Rampage (12 page)

Unlike with the Bernardo and Homolka murders a decade later, where the unreliable account of a single eyewitness led to millions being squandered, there had been three hundred tips relating to the truck, camper, and Francophones before the rash of sightings finally dwindled in April. Ten thousand reward posters were plastered across North America offering $7,500 for information leading to the vehicle’s recovery, along with another $35,000 for any tips resulting in the conviction of the killer or killers. Detectives worked gruelling sixteen-hour days checking every record of long-distance calls made from Clearwater to Quebec; employing psychics; fielding phone calls; speaking with customs, Interpol, and U.S. police; canvassing pawn shops; investigating every parking ticket in Canada for mention of the missing truck; cataloguing escaped convicts; and even mailing fifty thousand letters to people who had been visiting the park at the time of the slayings, asking for information or snapshots they might have taken — photographs which, in turn, would have to be scoured for details. Despite their exhaustive (and exhausting) efforts, the RCMP remained no closer to catching the Wells Gray Gunman, and the blackened remains of six innocent people weighed heavily on their minds. By now the Johnson/Bentley murder investigation had become the most expensive in Canadian history.

In an attempt to revitalize the flagging case, a re-enactment of the murders, featuring the exact model of truck, a red and grey Ford F-150, and an old worn Vanguard camper, was filmed by Global Television and aired across Canada. At the same time, Eastham and Constable Claude Oullette flew to Ontario and Quebec to conduct a media campaign. Meanwhile, Dalen and Officer Laurie Dewitt embarked on a three-week drive from Kamloops to Montreal in the same vehicles used in the Global re-enactment. Signs reading
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS TRUCK
? hung from the camper. The intention was not only to maintain awareness of the case, but also to test the veracity of the eyewitness testimonies that had poured in from across the country. Would the small discrepancies between these vehicles and the Bentleys’ go unnoticed, and if so, how reliable were the sightings in the first place?

When summer finally arrived, campgrounds across Ontario and Quebec were inundated with information sheets and “wanted” posters featuring the composite sketches. In late August, an auto body mechanic in Windsor, Ontario, came forward with some promising information. A few months prior, two Francophones had arrived at his shop in a vehicle that he claimed was identical to the Bentleys’ Ford F-150. It even sported the same modifications George had made to the bumpers and truck bed. Promising to pay him in cash, the men had brought it in to be painted overnight and mentioned that a camper had recently been detached. If that wasn’t incriminating enough, they showed the mechanic a Ruger and a .410/.22 over-under rifle, asking his opinion on the best way to dispose of the weapons. No stranger to criminal activity, the mechanic had referred them to a colleague in Detroit and sent them on their way. As incredible as his story was, he had noted details of the vehicles that were hitherto unreleased to the public — intricacies extending far beyond the realm of coincidence.

Then, on October 18, as the investigation stood poised to cross over into the United States, an unexpected call came in from Clearwater. It was Frank Baruta. They had found the vehicles — dumped on a mountainside and set alight — a mere forty-eight kilometres from the murder site. Just when all of the evidence had pointed east, forcing the investigators to second-guess themselves, it turned out their gut instinct had been right. The lost pieces of the puzzle had been discarded in their own backyard. Now, the wrath of the Canadian media was about to rain down on the RCMP for failing to locate them sooner. Though the investigators were elated to have finally recovered the missing vehicles, from a public relations perspective it was a decidedly Pyrrhic victory.

Backtrack to Tumbler Ridge

A few weeks earlier, on September 22, while driving home from his shift at the Tumbler Ridge RCMP detachment, Constable Ron German had spotted a yellow Ford pickup with three dark figures huddled inside. Along with missing tail lights, a cracked windshield, and a box loaded with expensive tools, a single cycloptic headlight glared ominously onto the road. Suspicious, German signalled for the vehicle to pull over, and blasted his off-road lights. He was just preparing to exit when a man clambered hurriedly out of the pickup’s driver-side door and began stumbling toward the cruiser. He was stocky, with tousled brown curls, a droopy moustache, and a black denim jacket.

“Hey there! How are you doing tonight?” German greeted him.

“Not too bad, officer.” The man shuffled nervously.

“Could I see your driver’s licence?”

“Sure.” The man handed German a card that read, “David William Shearing.”

“So where are you heading?” German passed the licence back.

“Just back to Quadra Camp from work.” Shearing’s eyes flitted about, avoiding the constable’s gaze. “Going to go there for a bit, then head back home.”

“Okay then. So what have you got in the back of the truck?”

German and Shearing strode up to the box of the yellow Ford. Inside the cab, the two mysterious figures sat as still as statues. Shearing revealed the contents of the box: a compressor, wrenches, various impact tools — German estimated they were hauling about $40,000 worth of equipment. Knowing that construction workers in Tumbler Ridge would be readying themselves for bed at this hour rather than driving home from work, German escorted Shearing to the back seat of his cruiser and locked the door. Sensing danger, the policeman crept back to the pickup truck along the ditch, pistol in hand. As the two men squinted into the glare of the off-road lights, German snuck up. Peering through the open window of the passenger door, he spied a cocked .30/.30 rifle in one man’s hands. German sprang from the darkness and pressed the muzzle of his pistol to the gunman’s temple.

“Don’t even think about moving,” he warned. “Get your hands on the dash.”

Startled, they had little option but to comply. Constable German wrenched open the door, seized the rifle, uncocked it, and removed it safely to the trunk of the cruiser. Returning, he escorted a scruffy man out of the Ford, handcuffed him, and placed him in the back seat next to Shearing. When the last of the three — the heavily tattooed passenger who had been cradling the gun — refused to leave the pickup, German wrestled him onto the hood and slapped the cuffs on. With all three suspects secured, he got whatever information he could out of them, then released Shearing and Wylen Laidenen, the scruffy man. After all, they hadn’t committed any crimes he was aware of yet. Still, he made sure to list and copy down the serial numbers of the tools before letting them go. The tattooed gunman, Fred White, on the other hand, was driven up to Dawson Creek and charged with attempted murder.

The call Ron German had been expecting came the next morning from a local engineer’s camp. There had been a break-in the previous night at one of the trailers, and a number of expensive tools had been stolen. The following day, Constable Mike Johnson arrived at the detachment to provide German with backup, and the two went out in a police Suburban to search for Shearing and Laidenen. They eventually found Shearing and Fred White in a clearing deep in the forest, digging a hole outside a hand-made cabin. German was astonished: hadn’t he just booked White for attempted murder? Deciding that the best strategy was sudden ambush, the officers turned on the Suburban’s lights and siren and drove at full speed through the bush into the glade. Startled, the two thieves dropped their shovels and took off into the woods, with the RCMP constables pursuing them on foot. When the officers’ warning shots and repeated calls upon the suspects to stop failed, nature intervened, entangling Shearing and White in a thicket of thorns. It had been an epic chase, and after German and Johnson caught their breath, they cuffed the exhausted fugitives and placed them in the back of the Suburban. Unlike in their previous encounter, this time Shearing was defiant and profane, refusing to tell them where Laidenen was hiding. Nevertheless, it wasn’t long before the officers found him in the cabin — taking cover under a bunk with a .303 rifle aimed at the doorway. Fortunately, German had brought Shearing along as a human shield. Laidenen cast the weapon aside and declared himself unarmed.

Once again, German found himself driving Fred White up to Dawson Creek, only this time Shearing and Laidenen were along for the ride. It was a hot, dusty, and uncomfortable journey. He charged all three men for possession of stolen property, and had them confined to cells. While there, he learned that an oblivious corporal at the detachment had decided to free Fred White on the same night German had brought him in. Apparently, he didn’t feel that White should have been locked up for attempted murder simply because he was found in a pickup truck with a loaded weapon.

David Shearing was eventually released from custody and scheduled to appear in court on November 21 to face the stolen property charges. Laidenen and White, wanted on other counts, were jailed. Comparatively, their criminal records made Shearing look like a boy scout. Then again, nobody knew about the crimes he hadn’t been caught for. If they had, Laidenen and White might have pointed their guns at him. Stealing and bar fights were one thing — but molesting and killing two little girls was disgusting, even in the eyes of many hardened criminals.

Hidden in Plane Sight

The fire had scorched the red and grey Ford bare, rendering it indistinguishable from the surrounding foliage. Only remnants of the camper remained. It was no wonder that, despite the frequent air searches of Trophy Mountain, they had gone undiscovered for so long. Later, much to the investigators’ chagrin, they would learn that an aircraft using infrared technology had passed by the area, but had run out of videotape. Two forestry workers had stumbled upon the burnt-out wreck while traipsing along a skidder trail, at an altitude of 1.43 kilometres. When they informed the Clearwater RCMP of the licence plate — 483 6FY — the police immediately identified the vehicle as belonging to the late Bob Johnson. Whoever had stolen the truck and camper appeared to have been steering them toward a nearby canyon, but had become stuck on a log and abandoned them. As nobody unfamiliar with the area would have known about this hidden route to the gully, the police surmised the killer had to be local. The truck was promptly removed to Vancouver to undergo intensive forensic examination. Investigators had already discovered a bullet hole in the passenger-side door.

Confident that the killer resided or had once resided in the Clearwater area, the team of twenty local detectives, along with Mounties from Vancouver, began going door to door within a thousand-square-mile perimeter, questioning every man, woman, and child. They also examined thirteen thousand tips to see if any viable suspects emerged. Sometime during this period the name David Shearing first surfaced. An unidentified telephone informant explained that Shearing had been implicated in a hit-and-run fatality on the Wells Gray Highway but was never charged. When, coincidentally on the same day, a waitress slipped an investigator a piece of paper reading, “David Shearing,” the twenty-three-year-old became a high-priority suspect. Residing within a few kilometres of the Bear Creek campground, Shearing and his family had already been interviewed by police. Reports indicated that he had expressed outrage over the massacre and cursed the perpetrator but hadn’t seen anything suspicious. Though he came from a respectable family, with a brother who was a sheriff, Shearing was something of a lone wolf, known for driving under the influence, abusing drugs, and fighting. More sinisterly, he was rumoured to prefer his feminine company on the young side — as in thirteen years old. Shearing may have dressed like a cowboy, but he seemed much closer to John Wayne Gacy than John Wayne.

At the time of the murders, Shearing’s employment would have taken him past the crime scene at least twice a day. Currently, he was working in the logging town of Tumbler Ridge, northeast of Prince George near the Alberta border. The investigators’ suspicions only deepened when, during a routine police interview the following day, a local woman asked her husband whether he was “going to tell them about what David Shearing said about re-registering that truck with the bullet hole in the door.” Staff Sergeant Eastham made the decision to contact his old friend Ron German at the Tumbler Ridge RCMP detachment to feel things out.

“Mike! I guess you’re pretty busy with that family murder case,” German greeted him over the telephone. “Look, I’ve got a bit of a weird duck up here. He said he used to live in Clearwater, and I figured I could ask him some questions if you want me to. His name’s David William Shearing.” Flabbergasted, Eastham informed German that they were looking at Shearing as a suspect in the Johnson/Bentley murders, and requested that they keep tabs on him. German was already ahead of the game — for weeks he had been surveilling Shearing to ensure he didn’t skip out on his court date.

First by plane, then by jalopy, on Friday, November 18, 1983, Mike Eastham and Gerry Dalen battled their way north through a raging blizzard to Dawson Creek. The next morning, German approached a tired and hungover David Shearing in Tumbler Ridge, and requested that he come up to Dawson Creek of his own volition to answer some questions. Having just seen his drinking buddy Jason Harwood arrested for outstanding warrants acquired in Ottawa, and realizing that German would be forced to arrest him if he didn’t comply, Shearing agreed. On the drive north, the two began chatting about hunting, and German brought up the fact that he was fond of shooting grouse with his .22 Cooey. Shearing responded by detailing the accuracy of his father’s superior .22 Remington in hunting deer. Little did he know what lay in store for him at Dawson Creek.

Once they reached their destination, German escorted Shearing into the local police station, where he introduced Staff Sergeant Eastham and interrogation expert Ken Leibel. Shearing’s reaction was one of barely concealed terror. Clearly he was familiar with Eastham’s name and his involvement in the Johnson/Bentley investigation. As Shearing was taken to the downstairs interrogation room, German offered some tips to his old friend Mike Eastham regarding Shearing’s body language and the fact that he had claimed to own a .22 Remington.