“It was hell to be so tired, and still care.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold
Chapter Eight
Autopsy Report
The trial was exhausting!
Sometimes at the end of the day, we felt thin – similar to Bilbo Baggins… “sort of stretched if you know what I mean: like butter scraped over too much bread.” Yet I felt any show of boredom or tiredness would somehow diminish the importance of this process. So we covered our yawns as best we could.
The Judge continued his charge to the jury. “You will recall that the former medical examiner, Dr. Peter Markesteyn, testified as to his observations and examinations during the course of the autopsy. Dr. Markesteyn testified as to the state of Candace Derksen's body when he first observed it. He noted her to be still fully clothed and hogtied. He also noted that her body was frozen solid. He told you that because of the frozen state of her body the autopsy could not immediately take place. As of January 20th, in fact, the body was still defrosting.”
Defrosting! There it was again… a word used legitimately but in this context, a court of law – just kind of exploded in my mind. “Her body defrosting.” Candace defrosting! The image that bodies should be defrosting like roasts on a counter left my mind spinning.
I was suddenly wide-eyed and awake.
It brought me right back to when Dr. Markesteyn had taken the stand.
We had all called it Black Friday – the ending of the first week of the trial when we had heard his testimony. We felt we had sunk into a cave with absolutely no glimmer of light.
This was no reflection on Dr. Peter Markesteyn’s - his delivery of those horrific facts was completely kind and professional
The Crown gently led the court through his credentials. Dr. Markesteyn was known for his extensive experience in working with child and adult death. From the Netherlands, he had attended a medical school in Groningen, graduated in 1960 with a medical degree specializing in pathology. As a forensic pathologist, he had completed over 10,000 autopsies and became a well-known expert on cause and effect of injury to the human body. Continuing his academic career, he had spent many years teaching at several Canadian universities. He had also become a consultant for the federal Department of Justice as well as the RCMP Training Division in Regina.
Bell went on to flesh out his expertise. “I understand, sir, that after you retired in 1999, you worked in the former Yugoslavia, both for the UN and the International Criminal Tribunal, and as well, at the University of Pristina in Kosovo, as a pathologist or chief medical examiner, is that correct?”
And he answered simply. “Yes, I went to investigate war crimes after the war there, part of the Canadian delegation.” It wasn’t only his personal achievements that set him apart but his personal strength and presence. He seemed to embody integrity.
He always made a point of greeting me in the hallway before or after his testimony to assure me of his respect and high regard for our family.
Then Bell began the questioning in earnest. “Doctor, I want to specifically refer you to a case identified as Autopsy SOGHA12-85, I understand conducted on January 20th, 1985, at Seven Oaks General Hospital, beginning at 9:12 a.m. I understand you performed the autopsy at that point on the deceased, Candace Derksen; I understand that during the autopsy a police photographer was present and took photographs, some of them at your direction? I understand that on January 17th, 1985, you attended the place where the deceased was found and saw her there; is that correct? I understand as well that you, in fact, pronounced death. Did you pronounce death that day at the scene?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was the condition of the body when you first saw it there?”
“The body was frozen solidly.”
I turned to look over at Odia’s art project and she was crocheting her wool circle with black yarn.
They were talking about Candace’s body. My child. And this wasn’t just anyone. This was our Candace.
Cliff and I might not have accomplished much in life – but we did make beautiful babies together and raised amazing people.
Candace was just emerging as a personality. She was the cutest baby – a ray of sunshine. She took her first step when she was six months old – and because of this became a crowd pleaser and stopper. All we had to do was go to a shopping mall, set her down and she would draw attention as she toddled around with a diaper almost bigger than she was. She would smile and everyone would stop. She loved people.
When our parents came to support us during Candace’s disappearance, my mother kept asking questions about Candace almost as if she were a stranger. What was she like? What was she interested in? I finally stopped the conversation.
“Mom, why all these questions? You know Candace. She stayed with you for almost two months. Of all our children, you know her the best.”
“Yes, we knew Candace as a child,” Mom agreed. “But she must have grown up a lot in the last years. Children change, especially between the ages of ten and thirteen, so I don't feel I know Candace as a young lady.”
I knew what she meant…. When the police had asked for a picture to put on a poster, I found her latest school picture and was amazed to see the picture. It wasn’t her best. We all take less than good pictures – and hers wasn’t good.
So I took out her younger pictures – she was so beautiful…. And then, the police found out that the school had just taken photographs so they went and pushed hers through…. she had had a retake done.
When I opened the picture – it was her! Radiant – captured all of her – even more than I had realized. She looked so grown up. So mature – when had that happened?
Why hadn’t I guarded her more during that vulnerable age – that pubescent time when girls are full of sexual allure, yet so very innocent? I understood, and I tried to describe her, but my words were the words of a mother. How could I describe Candace?
I wandered upstairs to look. How could I capture Candace for her grandparents? Since she shared her room with Odia, showing them her room wouldn't really do much. The decorations hanging from every corner of the room showed Candace’s creativity, but they didn't capture her attitudes or her philosophy. Suddenly, I knew. Her music. Her love for music. Her choice of music.
About a year and a half earlier, when Cliff had been in charge of music for Camp Arnes' roller skating night for the young people, he had haunted the Christian music stores, bringing home all sorts of demonstration tapes. Of course, Candace had loved Cliff's new responsibility. She had helped him pick out songs that kids her age liked.
I still remember that sunny day when she came into the kitchen where I was quickly stirring some cookie dough.
“Mom, I found my song, and I want you to hear it.”
“Play it while I put these on the pan before they harden.”
“No, I want you to listen. I'll wait.”
She curled up on the chair to watch and nibble.
“Is it rock?” I asked.
“No, you'll like it. It’s the song ‘Friends’ by Michael W. Smith.” The name didn't mean anything to me. “It's a song that's just mine. I like the words and the music.”
“What's it about?” I asked.
“Friends.”
I had to smile.
After the cookies were finished, I followed her into the living room and sat down. She put the tape on, and the song floated through the room. I tried hard to listen to the words. Though most of them escaped me, the theme was unmistakable. It was about the value of friends.
When the last note faded, she sat smiling smugly, “It's me, isn't it?”
I nodded.
Candace incorporated that song into a theme song for her life. A year and a half later she was still playing the song as often as when she discovered it. We heard it every night before she went to bed. I knew that if Mom heard it, she would know Candace.
The tape was still beside the bed in my old battered tape recorder that Candace had claimed. I took it downstairs and introduced the song to my family. When the familiar beat began, it was as if Candace had walked into the room, swaying slightly to the music, the hint of a dreamy smile on her lips, and a faraway, peaceful look in her eyes — totally absorbed in her music. The words floated into the room. I thought the pain would rip Cliff and me apart.
I had never really listened to the words. Now it was as if she were singing them to us.
Packing up the dreams God planted
In the fertile soil of you
Can't believe the hopes He's granted
Means a chapter in your life is through
But we'll keep you close as always
It won't even seem you've gone
'Cause our hearts in big and small ways
Will keep the love that keeps us strong…
It was a good-bye song!
She had chosen a good-bye song! Had she known? Had she in some way chosen this song for us because she knew she was going?
We sat stunned, the tears streaming down our faces.
Mom broke the silence. “She listened to those words every night?”
“Yes,” I answered quietly.
That song remains one of my grief triggers. After her disappearance that song would bring her into the room. We would feel her so intensely, the emotions were so strong. I knew that I needed to be careful when I heard that song…. I always felt on the verge of a complete breakdown – a point of no return.
Bell continued the question. “And what was the condition or presentation of the hands and feet when you first saw the body on the 20th, sir?”
“The hands and feet were tied together, what is commonly called as in a hogtied fashion.”
“Could you describe that to the court, please?”
“It meant that the, the hands were tied and then consecutively tied to the, to the feet as well…. So the hands and the legs were not tied separately. They were tied together.”
Shortly after Candace’s body was found, I remember the police officers coming to visit us with the medical examiner's findings. They stressed to me that Candace had died of hypothermia, probably falling unconscious within a short period of time as her body shut down. She wasn’t dressed for the weather.
They were right; she wasn’t prepared for the weather. November 30, 1984 had started as an unusually warm winter day and I had let her wear a polyester blouse, warning her that it was going to be cold, but she loved that blouse… pinkish with grey circles. Later I discovered that she had actually retrieved a light blue hoodie from her locker for the walk home but at the time I didn’t know that.
I remember being comforted that Candace had died of hypothermia rather than having suffered violence. “I’m so glad she didn’t suffer,” I said over and over again.
Even at that time, I saw a shadow cross the eyes of the officers and I suspected that they weren’t telling me something. They had never told me she was hogtied. They said that she was “tied” but they didn’t tell me how; so I assumed that it was in a sitting position, against the wall or on a chair…. I thought she had been tied to confine her - to keep her there in the shack.
Denial is a great and wonderful thing.
Hearing it for the first time at the preliminary, I had asked the Crown if I could use it publicly, publish it in my blog, and expose it for what it is. They said no…. I was not to reveal it. There was a publication ban on the word.
Then I knew that I wanted this trial for one reason alone, and that was so that this word, and the truths around it would be exposed and explored.
Candace was a free spirit, an athletic child, who could run with the wind, swim beautifully and scale any fence if she wanted to. We had seen her vitality, her love of life.
Now to think that had she died hogtied, her nostrils filled with dirt, her back arched painfully back with her hands and her feet tied with a cutting rope preventing circulation, is almost unbearable. To try and imagine her dying in the presence of someone who would want to do this to her brings us to a very dark and black place.
It was painful. Why would I want others to know? Why would I want to go through all this? Why would I want to replace images of someone dying of hypothermia with someone hogtied tightly, kneeling in the dirt, her face pressed against the ground at one point?
It is hell.
Bell continued. “Would some refer to that twine as a ligature?”
“Well, a ligature is, is actually to ligate. It's to tie together. It's something that ties something together. Ligatures, we refer to in our business as a ligature around the neck, for instance, when people are suspended by the neck. Or when - one doesn't use the term a ligature to tie one's shoes, but in medicine it's used when you tie things together. We use it, a ligature. But a shoelace, really, is also a ligature.” In this case, he referred to it as ligature. That should have been a clue.
In our case it was about the rope that was one of the murder weapons. The other weapon was hypothermia. Strange weapons that didn’t reveal a lot… or so they thought. I preferred to think of it as a rope rather than twine – I think this was again my denial. Rope was soft – twine was razor sharp.
Establishing the cause of death is extremely important in any homicide investigation, because it usually provides the investigators with valuable evidence. The usual motives for homicides include sex, financial need, crimes of passion, blackmail and self-defense, and occasionally there is no motive at all. What was the motive for taking Candace?
Usually the cause of death in a homicide might be something such as asphyxiation, stabbing, gunshot wounds or poison. It is up to the medical examiner to determine whether the crime was accidental, a momentary loss of control on the part of the accused, or a premeditated act, or perhaps it actually was suicide. The weapon was really important. If it was a gun, they would study the angle of entry of a bullet. If it was a knife, the stab wounds were studied. Often the path of the bullet or the intensity of the stab wounds were clues as to the motive.
Yet the DNA on that rope was the primary evidence being used in this case. Even though DNA is impossible to see, a DNA thread is approximately 120 times thinner than the smallest wavelength of visible light. There are 200 billion kilometers of DNA in a human body – equivalent to 70 round trips from the sun to Saturn. Your personal DNA is capable of coiling round the earth five million times.
Bell continued his questioning. “And the conditions of the jeans we see in photograph number 12, Dr. Markesteyn, can you tell us, was there anything remarkable about those when you examined them during the course of the autopsy?”
“Well, the jeans were intact. There was no evidence of any disturbance of the zipper.”
“And what was the deceased wearing underneath the jeans, Dr. Markesteyn?”
“Underneath the jeans, she was wearing panties.”
“And how did those present or what was their condition?”
“They, they presented also without any evidence of tearing or disturbance. The crotch area of the panties were bloodstained, but this was due to decomposition. She was not menstruating, because I later discovered, by examining the body inside, that she was not in the menstrual phase. But more importantly, when we find blood in the vagina or bloody fluids in the vagina, we examine that for the presence of injury. And I may be ahead of the next question: This blood was not the result of any injury sustained.”
“So was there any other physical evidence of injury to the genitalia of the deceased?”
The hymen was intact, he said. There was no evidence of violence. In other words, she had not been raped.
It all seemed so personal - private, but they continued.
Bell went even further. “Was the deceased wearing a brassiere at one point during the autopsy, Doctor?”
“Yes, she was.”
“And what was its position, state, and condition when you saw it at the post-mortem?”
“Well, my report is actually a little bit confusing because in one state I said in situ, which means, in Latin terms, in place. But another says that the, the right bra was above the nipple. However, the breasts were very small. The bra showed no evidence of stretching, nor showed that the skin underneath had any sign of injury.”
Mike McIntyre tweeted, “Fairly detailed description of body examination/autopsy coming up. Can’t imagine how difficult this must be for Candace’s family to listen to.”
He was right.
Dr. Markesteyn continued. Then in the gentlest of terms, he began to describe the wounds. I had thought she had just died of hypothermia – but now slowly a torture chamber was being described.
He said that there were quite considerable injuries to the knees. He said a blunt force, semi-circle object had wounded her on her knee. He also described wounds on her lower leg, between her heel and toe and a bruise over the right cheek. Her wrists and ankles had been scratched by the twine that had been tied tightly enough to cause swelling in her hands.
“What does that indicate to you, Doctor, the swelling of the hands?”
“It is an indication that the person was alive when these ligatures were applied. The circulation was going, and that leads to swelling, as you know, when you tie off the veins but not the artery. If the artery is, is also tied, then there is no blood and so nothing happens. But in this case, there is, there is swelling here. The blood could get in and couldn’t get out, and that is, to me, an indication - not just consistent with, an indication that circulation was going at a time when these ligatures were applied, circulation with sufficient force to pump blood into the hands.”
“And what pumps the blood in the body, Dr. Markesteyn?”
“That is the heart and, as you know, the arteries pump it in and the veins take it out.”
She had still been alive when the ties were applied!
Then he went on to describe how the dirt on the tip of her nose, in her nostrils and on her chin suggested that she was lying face down in the dirt. “And more importantly, as you see the legs there, the dirt on the legs, this suggests to me that she was lying face down at some time,” he said.
The rest of the details were described in a factual clinical manner.
There were textile fibers on the surface of her teeth and mouth which probably meant that she had been gagged at one point.
She had been found lying down on her face and yet her lungs were clear of dust - she had not inhaled any of the dust. What did that mean? Had she been dead before she was let down to the ground? There had been the rope hanging from the ceiling….
Had she been suspended? Had my worst fear been realized?
The exterior skin showed signs of defrosting, seen as parchment drying, a post-mortem effect seen in freezing. The tips of the fingers also showed loss of skin, similar to frostbite injury.
However, violence could not be ruled out because there were abrasions around her right knee where it might have been in contact with the floor of the shed. They looked pre-mortem, the result of the body moving itself – prior to death.
Bell looked at the photographs provided with the autopsy. “Now in both photographs 20 and 21, I can see what appears to be red patches or splotches on the legs of the deceased. Looks almost like a sunburn. Can you tell us what that is please?”
“That is what we call lividity. L-I-V-I-D-I-T-Y. Lividity, which is the passive settling of the blood shortly after death. It settles by gravity. It goes down. And so this means, together with other findings, that she was lying – at some point, face down and that there’s lividity. It’s quite delineated. So that’s passive blood. That’s not an injury; just a post-mortem change.”
The fingertips showed little bite marks consistent with the evidence of rodent feces in the pocket. Mice – rats – something had been nibbling on the tips of the fingers and portions of the hands.
In the preliminary there had been a great deal of analysis of the chemical balance in the body. Apparently the mixture of the chemicals looked as if she could have been diabetic or poisoned, but given the situation, the mixture, the medical examiner came to the conclusion that Candace had been under great stress when she died.
There was no alcohol, no drugs.
And then the big question.
“What, then, sir, was your opinion with respect to the cause of death in this case?” asked the Crown.
“I certified this death as the result of hypothermia as the result of exposure.”
“And what is hypothermia?”
“Hypothermia is cooling of the body. Hypo means low, as you know, and thermia means heat. So it's cooling of the body.”
“How do you die from hypothermia?”
“If one dies at all, first of all what happens with hypothermia, the brain and the rest of the organs cannot function at such a low temperature and the first thing that goes is the heat regulation of, of the brain. The brain cannot function any longer, doesn't send any messages out to the heart, and the, the heart stops. Eventually the heart stops. This takes a while, but eventually it does. So how you die is, is it's a - one loses consciousness very quickly. The time of death may, may be a while, but there is - first thing that happens is shivering. We, we've all seen that, more in children than in adults because they have less body mass behind them so they cool off much quicker. You're at the beach and you see the kids shivering. That's hypothermia. And then that ceases, and then the person - what happens, the brain can no longer function at this low temperature and people suffer from confusion, sometimes - well, it's been described, hallucinations, visions - those who have survived tell that - and loss of consciousness.”
“Once you lose consciousness, Doctor, how long would it take you to die from hypothermia?”
“I suggest that the death occurred less than 27 hours likely more than 24 hours, but the person would be comatose and in coma, unconscious.”
“Doctor, if, if the jury accept that it was minus 25 degrees Celsius on the early morning of December 31 1984, in Winnipeg, does that assist or detract from your estimate as to when Candace Derksen would have died?”
“Well, at least we know…. ” He paused. “She would have lost consciousness pretty fast.”
At one point during the preliminary Dr. Markesteyn had said that Candace probably could have lost consciousness in about 10 to 20 minutes – perhaps at least in about half an hour. Apparently people in a snowstorm who head out into the storm are often found not that far from the car.
But the exact time of death was questionable. “It may have taken hours before she died. I cannot be certain on that and I, and I do not wish to speculate. But I am certain that it most certainly was within, shall we say, 20 hours to 24 hours. Most certain. I can certainly can exclude, but I can't give you exact time. I cannot do that.”
“Is there pain involved in such a death, Dr. Markesteyn?”
“There is none, because the pain receptors in the skin can no longer function.”
After he took his seat, it was still a mystery as to what had happened in that shed.
Then I remembered January 17, 1985. The day her body was found.
We had just been told that Candace's body was at Seven Oaks Hospital, northwest of where we lived. We were to go and identify her body. The officers told us that we would be expected. We would just have to enter the front doors and there would be someone there to meet us.
As we climbed into the car, I half expected Cliff to drive on home and tell me that it had all been a lie, but he didn't. He turned left onto Main Street and headed toward the hospital.
At the hospital, we pushed the big doors open. The assistant to the medical examiner slipped her arm around me, and we were taken into a private lounge and introduced to an officer from the homicide department.
“She doesn't look pretty,” they said, starting to prepare us. “The blotches on her skin are from the cold. They aren't bruises.” They gave us two Polaroid pictures, and my fingers trembled as I took them. It was Candace.
They were right; the horror of facing her own death was etched into Candace's face.
“I'm sorry,” the medical examiner continued gently, “but we thought showing pictures would help to prepare you.”
I wanted to tell her how grateful we were that they were being so considerate, but the tears wouldn't stop.
They then briefed us on the details. They told us the body would be allowed to thaw and that even though she might have died on the evening she disappeared, her death certificate would record January 17, 1985 as the date of her death.
We nodded mechanically.
They took us down an endless corridor, into a little white room. A tiny figure lay draped with a white sheet on what appeared to be an operating table.
This couldn’t be Candace. In real life Candace was so much bigger. This was just a little corpse. But I forced myself to look closer. Yes, it was Candace. Candace minus her personality was so tiny - just a shell. Frozen, she looked like a dusty mannequin, and I drew back in horror. I didn't feel any attachment to what lay there. It was a grotesque duplication that resembled Candace's body, but it wasn't Candace.
They asked us if she looked the same as the day she disappeared. Was her hair the same? Her clothes? They wanted to determine how long she had been in the shack.
Yes, the clothes were the same; her hair was the same. Everything, as far as we could determine, verified that she had died that first night.
*****
Another blog of random thoughts….
Overwhelmed: January 2011
It was partially the setting. Room 230 is one of the largest rooms in the old Law Courts Building. The public gallery seats are fashioned like those in an old theater, a tiny bit uncomfortable, not very strong, but adequate.
All the props of justice are there, outdated, still reeking of old-fashioned symbolism of authority and power.
It was as if Candace was finally being recognized before royalty, the actual Crown, for everything she had gone through, everything she had given up. There is a place for pomp and ceremony. This time it was there for Candace.
But I also think it was the ostentatious setting juxtaposed with the descriptions of the abandoned shed where Candace was murdered that shifted my world view so vividly that my emotions were so shaken.
During the first hours of the trial, I cried and cried.
I’m crying now as I’m writing this.
I cry for Candace again. I don’t think I will ever quite get over her premature death, and the horror of it all.
I cry because I am grateful for my friends who are coming to the courtroom.
No man knows till the time comes, what depths are within him. To some men it never comes; let them rest and be thankful! To me, you brought it; on me, you forced it; and the bottom of this raging sea, “has been heaved up....” Charles Dickens
To protect the vulnerable in this story - I am changing their names.
Thank you for reading this first draft. I do apologize for the formatting.
Please write me at derksenwilma@gmail.com for any comments - corrections, insights or alerts.
“It was hell to be so tired, and still care.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold
Chapter Eight
Autopsy Report
The trial was exhausting!
Sometimes at the end of the day, we felt thin – similar to Bilbo Baggins… “sort of stretched if you know what I mean: like butter scraped over too much bread.” Yet I felt any show of boredom or tiredness would somehow diminish the importance of this process. So we covered our yawns as best we could.
The Judge continued his charge to the jury. “You will recall that the former medical examiner, Dr. Peter Markesteyn, testified as to his observations and examinations during the course of the autopsy. Dr. Markesteyn testified as to the state of Candace Derksen's body when he first observed it. He noted her to be still fully clothed and hogtied. He also noted that her body was frozen solid. He told you that because of the frozen state of her body the autopsy could not immediately take place. As of January 20th, in fact, the body was still defrosting.”
Defrosting! There it was again… a word used legitimately but in this context, a court of law – just kind of exploded in my mind. “Her body defrosting.” Candace defrosting! The image that bodies should be defrosting like roasts on a counter left my mind spinning.
I was suddenly wide-eyed and awake.
It brought me right back to when Dr. Markesteyn had taken the stand.
We had all called it Black Friday – the ending of the first week of the trial when we had heard his testimony. We felt we had sunk into a cave with absolutely no glimmer of light.
This was no reflection on Dr. Peter Markesteyn’s - his delivery of those horrific facts was completely kind and professional
The Crown gently led the court through his credentials. Dr. Markesteyn was known for his extensive experience in working with child and adult death. From the Netherlands, he had attended a medical school in Groningen, graduated in 1960 with a medical degree specializing in pathology. As a forensic pathologist, he had completed over 10,000 autopsies and became a well-known expert on cause and effect of injury to the human body. Continuing his academic career, he had spent many years teaching at several Canadian universities. He had also become a consultant for the federal Department of Justice as well as the RCMP Training Division in Regina.
Bell went on to flesh out his expertise. “I understand, sir, that after you retired in 1999, you worked in the former Yugoslavia, both for the UN and the International Criminal Tribunal, and as well, at the University of Pristina in Kosovo, as a pathologist or chief medical examiner, is that correct?”
And he answered simply. “Yes, I went to investigate war crimes after the war there, part of the Canadian delegation.” It wasn’t only his personal achievements that set him apart but his personal strength and presence. He seemed to embody integrity.
He always made a point of greeting me in the hallway before or after his testimony to assure me of his respect and high regard for our family.
Then Bell began the questioning in earnest. “Doctor, I want to specifically refer you to a case identified as Autopsy SOGHA12-85, I understand conducted on January 20th, 1985, at Seven Oaks General Hospital, beginning at 9:12 a.m. I understand you performed the autopsy at that point on the deceased, Candace Derksen; I understand that during the autopsy a police photographer was present and took photographs, some of them at your direction? I understand that on January 17th, 1985, you attended the place where the deceased was found and saw her there; is that correct? I understand as well that you, in fact, pronounced death. Did you pronounce death that day at the scene?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was the condition of the body when you first saw it there?”
“The body was frozen solidly.”
I turned to look over at Odia’s art project and she was crocheting her wool circle with black yarn.
They were talking about Candace’s body. My child. And this wasn’t just anyone. This was our Candace.
Cliff and I might not have accomplished much in life – but we did make beautiful babies together and raised amazing people.
Candace was just emerging as a personality. She was the cutest baby – a ray of sunshine. She took her first step when she was six months old – and because of this became a crowd pleaser and stopper. All we had to do was go to a shopping mall, set her down and she would draw attention as she toddled around with a diaper almost bigger than she was. She would smile and everyone would stop. She loved people.
When our parents came to support us during Candace’s disappearance, my mother kept asking questions about Candace almost as if she were a stranger. What was she like? What was she interested in? I finally stopped the conversation.
“Mom, why all these questions? You know Candace. She stayed with you for almost two months. Of all our children, you know her the best.”
“Yes, we knew Candace as a child,” Mom agreed. “But she must have grown up a lot in the last years. Children change, especially between the ages of ten and thirteen, so I don't feel I know Candace as a young lady.”
I knew what she meant…. When the police had asked for a picture to put on a poster, I found her latest school picture and was amazed to see the picture. It wasn’t her best. We all take less than good pictures – and hers wasn’t good.
So I took out her younger pictures – she was so beautiful…. And then, the police found out that the school had just taken photographs so they went and pushed hers through…. she had had a retake done.
When I opened the picture – it was her! Radiant – captured all of her – even more than I had realized. She looked so grown up. So mature – when had that happened?
Why hadn’t I guarded her more during that vulnerable age – that pubescent time when girls are full of sexual allure, yet so very innocent? I understood, and I tried to describe her, but my words were the words of a mother. How could I describe Candace?
I wandered upstairs to look. How could I capture Candace for her grandparents? Since she shared her room with Odia, showing them her room wouldn't really do much. The decorations hanging from every corner of the room showed Candace’s creativity, but they didn't capture her attitudes or her philosophy. Suddenly, I knew. Her music. Her love for music. Her choice of music.
About a year and a half earlier, when Cliff had been in charge of music for Camp Arnes' roller skating night for the young people, he had haunted the Christian music stores, bringing home all sorts of demonstration tapes. Of course, Candace had loved Cliff's new responsibility. She had helped him pick out songs that kids her age liked.
I still remember that sunny day when she came into the kitchen where I was quickly stirring some cookie dough.
“Mom, I found my song, and I want you to hear it.”
“Play it while I put these on the pan before they harden.”
“No, I want you to listen. I'll wait.”
She curled up on the chair to watch and nibble.
“Is it rock?” I asked.
“No, you'll like it. It’s the song ‘Friends’ by Michael W. Smith.” The name didn't mean anything to me. “It's a song that's just mine. I like the words and the music.”
“What's it about?” I asked.
“Friends.”
I had to smile.
After the cookies were finished, I followed her into the living room and sat down. She put the tape on, and the song floated through the room. I tried hard to listen to the words. Though most of them escaped me, the theme was unmistakable. It was about the value of friends.
When the last note faded, she sat smiling smugly, “It's me, isn't it?”
I nodded.
Candace incorporated that song into a theme song for her life. A year and a half later she was still playing the song as often as when she discovered it. We heard it every night before she went to bed. I knew that if Mom heard it, she would know Candace.
The tape was still beside the bed in my old battered tape recorder that Candace had claimed. I took it downstairs and introduced the song to my family. When the familiar beat began, it was as if Candace had walked into the room, swaying slightly to the music, the hint of a dreamy smile on her lips, and a faraway, peaceful look in her eyes — totally absorbed in her music. The words floated into the room. I thought the pain would rip Cliff and me apart.
I had never really listened to the words. Now it was as if she were singing them to us.
Packing up the dreams God planted
In the fertile soil of you
Can't believe the hopes He's granted
Means a chapter in your life is through
But we'll keep you close as always
It won't even seem you've gone
'Cause our hearts in big and small ways
Will keep the love that keeps us strong…
It was a good-bye song!
She had chosen a good-bye song! Had she known? Had she in some way chosen this song for us because she knew she was going?
We sat stunned, the tears streaming down our faces.
Mom broke the silence. “She listened to those words every night?”
“Yes,” I answered quietly.
That song remains one of my grief triggers. After her disappearance that song would bring her into the room. We would feel her so intensely, the emotions were so strong. I knew that I needed to be careful when I heard that song…. I always felt on the verge of a complete breakdown – a point of no return.
Bell continued the question. “And what was the condition or presentation of the hands and feet when you first saw the body on the 20th, sir?”
“The hands and feet were tied together, what is commonly called as in a hogtied fashion.”
“Could you describe that to the court, please?”
“It meant that the, the hands were tied and then consecutively tied to the, to the feet as well…. So the hands and the legs were not tied separately. They were tied together.”
Shortly after Candace’s body was found, I remember the police officers coming to visit us with the medical examiner's findings. They stressed to me that Candace had died of hypothermia, probably falling unconscious within a short period of time as her body shut down. She wasn’t dressed for the weather.
They were right; she wasn’t prepared for the weather. November 30, 1984 had started as an unusually warm winter day and I had let her wear a polyester blouse, warning her that it was going to be cold, but she loved that blouse… pinkish with grey circles. Later I discovered that she had actually retrieved a light blue hoodie from her locker for the walk home but at the time I didn’t know that.
I remember being comforted that Candace had died of hypothermia rather than having suffered violence. “I’m so glad she didn’t suffer,” I said over and over again.
Even at that time, I saw a shadow cross the eyes of the officers and I suspected that they weren’t telling me something. They had never told me she was hogtied. They said that she was “tied” but they didn’t tell me how; so I assumed that it was in a sitting position, against the wall or on a chair…. I thought she had been tied to confine her - to keep her there in the shack.
Denial is a great and wonderful thing.
Hearing it for the first time at the preliminary, I had asked the Crown if I could use it publicly, publish it in my blog, and expose it for what it is. They said no…. I was not to reveal it. There was a publication ban on the word.
Then I knew that I wanted this trial for one reason alone, and that was so that this word, and the truths around it would be exposed and explored.
Candace was a free spirit, an athletic child, who could run with the wind, swim beautifully and scale any fence if she wanted to. We had seen her vitality, her love of life.
Now to think that had she died hogtied, her nostrils filled with dirt, her back arched painfully back with her hands and her feet tied with a cutting rope preventing circulation, is almost unbearable. To try and imagine her dying in the presence of someone who would want to do this to her brings us to a very dark and black place.
It was painful. Why would I want others to know? Why would I want to go through all this? Why would I want to replace images of someone dying of hypothermia with someone hogtied tightly, kneeling in the dirt, her face pressed against the ground at one point?
It is hell.
Bell continued. “Would some refer to that twine as a ligature?”
“Well, a ligature is, is actually to ligate. It's to tie together. It's something that ties something together. Ligatures, we refer to in our business as a ligature around the neck, for instance, when people are suspended by the neck. Or when - one doesn't use the term a ligature to tie one's shoes, but in medicine it's used when you tie things together. We use it, a ligature. But a shoelace, really, is also a ligature.” In this case, he referred to it as ligature. That should have been a clue.
In our case it was about the rope that was one of the murder weapons. The other weapon was hypothermia. Strange weapons that didn’t reveal a lot… or so they thought. I preferred to think of it as a rope rather than twine – I think this was again my denial. Rope was soft – twine was razor sharp.
Establishing the cause of death is extremely important in any homicide investigation, because it usually provides the investigators with valuable evidence. The usual motives for homicides include sex, financial need, crimes of passion, blackmail and self-defense, and occasionally there is no motive at all. What was the motive for taking Candace?
Usually the cause of death in a homicide might be something such as asphyxiation, stabbing, gunshot wounds or poison. It is up to the medical examiner to determine whether the crime was accidental, a momentary loss of control on the part of the accused, or a premeditated act, or perhaps it actually was suicide. The weapon was really important. If it was a gun, they would study the angle of entry of a bullet. If it was a knife, the stab wounds were studied. Often the path of the bullet or the intensity of the stab wounds were clues as to the motive.
Yet the DNA on that rope was the primary evidence being used in this case. Even though DNA is impossible to see, a DNA thread is approximately 120 times thinner than the smallest wavelength of visible light. There are 200 billion kilometers of DNA in a human body – equivalent to 70 round trips from the sun to Saturn. Your personal DNA is capable of coiling round the earth five million times.
Bell continued his questioning. “And the conditions of the jeans we see in photograph number 12, Dr. Markesteyn, can you tell us, was there anything remarkable about those when you examined them during the course of the autopsy?”
“Well, the jeans were intact. There was no evidence of any disturbance of the zipper.”
“And what was the deceased wearing underneath the jeans, Dr. Markesteyn?”
“Underneath the jeans, she was wearing panties.”
“And how did those present or what was their condition?”
“They, they presented also without any evidence of tearing or disturbance. The crotch area of the panties were bloodstained, but this was due to decomposition. She was not menstruating, because I later discovered, by examining the body inside, that she was not in the menstrual phase. But more importantly, when we find blood in the vagina or bloody fluids in the vagina, we examine that for the presence of injury. And I may be ahead of the next question: This blood was not the result of any injury sustained.”
“So was there any other physical evidence of injury to the genitalia of the deceased?”
The hymen was intact, he said. There was no evidence of violence. In other words, she had not been raped.
It all seemed so personal - private, but they continued.
Bell went even further. “Was the deceased wearing a brassiere at one point during the autopsy, Doctor?”
“Yes, she was.”
“And what was its position, state, and condition when you saw it at the post-mortem?”
“Well, my report is actually a little bit confusing because in one state I said in situ, which means, in Latin terms, in place. But another says that the, the right bra was above the nipple. However, the breasts were very small. The bra showed no evidence of stretching, nor showed that the skin underneath had any sign of injury.”
Mike McIntyre tweeted, “Fairly detailed description of body examination/autopsy coming up. Can’t imagine how difficult this must be for Candace’s family to listen to.”
He was right.
Dr. Markesteyn continued. Then in the gentlest of terms, he began to describe the wounds. I had thought she had just died of hypothermia – but now slowly a torture chamber was being described.
He said that there were quite considerable injuries to the knees. He said a blunt force, semi-circle object had wounded her on her knee. He also described wounds on her lower leg, between her heel and toe and a bruise over the right cheek. Her wrists and ankles had been scratched by the twine that had been tied tightly enough to cause swelling in her hands.
“What does that indicate to you, Doctor, the swelling of the hands?”
“It is an indication that the person was alive when these ligatures were applied. The circulation was going, and that leads to swelling, as you know, when you tie off the veins but not the artery. If the artery is, is also tied, then there is no blood and so nothing happens. But in this case, there is, there is swelling here. The blood could get in and couldn’t get out, and that is, to me, an indication - not just consistent with, an indication that circulation was going at a time when these ligatures were applied, circulation with sufficient force to pump blood into the hands.”
“And what pumps the blood in the body, Dr. Markesteyn?”
“That is the heart and, as you know, the arteries pump it in and the veins take it out.”
She had still been alive when the ties were applied!
Then he went on to describe how the dirt on the tip of her nose, in her nostrils and on her chin suggested that she was lying face down in the dirt. “And more importantly, as you see the legs there, the dirt on the legs, this suggests to me that she was lying face down at some time,” he said.
The rest of the details were described in a factual clinical manner.
There were textile fibers on the surface of her teeth and mouth which probably meant that she had been gagged at one point.
She had been found lying down on her face and yet her lungs were clear of dust - she had not inhaled any of the dust. What did that mean? Had she been dead before she was let down to the ground? There had been the rope hanging from the ceiling….
Had she been suspended? Had my worst fear been realized?
The exterior skin showed signs of defrosting, seen as parchment drying, a post-mortem effect seen in freezing. The tips of the fingers also showed loss of skin, similar to frostbite injury.
However, violence could not be ruled out because there were abrasions around her right knee where it might have been in contact with the floor of the shed. They looked pre-mortem, the result of the body moving itself – prior to death.
Bell looked at the photographs provided with the autopsy. “Now in both photographs 20 and 21, I can see what appears to be red patches or splotches on the legs of the deceased. Looks almost like a sunburn. Can you tell us what that is please?”
“That is what we call lividity. L-I-V-I-D-I-T-Y. Lividity, which is the passive settling of the blood shortly after death. It settles by gravity. It goes down. And so this means, together with other findings, that she was lying – at some point, face down and that there’s lividity. It’s quite delineated. So that’s passive blood. That’s not an injury; just a post-mortem change.”
The fingertips showed little bite marks consistent with the evidence of rodent feces in the pocket. Mice – rats – something had been nibbling on the tips of the fingers and portions of the hands.
In the preliminary there had been a great deal of analysis of the chemical balance in the body. Apparently the mixture of the chemicals looked as if she could have been diabetic or poisoned, but given the situation, the mixture, the medical examiner came to the conclusion that Candace had been under great stress when she died.
There was no alcohol, no drugs.
And then the big question.
“What, then, sir, was your opinion with respect to the cause of death in this case?” asked the Crown.
“I certified this death as the result of hypothermia as the result of exposure.”
“And what is hypothermia?”
“Hypothermia is cooling of the body. Hypo means low, as you know, and thermia means heat. So it's cooling of the body.”
“How do you die from hypothermia?”
“If one dies at all, first of all what happens with hypothermia, the brain and the rest of the organs cannot function at such a low temperature and the first thing that goes is the heat regulation of, of the brain. The brain cannot function any longer, doesn't send any messages out to the heart, and the, the heart stops. Eventually the heart stops. This takes a while, but eventually it does. So how you die is, is it's a - one loses consciousness very quickly. The time of death may, may be a while, but there is - first thing that happens is shivering. We, we've all seen that, more in children than in adults because they have less body mass behind them so they cool off much quicker. You're at the beach and you see the kids shivering. That's hypothermia. And then that ceases, and then the person - what happens, the brain can no longer function at this low temperature and people suffer from confusion, sometimes - well, it's been described, hallucinations, visions - those who have survived tell that - and loss of consciousness.”
“Once you lose consciousness, Doctor, how long would it take you to die from hypothermia?”
“I suggest that the death occurred less than 27 hours likely more than 24 hours, but the person would be comatose and in coma, unconscious.”
“Doctor, if, if the jury accept that it was minus 25 degrees Celsius on the early morning of December 31 1984, in Winnipeg, does that assist or detract from your estimate as to when Candace Derksen would have died?”
“Well, at least we know…. ” He paused. “She would have lost consciousness pretty fast.”
At one point during the preliminary Dr. Markesteyn had said that Candace probably could have lost consciousness in about 10 to 20 minutes – perhaps at least in about half an hour. Apparently people in a snowstorm who head out into the storm are often found not that far from the car.
But the exact time of death was questionable. “It may have taken hours before she died. I cannot be certain on that and I, and I do not wish to speculate. But I am certain that it most certainly was within, shall we say, 20 hours to 24 hours. Most certain. I can certainly can exclude, but I can't give you exact time. I cannot do that.”
“Is there pain involved in such a death, Dr. Markesteyn?”
“There is none, because the pain receptors in the skin can no longer function.”
After he took his seat, it was still a mystery as to what had happened in that shed.
Then I remembered January 17, 1985. The day her body was found.
We had just been told that Candace's body was at Seven Oaks Hospital, northwest of where we lived. We were to go and identify her body. The officers told us that we would be expected. We would just have to enter the front doors and there would be someone there to meet us.
As we climbed into the car, I half expected Cliff to drive on home and tell me that it had all been a lie, but he didn't. He turned left onto Main Street and headed toward the hospital.
At the hospital, we pushed the big doors open. The assistant to the medical examiner slipped her arm around me, and we were taken into a private lounge and introduced to an officer from the homicide department.
“She doesn't look pretty,” they said, starting to prepare us. “The blotches on her skin are from the cold. They aren't bruises.” They gave us two Polaroid pictures, and my fingers trembled as I took them. It was Candace.
They were right; the horror of facing her own death was etched into Candace's face.
“I'm sorry,” the medical examiner continued gently, “but we thought showing pictures would help to prepare you.”
I wanted to tell her how grateful we were that they were being so considerate, but the tears wouldn't stop.
They then briefed us on the details. They told us the body would be allowed to thaw and that even though she might have died on the evening she disappeared, her death certificate would record January 17, 1985 as the date of her death.
We nodded mechanically.
They took us down an endless corridor, into a little white room. A tiny figure lay draped with a white sheet on what appeared to be an operating table.
This couldn’t be Candace. In real life Candace was so much bigger. This was just a little corpse. But I forced myself to look closer. Yes, it was Candace. Candace minus her personality was so tiny - just a shell. Frozen, she looked like a dusty mannequin, and I drew back in horror. I didn't feel any attachment to what lay there. It was a grotesque duplication that resembled Candace's body, but it wasn't Candace.
They asked us if she looked the same as the day she disappeared. Was her hair the same? Her clothes? They wanted to determine how long she had been in the shack.
Yes, the clothes were the same; her hair was the same. Everything, as far as we could determine, verified that she had died that first night.
*****
Another blog of random thoughts….
Overwhelmed: January 2011
It was partially the setting. Room 230 is one of the largest rooms in the old Law Courts Building. The public gallery seats are fashioned like those in an old theater, a tiny bit uncomfortable, not very strong, but adequate.
All the props of justice are there, outdated, still reeking of old-fashioned symbolism of authority and power.
It was as if Candace was finally being recognized before royalty, the actual Crown, for everything she had gone through, everything she had given up. There is a place for pomp and ceremony. This time it was there for Candace.
But I also think it was the ostentatious setting juxtaposed with the descriptions of the abandoned shed where Candace was murdered that shifted my world view so vividly that my emotions were so shaken.
During the first hours of the trial, I cried and cried.
I’m crying now as I’m writing this.
I cry for Candace again. I don’t think I will ever quite get over her premature death, and the horror of it all.
I cry because I am grateful for my friends who are coming to the courtroom.
No man knows till the time comes, what depths are within him. To some men it never comes; let them rest and be thankful! To me, you brought it; on me, you forced it; and the bottom of this raging sea, “has been heaved up....” Charles Dickens
To protect the vulnerable in this story - I am changing their names.
Thank you for reading this first draft. I do apologize for the formatting.
Please write me at derksenwilma@gmail.com for any comments - corrections, insights or alerts.
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