Jerry Langton Three-Book Bundle (80 page)

With Rose gone, Stadnick and Stockford were led into the bullet-proof Plexiglas cage that served as a defendants' box, their leg shackles rattling as they walked. Moments earlier, guards reported Stadnick sardonically chuckling with them and boasting that it wouldn't be long before he was free again. Once in court, however, both looked impassive and serious. Neither made any gesture or revealed any emotion as Richmond read the 23 charges, including 13 of first-degree murder, against them. When the long list of crimes he was alleged to have committed was finally finished, Stadnick leaned into his microphone and in a low, quiet and steady voice said, “not guilty.”

Gold and the defense team led in a number of witnesses and supporting evidence that portrayed both defendants as well liked and respected family men. He pointed out that Stockford had no criminal record and that Stadnick's was slight, especially when compared to the other bikers on trial. The court heard about Stockford's legitimate career as a movie stuntman and about how he'd landed a small role in the big-budget Jennifer Lopez film
Angel Eyes
. No mention was made of West End Talent, the stripper agency Stockford and his wife, Christine, ran back in Hamilton, or the fact that Stadnick had never held a legitimate job.

The gangsterism and drug-trafficking cases against the bikers were very straightforward. The earlier trials had established the Nomads as fulfilling the requirements as a criminal organization as described by Bill C-95. Dozens of photographs and other documentary evidence were displayed before the court, establishing both Stadnick and Stockford as members of the Hells Angels and later, the Nomads. Although he did show that Stadnick was a particularly influential man within both groups, Richmond was never able to prove he was president, although the evidence supported it. In all of the posed group photos after the date in which Stadnick was alleged to have become president, he is sitting front-row center. And, after the same date, according to the testimony of police officers, Stadnick always rode on the front left of every biker procession they'd seen him in. Richmond brought in Guy Ouellette, the Sûreté du Québec's (SQ) oft-quoted biker expert, to testify that, in his opinion, those bits of respect from the other bikers indicated that Stadnick was indeed president.

Similarly, evidence and testimony that had already been introduced in the other mega-trials carried credibility against Stadnick and Stockford. The documents that Sandra Craig had provided were easily cross-referenced with those seized from the “Nomads National Bank” and from later arrests. Accounting records from March 30, 1999, to December 15, 2000, showed that $111,503,361 made its way through the Nomads with $10,158,110 coming from the Gertrude account for the purchase of 267 kilos of cocaine and 173 kg of hashish. Other documents revealed that the contact numbers for the Gertrude accounts led to phones and pagers used frequently and exclusively by Stadnick and Stockford.

It would, of course, be harder to prove them murderers. There was not a shred of admissible evidence that either Stadnick or Stockford had ever killed anyone. But Richmond had established that they were both very influential men and that other bikers, particularly Rockers, were bound to carry out their commands. “In the cases where we had physical evidence of the murders—DNA, fingerprints—the murderers had already pled guilty,” said Richmond. “But just as a general is liable for any war crimes men under his command commit, we were convinced that Stadnick knew about the murders and did nothing to stop them.” The defendants were accused, therefore, of being responsible for the murders of Pierre Beauchamps, Marc Belhumeur, Yvon Roy, Johnny Plescio, Jean Rosa, Pierre Bastien, Stéphane Morgan, Daniel Boulet, Richard Parent, Serge Hervieux, Tony Plescio, Patrick Turcotte, François Gagnon and Alain Brunette, as well as three counts of attempted murder in the cases of bombs that didn't achieve their intended purpose. “We had no surprise evidence against them,” Richmond said afterward. “It was risky, a long-shot; I could have dropped the murder charges, but I felt that it was a theory that should be tested.”

Because the defendants elected against a trial by jury, it was up to Justice Zigman alone to determine whether the state saw Stadnick and Stockford as gangsters, drug traffickers, murderers or all of the above. It didn't take him long. On September 13, 2004, Zigman declared the two men in the defendants' box guilty of gangsterism, drug trafficking and conspiracy to murder. There was not, he said, enough evidence to find them guilty of murder. Neither Stadnick nor Stockford showed any emotion as Zigman read his verdict or when he described them as “hardened criminals who show little or no hope of being able to straighten out their lives and cease participating in criminal activities. They are violent people who are a danger to society. They have expressed no remorse for their acts.”

Both men received 20-year sentences, minus time served.

“It was so cool; I can't hardly describe it,” said Manny, an 18-year-old who happened to be waiting for a Fennell Bus on his way to his job at Mountain Plaza. “All these cops—with shields and guns and armor—were telling everyone to get off the block.” Manny did what they said, but he waited with a bunch of other curious people just around the corner, all looking to see why the cops were so excited. Selling baseball caps for a bit more than minimum wage could wait. This was important.

Although it was just June 8, it was already getting hot. Hamilton, even the mountain, is known around the area for its oppressive heat and mugginess, and the summer of 2005 was already starting to get bad. Manny could see the cops sweating and suffering under their armor. “There's snipers on the roof of the bingo hall,” said a girl about Manny's age. “They went up with these really big guns—I thought they were army guys at first—it was cool.” And, when Manny squinted, he could see the barrels of the rifles over the roof of the Princess Bingo Centre. The girl then pointed to more snipers on top of the high-rise across the street.

Now Manny was really interested. At first he thought it was a bank robbery, but the banks were closer to Upper Wellington and from what he could see, the snipers were pointing their guns the other way, up toward East 14th. There was nothing worth robbing up that way.

Without being asked, an older bald guy told everybody what he thought. “It's for Chrétien,” he said. “He's in town for Mac grad.” Indeed the former prime minister was in Hamilton that day for Convocation at McMaster University, but Mac was down the mountain. There were no snipers on top of its libraries or classrooms, just an ordinary security detail with handguns and walkie-talkies. And Jean Chrétien had no business at the Princess Bingo Centre or any of the buildings around it.

As the spectators were discussing the reasons behind the armed occupation, the roadblock opened up and a fleet of cars, led by a marked Hamilton cop car with lights flashing, went down the otherwise deserted street. The third vehicle in line was a big black Chevrolet Suburban with blacked-out windows and the word “Canada” on the driver's door. It parked on East 14th, just outside the parking lot of the Crestmount Funeral Home. When the doors of the Suburban finally opened, Manny could see two guys in dark suits get out. As soon as they were standing up, they opened umbrellas. Then a third, smaller, man got out and hid behind the black umbrellas. He was followed by another guy in a suit. The four of them walked into the building past a lineup of cops in full riot gear. They also went by the funeral home's sign, which announced services for “Andrew Stadnik.”

Walter Stadnick's 92-year-old father had died at home, about four blocks north of Crestmount, three days earlier. There was a small, nondescript announcement in the paper that said the service was limited to family and a few close friends. A couple dozen heavily armed Hamilton cops would arrive as well. Andrew's oldest son Eric had died a few years earlier from a heart attack and Gordon, who always had a problem with drugs and everything, had just gotten out of jail after getting into yet another fight. The youngest, and some say Andrew's favorite, had made it to the service despite living a long way away and under unique circumstances. Transported from the Special Handling Unit of Ste-Anne-des-Plaines maximum-security prison 400 miles away, the man Andrew had named Wolodumyr Stadnik was allowed a half hour of private visitation with his father's body. According to an observer who attended the funeral and briefly glimpsed Walter, the former biker king was silent and slipped away without incident. He'd arrived shortly after noon and by 1:00 p.m., he was on the road back to prison.

It would probably be his last time out of prison for a long time. Although his lawyer, Alan D. Gold, is mounting a long-promised appeal, few seem optimistic it will succeed. Randall Richmond, the Hamilton-born prosecutor who sent Stadnick away, doesn't seem very impressed. “Yeah, yeah, the appeal,” he said. “I've been waiting for the defense to file their appeal, but it's been a long time. Walter Stadnick and Donald Stockford are in jail and I've got lots of other work to do.”

Kathi Anderson, Stadnick's common-law wife of many years, still adamantly maintains that he is nothing more than a member of a motorcycle enthusiasts' club and that he was convicted on nothing more than conjecture and circumstantial evidence. If what they were saying was true, she points out, why hadn't she seen any of the millions that was supposed to have passed through her husband's hands? She's got a point. Although Anderson and Stadnick did live well in a nice house with Harleys, luxury cars and expensive wardrobes, theirs was a lifestyle more befitting a successful banker or real estate agent than an organized crime kingpin. His opponents say that the money was beside the point for Stadnick. Although he was willing to buy nice things for himself and Anderson, his real goal was to be in charge of the organization. The money was just a bonus.

Ten days after Stadnick and Stockford were convicted, Justice Jerry Zigman presided over their proceeds of crime trial. Noting that the pair had cleared over $2 million in profits from selling drugs from March 1999 to December 2000, he decided that each of the defendants would pay a $100,000 fine and forfeit their homes (or at least the equity they had in them) and all of their vehicles. Stockford also lost $34,000 in cash the police found in his home. Prosecutor Brigitte Bishop declared it a major victory, although she had asked Zigman to fine each man $10 million. Stadnick gave up three vehicles, including his Harley. Anderson and Stockford's wife, Christine, managed to reach a deal with the government in which they could keep their houses by paying the equity ($90,000 for Anderson and $50,000 for Stockford) through second mortgages.

The idea of Stadnick reducing his tenure in prison by turning informant stretches credulity far beyond the breaking point. Stadnick built the Canadian Hells Angels into his own empire, and he'd never do anything to harm it for a few measly years off his sentence. What would he do with them anyway? Get police protection and live a normal life with a job like some nobody? Although he'd astutely and efficiently run what amounted to one of the most profitable and powerful corporations in the country, he'd have nothing more than a high school education (specializing in auto shop) and a long prison term to put on his résumé. No, it makes far more sense to stick out his sentence and behave as the model prisoner in hopes of early parole. Depending on the opinion of the parole board, Stadnick should exit prison somewhere between the ages of 61 and 64. He could enjoy his retirement with the help of his friends or even rejoin the biker world, this time being even more careful than before.

Besides, things haven't worked out so well for the informers. Dany Kane is dead, probably by his own hand. Aimé Simard was stabbed more than 100 times in his cell in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, about a week after he requested a transfer because he feared for his life. Stéphane Gagné and Serge Quesnel are still in jail. Yves “Apache” Trudeau spent seven years in protective custody and then was freed under a witness-protection program. After losing three government-supplied jobs, the mass murderer went on welfare. It worked out pretty well until he was discovered by police sodomizing an underage boy. In court, Trudeau pointed out that prison can be a very dangerous place for informants and pedophiles (not to mention mass murderers). The judge was not impressed; he was given four years and was stripped of his federal protection.

Most of the other bikers who played a big part in the great Hells Angels-Rock Machine war are now either dead or imprisoned. A census of Quebec prisons would reveal a veritable
Who's Who
of Nomads, Hells Angels, Rockers and other bikers. Most of them, like Stadnick, won't be out for a while. And some are with him in the SHU, the only supermax prison in Canada and the only one in which guards carry loaded weapons on routine patrols. At least one prisoner who was recently released from the SHU has told me that the old bikers, in particular the still-swaggering Boucher, are doing well and looking forward to their releases. He doesn't think that Boucher or any of the others wield any significant power outside the prisons but would likely be welcomed back into the clubs with positions of honor.

Stadnick, he said, mainly keeps to himself and a few close friends and generally falls under most people's radar. But it hasn't been all easy behind bars for the top bikers. Boucher has survived at least one murder attempt, perhaps more. On August 15, 2002, a 36-year-old inmate from Saskatchewan managed to get close enough to Boucher in the prisoners' dining hall to stab him once in the right underarm with a makeshift knife. Before he could strike again, a group of inmates who were surrounding Boucher wrestled the knife from him and attacked his assailant before guards stepped in. “The four guys with Mom grabbed the native guy, drove him into a shower stall, beat the living crap out of him and stabbed him 21 times,” said a source who witnessed the incident.