After the two officers talked, Cleary decided it was time to let Derek Wood know he was no longer being considered a witness. At 1:07 p.m. on May 7, Derek Wood was told he was under arrest on two charges of murder, two of attempted murder, and one of robbery. This was really just an attempt by the police to show Wood just how serious the situation was. They did not arraign the eighteen-year-old or even consider taking him before a judge to be formally charged; they knew there was no evidence to support such charges—but maybe he would decide to hand over those who were responsible. After all, during the interrogation they had continually told Wood they did not believe he was responsible for the shootings but that they did feel he knew more than he was admitting.
Wood could see that the situation was deteriorating, but he held onto the comforting knowledge that police still felt he was not the killer.
Six
The name Industrial Cape Breton is a throwback to the days when coal mines and the steel mill thrived, employing thousands. By 1992 the steel mill had been modernized and downsized, and the Nova Scotia government, the owner for more than twenty years, had decided to sell the money-losing enterprise. The coal mines, too, had seen more-prosperous days; coal was developing a reputation as a dirty fuel, as communities and regions became more environmentally responsible. Yet the industry-town attitude remained a strong part of the Cape Breton identity: people knew their neighbours and cared about what happened to em. Community spirit had grown strong in the 1920s, when overworked and underpaid coal miners fought for their rights. The bond, created during that struggle and strengthened when mining tragedies struck, remained an important component in the fabric of the industrial area. On May 7, 1992, it did not take long for word of the shootings at McDonald’s to spread throughout these communities and shake them to the core. Cape Breton was changing; in fact, it had changed. Violent crime, once something read about or seen on TV, was hitting much too close to home.
Cape Breton had not been immune to murders; it was just that this one was different. For the most part, murders on the island involved people who knew one another—friends or lovers, who, for some reason—usually one intensified by alcohol—reached an impasse that ended in a moment of violent passion. That was part of the reason the RCMP were looking closely at the victims in this crime; people were usually killed by someone they knew. But for Cape Bretoners, the McDonald’s murders represented a turning point: it was the second time in only a few months that random violent crime was dominating their conversation. On a stormy March night, convenience store clerk Marie Lorraine Dupe was stabbed to death during an apparent robbery. Sydney police still had not solved that case, and people in Cape Breton, the police included, began to wonder if there could be a connection between the two crimes; thus police were especially motivated to move quickly to find those responsible. The idea of a crazed killer or killers on the loose changed the way many people saw themselves and their neighbours. The island was a place where people felt comfortable sleeping with unlocked doors, but for many that sense of security disappeared as word of the McDonald’s murders spread.
In the newsrooms on the island, we were trying to tell two stories on Thursday, May 7. We wanted to convey what had happened in Sydney River—a story I told by using Dave Roper’s news briefing and the interview with the motorist on the highway behind the restaurant—and we wanted to describe the community’s reaction to the crime. The second story was an easy one to tell, because very few people we encountered did not have something to say about what had happened and what it meant to them. The mayor of Sydney said that Cape Breton had changed overnight, that violence was becoming a daily occurrence. Church leaders cited chronic unemployment as a contributing factor, saying that people without work and without hope could resort to desperate acts. Many business owners immediately began taking action to protect their employees; video surveillance systems became a hot seller, and the area’s security-system companies were quickly tasked with installing new alarms and monitors. And some business people concluded that late-night operating hours were simply no longer worth the risk.
Teenagers in the area seemed particularly overwhelmed by what had happened. The Sydney River McDonald’s is only a short walk from Riverview Rural High School; students frequented the restaurant daily, and many had found part-time employment there. On the morning of the murders, small groups of teens gathered around the school property, whispering and wondering about what had happened. Word spread quickly that a former student, Derek Wood, had been the one to call police—that he was lucky to have escaped alive. Other employees who had worked the night shift spoke about police coming to their homes to take their sneakers and ask who was left in the restaurant when they had finished work. The murders became the prime topic of conversation among the student population, as it did in almost every sector of the Cape Breton community.
Those of us covering the story quickly realized the scope of the tragedy as we were swamped with requests from media outlets outside the region. For me, it was very difficult to grasp what was happening in the community, although in the days ahead I would get a better understanding of how the people I had grown up with felt our island had changed. I had covered many murders in my thirteen years as a reporter in Cape Breton, including a triple murder just off the island, in Antigonish County; but nothing prepared me for the intense demands for information that came with this crime. While I desperately tried to fill the demands of the assignment desk in Halifax with live updates throughout the day, I also had to attempt to track down whatever details I could, and at the same time field an endless stream of calls from viewers and friends who just wanted to talk to someone connected to the crime. It seemed that every time I stepped in front of the camera to deliver another brief update, the phones would start ringing off the hook again.
The reaction to the murders was not confined to Cape Breton. As reports spread across North America, reporters and camera crews came pouring in from everywhere. And those of us who covered Cape Breton daily pulled out all stops. Both ATV and the regional CBC decided to host their evening news programs from the island; news anchors were rushed from Halifax to Sydney. Dave Wright, who delivered the evening news to Maritime audiences every day, decided to host his newscast in front of the restaurant, and the ATV satellite truck was sent from Halifax, marking the first time live satellite technology had been used to cover a crime on the island.
Freeman MacNeil was having no problems convincing officers he was not involved in what happened at McDonald’s. Shortly after 1:00 p.m., Constable Glen Lambe and Sergeant Phil Eagan arrived at the tiny trailer on East Broadway in Whitney Pier—Freeman’s girlfriend Michelle’s place. When the young man answered the door, the constable found himself looking up. MacNeil was just over six feet tall, heavy-set but not overweight, and exceptionally clean-cut compared to many young people of his age. Lambe liked MacNeil right away, because he appeared to be a clean-living young man and because he was at ease and cooperative with the police.
Lambe explained that he was investigating the McDonald’s murders—a statement that must have sent a spear of anxiety through Freeman MacNeil’s heart, although it drew no visible response. The constable said he wanted to ask MacNeil a few questions about Derek Wood. “No problem,” MacNeil said, throwing on a pair of slippers and following the officers out to the unmarked police car. Sergeant Eagan, an experienced investigator, knew very well that you cannot judge a person by appearances, and he wanted to make sure this interview elicited facts about Freeman MacNeil’s knowledge of, and involvement with, Derek Wood. Eagan had been lied to many times in his years as a narcotics control officer; he knew what to look for. The sergeant relaxed slightly when he saw how comfortable the young man was in the company of police, which stood to reason when MacNeil said he had worked as a security guard in Halifax and Sydney. Still, Eagan watched closely as Glen Lambe began taking a statement, looking at MacNeil’s hands and the colour of his face, and even trying to detect any change in his pulse by watching
the vein in the side of MacNeil’s neck.
MacNeil told the officers he knew Derek Wood because Wood used to date a friend of his girlfriend’s. Wood had called the night before and asked him for a drive to McDonald’s, and MacNeil took him there at around eight o’clock, telling him to call if he needed a ride home; he did not see Wood again. MacNeil went out again later, he said, but not until after 1:30 a.m., when he went to get an asthma inhaler for Michelle. Near Tim Hortons, he saw another friend, Darren Muise, so he picked Muise up and took him along for the drive. MacNeil added that he’d noticed police around McDonald’s and thought there must have been a bad accident, but that he did not stop to look because he wanted to get the puffer back to Michelle. Constable Lambe wrote down MacNeil’s story, and Eagan noted that the young man had easily passed his unofficial lie-detector test.
After the two Mounties left, Freeman MacNeil decided to head out to Beaton Road. His mother would be at work, and he had some work of his own to do. He had already talked with Darren on the phone, and he knew “Woody” was in custody; that was a problem, but as long as Woody stuck to his smoking story, they would be all right. In meantime, there was a kitbag, containing some bloody clothes and a mask, to be burned. As he drove out of the Pier, Freeman blasted the car stereo. He loved loud music; now that he had money, he would have to get some better-sounding speakers for the car.
As MacNeil headed home, another young man was contemplating the events of the night before. Greg Lawrence, who had an apartment in South Bar—on the outskirts of Sydney at the end of the Pier—was relieved that he had not gotten involved in the scheme that his buddy Freeman and a couple of other guys had planned at McDonald’s. But he was also worried. He knew something had gone terribly wrong. Lawrence had been listening to his police scanner overnight and heard reports of a gunshot at McDonald’s. He also heard an officer saying there were several injured at the scene. Then the radio traffic got busier and busier, and Lawrence couldn’t believe his ears. Jesus, these guys had talked about the robbery right here in his apartment! And he had seen the gun in Freeman’s trunk; hell, they asked him to join them on the job. Lawrence didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t call the cops on his friends, and even if he could bring himself to do that, Kristine would be put at risk. Lawrence was worried about what MacNeil, Muise, and Wood might do to his girlfriend if they thought he was going to turn them in; Kristine had been there when the robbery was being discussed.
Lawrence thought back to the day MacNeil and Muise approached him outside the Tim Hortons coffee shop on Townsend Street in Sydney. He barely knew the two guys—they had only met a month or so before—but they seemed O.K. He was only a little surprised when they invited him to take part in a robbery they were planning. It was no real big deal; lots of people were involved in minor crimes, and stealing stuff from parked cars was a popular means of getting quick cash for some of the young people hanging around in downtown Sydney. Lawrence listened while Freeman explained the plan, and then declined. He wasn’t interested. Later that night, Darren Muise came into the same Tim Hortons and asked Lawrence to talk to him outside. They walked to the car: Freeman MacNeil was in the driver’s seat, and a blond guy they called Woody sat in the back. Freeman explained that the three of them had been set to rob McDonald’s that night, with the help of Woody, who worked there, but that another guy who was supposed to help them did not show up. They quickly explained their plan to Lawrence and again asked him to participate. Lawrence was sceptical, but Freeman persisted, offering him twenty thousand dollars for his role. All he would have to do was stand outside a door with a stick and knock out any employees who could not be subdued and who managed to make it to the door. Lawrence said no again, and maintains to this day that he did not take the offer seriously either time it was made. At the time, Lawrence thought the three guys had a plan, but did not have the guts to see it through. He did not want to get involved with them.
Now, a week later, Greg Lawrence was wondering what would happen next. Freeman had called him early that morning and said that someone else had beat them to the restaurant. Lawrence had his doubts about MacNeil’s story that the three robbers drove to McDonald’s to find it surrounded by police, but he didn’t express them. Still, what would they do if they thought he didn’t believe their story? And what would he do? More to the point, what should he do?
Derek Wood had more important things on his mind than Greg Lawrence. Within an hour of being placed under arrest, Wood decided to take the officers up on one of the options they’d offered. He wanted to talk to a lawyer. Corporal Stoyek provided a telephone and the number of the local Nova Scotia Legal Aid office; Wood could not afford to hire his own lawyer.
In his years as a Legal Aid attorney, Art Mollon had defended his share of people accused of murder, but he’d never been involved in a case as big as this one. Mollon was not really surprised when he was called by the young man being questioned by RCMP; lawyers around the Legal Aid office half-expected to be called whenever there was a murder in the area. Legal Aid ended up handling most murder cases in Cape Breton, and the big ones usually found their way to Art Mollon. As he drove the short distance from his office to the RCMP detachment, Mollon wondered what he was up against this time. He knew from radio reports that the shootings had occurred around one in the morning, and that meant his new client had probably spent the past thirteen hours telling police more than he should have.
The first meeting between lawyer and client was a short one. After the introductions, Wood explained his dilemma: the police were not believing him and had arrested him. Mollon was in the habit of advising clients of the importance of adhering to their right to remain silent. The police had a job to do, but convincing someone to incriminate himself—although a popular tactic with veteran investigators—did not have to be a part of the process. Police could ask all the questions they wanted, but Mollon made it clear to his client that he did not have to answer. If there was going to be a charge laid, both Mollon and Wood would be given copies of any evidence the police had in the case; then a decision could be made on what he should say in his own defence. The meeting lasted less than fifteen minutes, but Derek Wood was now ready to deal with the police.
When the lawyer left the building, Corporals Stoyek and Cleary returned to their suspect. Cleary controlled much of the conversation, trying to appeal to Wood’s conscience. “Look, Derek, we don’t think you’re the trigger man. You’re involved in something here that you’ve got to deal with; it’s important now that you tell us the truth. We don’t think you wanted to see anybody killed, but if someone convinced you to leave that door open, we have to know who it is before someone else gets hurt. Whoever did that, Derek, whoever did that could do it again. Who was it, Derek? How did you get involved in this?”
“I have no comment.” It was an answer Cleary would hear repeatedly in the hours that followed. However, when they broached the subject of Arlene MacNeil, both Cleary and Stoyek thought they had found a way to reach Wood. “Derek, you have to understand the seriousness of this matter. That gun is still out there, and we have to find it. I was in that restaurant. I saw poor Arlene lying there in her own blood.” Cleary’s words brought an immediate response: Derek Wood’s eyes filled, and although he did not start crying, both officers felt he was on the verge of breaking down. They pursued their line of questioning with some success. Finally, at 6:20 p.m., the officers believed they had reached Wood. “I don’t know as much as you think I know,” he said. “I don’t know where the gun is. Let me call my lawyer, and I’ll talk.” The officers had already told him that they would be happy to take his statement while his lawyer was present, and now they were convinced he was going to accept the offer.
While Wood was debating whether or not to cooperate with police, most Maritimers were getting their first full reports of what had occurred. The McDonald’s murders dominated the supper-hour newscasts. At six o’clock, Dave Wright stood across the street from the restaurant and faced the cameras, spe
aking to ATV viewers in Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island. “I am standing here outside the McDonald’s restaurant in Sydney River. The restaurant was the scene of a grisly multiple murder and robbery early today.” Wright paused, communicating to his audience that he did not like telling them that such a horrible thing had occurred in what he commonly referred to as “the Maritime neighbourhood.” Wright then introduced me, and I began the first full-length report on the murders. TV screens throughout the region were filled with foreboding images. Darkness surrounded McDonald’s, the only light coming from an open rear door where a group of police officers stood looking inside. The scene changed as the ambulances were shown leaving, carrying the victims, who had been identified and who we were now able to name.
Then, the face of Dave Roper appeared on the screen; during his three o’clock press briefing, the information officer had delivered unsettling news, which would convey to the public that the Mounties didn’t yet have much to go on. “RCMP have removed the roadblocks that had been set up around the island because of the limited information we have. At this time, we know two subjects were seen fleeing the building shortly after the last shot was fired. We do not know if these subjects were male or female.” The report also contained the first information on an unknown employee who had been outside having a cigarette when the shots were fired. So far, reporters had been unable to track down this man—Derek Wood. They did not know that he was in a room a short distance from where they had been briefed by Dave Roper.
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