Dark Ambition

by Ann Brocklehurst

  At 10:26 P.M., twenty-three minutes after the vehicles departed Bobcat of Brantford, a dark truck with running lights is picked up by video cameras at Eastern Wood Preservers, just over two kilometres east of Millard’s farm. It is followed by a dark SUV. They cannot be definitively identified from the video as the Bosma truck and the Millard Yukon.

  At 12:19 A.M., on what was now Tuesday, May 7, the video cameras at GA Masonry show a pickup truck with running lights towing a trailer carrying a tall Eliminator-like structure as it arrives at the Millardair hangar at Waterloo Airport, followed immediately by a dark SUV. GA Masonry is located kitty corner to the hangar, approximately one hundred metres to the northeast. Its five cameras afford views of Jetliner Court, which is the street address of Millardair, and the north and east sides of the hangar.

  Both vehicles park at the north end of the hangar and extinguish their lights. At 12:35, the pickup truck moves to the south end of the hangar, leaving the trailer where it is. At 12:41, the SUV also moves to the south end of the hangar. There is movement between the two vehicles, suggesting that a person is going from the pickup into the SUV. At 12:42, the SUV leaves the hangar. It returns and parks at the north end at 1:13 A.M.

  At 1:33, two men and a dog can be seen in the hangar. One is tall and walks with his feet turned slightly outward like a duck. On his hip is a satchel bag. The other man is shorter and dressed in oversized clothing. The dog is Pedo, whom Millard brought home from Mexico. There is nothing in the way they behave that suggests anything out of the ordinary has just occurred.

  The interior video, which has a duration of less than fifteen seconds, was taken from a camera in the northwest corner of the hangar. Originally, it had been set to pan and zoom and tilt throughout the entire building. But on April 29, the settings had been changed, as were those for the lone functioning exterior camera, which was turned toward the hangar wall. The digital video recorder with the feeds from the hangar cameras was seized from the bedroom closet of Millard’s girlfriend, Christina Noudga, when she was arrested almost a year after Tim Bosma was murdered. Just as she kept the letters Millard had written her from prison, in breach of his no contact order, she also preserved the DVR.

  According to the GA Masonry video, the incinerator was set alight at 1:44 A.M., when a large flame appeared above it. Plaxton explains that he identified the light as a flame because of the way it illuminated. It didn’t just turn on. “It starts as a small light, then blooms into something,” he tells the jury.

  A few minutes later, at 1:59, the pickup truck is turned around, and at 2:30 it is driven into the hangar. At 3:23, the main lights in the hangar are turned on. At 3:54, a figure appears in the hangar doorway and moves toward the incinerator. There is a brief flare of light from the bottom of the incinerator, followed by another flare from the top. The figure returns to the hangar. At 5:30 A.M., the pickup truck is moved out of the hangar and parked at its south end. A person can be seen walking away from the truck to the north end of the hangar. The door is closed. At 5:38, two figures can be seen walking toward the south end of the hangar. At 5:55, the pickup truck is backed up to the loading door on the west side of the hangar. At 6:05, it’s moved to the north end of the hangar. At 6:08, the SUV pulls the incinerator into the hangar. At 7:02, the SUV leaves the hangar. Because it is now light out, it can be definitively identified as a dark-blue Yukon with no hubcaps—or the Chevy Tahoe version of the vehicle, which is the same SUV but with a different name and manufacturer.

  —

  AS WELL AS ANALYZING video to guide the jury through the movements of Tim Bosma’s truck and Dellen Millard’s Yukon on the night of May 6 and morning of May 7, Michael Plaxton explains some serious CSI-style work he carried out as part of the Bosma investigation. He used a technique called reverse projection photogrammetry to establish that it was indeed Millard’s Yukon that drove first past Super Sucker and then, by implication, past all the other video cameras.

  Reverse projection photogrammetry is the science of determining the size of objects within photos or video. Among other things, it can be used to include or exclude a suspect based on his or her height, but in this case it was used to measure Millard’s Yukon by taking it back to the scene at Super Sucker and rephotographing it through the company’s surveillance system. The new video obtained is then overlapped with the original video to analyze similarities and differences.

  The recreation took place on June 12, 2013, five weeks and two days after the disappearance of Tim Bosma. To duplicate lighting positions and establish as closely as possible the conditions when the original video was filmed, Plaxton obtained sunset times from the National Research Council and timed his video recording accordingly. There were some conditions he couldn’t control, however. June 12 was a little more overcast and therefore darker than he would have preferred, and since May 6, the bushes and weeds outside Super Sucker had grown appreciably.

  Orange fluorescent marks were applied to the Yukon to aid with the matching process as a police officer drove the vehicle back and forth for Plaxton, who was inside Super Sucker talking to him on a cell phone. “I’m speaking to him and telling him to move the car an inch forward, an inch back,” Plaxton tells the jury. “Speed was a problem. I had him drive through the field of view at seventy, eighty, ninety” kilometres an hour. Because Plaxton needed the video frames to match, he had hooked up his system to Super Sucker’s so that he could see the recording from May 6 and the live feed together. The end product is his gradual overlap of the two videos.

  “Are you looking for differences or similarities or some combination of both?” Tony Leitch asks Plaxton.

  “Police have presented me with their hypothesis. We believe this is the blue Yukon belonging to Mr. Millard. Can we disprove it? I did an overlay for the period of time the SUV is seen proceeding south and then proceeding north.”

  The overlay showing the initial image of the vehicle heading south on May 6 is shown to the jury as it is replaced in 10 percent increments with the June 12 image.

  “What is your opinion as to whether there are any discernible differences?” asks Leitch.

  “I saw no difference. In my opinion, there are no differences between the vehicles.”

  As the image is overlaid, the two vehicles match precisely.

  When the same experiment is carried out for the vehicle heading northbound, some thirty-five minutes later, as it did on May 6, there are some inconsistencies. The brake lights are not activated on June 12 and a significant amount of foliage has grown up, obscuring a bright patch on the road that was seen in the original video. While there are slight inconsistencies and differences, Plaxton tells Leitch they are explainable.

  “What’s your opinion of similarity or differences between the two vehicles heading north in the original and recreated videos?” the prosecutor asks.

  “I formed the opinion these two vehicles are similar in shape and size. I can’t say they are the same vehicle, but I am of the opinion they are the same or a similar make and model,” Plaxton says. “We know the vehicle used on the twelfth of June is a GMC Yukon. More likely than not, the unknown vehicle seen on the sixth of May is either a Yukon or a Chevy Tahoe.” A further identifying feature was that the vehicle in the original Super Sucker video had no hubcaps, just like Millard’s Yukon.

  Yet another characteristic that can be used to identify vehicles is their headlights, which are often unique, due to changes to the suspension, damage to the front end, and misalignment. “Over time and rough usage, we do tend to see some differences,” says Plaxton. “The best point of view is from up above if possible.”

  Reverse projection photogrammetry could not be done on the Bosma truck because it was both undriveable and, as a crime scene, unavailable. However, based on its chrome rims, chrome running boards, and overhead running lights, Plaxton says it appears consistent with the vehicle in the Super Sucker video, although he doesn’t have enough detail to tell if it’s the same truck.

  “Is ther
e anything inconsistent with the Bosma vehicle?” Leitch asks.

  “No,” says Plaxton.

  —

  IT IS A STANDARD tactic of defence lawyers to try to undermine the credibility of police and expert witnesses. And this approach is seen regularly during Regina v. Millard and Smich, where a total of ninety witnesses testify, including more than thirty police officers and more than a dozen expert witnesses like Michael Plaxton, many of whom are affiliated with law enforcement. Ravin Pillay provides multiple examples when he questions witnesses about the Super Sucker video.

  Millard’s lawyer begins by lambasting Constable Barry Stoltz for failing to take a picture of his watch or cell phone clock next to the Super Sucker video system clock, which was out by three hours. Although Stoltz had talked to Super Sucker’s James Stieva about the time discrepancy, checked his own cell phone, and written up the three-hour time lag in his notes, he had not followed the best practices used by those who regularly deal in forensic video. Because so many security videos are off by minutes and often hours, time verification matters a great deal. Analysts like Plaxton try to get pictures to illustrate the time variation or call the National Research Council’s atomic clock to get the precise time. Stoltz hadn’t done either.

  “This was the biggest case, highest profile case, you’ve been involved in,” Pillay says to the police officer.

  “Yes.”

  “Is it fair to say that your notes of May 7 are detailed?”

  “Yes.”

  “They chronicle your activities?”

  “I try to make as complete notes as possible, but sometimes I make omissions. I am human. Sometimes I make mistakes.”

  “There’s nothing about checking the [video] time-stamp against your cell phone.”

  “Those words? No.”

  “Anything about you making sure?”

  “I made note that the video is three hours behind.”

  Pillay says that the first time Stoltz ever mentioned having checked his cell phone was earlier in the week, when he met with prosecutors for witness preparation. He asks why Stoltz didn’t take a photo of his watch with the video time-stamp.

  “I didn’t have a watch at that time,” says Stoltz.

  “Precision is critical, right?”

  Stoltz says Stieva told him the video was three hours out and that he confirmed it. Pillay is hinting that he didn’t bother to confirm it, just took Stieva’s word, and that there was no cell phone check or it would be in Stoltz’s notes.

  “You did not record how you did it,” Pillay says. “You’re certain it was out exactly three hours?”

  “Within the minute.”

  “And you have that recollection three years later?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to suggest that you have no notes because you didn’t do it. Agree or disagree?”

  “I disagree.”

  When Pillay tells him he has nothing to back up his version of events, Stoltz, who has been a wishy-washy witness until this point, finally responds with authority. “You have my testimony, sir, and my note it was three hours behind.”

  Pillay then questions James Stieva, the Super Sucker manager, about how he knew the security video system was three hours off. Stieva is a good-natured guy who doesn’t appear at all intimidated by testifying in court.

  “Is it fair to say your memory is not perfect?” Pillay asks.

  “Fair.”

  “You’re not the security person?”

  “No.”

  “You just happened to be there, so you took it upon yourself to attend to this?”

  “Yes.”

  “You knew, prior to viewing it, the time-stamp was out.”

  “I knew upon my first viewing…I noticed the time was different.”

  He doesn’t know for how long it had been out, or how it became off—if it was incrementally over time or all at once. “I know that it was quite close to three hours,” he says. “I could not guarantee that to the minute it was three hours.”

  “You didn’t call the National Research Council and check against the atomic clock?”

  “I did not,” he replies, clearly puzzled as to how anyone could expect such a thing.

  After a few more questions about how he can be sure about the three-hour time difference, Stieva tells Pillay, “I’m a stickler for time. I’m always on time. I never show up late.” As a gift, he says, his wife gave him an eight-hundred-dollar Swiss Military watch.

  When it’s his turn for cross-examination, Mark Smich’s lawyer, Thomas Dungey, asks Stieva, “What time does your watch say?”

  “Four minutes after eleven.”

  “From what I can see,” says Dungey, as he eyes the clock on the courtroom wall along with everybody else, “it’s 11:06, so you’re a couple of minutes off.”

  “Or that clock is,” says Stieva, to laughter in the courtroom.

  A reporter who is live-tweeting the trial checks her cell phone’s time and tells her Twitter followers it’s 11:05.

  After Constable Stoltz had left Super Sucker, and before Stieva knew Michael Plaxton would be stopping by to check things out further, Stieva did something in keeping with his fondness for exact times and corrected the clock on the video security system. That meant Plaxton had to rely on Stieva’s and Stoltz’s information.

  After grilling Stoltz and Stieva, Pillay goes after Plaxton. “You didn’t do anything to try and verify the time-stamp?” Pillay asks.

  “There was nothing I could have done to verify that.” (Plaxton testified earlier that he had checked sunset times, but while that helped with determining hours, it didn’t aid in calculating minutes.)

  Having beaten the three-hour time difference to death, Pillay moves on to his main line of cross-examination, which is a lot more interesting. It is about another truck that can be seen in the feeds from Super Sucker but was never shown to the court during Plaxton’s direct examination. The truck travels north at 9:05 P.M. and then south at 9:15. The vehicle Pillay is referring to has all three characteristics of the Bosma truck: running lights, chrome rims, and chrome running boards. Plaxton agrees with Pillay that he can’t say it’s not the same vehicle.

  “That segment was not directed to you by anyone prior to today, the investigators didn’t tell you about that segment,” Pillay suggests as he shows the video of the truck headed north at 9:05 P.M.

  Plaxton contradicts him. “Yes, I would have seen that segment.”

  “You didn’t include it in your report. You missed that.”

  While it is true that Plaxton didn’t include it in his report, he has just said that he had indeed seen the truck.

  Pillay plays another piece of Super Sucker video. It shows a truck like the Bosma one, only this time it’s headed south on Trinity Road. “That’s another segment you were not directed to view, not in your report, not in your examination in chief” by the Crown, says Pillay. “The first time you’re providing evidence about that is now.”

  Plaxton agrees, but neither he nor Tony Leitch, who conducted the direct examination, seems surprised or fazed by this video of what could be the Bosma truck heading north at 9:05 and south at 9:15.

  In contrast, the audience, including the journalists covering the trial, is completely confused. While the prosecution must disclose to the defence all the evidence against the accused, it is not obliged to present every single piece of evidence in court. It gets to pick and choose the facts and witnesses that best make its case. Leitch didn’t use the videos Pillay showed, but Millard’s lawyer was free to ask Plaxton about them.

  As observers tried to make sense of the 9:05 and 9:15 truck sightings, two theories emerged: one, that it was a different truck (“Everybody pimps out their truck these days,” says a police officer who worked on the case); and two, the theory that it was indeed the Bosma truck. After leaving the house, it could have headed north on Trinity Road, past Super Sucker at 9:05 for what appeared to be a regular test drive. The truck would not have pulled direct
ly into the Book Road field where Millard and Smich had stashed the Yukon before heading to the Bosmas’ on foot. Instead, Millard would have driven their victim somewhere north on Trinity Road, and either he or Smich or both of them could have shot Tim Bosma in the truck. Then they would have driven back past Super Sucker at 9:15 and returned to the field to pick up the Yukon at just about the time Rick Bullmann was walking his dog. Smich would have gotten out of the pickup and into the Yukon. According to the witness, the vehicles he saw headed east down Book Road and not north up Trinity. If Bullmann’s memory is correct, they would have had to turn around on Book Road at some point and come back. If his memory is incorrect, they may have just headed straight up Trinity Road. This would explain why no glass from the shattered passenger window or anything else was found in the field. If what happened there was simply a pickup of the Yukon, as opposed to a murder, it would be far easier to leave no evidence.

  There is, however, a timing problem with this theory. Extremely precise cell phone records put Millard and Smich in the Bosmas’ driveway at 9:05, which means the Super Sucker video would have had to be out by more than three hours. That would explain why Pillay was so persistent in his questioning of Stieva and Stoltz.

  In the end, though, the Crown does not have to prove where or at what time Tim Bosma was killed. Only his killers know that. The task of the prosecutors is to prove that Millard and Smich are guilty of first-degree murder. While TV and movie dramas can tie up all the loose ends, in real-life investigations and trials, there are always questions that linger.

  SEVEN

  THREE GENERATIONS

  When Dellen Millard’s grandfather Carl died at age ninety-two in 2006, he left the family business to his only child, Wayne. Even though Millardair had requested cancellation of its key operational licences in the nineties and was no longer in the flying business, Carl still enjoyed coming into his shag-carpeted office, checking out the planes, and reading flight magazines. Visitors said that entering the wooden, wartime-era Millardair hangars was like stepping into a time machine. Despite having patented a number of inventions in his time (some of them with Wayne, and ranging from an aircraft takeoff velocity indicator system to removable wing covers for large aircraft), Carl refused to get a company computer. His office administrator, Hilda, who was a former Millardair stewardess, worked on a manual typewriter, insisting that, unlike newfangled twenty-first-century technology, it still worked when the power went out. Millardair’s only concession to the post–telephone communications era was a fax machine.