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| Laurelly Dale |
At dinner parties, we are the popular guests because who doesn’t love true crime? We are fascinating because of our proximity to evil. The second most common question I’m asked by non-criminal lawyers, likely because I am female, is “are you scared of your clients?” “No” is the answer I provide, although on Aug. 21, 2018, the opposite was true when I became a target for a predator who could have easily been one of my clients.
While it is common for parties in the system to change roles: defence to Crown, vice versa or to the bench, it is bizarre to go from defence to complainant. Post-incident, fellow criminal lawyers (both Crown and defence), offered support. They understood best what a truly F***up situation I found myself in.
What happened to a group of friends and me forced me to view the world from the lens of a complainant.
I hate that word victim. It implies weakness — which is the antonym of a group of female athletes who chose to spend their limited spare time running marathons.
On Aug. 21, 2018, I was in the preliminary stages of training for the Tokyo Marathon. I attended an outdoor bootcamp at 5:45 a.m. in Toronto with four other female athletes. We were approached by a young man and spoke to him briefly. Throughout the workout, he would return, each time with erratic comments. He waited until we were on the grass in the supine position and then charged at us with a bandana on his face — pre-pandemic — thus alarming.
He cocked back a silver handgun and repeatedly promised to kill every single one of us, demanding money that we did not have. He terrorized us for an excruciating 10 minutes. At one point he counted down from five, placing the gun on my back, promising to shoot me. On my hands and knees in the grass, I tightly held my friend’s hand. A million thoughts raced through my head: Would he shoot us all? What would it feel like? What would the Crown synopsis read? Would he leave enough forensic evidence suitable for analysis? Is he in the DNA databank? As the sun emerged, a woman walking her dog began to approach, unknowingly saving our lives by prompting him to run away. Fortunately for us, we did not leave the park in body bags. Sadly, not everyone he encountered was as lucky. Later that evening, using the same gun, he murdered a young man by shooting him in the head.
Obviously, this experience injured our otherwise strong disposition. At the time of this incident, I had a first-degree murder file and three firearm offence-related files — among many others. Despite everything, this encounter did not undermine my ability to represent my clients — one of whom similarly was alleged to have pointed a shotgun at the chest of his cousin, promising to shoot him. What it did was extend my ability to empathize with complainants which often played a beneficial role in resolutions.
The administration of justice is messy. The accused is often the complainant in another matter. There simply are not enough resources to properly reduce recidivism while breaking the cycles of abuse that cause this overlap. To imply that the accused has more “rights” than the complainant is to compare crocodiles to kittens. The justice system is set up to deal with the accused, not repair injured parties. This is an observation not a criticism. The same rules of evidence and due process are required in each case regardless of how heinous the accusations may be or whether the complainant is a lawyer or an accused in another case. Complainants play an indisputable role in the process because only they can provide key evidence at trial.
From the perspective of someone who has now been a complainant, major improvements could be made that could make complainants more willing participants. From the outset, they should be told that the system will not render them whole again. Managing expectations is critical. Unrealistic expectations of immediate relief offered to complainants at the end of a criminal trial have unfortunately been manufactured. Unlike an episode of Law and Order, justice is not swift, or fair. Our system is more accurately depicted by the assembly line justice and frustration seen on Better Call Saul.
Nearly four years later, the matter finally resolved. A 15-year custodial sentence will not bring the deceased back to life. Nor will it return to us the items he stole or erase our PTSD. Justice differs from case to case and means something different for each party involved. Whether or not I believe justice was served is moot. I am 100 times tougher than the day he robbed us. The murderer who assaulted us will be released in his mid-30s. What matters most at this stage is the choice he makes when he returns to the streets of Toronto.
Laurelly Dale is a criminal defence lawyer with Dale Law. Contact her at ldale@dalelegalfirm.com.
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