The justice system’s game of give and take is a dangerous offer of parole that is based on induced compliance. If won by a willing participant who understands how to manipulate the system and win their freedom, the public looses the game.

When I refused to play by the rules as demanded, and challenged a parole condition that disrupted my relationship with my children, my punishment for non-compliance was reimprisonment and banishment from a community I loved. The backlash I received from an incensed justice system continued when my attempts to expose the corruption was cut short by a judge who recognized the damning truth of the abusive tactics used by the justice system in my case. Within a week of “Poor Man’s Justice,” which was published twelve months after dismissal of my case, I was given notice of court costs being awarded to the government in the amount of twenty-four thousand dollars. Income tax refunds were confiscated, and GST rebates withheld for the next ten years, and when I retired after a work injury, I was forced to file for bankruptcy to bring an end to the vindictive confiscations. Homeless and sleeping in my car for months following, the justice system’s willingness to use the power of the purse as a weapon had taken its toll.

In the failed lawsuit, while trying to get my story told, my testimony was retricted to the period of my incarceration, a ruling that forbid me to talk about anything that had happened before sentencing, or after my release. If you read, “Poor Man’s Justice,” much of the deception in my case took place in the criminal and civil courts, both before and after my imprisonment. In my earlier posts, I higlighted several of those book interviews with individuals who were engaged, or deceptively used to support false documentation in this case.

Two of those taped interviews are highlighted below, and both relate to my state of mind on the night of the assault.

Interview with Constable Magnus, (RCMP) —(Our greeting inside the precinct after I set up the meeting by telephone)

“There she is…how are you?” I said, seeing the female officer round the corner.

“Not bad,” Constable Magnus replied. “How are you Mr. Mitchell?”

“Not bad,” I answered in kind, “…You told me you wouldn’t remember much…” I said in reference to our phone call.

“Not the questions you would ask me anyways,” she said, flashing a grin while offering up a light laugh.

I smiled at her abrupt honesty, which tugged at my conscience and I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tape recorder. I informed the Constable that I was recording all my interviews, something I had failed to tell her over the phone. Seeing a look of uncertainty and fearing reluctance to continue, I quickly spoke up. “The night I assaulted the victim in this case, I was found by one of these doors?” I asked.

“You were found by the back door….crouching down by the back door.”

“You found me?”

“I found you.”

“What happened then?”

“I brought you into the office and then to the hospital…I don’t think I put you in a cell,” she said, then paused and looked over her shoulder. “Let’s go in the other room,” she said, quietly leading me forward and closing the door behind us.

“Was I violent or anything like that?” I asked.

“No,” Constable Magnus replied in a more relaxed manner, “You were just sort of incoherent. That’s why I took you to the hospital, you seemed very out of it.”

When I was returned to the precinct the following day, the constable, showing concern, came back to the cells to see me. Still confused and uncertain about everything that had happened the night before, I tried recalling the conversation before I was taken to the hospital, “You asked me if I remembered what had happened, and I said I wasn’t sure, but I knew I had hurt this man,” I said, still trying to clear my mind.

“Probably, yeah,” Constable Magnus responded, sounding like she was also trying to gather her own recollection of the conversation.

“And you explained to me kind of what happened, and told me he was going to be all right, “he needs stitches,’ You informed me he wasn’t going to die or anything like that.” That part of the conversation I recalled because hearing the knowledge that the man was going to be alright had been a relief. (Note: Constable Magnus’s reference to the assault as a single stab wound matches the uncertain recollection I have of that night. –Her words, “A few stitches,” gives support to that possibility. The evidence shows the victim ran from his apt that night. During sentencing I was never shown the alledged gruesome photos of the scene as described by the prosecution, and there were no photos in the Appellate Court evidenary documents I looked at years later while I was doing research for a new book.) 

“Yes,” confirmed the officer.

There was no doubt in my mind that Constable Magnus was attempting to be as open and honest as she could without putting herself on the spot. As I was leaving the precinct after this interview, which took place late in the summer of 1996, five years after that confusing night in 1991, the words, “Incoherent and very much out of it,” set up my next interview.

First of two interviews with Charles Bertholf: (The counselor I started seeing for my depression just prior to the assault in 1991)

With my tape recorder hidden, I read the counselor the statement from the forensic report that had been attributed to himself…”Mr. Mitchell may again exhibit violent behavior in the future as he has had extreme difficulties in coming to terms with the reality of his situation, and has not dealt with an insightful fashion in regard of the consequences of his recent actions.”

“I said all that? I don’t usually…” Charles Bertholf reached for the report. “Can I look at that? …I don’t usually say stuff like that.”

“Do you recall keeping any kind of record of that?” I asked.

“Actually, my record keeping is a bit sloppy,” he replied. “My record keeping tends to be brief, very brief.”

I turned the discussion to the fear I had about hurting the victim prior to the assault, which had been a driving force behind my seeking help.

“A big part of you didn’t want to do that,” Bertholf said.

“But I was scared it was going to happen.”

“Well, it did happen.”

“And I think I was relaying that to you…” I said. “I wanted to be able to get through this somehow without hurting this guy, and I didn’t think I was going to be able to make it.”

“Uh-huh,” Bertholf said with a nod. “I remember concerns about that. There was a struggle between wanting to beat the guy up and not wanting to beat the guy up.”

Bertholf ended our talk, saying he would look for any records and get back to me in a few days. The following afternoon, he phoned the motel I was staying at, and with nervous urgency, asked to see me as soon as possible, saying he wanted to show me a file he had just come across.

I suggested we make arrangements for the following morning, but that wasn’t soon enough for Charles Bertholf. He insisted we meet at a restraunt next to the motel when he finished work that day. I hung up the phone, inserted a tape into the recorder, and made a short notation…”Obviously all this has got some people worked up. It’ll be interesting to see what they come up with in this case to support themselves.” 

Second interview:

Just before six o’clock I reached into my coat pocket and pushed the record button as we sat inside the Chinese Restaurant. Charles Bertholf handed over a six page computer print out, his hand quivering as he did so. I was amazed at the length of the report, especially since he had told me his record keeping was poor, and that he took no notes during the few sessions we had some five years ealier. The document, titled, “Mini Assessment and Termination,” was dated, October 16, 1991, which indicated it had been written two days before the assault.

I was only a few minutes into my reading when Charles asked me what I thought of the three hypotheses he had written which suggested reasons why I had committed the assault. The first hypothesis indicated I was an angry man, intoxicated by various combinations of alcohol and drugs, who charged my victim’s apartment with testosterone-fueled intent to show who was the better male. The second portrayed me as someone who planned his revenge in a manner consistent with the dynamics of paranoia, rather than an enraged and wounded male. It suggested I stalked the victim and planned the attack with significant forethought.

The third hypothesis was particularly degrading, and fell right in line with the false and vile attempts made by the justice system to suggest sexual deviance was a part of my life. Knowing it had been written to embarrass me into silence, the hypothesis suggested that I had a fantasy of wanting to watch my wife make love to another man, and had assaulted her lover because I was angry about not being invited to join them in their activities.

As I read through the document, I realized there were references to events that had happened well after my imprisonment. And the three hypothesis fit the mold of the degrading and dehumanizing portryal seen in correctional documents. Suspiciously missing from the assessment was Charles earlier mention of the intense fear I had about not being able to refrain from hurting the victim, a discussion and fear Bertholf had confirmed just the day before. The idea that I had planned the attack with significant forethought was a total contradiction to the evidence and everything we had discussed.

“When was this written?” I asked.

“That’s a really good question,” said the counselor, “because I looked at that.” He reached for the cocument, “Um, I think it says…”

I placed the print-out on the table and turned it at an angle we could both read. Charles quickly pointed at a date. I informed him he was pointing at my birth-date.

“This is probably the date,” he said, moving his finger and pointing at the date I had picked-up on earlier, “October 16, 1991?” I said.

“That’s probably the date,” Charles Bertholf replied.

“October 16, 1991?” I repeated in disbelief.

“Um, ah, what?” he waffled, “There’s a date of the evaluation…”

I cut the stammering short, “This was written two days before I assaulted this guy?” I asked.

The counselor quickly realized that much of what was being expressed in the report had happened well after the date of October 16, 1991. “No, I wouldn’t have written it two days before,” he stammered. “Uh, it was actually, it was, no, it was written after…it was pretty much well after the fact. It was almost certainly all written at the same time,” he said defensively, “and probably well after the time.”

“How could you be writing this a year after? I asked suspicously.

“Oh,” Charles answered, “that’s the way I…I…I run behind.”

I was convinced the report had come into existence since our discussion the previous day, and probably with outside help and influence. “It looks like this was strictly written in order to suppoort the jusice system,” I said with amusement, then I challenged the document’s authenticity. “Corrections and Parole wanted this…no?”

“Oh, really,” Charles replied, nervously sensing I might be seeing through the facade.

“In fact,” I mused, “…this could have been written and put together yesterday.”

“Well,” he said with resignation, “that’s probably true.”

Five minutes passed in silence as Bertholf stared at the document and our coffee’s were refilled. When it came, his voice was feeble and unconvincing, “A part of it was almost certainly written a few days to a week after I saw you, and printed out on a computer much later.”

“Do you have any written notes?” I asked.

“Not any more.”

Did you do this based on notes that you took while I was talking to you?”

“No, I probably didn’t make any notes, I rarely take notes.”

“You didn’t take notes, and this is what you basically wrote up…a day or two later?”

His hand trembling, Charles Bertholf pointed at a section of the report, “This was probably written from memory,” he said sheepishly.

“A couple of days after?” I chided.

“A couple of days after, or a week after…probably?”

I recalled his earlier comment that the entire report had most assuredly been written on, or near the same date. I pointed out different sections of the report and looked at Charles Bertholf, “And then the rest of this was written a year, two years, three years, four years later?”

“Well, no,” Charles said, frantically choking on his words, “Not that long later,”

Having noticed a statement in the document that proved it had been written much more recently than the counselor was letting on, I replied, “Well, it was definitely over a year later!”

I watched Bertholf crumble in resignation. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. I felt for this man, whom I truly liked. I saw him as basically, a sincere and honest person who was being used by others who were more powerful and less ethical.

“How did you tell?” Charles moaned, looking across at me with a downward gaze.

I lifted the document and read the incriminating statement out loud. “As it turns out, Dave is in prison on the lower mainland, and there is evidence that the victim probably left for Calgary some time ago,” I relayed to Charles that my transfer and imprisonment on the lower mainland happened close to eight months after the assault, and that I also had knowledge that the victim’s move to Calgary had happened well after that. Both descriptions showed the report had been written well after our sessions, and much closer to the present date.

 If you have read my book, “Poor Man’s Justice,” or keep up with my posts, it is obvious why the judge in the civil suit kept early and late evidence out of reach of the public, and cut the courtroom drama short. The ability to manipulate evidence to support a desired sentence, using an unsigned plea bargain is a powerful tool of deception that the system is not willing to give up. This lack of accountability in the process can only be corrected with a signed agreement like I have laid out in the “Bill of Integrity.”

My next post will show the dangerous aftermath of allowing unchecked power to infiltrate our justice system, which will be highlighted by someone who felt trapped in a bureacracy that demands secrecy and loyalty to the deceptive building blocks that the system is built upon. In a following post, we will then look into why this judicial abuse is rarely challenged by the media and politicians; who have made the choice to protect the elitist who are in control of our courts and correctional institutions.   Back soon, David Mitchell