justice Patrick LeSage, a respected, popular adjudicator. Courthouse scuttlebutt was that LeSage would be promoted within the ranks if the trial went well. LeSage might be a little too quick to compromise for Rosen’s liking, but the situation could have been a lot worse. During a meeting in his chambers, Rosen discovered that neither the prosecution nor the judge was particularly happy about this turn of events.
Earlier, Rosen had bumped into a former colleague who was now an assistant deputs-minister in the Ministry of the Attorney-General. Michael Code was an ex-rugby-playing, _
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square-jawed man who, along with Murray Segal and Casey Hill, was responsible for the Homolka deal.
Code told Rosen, without knowing where exacdy Rosen stood, that the Bernardo case was going off the track and that he was very distressed.
LeSage was troubled because the Bernardo matter had dragged on far too long, as it was. He was determined to get the matter to trial and end it. Rosen made it clear that his participation was contingent on his being properly retained and the trial being adjourned so that he could clear his calendar and prepare properly. Otherwise, there would be a serious miscarriage of justice. Justice LeSage said the matter of Murray’s withdrawal and the question of Rosen getting on the record had to be dealt with in open court and he scheduled the matter for September 12, in St. Catharines.
Invisible darkness : the strange case of Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka Page 46
