Mike on Crime (24 page)

“Usually there is nobody going, or you can count the attendance in terms of one or two,” said Holens, who does as much research as he can on the unclaimed person to plan a funeral that suits their religious background or even have them buried in the same cemetery as other deceased relatives. “But a lot of these unclaimed bodies, they chose to live that lifestyle, they like being on their own. And in some cases we'll find family and they just refuse to claim because of family dynamics that go on,” he said.

Of course, there's no way of knowing what the family dynamics are in the case of Miss X. Winnipeg police had reached out to other jurisdictions, asking law enforcement to check their missing-persons' databases to see if there could be a match. Forensic sciences hadn't been able to offer much help so far.

“This case is not closed in our eyes by any stretch of the imagination,” said Michalyshen. “Learning a bit about the history of this individual would certainly help us paint a better picture of what happened. We'd be taking quite a leap right now to try and say.”

It is the type of case that can keep a police officer or medical examiner tossing and turning at night. Gordon Holens still can't shake lingering thoughts of the very first “John Doe” buried under his watch as he now tried to find answers in a similar case involving the unidentified woman he dubbed “Miss X.” Holens said he often thinks about the anonymous man who was laid to rest about a decade ago in complete obscurity. He spent months trying to track down clues in the case only to be repeatedly met with frustration. Holens was only able to learn the following:

The man appeared to be Korean, in his mid-30s and may have been financially well-off given the clothing and jewelry he was wearing. He came to Winnipeg and bought a one-way bus ticket at the downtown terminal. His final stop was Grand Rapids, about 400 kilometres north of Winnipeg.

The man checked into a motel under a bogus name and paid cash. When he didn't check out the following morning, staff entered his room and found him hanging. He had committed suicide.

“As it so happened, the Korean ambassador was in town at the time and we had him look at the body,” Holens said. But they were never able to learn who the man was, where he came from or who he may have left behind. “He was probably running from something. I thought he may have been from the US,” said Holens.

A
s of the deadline for this book, the identity of Miss X remains unknown. Her story is one that sticks with me far beyond the daily tales of despair coming from the court docket and police blotter. Winnipeg police and medical officials have continued searching for clues without any success. And so she continues to be a nameless victim of an unknown demise.

Hopefully, in the months ahead, the mystery of Miss X can finally be solved. Anyone with information is asked to call the police missing persons unit at 204-986-6250 or Crime Stoppers at 204-786-TIPS (8477).

Holens is also still searching for answers in his John Doe case.

HORROR ON THE GREYHOUND

WEDNESDAY JULY 30, 2008

The mass email arrived at 9:21 p.m. from one of my editors at the
Free Press
, Helen Fallding. The subject line read “Homicide Volunteer.”

“Someone decapitated on a Greyhound on highway past Portage la Prairie. Suspect barricaded inside the bus,” it began. Helen explained that a reporter and photographer were on their way out to the scene from Winnipeg. But that this was clearly an all-hands-on-deck type of situation. “Anyone willing to head out there and help out?” she concluded.

My immediate reaction was that this must be some kind of a mistake. There was no possible way this could be true. Perhaps it was the result of some prankster phoning the newsroom, or some bizarre news tip. But a quick phone call to the news desk revealed it was deadly serious. The police scanner was buzzing with news of an incredible crime unfolding in the middle of the Prairies.

Naturally, the initial instinct as a justice reporter was to rush out there to cover it. But there was just one little problem: I was more than 700 kilometres away, in Minneapolis, Minnesota, on vacation with my family. It would be a couple days before I returned home and found myself immersed in the case that quickly made international headlines.

Years later, it remains the story I am asked to talk about most often. But words are often difficult to come by. It was an unspeakable tragedy on many, many levels.

TUESDAY AUGUST 5, 2008

He swayed back and forth, staring blankly at the floor and responding to a series of questions with audible grunts and sudden jerks of his head—up and down in the affirmative, side to side in the negative. The heavily shackled man showed no visible reaction as the Crown attorney read aloud some of the facts of his alleged crimes, even while some courtroom spectators gasped.

And then, quickly and quietly, he spoke for the first time. “Please kill me,” Vince Li, 40, said inside the packed courtroom in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba.

Provincial court Judge Michel Chartier had heard and seen enough. Chartier agreed with the Crown's request to order a forensic psychological assessment for Li, saying there appeared to be serious mental health issues that could affect whether the Chinese immigrant was fit to stand trial. Li was facing a second-degree murder charge for what seemed impossible to comprehend: The decapitation killing and cannibalization of a complete stranger, 22-year-old Tim McLean, on board a Greyhound bus. The unprovoked slaying of the Winnipeg carnival worker just days earlier had prompted an outpouring of grief and outrage.

Dr. Frank Vattheur was set to meet with Li to try to get information to form an expert opinion that would determine if, or how, the case would proceed. If Vattheur ruled Li wasn't fit to stand trial, that would effectively end the matter. Li would be sent indefinitely to a mental-health facility and held until, or unless, he was ever deemed ready to appreciate the legal process. The court case would resume at that point. If found fit to stand trial, the next issue would be whether Li was criminally responsible for his actions. Vattheur planned to submit an opinion on that issue as well. A finding of “not criminally responsible” would result in Li going to a hospital instead of prison. His release would be in the hands of medical professionals who would have the option of keeping him locked up and in treatment as long as they deemed necessary.

Crown attorney Joyce Dalmyn revealed full details about the circumstances surrounding McLean's killing. She did so at the invitation of Chartier, who wanted to know what her grounds were for seeking a forensic assessment. They weren't for the faint of heart.

Li had been exhibiting “bizarre and unusual behaviour” in recent weeks and months, including taking sudden bus trips to various cities in Canada for no apparent reason, Dalmyn said. Li had worked in the automotive department at an Edmonton Wal-Mart and delivered newspapers and flyers. The last day he was seen at work was Monday, July 28, two days before the deadly assault. His wife told an employer he had an “emergency” in Winnipeg and was coming for a job interview.

Dalmyn told court Li attacked a sleeping McLean for absolutely no reason as the Greyhound bus travelled down the Trans-Canada Highway near Portage la Prairie, stabbing him as many as 40 times while 36 horrified passengers looked on. He got McLean on the floor and then sat on top of him in the aisle of the bus, stabbing away with a large hunting knife, court was told. A passenger called 911 while the Greyhound driver pulled over at the side of the highway, allowing all the passengers to flee. The driver then locked the bus with just Li and a mortally wounded McLean inside.

Police rushed to the scene and surrounded the bus. Officers watched in horror as Li began carrying around McLean's severed head and appeared to be taunting them with it, court was told. Li said nothing to police, except to tell them at one point, “I have to stay on this bus forever,” Dalmyn said. At one point, Li began cutting other body parts off McLean and was seen to consume some of them, she said. There were audible gasps in the packed courtroom at this revelation, including from several members of McLean's family.

“He appeared to be focused on his victim. He did not appear to be drunk or high,” Dalmyn said. “This was a completely random attack. There's been no link established [between Li and McLean].”

Police elected not to storm the bus, waiting until Li smashed out a window and tossed a bloody knife and scissors towards them. He then jumped from the broken window, cutting his hand on the shards of glass, and was arrested, Dalmyn said. Police searched him and found several severed body parts, including an ear, nose and partial mouth, inside a plastic bag in his pocket. Police tried to interview Li but he refused to make verbal responses. However, he did softly mutter that he was “guilty” at least four times, Dalmyn said.

He had arrived from China in 2001 and found a home in Winnipeg, surrounded by a loving wife and caring members of the community who quickly took him under their wing. He soon found a job, vastly improved his English and enjoyed socializing with new friends at Sunday-morning church services, dinner parties and trips out to Falcon Lake. On the outside, life appeared to be very good for the new Canadian. Yet those who got to know Vince Li well soon recognized that beneath his friendly, polite exterior lurked something very troubling. “He was kind of a lost soul. It was as if he was always looking for something,” said a member of a Winnipeg family which befriended Li—even having him over for Christmas dinner two years ago.

The woman and her family requested anonymity, not wanting to be deluged by other media covering the story. They were reeling over news of what Li had done. They had long suspected Li was battling mental illness, but he had refused repeated offers to see a doctor and get help.

“I think, in their culture, [the issue of mental illness] is kind of frowned upon,” the woman said. She works in the mental health field and said it was obvious Li was struggling. “He was definitely schizophrenic, probably paranoid schizophrenic,” she said. “He needed help but he just wouldn't get it.”

There was the constant paranoia, a feeling that he was always being watched and that others might be out to get him. There were his bizarre, rambling stories that seemed to come out of nowhere. And there were the unannounced bus trips that would catch his wife by surprise—such as the time he hopped on a Greyhound headed to The Pas, later explaining that he wanted to look at some land he was thinking about buying.

“I don't think he actually had any money. This was probably just a symptom of his disease,” the woman said. She recalled an unusual conversation with Li shortly after he got a red-light ticket in Winnipeg. “He started talking about how ‘they were after me, there was nothing there,' “ the woman said.

Li's illness soon began taking a toll on his marriage. He and his common-law wife Anna found a home in the Osborne Village area of Winnipeg shortly after coming to Canada. He got hired as a forklift driver with Midland Foods on Nairn Avenue, while she began working several waitressing jobs at Chinese-food restaurants in the city. The couple began occasionally attending church services at the Grant Memorial Baptist Church, which opened the door to other social opportunities. Li worked at the church and its attached schoolhouse as a night custodian for a time.

The woman said her father and stepmother took a liking to the couple and began having them over for dinner and, eventually, for visits to their Whiteshell cottage. “He was always a little bit quiet, kind of reserved. I think that's because he was self-conscious about his English,” she said. However, Li eventually warmed up to the family. “We'd play cards together, dominoes, games like that,” she said. But things took a turn about two years ago when Li suddenly left his wife and went to Edmonton. The woman said it was clear Li's wife was frustrated by her husband's erratic behaviour. She stayed behind in Winnipeg—continuing to work various jobs—but recently moved to Edmonton where Li had found work.

Members of Grant Memorial church had recently spoken with Li, apparently concerned about how he and his wife were doing. However, nobody predicted things would reach such a crisis point and climax in one of the country's grisliest murder cases.

WEDNESDAY AUGUST 6, 2008

It's located on the eastern edge of downtown Edmonton beside an elementary school, a sprawling two-tower high-rise that provides a spectacular view of the Saskatchewan River. The 20 floors of the north tower of Boardwalk Centre host a mix of residents, mostly seniors on the lower floors, low-income earners on assisted living above. The south tower, with a view of Commonwealth Stadium, had been a frequent home to players with the CFL's Edmonton Eskimos. But these days, nobody living in Boardwalk Centre was talking about football stars. All the buzz has been about the residents of suite 1612.

Vince Li and Anna had moved into the block about four months earlier—around the time Anna was believed to have come to Edmonton from Winnipeg to rejoin her estranged partner. Li was often seen by residents enjoying the swimming pool on the fourth floor. He would engage neighbours in short conversations during elevator rides.

“I remember one time, around June, we just talked about the weather, how nice it was,” said Scott Arnold, who also lived on the 16th floor. “It seemed like he was keeping real weird hours, sometimes I'd see or hear him coming and going in the middle of the night.”

Sightings of Anna were less frequent. And she rarely spoke to anyone in the building. “She seemed rather shy,” said Arnold. Just days after her partner was accused of one of the most sadistic murders in Canadian history, Anna was seen leaving her suite with a man believed to be a police officer. “She was wearing all black, with black sunglasses and a baseball cap. She was carrying a backpack,” said Arnold.

He cheerfully wishes people a “wonderful day” at the end of his personal cellphone message. And yet it was becoming clear life was anything but wonderful for Vince Li, especially in the weeks preceding his attack on Tim McLean. His Edmonton employer, Vincent Augert, described how Li attracted attention at a recent company picnic with erratic behaviour that may have been a disturbing sign of things to come. Li was one of about 250 newspaper carries who showed up for the annual summer thank-you event on June 29—just a month before the deadly attack.

Augert caught Li standing alone near a newspaper vending machine that was being used as a target for a children's game that day. Li was hunched over, a blank look on his face, tilting his head and staring into the empty machine. “It was very strange. He was looking at it the way you'd expect a three-year-old would do,” Augert recalled. “I went up to him and said ‘Vince, it's just a newspaper vending machine. You know, you put money in it and get papers'.” Li continued to display a childlike wonderment. Augert moved on, greeting others at the party, while Li quietly slipped away and left shortly after. Was it a sign of a serious mental illness, which some who knew Li have suggested he suffered from?

Augert said the incident was the first time he started wondering about Li's mindset. Until then, he'd been a model employee known for being efficient, well-dressed and able to juggle multiple paper routes without confusion. The two men would often meet for coffee at McDonald's—Li's choice—where he would always order a small coffee, black. Augert would offer to buy him food but Li always declined. “He was a good guy, I respected him, he respected me,” said Augert.

He spoke with Li's wife by telephone after the man failed to show up for work during the previous week. Anna seemed confused by what was happening and made no mention during their last conversation on July 31 about the tragedy that had unfolded the night before. She just said Li had an emergency in Winnipeg but that she hadn't heard from him. Augert told her he would drop Li's July paycheque off at their downtown high-rise apartment. That cheque was now in the hands of police, who interviewed Augert about his involvement with Li.

“They're kinda stumped, to tell you the truth, as to why he would do that,” he said.

Several patrons of an Edmonton casino said that Li was often seen gambling at the establishment—usually playing card games. Augert said Li would have only been making about $800 per month—before taxes—but wasn't surprised to hear he may have been gambling some of it away.

THURSDAY AUGUST 7, 2008

They had suffered in private while the entire world reacted in shock to their son's death. But now, on the eve of a funeral that threatened to turn into a three-ring circus, the parents of Tim McLean broke their silence. Carol and Tim deDelley, the mother and stepfather of the 22-year-old man, wanted to clear the air—especially with word that some members of the US-based Westboro Baptist Church were threatening to crash the service.