Murder at McDonald's (27 page)

“Okay, say you hold him,” Wood said. “He's gonna get off. All you're doing is ruining his public name.”

“Yeah, but how's he gonna get off? You're the one that can prove that. If that's the case and he's not involved, tell us, and that's the end of it.” If Wood was worried about his friend, the police wanted him to believe that the only way to help Mike was to tell them exactly what happened. Not only would a confession be good for Wood's soul, but it was also needed to clear his friend.

Changing course slightly, Wilson and Mahoney told Wood they'd been talking with Darren and Freeman, casually dropping the names and hoping for some effect. “We know much more about this case, now,” Mahoney said. “That's the reason Mike is here.” Wood remained defiant: “Then I know you're bullshitting me,” he said, laughing at the officers, confident that if they knew the truth, they would not have arrested his cousin.

Once again, the officers changed their approach, asking Wood about his family, trying to get him to open up. He told Wilson he loved his baby sister most of all, but he also said he loved Mike, so the officers worked on his feelings, even asking how he would react if his little sister grew up and took a job at McDonald's, only to be shot and killed for no reason. They told him to be a true friend to Mike, to tell them what happened so that Mike could go free if he was not involved. For hours Wood remained defiant. The tension in the cramped room continued to build. There was nowhere for the officers to pace or otherwise ease the physical strain, so they remained seated, occasionally shifting in their seats as they talked to Wood. The officers wanted to scream, and reach across the table to shake some sense into Wood, but knew they had to stay in control.

At one point, Mahoney decided to use the victims—Wood's former co-workers—as a way to reach him: “Donna layin' there after workin' with ya and treatin' ya well. She was a friend. Neil was there, he just came back to work. Arlene—you were standing alongside of he not ten minutes before. And Jimmy, comin' through the door, not expecting anything at all … for whatever little bit of money that you got out of it.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. I got no, no money for anything.” Wood was adamant; he had not taken the money and wanted to make that clear. Money might have been the motivating factor for the others, but for Wood the robbery was more about being accepted, being in control.

“Mike is involved because he's stickin' up for a friend.” As Mahoney searched for the right buttons, the ones that would convince Wood to open up, he was greeted by a long sigh. Wood was tired of listening to him. Then Wilson tried to show how serious the crime was. “I cried. I cried when I went home that night, an' I still cry … I just, you know, get choked up.” It was true; in the days after the murders, Jim Wilson had gone to see Olive Warren to obtain a photograph of her daughter for the police file. At the time, Olive had asked for assurance that Donna had not been sexually assaulted; it was something that had been nagging at her, and the officer reassured her that nothing like that had happened. It was little consolation, Wilson knew, and it was a painful moment for him.

Jim Wilson might have been choked up, but Derek Wood was not. The longer the officers pressed, the more defiant he became, seemingly enjoying the conflict. It was more than Karl Mahoney could tolerate, and the exchanges between the two became more and more heated. There was no shouting, but the verbal sparring made it clear that there was no love lost here.

“You know, like, if you wanna sit here and, like, do your stupid games with me, then you have to,” Wood said.

“I'm not doin' no stupid games with ya.”

“No?” Wood's answer was more of a challenge.

“I'm doin this 'cause it has to be done.”

“Do you honestly think Mike Campbell had something to do with this?”

“With what we have, yes.”

“Hmph. Well then you're a bigger fool, then …”

The two continued to debate the issues, and Wood continued to refuse comment until the conversation returned to Campbell. Mahoney kept pressing; if Mike was innocent, Wood could prove it by saying what had really happened. Wood could see through the approach: “I give up. I don't even know how you made it through college, then, 'cause you're not too bright.”

“You figure you're the brightest one in the room here, or what?”

“Well, I'm smart enough to know that Mike doesn't have anything to do with this.”

Mahoney continued to try any approach he felt he could break down Wood's defences, but the harder he pushed, the more resistance he met. “You don't care about Mike. You don't care about your little sister. You sure as hell don't care about those four people that you tried to snuff out. How do you live with it, anyway?”

“No offence, man, but you gotta take better psychology classes.” Wood was unmoved; his posture and tone suggested he was impressed with his ability to berate the officer. Mahoney pressed on regardless: “How d'ya live with it?”

“No, seriously. You should take better classes.”

“How d'ya live with it?”

“I don't know what you're talkin' about.”

Finally, after a seemingly endless cycle of debate, Mahoney left the interview room to cool down and give Constable Wilson a chance to try the quiet, friendly approach by himself. Outside, Mahoney moved around the detachment, pacing and fighting to regain his composure. His body was rebelling against the stress he was feeling, and he tried to walk it off, bring himself back to the focus he knew he needed. Meanwhile, Wilson tried to relax Wood by making small talk about school, his experience with the militia, and other unrelated topics. Very gradually, he returned to the McDonald's murders. Wilson also tried to give Derek Wood an avenue towards a confession by telling him he was really two Dereks—one sitting there, talking, and one responsible for what happened at McDonald's. Wood laughed at the suggestion that he had a split personality, but Wilson continued with the approach and adopted an almost evangelical tone as he told the young man that Donna was watching him from heaven—that she forgave him, and the officer also forgave him, because they both knew there were two Dereks. Wilson moved his chair closer to Wood's and lifted his hand heavenward in an effort to depict Donna's perspective. Wood lowered his head and leaned forward in his chair, weary from the hours of constant questioning. Wilson brought his hand down from on high and placed it on Wood's head, trying both to keep the suspect awake and make contact with something he hoped was inside.

As Wood started looking as if he was literally falling asleep in his chair, Wilson became more dramatic, more animated. “You can't forget things like that. Donna, with the gun shoved up to her nose. Boom! Boom!” He was shouting now, and the sound reverberated through the room, startling Wood and bringing his attention back. But no matter what techniques or approaches Jim Wilson tried, he couldn't bring Derek Wood to the place he wanted him to be. Wood was not going to talk about the murders. In the next room, Karl Mahoney and Sergeant Phil Scharf were monitoring Wilson's progress. By then, Mahoney's focus and energy were back, and he decided to return to the room to give Wilson his chance for a break. Wood changed his posture at the changing of the guard; the movement in the room awoke him.

Mahoney decided to try to convince Wood that Mike Campbell was indeed in trouble. The officer had never left the North Sydney detachment, but Wood didn't know that. Mahoney's voice was loud and confident: “I just got back from talkin' to him,” he said. “I told you I was gonna see him. He's tryin' ta take the fall for ya.”

“Who?”

“Mike.”

“Why? What's he sayin'?” Wood was interested now.

“He said, ‘Gimme twenty minutes with Derek, and I'll get the gun for ya.' He knows you were there, and he's trying to take the blame.” The remarks did bring a reaction from Wood, but not the one Mahoney had hoped for. “Can I call my lawyer?”

“Whaddya wanna call your lawyer for?”

“I wanna talk to him for a second.”

“Do you wanna call him right now?”

“Yes.”

“You figure you're gonna get a hold of him now?”

“What time is it?”

“Twenty after five.” Mahoney reminded Wood that Mike was trying to take the blame.

“Can I talk to him?”

“Who do you want to talk to?” If Wood answered that he wanted to talk to his lawyer, it was over. The officers knew they would be starting all over again, once the suspect was reassured by Art Mollon that remaining silent was in his interest, that he should stop worrying about Mike Campbell. If Mike was not involved, they'd deal with that later.

“Mike,” Wood answered. He had stopped asking for his lawyer; the questioning could proceed. Mahoney told Wood that no, he could not talk with his friend, and continued asking questions. Later, Wood's lawyer would argue that nothing he said after he asked for his lawyer could be used against him in trial. But in the early morning of May 16, 1992, legal issues didn't seem to be the point. Anyway, Wood was sticking to his guns, resorting to the same verbal one-upmanship he had used with the officer earlier: “Excuse me, did ya say somethin' ta me?” was his answer to one question.

“How's that make you feel?”

“What?”

“What you've done, how does it make you feel?”

“Are you talkin' ta me?” In the monitoring room, Phil Scharf had had enough. He could see they were going nowhere, and as long as Wood tried to be clever and play word games, they would continue to go nowhere. He decided it was time for him to get involved. Shortly before six, Sergeant Scharf walked into the room, introduced himself, and began to lecture Wood—not question him, just preach at him. If Jim Wilson was good cop and Karl Mahoney was bad cop, then Phil Scharf was righteous cop—a new spin on the old police interrogation technique.

Scharf pulled no punches as he tried to make it clear to Wood that it was not the time for games: “This is one of the worst tragedies I've ever investigated. It's probably the worst tragedy that many of us will ever see in our service. You are the author of that tragedy—part of that tragedy. There is no doubt in our minds from what Darren has told Freeman—what Freeman told us. Darren said, not to me, but he told Freeman that you went crazy. Ya made Donna open the safe, then you shot her. Then you went looking around the building for anybody left.… If you got any pleasure outta this at all … Derek, my God, it's gonna happen again.” Scharf leaned closer to Wood, accusing him of being sick, of enjoying what he did, relishing the power of playing God and watching the life drain from his innocent victims. Karl Mahoney remained silent, all but disappearing into the wall as Scharf drilled his points home again and again; he did not want to interfere with the flow. Scharf had Wood's full attention, and he wasn't letting up. Scharf's lecture continued with no sign of abatement; his words came fast, and his disgust remained apparent.

After a little more than twelve minutes, Derek Wood had had enough of righteous cop. At one minute past six in the morning, he interrupted the monologue: “Can ya shut up for a second? Whaddya want?”

“I want the truth.”

“Well, if you'd shut up an' let me talk.”

“All right, then. Talk. An' be truthful. What happened?”

Derek Wood leaned over to the table and picked up the list of charges Mahoney had placed there hours earlier. “Guilty. Guilty. I'm not sure about that one. Guilty. Not guilty an' guilty.”

“Why, Derek?”

“I got scared.” A visible relief came over Derek Wood as he told the officers where they could find the weapon. He told them it would be at Michelle's stepfather's trailer, where Freeman had gotten it. Scharf was surprised. He had believed Freeman's claim of having only been involved after the crime, when he took Darren to the brook. When he asked Wood about Freeman's involvement, Wood again lifted the paper from the table, pointed to the charge of first-degree murder in relation to Jimmy Fagan, and said, “Guilty.” He then told the officer that Darren had used the knife, but he was not sure if he pulled the trigger or not.

Derek Wood at the North Sydney RCMP detachment, shortly after his confession.

Jim Wilson returned to the interview room and began a lengthy written statement from Derek Wood, and police got their first glimpse of the nightmare that led to the deaths of three innocent people and the permanent, disabling injury to a fourth. Throughout the night, they had told Wood that the others had already confessed—although they had not—but now police would use the Wood statement as leverage against MacNeil and Muise.

Surprisingly, with the drama and tension behind them, Derek Wood and Karl Mahoney talked as though they were friends. After the written confession was completed, they chatted as they waited for an Ident officer to come to North Sydney. Wood had agreed to take both officers to the place where Freeman MacNeil had thrown his shovel handle after the murders, and to the pond where he himself had submerged Darren Muise's bag of money. At the pond, Jim Wilson tried to get the money but could not find it as he teetered on the edge of the log. Wood offered to find it, and after the handcuffs were removed, he crawled out to the end of the log and fished out the money. All this was much more than the officers had ever hoped for—and certainly more than Wood's lawyer had expected.