The Mayerthorpe Story

by Robert Knuckle

  Radio checks were made with the two members throughout their shift. Occasionally, as the morning wore on, Leo Johnston radioed the telecom centre and let them know that all was quiet at the scene.

  An aerial view of Roszko’s farm. Notice the patches of brush and bush and the windbreaks he could have used for cover as he approached the Quonset. (RCMP)

  It is fair to assume that some of the time, the two Mounties sat together in a cruiser, and some of the time they got out and moved around, checking inside and outside the building with their flashlights.

  But from the time they had arrived on the scene, Roszko was working his way towards them over the frozen fields from the southwest of his farmstead. And as he got closer, he would have been watching carefully, trying to determine how many police were there, looking for any movement he could detect from the light going on and off inside the police cruiser or from the beams of their flashlights as they moved around his property.

  Although the path of his final advance is unknown, an examination of his property would seem to indicate he probably approached the Quonset from the rear (the west).

  This would mean that the only open space he had to cross was between the last patch of brush to the west and the windbreak behind his Quonset. From there, he could have used the building itself to shield his movement.

  In any case, as he continued to move furtively towards his building, he would have been aware that he needed to get into the best possible position before dawn.

  When the first glimmer of daylight began to show itself in the east at about seven-twenty, Leo and Tony must have been glad to see the dawn replace the darkness and ease the tension of their lonely vigil.

  Around that same time, Brock Myrol was getting up again, because he was eager to get out to the crime scene by nine.

  Before he left the house, he came into the bedroom to snuggle a little bit with Anjila. But with his full gun belt, his cuffs, and his vest, it was awkward for them to hug.

  “This isn’t working, Brock,” she whispered.

  Brock agreed, and they kidded a little bit about some cartoons that Anjila had been watching the night before.

  As Brock began to leave, Anjila said, “When are you going to be home?”

  “I’m off at seven, but I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

  He blew Anjila a final kiss, and she whispered, “I love you.”

  And he was gone again to meet Clayton Seguin so they could walk over to the detachment office together.

  At 8:00 a.m., Cst. Steve Vigor left his home in an unmarked Yukon Suburban to pick up his partner, Garret Hoogestraat, in Sherwood Park, an eastern suburb of Edmonton. They were the two specialists with the Auto Theft Unit who were assigned to attend Roszko’s farm and investigate the stolen vehicles and stolen auto parts that were found on his property.

  The other two members of this unit were Cpl. Murray Savage and Cst. Chris Laubman. The unit’s mandate was to investigate the role and function of organized crime in the realm of stolen vehicles. Over the years, stealing cars and trucks had developed into a highly structured and extremely lucrative criminal enterprise that drained millions of dollars from the Canadian economy.

  The focus of the Auto Theft Section was on the major players in the stolen car game. The unit didn’t get involved with single automotive thefts or go after joyriding teenagers who stole cars for weekend thrills. They were after the organized network of thieves who made the big money in this illegal venture.

  Steve Vigor and Garret Hoogestraat were both accomplished policemen whose individual talents and interests made them effective partners.

  Corporal Steve Vigor, the Mountie who shot James Roszko. (RCMP)

  Constable Garrett Hoogestraat, the Mountie who shielded Steve Vigor from Roszko’s lethal guns. (RCMP)

  Vigor, fifty-two, had twenty-six years’ experience as a Mountie. At five-nine and 175 pounds, he was a slightly built man who wore glasses and looked more like a librarian than the daring policeman he was — one who would eventually be honoured for his bravery by the Governor General of Canada.

  Steve graduated from Depot in 1979 and then served in Alberta detachments at Fort McMurray, Fort Chipewan, Jasper, and Sherwood Park. Most recently, he was posted to the Auto Theft Section at Edmonton Headquarters.

  Vigor had always harboured an interest in becoming a member of the “K” Division (Alberta) Emergency Response Team. And in May 1992, his potential in this capacity was recognized when he was invited to join them as a probationary “striker.” Six months later, he was sent to Ottawa to take the RCMP’S special ERT training course, which he passed with flying colours.

  The five-week ERT course is a physically demanding process offered at the RCMP college in Ottawa. Candidates in the course spend a lot of time on the shooting range firing high-powered weapons. This is Steve’s forté. He is an excellent shot, rated as an RCMP marksman.

  Participants in the course also spend time practising their skills in sniper training, fighting in the gym in close-quarter bouts, and driving on the roadways at Depot making high-risk vehicle stops.

  When Vigor became a bona fide member of Edmonton’s ERT, he soon learned the hazardous work they do creates a special bond among its members.

  “I can’t tell you how much being an ERT member means to me. The bond among us is very strong. The realization that these guys are willing to put their life on the line for you is overpowering. And, of course, you’re going to do the same for them. Their dedication is second to none. When that ERT pager goes off, everybody turns up ready to go.”

  In his twelve-plus years with the ERT unit, Steve had participated in his fair share of dangerous assignments. The most perilous occurred in February 2004, when he was involved in a tragic case at Spruce Grove, Alberta, a western suburb of Edmonton. In that incident, one of the RCMP’S best dog masters, Jim Galloway, was shot and killed by a violent and emotionally unstable man named Martin Ostopovich.

  Ostopovich, who was known to the police as a troubled personality, had shot the windows out of his neighbour’s car and then holed up in his house most of the day with some high-powered weapons. He had also contacted the media claiming he was going to kill “some cops.”

  The Edmonton ERT was called in to handle the situation, and as soon as they came on the scene, Ostopovich declared to them over the phone he was going to get into his pickup truck with his guns and leave the area. The police advised him he could not do that.

  When Ostopovich came out of the house armed with two high-powered rifles and climbed into his vehicle, the ERT made their move. Steve Vigor and two other ERT members rushed Ostopovich’s truck on foot while Jim Galloway rammed his GMC Suburban into his vehicle. The idea was for Galloway to tip Ostopovich’s truck over. But because of the snow on the street, the pickup didn’t roll over, it just slid sideways.

  And, after the collision, as Galloway tried to run for cover, Ostopovich shot him in the back at close range. That’s when Vigor and the two other ERT members charged Ostopovich’s pickup, opened fire, and shot him dead.

  In that case, it is of interest to note that Steve Vigor will never be told whether or not it was the shots he fired that killed Martin Ostopovich. That’s because it is ERT policy not to divulge this information to anyone, particularly the ERT members who participated in a fatal incident.

  Garret Hoogestraat’s police experience is quite different from Steve Vigor’s, but equally interesting. At six feet and 195 pounds, Garret Hoogestraat was a bigger man than Vigor and eight years younger. The great interest in his life has always been automobiles. Ever since he was a youngster, Garret loved working with them and learning about them. As a teenager he took an apprenticeship in diesel mechanics.

  During his fourteen-year police career he served in detachments of varying sizes. His first five years were spent at a small rural unit in Two Hills in northern Alberta. Then he was transferred to Sherwood Park, where he served for six years with its huge sixty-five-member contingent. From the
re, his application was accepted for him to join the Auto Theft Section at Edmonton Headquarters. And for the last three years this particular type of work had become his passion.

  Like his partner, Vigor, Hoogestraat also serves on a dangerous specialty crew. In 2004 he became a part-time member of the Explosives Disposal Unit, which also works out of Edmonton Headquarters. By all accounts, this is the most delicate and dangerous specialty there is in police work.

  And so it’s obvious that although these men are quite different in their personalities and their interests, the common trait they share is their intrepid daring.

  But that was a quality that didn’t seem to be required as they prepared to go to work at James Roszko’s farm.

  When Vigor picked Hoogestraat up that Thursday morning, they both figured that they were going out on another routine call to assist a detachment with a search warrant.

  As Vigor says, “As far I could tell, it was just another case of checking out a small part of a bigger picture.”

  They didn’t even have an address for the search site. But they knew it was near Mayerthorpe, so Vigor headed west on Highway #16 and then north on Highway #43.

  Along the way, Garret got on his cell phone and called the Mayerthorpe Detachment for more specific directions. From what they told him, he figured the drive would take about two hours.

  “But we aren’t going to make it going this slow,” he said to Vigor. “My grandmother drives faster than you do.”

  “We’re doing the speed limit. That’s good enough for me.”

  They both smiled. They’d had this conversation before.

  Steve says, “I remember it was a beautiful day … bright sunshine … temperature around zero. Actually it was a lovely drive.”

  About this same time in Mayerthorpe, Clayton Seguin and Brock Myrol were in uniform walking toward the detachment office.

  Clayton was Brock’s trainer, which meant the two of them would work closely together for the first two months that Brock was on the job. That worked out well because they lived only two blocks from each other.

  Clayton says, “We met outside my place just after eight o’clock and we were both kind of drowsy because we’d got to bed so late.”

  As they walked along, Clayton remembers he said to Brock, “This is just like being on foot patrol … like we’re walking a beat together.”

  Just after they got to the office, Peter Schiemann came in. He was dressed in civvies — a dark jacket, blue jeans, and running shoes. Peter told them he was going into Edmonton to buy some camera equipment for the interdiction crew. The reason he was wearing civilian clothes was because detachment policy dictated that no member should wear his or her uniform while shopping.

  Jim Martin was up at 8:30 a.m. He had a quick shower and a cup of coffee and was out of the house by nine. “I wanted to get in there early and see who was there … get some manpower and head out to Roszko’s.”

  He got to the detachment just after nine o’clock and the first thing he did was contact Leo Johnston out at the Roszko’s farm.

  “How’s everything going out there?” he asked.

  “Everything’s quiet,” Leo replied.

  “Any sightings of Roszko yet?”

  “No. We haven’t seen him. We haven’t seen anybody.”

  “Auto Theft said they were leaving around eight this morning. They’re going directly out there.”

  “They should be here soon, then.”

  “Right. I’ll be out there right away, too.”

  “Okay, we’ll see you then.”

  Then Martin phoned the detachments at Barrhead and Evansburg and let them know what was happening in the Roszko investigation.

  That morning, Brock Myrol had been assigned to go back out to Roszko’s farm, and Clayton was supposed to drive him out there. But Clayton had to attend a trial with Julie Letal on the Alexis Reserve, a Nakota Sioux reservation located on Lac Ste. Anne 45 kilometres southeast of Mayerthorpe. Alexis is a modest-size reservation with a population of less than 900 Natives. Some of the reservations in Alberta are ten times that size.

  For Clayton Seguin, it was very important that he attend this trial, because the case involved a man who had pointed a rifle in his face during a domestic dispute. Consequently, Clayton’s testimony was crucial.

  “Peter,” Clayton said, “I’ve got this trial on the Alexis reserve. Do you mind taking Brock out to Roszko’s place?”

  Peter didn’t mind at all. It wouldn’t be far out of his way.

  Clayton presented their altered plan to Jim Martin, and that was fine with him.

  It was just an insignificant little change of plans that happen all the time among colleagues, but for both Peter Schiemann and Clayton Seguin, the consequences of that change would soon prove to be monumental.

  As Seguin and Letal were preparing to leave for their trial, Peter and Brock approached Jim Martin about feeding Roszko’s dogs some sedated meat to keep them docile for the day.

  “Sure,” Jim responded. “That’s a good idea. Go ahead.”

  So Peter and Brock left to buy some meat.

  Coincidentally, it was at that time that Cpl. Jeff Whipple was on the phone to Roszko’s mother, Stephanie Fifield, about the dogs.

  Jeff says, “I phoned her at her home and told her we were having trouble with his two dogs. I asked her if she would come over to his property and take the dogs away … take them over to her place.”

  Stephanie said no. She claimed they were vicious animals and she didn’t want anything to do with them.

  Jeff continued, “Well, do you know anybody who can come over there and look after these dogs … a neighbour, a friend, a member of your family?”

  Her answer was still no.

  Jeff remembers, “She wasn’t angry or anything. She just wasn’t helpful at all. She didn’t want to get involved.

  “So on that basis, it was a good thing that Peter and Brock were going to sedate those dogs with the meat. If those two dogs ever got loose, they could have been a real handful.”

  At 9:05 a.m., Jim Martin radioed Leo Johnston and Tony Gordon at the farm. They advised there had not been any sightings of Roszko during their shift.

  Martin was just about to go out the door when the office manager, Pat Lakeman, called Jim back. She advised him that the Green Team needed some information off the search warrant.

  So Martin came back in and phoned Lorne Adamitz in Edmonton and spoke to him for about twenty minutes about the warrant.

  By this time, Peter Schiemann and Brock Myrol had bought the meat and were now pulling up to the local veterinary clinic on 42nd Avenue. They went inside and explained to Dr. John Kyle that they wanted a sedative they could inject into the meat to calm Roszko’s savage beasts.

  Kyle remembers their visit to his clinic and the request they made to him.

  “I knew Peter Schiemann. He was a real nice guy. But I knew Leo Johnston and Kelly better, because I tended to their black lab when he had a lesion on his tail.

  “I also knew Roszko’s dogs. They were vicious. One time I had to go out there and pull some porcupine quills out of their faces. And the only way I could work on them was to put them to sleep.

  “I know James Roszko had a bad reputation around town, but he was all right with me. That’s because he used to have a herd of cattle … maybe fifty head or more, and I serviced them … so he needed me.

  “Anyway, they wanted to sedate the dogs, so I gave them a sedative in a syringe so they could inject it into the meat.

  “Then they were on their way.”

  There is a slight quiver in the doctor’s voice as he adds, “That’s the last time I saw those guys.”

  Out at the farm, Leo and Tony were waiting to be relieved. As the clock reached 9:25 a.m., they knew that a bunch of their members would be out there soon. Jim Martin and Brock Myrol were on their way, and the Auto Theft guys from Edmonton would be there soon, too.

  They were unaware that sometime during the night or
early morning, Roszko had managed to sneak by them and get into the Quonset hut.

  Thinking about it in retrospect, that would not have been a difficult thing for him to do. As he got closer, he could see most of the moves they made.

  In the dark, he would have been able to see flashes of them when they went past the lighted open end of the Quonset. He could detect their movements around the yard from the beam of their flashlights or tell when they were in their vehicles by the lights going on and off inside their PCs.

  Conversely, in the dark, he would have been almost impossible to see. The patches of brush would have concealed him completely. When he crossed an open space, he had a white sheet to camouflage him. And, when necessary, with the sheet over him he could lie low and hide in the irregular depressions in the open field. As he got very close to the Quonset, the socks he had pulled over his shoes would have muffled the sound of his feet crunching in the snow.

  And, of course, when daylight came, he could see every movement they made.

  As Roszko advanced closer to the Quonset, there were lots of places for him to hide: behind his trailer south of his barn, behind the pine windbreak to the west of the trailer, behind the tall wooden windbreak at the back of the Quonset, or behind the evergreen hedge at the back of his steel barn. And he could use the huge bulk of the Quonset hut to his advantage. When Leo and Tony were on one side of the structure, he could be hiding on the other.

  No matter when he crept into the Quonset or how he managed to do it, by the time Peter Schiemann and Brock Myrol arrived that Thursday morning, Roszko was in there, hiding.

  Furthermore, he was waiting with the Heckler and Koch semi-automatic assault rifle in his hands.

  Did he have that gun hidden somewhere in the Quonset and retrieve it from its hiding place when he crept in? Or did he keep that gun somewhere else and retrieve it before he ever got to the Quonset?