Murder at McDonald's (43 page)

“Of what he had to say?”

“Yes, do you think the judge will believe that?”

“Did you?”

“No, it was nothing but bullshit. He's just trying to make himself look good.”

“I guess I can say you don't accept his apology?” Julia stepped a little closer, putting her hand on my arm and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “If you want to make me happy, you can say he's a bullshitter and a bastard. Just don't say I said it.”

“I'll paraphrase that. See you in the morning.” At the close of my report that night, I told the audience that the widow of Neil Burroughs did not accept the apology offered by Darren Muise, and that she considered it contrived and self-serving. Julia later said she appreciated the diplomatic translation.

Saturday, June 26, was a sunny, warm day, but the weather did nothing to reduce the stress that Julia and the other relatives were feeling as they entered the Cape Breton County Courthouse yet again. Nor did the mood improve when they were greeted by yet another display of intense courtroom security. The outburst two days before had convinced court officers that emotions at this hearing were running a little too high and that extreme measures would be needed at the moment of sentencing. The sheriff's deputies had become friendly with many of the victims' relatives over the past weeks, and these officers were quite aware that many of the relatives were still angry about Muise's deal. If he also was given a light parole-eligibility term, this would likely bring on another outcry, perhaps even a physical confrontation. Gary and I stood chatting with guards downstairs at the prisoners entrance, waiting for the van from the correctional centre. The guards were speculating on what term the judge might impose, and they hoped it would be a long one; they did not want to have to restrain anyone.

As Justice Kelly took his seat, a deputy stood near the bench; two others sat with Darren Muise; and eight officers, mostly RCMP, lined the front row of the public gallery. Meanwhile, Sydney police were in place outside the court to ensure that the prisoner would leave without incident. These measures annoyed the law-abiding citizens who were there to hear the sentencing of the criminal who had deeply affected their lives. “What are they expecting, some kind of attack?” Al Fagan asked, pointing out the extra precautions. “This is ridiculous.” The victims' relatives knew the security was in place to keep them away from Muise, and it made them feel dirty—they felt they were being treated as though they were a danger to society, although they had done nothing to break the law. The tension in the courtroom was high as the judge began to read his decision. Like most judges, Justice Kelly took a fair amount of time to outline the factors influencing his decision. Many in the court fidgeted and shifted in the uncomfortable wooden chairs as they tried to see where the judge was headed with his dissertation. At times, the victims' relatives would stare at each other in disbelief as the judge appeared to be leaning towards a light sentence. At one point, he described Muise as “an undirected teen hanging out at a pool hall, playing games. [It was] an aimless, pointless existence, but not a problem to the community. His actions were out of character.” Then, the relatives would see a glimmer of hope: “His actions before during and after the crime show a high degree of criminality.”

Darren Muise, looking clean-cut in a fashionable suit, arrives in court to face his sentencing. [Print from ATV video tape.]

Justice Kelly made it clear he did not accept the statement Muise made in his confession—that he had cut Neil Burroughs's throat to help him by causing a quick death. Instead the judge called the action “a cold, calculated, extremely brutal act, exposing a personality without conscience, or out of touch—either way a danger to society.” The judge pointed to the moment when Derek Wood shot Arlene MacNeil, saying that Muise could have tried to stop Wood; or he could have helped Donna Warren escape when Wood ran upstairs. He said Muise expected violence and was prepared to use it when he entered the restaurant. But then, Justice Kelly outlined the legal factors he had to consider, and Neil Burroughs's relatives began to despair again. The judge said he found only one case of second-degree murder that carried a parole eligibility restriction of more than twenty years, and that restrictions of more than seventeen years involved criminals with extensive histories of recidivism.

By the time the judge neared the end of his prepared statement, sixteen court- and police officers had filed into the room. Justice Kelly told Darren Muise to stand, and ordered him to be held in prison for life, without parole eligibility for twenty years. Muise was led away as the victims' relatives crowded into the hallway, tired and a little baffled. They had wanted a twenty-five year term but were left feeling grateful for the twenty-year sentence. There was none of the spontaneous joy that had erupted when the verdicts were read in the Wood trial, but there was a similar display of anger; a few people gathered outside to yell at Muise as he was led to the waiting prison van. Among them was Julia Burroughs, who shouted “Bastard!” as the vehicle pulled away from the court. She wanted to do more, say more, but she felt helpless. And the van was gone.

Fifteen

As Darren Muise was on his way to prison that sunny Saturday afternoon, the victims' relatives gathered in the courthouse parking lot to discuss the final court case. They would all be coming back in September to attend the trial of Freeman MacNeil, and they hoped no deals would be made in the weeks ahead to allow MacNeil to avoid a first-degree murder conviction. That didn't happen, but something almost as frustrating did. At the conclusion of the Wood and Muise trials, and in the wake of the intense publicity that surrounded them, MacNeil's lawyer, Kevin Coady, applied for a change of venue. Ken Haley told me privately that he thought the application would probably succeed. When William Kelly agreed to hear the Muise case with no jury, he pretty much tied the hands of Justice David Gruchey, who would preside over the MacNeil trial. It would be tough for the new judge to say that MacNeil could find an impartial jury in Cape Breton after Justice Kelly had found that Muise probably could not have. In fact, Gruchey did order the change of venue: MacNeil's trial would be held in Halifax. This outraged the MacNeil, Warren, Burroughs, and Fagan families. Why should they have to leave home for weeks in order to see justice done for their loved ones? A few philanthropic Nova Scotia corporations agreed, and offers of free accommodations and air fare were soon made; the provincial attorney-general's department also gave some assistance by coordinating a program designed to make the change of venue easier on the families from Cape Breton.

For me, Justice Gruchey's decision proved to be an ironic coincidence. After the Muise trial, I was asked by the network to accept a new posting in Halifax, and although that meant I would not be covering the McDonald's story, I accepted the transfer. In August, my wife and I were driving along a highway outside Halifax, on a house-hunting expedition, when a radio newscast reported the change of venue in MacNeil's forthcoming trial. I looked at my wife and smiled as the announcer said that the trial would begin September 8—the same day I was to begin working in the Halifax newsroom.

Kevin Coady and his colleague Marguerite MacNeil work on their arguments in favour of having Freeman MacNeil's trial moved to Halifax. They won that battle. [Print from ATV video tape.]

The building that houses Halifax County and Supreme Court is located on Upper Water Street, in the heart of the city. Courtrooms, judges' chambers, and associated offices occupy much of the large building, and the business of justice keeps the place buzzing year-round. To facilitate security for the MacNeil trial, it was scheduled for Courtroom Three, which has a side door leading to a hallway away from the public area, enabling sheriff's officers to move a prisoner in and out of the room without interference. On the first day of his trial, MacNeil arrived in a prison van, which passed through the underground parking garage to a second, more secure, garage beyond a large motorized door—and that door was lowered before MacNeil was taken from the van to the holding area. Since there was no camera access to him in this building, we would use tapes recorded during MacNeil's court appearances in Sydney, the best of which came from the hearing for his change of venue—he was led directly in front of the television cameras and into a makeshift courtroom that was being used while the provincial government decided what to do about air-quality problems in the old Sydney courthouse. MacNeil looked right into the cameras that day, and the ATV editors used slow-motion and freeze-frame technology to capture the moment when his eyes met those of the viewer. This was the image we used throughout the trial.

The jury-selection process that began MacNeil's trial was similar to the one for the Wood trial, although there were fewer potential jurors. By the second day, six men and six women had been selected to hear the case; but their job would not start until after the
voir dire
hearing into the admissibility of MacNeil's statements to police. This time, the prosecutors were much more confident of victory. Brian Williston, who was prosecuting the case, had thought of little else over the summer; in fact, he took the bulging MacNeil file along with him on what was supposed to be a family vacation, in Prince Edward Island. One day he even hauled the file to the bank of pay phones near the paddle-boat pond at Rainbow Valley tourist park; while his wife and children enjoyed the park's many attraction, Williston spent more than two hours on the telephone to Ken Haley back in Sydney. He was more than ready for this hearing, and he was gratified to see Al and Theresa Fagan seated in the courtroom; more than in any murder case he had ever handled, Williston felt a strong sense of connection to the victims in this case.

The other victims' relatives were back in Cape Breton waiting for the scheduled start of testimony on September 21, but the Fagans had decided they would not miss a moment of the trial. Freeman MacNeil had confessed to shooting their boy, and these proceedings would determine if that confession could be used in the trial. They had to be there.

Freeman MacNeil fixes the camera with an icy stare as he enters the courtroom for his change-of-venue hearing. The image was used by ATV throughout his trial. [Print from ATV video tape.]

For the first day of the hearing, MacNeil wore a conservative grey suit, white shirt, and dark tie; his glasses and clean-cut appearance, and the way he talked with his lawyer—confidently, but with respect—suggested a university student on his first job interview, not a killer on trial. MacNeil's lawyer, Kevin Coady, sat near his client, his greying hair and thick moustache adding to his look of concern. Although the victims' families saw him as just another Halifax lawyer, Coady was in fact a Cape Bretoner. He had grown up in the Margaree Valley, one of Cape Breton's most-scenic communities, but not one that required the talents of a trial attorney on a regular basis. Coady could make a better living working in the Nova Scotia capital, where he now prepared to fight one of the toughest battles of his career.