Anatomy of a Cover-Up

PREFACE

There are twenty-five truths about the Nova Scotia massacres.

Twenty-two of those truths have names and indisputable fact on their side. They are the people who were shot dead by Nova Scotia denturist Gabriel Wortman. On Saturday night, April 18, 2020, thirteen of them died in Portapique, some while the Royal Canadian Mounted Police were on scene trying to figure out what to do. We still don’t know the order in which they died or the precise details of many of the murders. We just know their names: Greg Blair, Jamie Blair, Lisa McCully, Corrie Ellison, Frank Gulenchyn, Dawn Madsen Gulenchyn, John Zahl, Elizabeth Joanne (Jo) Thomas, Peter Bond, Joy Bond, Aaron Tuck, Jolene Oliver and Emily Tuck.

The next morning, as the Mounties were still trying to make sense of the situation, in distinctly different circumstances, nine more people were murdered: Sean McLeod, Alanna Jenkins, Tom Bagley, Lillian Campbell Hyslop, Heather O’Brien, Kristen Beaton, Heidi Stevenson, Joey Webber and Gina Goulet.

The twenty-third truth is that while only three people, including Wortman’s common-law wife, Lisa Banfield, suffered non-life-threatening injuries, hundreds if not thousands were emotionally or psychologically damaged by what happened.

The twenty-fourth truth is that although a handful of Mounties did indeed put their lives on the line in exceptionally trying circumstances, a few who offered to do so were not allowed to. Other Mounties, meanwhile, were anything but brave. In a profession where the preservation of life is the first priority, the Mounties saved no one who was in danger by the time they got there. It was anything but a great moment in policing. Not one Mountie’s actions would make a heroes’ highlight reel.

The twenty-fifth truth is that the RCMP and its enablers in government and the justice system have not been entirely honest about what happened before, during and after the massacres. From its first comments, the RCMP attributed the actions of gunman Gabriel Wortman to the fallout from a long-standing domestic-violence environment exacerbated by paranoia over the COVID pandemic and the lockdown in Nova Scotia. This official narrative was immediately picked up by Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and the federal and provincial governments. During the summer of 2020, the governments reluctantly called a joint federal-provincial public inquiry, the Mass Casualty Commission (MCC), headed by three commissioners: former Nova Scotia chief justice J. Michael MacDonald, former Fredericton police chief Leanne J. Fitch and Toronto lawyer Dr. Kim Stanton. The families of the victims, and the public in general, hoped that the commission would get to the truth of the matter, whatever it might be.

What’s the Big Secret?

That’s the last line of my previous book, 22 Murders, which documented the two massacres and critiqued the police response. In that book, I also presented evidence that suggested that Wortman or someone close to him might have been an informant for or working undercover with the RCMP, perhaps involved in their efforts to quell the outlaw biker gangs in the Maritimes—a line of inquiry that might cast Wortman’s killing spree in a new light. Had something gone sideways with an operation?

22 Murders was published in early 2022, prior to the MCC’s hearings. The full title was 22 Murders: Investigating the Massacres, Cover-Up and Obstacles to Justice in Nova Scotia. Some thought it was reckless and bold that I would dare describe what was going on in Nova Scotia in that fashion, without the MCC having held a single hearing. My sources were shy, but solid. I had confidence in what I was reporting.

Among the first obstacles in the pursuit of the truth was the government mandate that the MCC be “trauma-informed.” There were also demands from various quarters that any inquiry be viewed through “a feminist lens.” To me, the overriding problem seemed easily quantified: the RCMP’s broken culture and poor performance, and the public’s insistence on not holding the force accountable for its myriad failures.

When the commission held a “virtual progress update” on September 9, 2021, Frank magazine editor Andrew Douglas insisted that I participate. There was nothing new in what the commissioners had to say, but what commission chair Michael MacDonald did say foreshadowed what would eventually unfold. I described it this way in a subsequent Frank piece, part of which read:


MacDonald, speaking in a flat, almost lifeless tone of voice, said the commission had a two-year mandate and was going to conduct its own investigation to create “an evidence-based record” and “foundational documents.” He tossed around words like “consultative” and “collaborative.”

“We continue to subpoena documents and interview witnesses to ensure that we are able to get to the bottom of what happened and why,” the former judge said. “We are committed to doing our work transparently and respectfully. We are also approaching our work in a trauma-informed manner. We will do our utmost to make sure that we will not cause more harm to those who have already suffered. . . . We must balance two competing but important considerations. Honouring the public’s right to understand what happened while protecting the privacy and dignity of those who have already suffered so much.”

Almost from the moment Gabriel Wortman was shot at the Irving Big Stop in Enfield, government officials and the RCMP have been promoting the notion that they were all determined to protect the survivors of the dead from further trauma. That’s become their collective mantra. They seem to have forgotten that the real victims are the 22 dead and that our society demands answers in their name. That’s how the justice system is supposed to work, as difficult as that might be for some of the families to accept.

“I would like to stress that our commission is not a court. Our approach is very different from a civil trial or a criminal prosecution, which are adversarial. We cannot and will not make findings of civil or criminal liability or assign punishment,” he said.

The commission was an inquisition whose intended purpose was to find the truth, he said. Somebody else could always come along after the fact, pick up the commission’s evidence and run with it, but who? The RCMP won’t be interested, of that we can be sure.

“However, difficult precedents and uncomfortable truths will be explored,” MacDonald continued, “to get to the bottom of what happened and why.”


After it handed down its voluminous final report in March 2023, MacDonald and his co-commissioners proclaimed that they had thoroughly examined the issue. Most media observers praised their efforts, although there were dissenters, including family members who were baffled by what had transpired.

Throughout it all, I sat back and monitored what was going on. Based on my considerable experience, I sensed what the commission was actually going to do. With that in mind, I didn’t attend a single hearing, but I and my band of citizen investigators followed every move made by the government, the commission and the RCMP, by either perusing their documents or watching the televised proceedings. My intention was this: when it was all over, I would dissect it and show the public how, unbelievable as it might seem to some, the three parties had worked together to pull off a cover-up in plain sight. This is my report.