Under the Bridge: The True Story of the Murder of Reena Virk
By Rebecca Godfrey

The crime:

On the night of November 14, 1996 14-year-old Reena Virk was attacked by a group of six teenage girls and one boy under the Craigflower Bridge in the town of View Royal on Victoria Island. Virk managed to walk away from the initial beating but was followed across the bridge by two of the gang – 15-year-old Kelly Ellard and 16-year-old Warren Glowatski – who then proceeded to further assault and then drown her.

The book:

Rebecca Godfrey came to this book with solid credentials for the job, being raised in Victoria and having previously published a novel called The Torn Skirt about teenage girls in Vancouver who are involved in drugs, gangs, and prostitution. Under the Bridge isn’t what I’d call “novelistic” though, and its main literary flourishes are relatively subtle ones like the use of repetition for rhythmic effect. It’s a good read, and as a work of true crime it also indulges a more subjective point of view than you’d expect from say a journalist. But at the end of the day I wasn’t sure if this was a plus, or even if Godfrey really understood these kids all that well.

Moral judgment comes with the territory when writing true crime. One expects condemnation of the wicked and sympathy for their victims. And in what I have to say here I don’t want to be mistaken as saying that the wicked here weren’t truly wicked, and Virk not a tragic victim. But I felt that Godfrey was telling the story slant or leaving things out. Virk herself, for example, was a very troubled kid, but Godfrey doesn’t go into any of her history at all.

Obviously Godfrey despises the two main “bad girls”: Ellard and Nicole Cook (whose name is changed to “Josephine Bell” for legal reasons here). But Cook’s explanation of her initial motive for attacking Virk wasn’t “embarrassing and petty.” Apparently Virk had stolen an address book that belong to Cook and was phoning up Cook’s friends and spreading rumours about her, including that she had AIDS. “Her anger at Reena’s transgression,” Godfrey writes, “seemed to Josephine a perfectly normal response.” I think it was. Obviously things went much too far, but I can’t find fault with Cook being very angry at Virk. These things don’t just matter to high-school girls.

Then, much later, a big deal is made out of the low-cut red top Ellard wore to court the day she was granted a new trial. Most of the shock and outrage over this comes from the report of a journalist who attended the court that day, but Godfrey quotes it approvingly. And I wasn’t sure why. I see girls wearing more revealing outfits at the mall or walking around downtown all the time. Isn’t this just slut-shaming?

Godfrey’s loathing of Ellard and Cook is justifiable, though in examples like these I found her oddly out of touch with the lives of the people she was writing about. But what makes her telling of the story even more slant is that her attitude toward the girls is in marked contrast with the way she treats Warren Glowatski. She seems charmed by Glowatski, which is in keeping with the effect he is said to have had on many women, both girls his own age as well as teachers and parents. Was Godfrey another of his conquests? I can’t see why he gets off so easy here otherwise, as he seems to have been just as culpable as Ellard in Virk’s death. The main difference is that he appeared to be remorseful after the fact, but one can question how big a difference that should make or how sincere it was. Certainly Ellard didn’t do herself any favours with her long denial of any responsibility, but what are we to make of this description of Glowatski leaving the courtroom after the announcement of the verdict against him: “When he looked at the little boy [Virk’s brother], it was then that Warren knew, as if for the first time, what it was that he had really done.” How does Godfrey know this? Is it something Glowatski told her? It seems a sneaky way to enlist our sympathy and I wasn’t buying it.

That said, Godfrey does an exemplary job getting us through the many trials of Ellard quickly and efficiently, though the various police interviews come across as just pages of transcripts and the description of the high-school milieu and the personalities involved in the case struck me as missing something. Or a couple of things in particular . . .

Noted in passing:

Among the things Godfrey doesn’t talk about, I found it very odd that she didn’t explore the issues of race and sex more. Indeed, they’re both avoided entirely. I didn’t have any prurient interest, and wasn’t looking for salacious details, but I was wondering how sexually active these kids were. The suggestion is certainly made that boyfriends and girlfriends were having sex, but it’s just left at that.

Then the race of the various actors is also left largely unmentioned. The police would later declare that Virk’s murder wasn’t racially motivated (she was of Indian ethnicity), but this was later called into question. Meanwhile, the various high school gangs modeled a lot of their behaviour after American “gangsta” or rap culture, with one group even calling themselves the Crips. This all seems ridiculous now but probably really did mean something at the time to the kids in question. But what? Were these mostly white high schools? Was the girl (Godfrey names her “Dusty”) who wrote “Niggers rule” on the group-home wall in strawberry jam even Black? Or was this just the kind of thing white suburban kids said in the 1990s?

I don’t think Godfrey needed to go into these matters very deeply, but leaving race and sex totally out of the book seemed like quite an omission. I’m sure they both played a part in what happened.

A more minor point I flagged came when the school guidance counselor asked Glowatski if he’d come in with his girlfriend and talk to some of her other students about “being a couple. A nonviolent couple.” She wanted them to present as role models that “worked out their problems non-violently.”

Really? They were 15 years old. It reminded me of Anissa Weier, one of the girls involved in the Slenderman assault, being part of a program in her high school “helping younger students . . . make good decisions and stay out of trouble.” Would Glowatski be a better role model than her? But I guess the guidance counselor adored Warren, so thought it would be a good idea.

In any event, I understand kids listen to their peers more than they listen to adults, but this still struck me as weird. Were there that many “violent couples” among these adolescents that this was an issue needing to be addressed? Again I have to think that Godfrey might have gone into more detail about the nature of these relationships in order to provide some context.

Takeaways:

It’s easy for adults to forget, or just not appreciate, how truly hellish an experience high school is for many kids.

True Crime Files

Rogues: True Stories of Grifters, Killers, Rebels and Crooks
By Patrick Radden Keefe

The crimes:

“The Jefferson Bottles”: a billionaire oenophile makes it his mission to take down a fraudster selling new wine in old bottles.

“Crime Family”: a Dutch woman turns informer on her crime boss brother.

“The Avenger”: a documentary filmmaker goes after one of the key figures behind the Lockerbie bombing.

“The Empire of Edge”: insider information fuels a high-profile hedge fund.

“A Loaded Gun”: a university neurobiologist goes postal at a faculty meeting.

“The Hunt for El Chapo”: the Mexican, and ultimately U.S. authorities, finally get their man.

“Winning”: television producer Mark Burnett and the making of Donald Trump.

“Swiss Bank Heist”: a tech guy blows the whistle on a Swiss bank.

“The Prince of Marbella”: the pursuit of a high-rolling arms merchant.

“The Worst of the Worst”: a top death-row defence lawyer represents one of the Boston Marathon bombers.

“Buried Secrets”: an Israeli billionaire gets involved in the dirty business of resource development in Guinea.

“Journeyman”: a look at the life of chef/author/TV personality Anthony Bourdain.

The book:

All of these stories first appeared in The New Yorker. But even having such a prestigious publication behind you doesn’t always land you access. Keefe begins his prefatory remarks by talking about how many of these pieces were “writearounds”: “an article about a subject who declines to grant an interview.” But, he goes on to say, this does not diminish them. “Some journalists hate writearounds,” he tells us, “but I’ve always enjoyed the challenge they pose. It takes a lot of creative reporting to produce a vivid portrait of someone without ever getting to speak to them, but these pieces are often more revealing than the scripted encounters you end up with when the politician or CEO actually cooperates.”

What Keefe says here rhymed with something Michael Lista talks about in his true-crime collection The Human Scale, a book I was reviewing at the same time as I was reading Rogues. Lista describes “end-runs” (it means the same thing as writearound) and says that writing his own fair share of them “proved something profound to me: the interview isn’t necessarily the best way to know the subject of a story.”

I agree wholeheartedly, and indeed I would go even further and say chances are that a writearound or end-run is more likely to reveal something significant about the subject of a piece than one where there is a formal sit-down interview “for the record.” Because what are most interviewees going to say? Only what you would expect them to say. They have no interest in telling the truth while (ostensibly) setting the record straight or explaining themselves. They only want to shape the narrative in what are obviously self-serving ways. The reporter or biographer is better off just ignoring them and doing their own research. But writing about celebrities or people in a position of power, and the compromises that are necessarily made, is something I’ve considered at length elsewhere.

Turning to the people Keefe is writing about here, what would talking to Mark Burnett or Donald Trump have told him? I would expect Burnett to be smarter and more careful in how he expressed himself, but I’m pretty sure neither individual would say anything but what I’d expect them to say. In other words, nothing much. The futility of interviewing people like this is underscored when Keefe does, somewhat surprisingly, get to talk to Beny Steinmetz (“by some estimates, the richest man in Israel”) about his buying up mountains of iron ore in Guinea. It goes down in a totally predictable way. The point isn’t that Steinmetz just blows a lot of smoke, it’s that all he ends up saying is exactly what Keefe must have known he was going to say. He did nothing wrong. Other people are out to get him. They’re the bad guys. We all know how this story goes. So why even bother?

And why would the subjects bother, assuming they knew Keefe wasn’t just going to be a tool? At least for wealthy rogues it makes more sense to operate in the darkness. This ties into another connected theme: privacy.

In my notes on The Missing Crypto Queen I talked about how, whatever their other functions, the main reason for having cryptocurrencies is that they do an end run around the law (taxes and other financial regulations) and are used mainly for the purpose of money laundering and to keep shading dealings away from the prying eyes of law enforcement. I was thinking of that again when I came to a part in the story about sketchy Swiss banking practices and how fanatical they were to maintain their clients’ privacy. And not just their clients. Called before a committee of the British House of Commons, one bank CEO named Stuart Gulliver talked about how, at his institution, he had implemented “root and branch” reform:

But it was hard to see him as an agent of change. When committee members inquired how he chose to receive his personal compensation from the bank, Gulliver acknowledged that for many years he was paid through an anonymous shell company that he had set up in Panama – through Mossack Fonseca [the Panamanian law firm that was shut down after being exposed in the so-called Panama Papers as being involved in various tax evasion and money laundering schemes]. Gulliver insisted that he had always paid his taxes and that he employed the Panamanian shell simply for “privacy.” But he admitted his “inability to convince anyone that these arrangements were not put in place for reasons of tax evasion.”

I can see why that might be a hard sell.

It’s easy to feel ambivalent about privacy. It’s not well known, but the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision in Roe v. Wade was based on finding a Constitutional right to privacy. And fifty years later, privacy is seen as an important right in an age of non-stop monitoring and surveillance. But at the same time, privacy is also used as a shield by bad actors, particularly those with deep pockets, who can afford to buy the sort of cover that allows them to work in secret. Like people being paid in crypto, or setting up shell companies in offshore tax havens. When Keefe starts looking into Beny Steinmetz he begins by noting how “Despite his great wealth, Steinmetz has maintained an exceptionally low profile.” Despite? I think most billionaires avoid appearing on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous or as one of the Rich Kids of Instagram. “He’s a very private guy,” one of Steinmetz’s friends tells Keefe. This is said, by the friend, to be mainly because Steinmetz is a family guy, but it has other obvious benefits. When being investigated on charges of corruption, it comes in particularly useful.

But how do you prove corruption? By its nature, corruption is covert; payoffs are designed to be difficult to detect. The international financial system has evolved to accommodate a wide array of illicit activities, and shell companies and banking havens make it easy to camouflage transfers, payment orders, and copies of checks. . . . The result . . . is “a web of corporate opacity” that is spun largely by wealthy professionals in financial capitals like London and New York. A recent study found that the easiest country in which to establish an untraceable shell company is not some tropical banking haven but the United States.

So what do you want? Protection for the little guy, a right to be left alone and to not have your data harvested with every click and text? Or more transparency for billionaires and corporate bad actors? It’s hard not to think that the rich and powerful are always going to find some way to weaponize every nice thing that comes along, so I guess we’re stuck with taking the bad with the good. All you can do, and probably should do, is be suspicious of any rich person with secrets.

This is a solid collection of reporting that reads long in a good way. The last story on Anthony Bourdain seemed the most of out of place, though I guess his drug use made him into a bit of a “rogue.” In any event, I can understand Bourdain’s popularity though his beat – food and travel – are subjects that don’t interest me much and I never watched his show. I also managed to avoid ever seeing more than maybe a couple of episodes of The Apprentice, and it’s interesting how I guess it’s taken for granted that Trump (and maybe Burnett) were both rogues without being involved in anything illegal. That we know of. But of course, we’d likely never know.

Noted in passing:

It’s often remarked how stupid even highly educated and indeed highly intelligent people can be. I was thinking of this when reading about Amy Bishop’s meltdown at a meeting of the faculty that had recently denied her tenure, which ended with her killing three of them. One of the profs in attendance who had voted against Bishop receiving tenure considered herself to be close to Bishop, and before things went to hell had “made a mental note to ask Bishop how her search for a new job was going.”

I have a hard time imagining how she thought Bishop, who she must have known was someone who did not enjoy robust mental health, was likely to take such a friendly inquiry. As it is, she ended up on her knees begging Bishop to spare her and her life was only saved because Bishop’s gun jammed. Bishop did actually try to shoot her twice.

I may have already known that the bulletproof glass in the president’s armoured car (nicknamed “The Beast”) was 5 inches thick, but it still surprised me. How do you see anything out of glass 5 inches thick?

Even more impressive though was the front door to one of El Chapo’s safe houses. Breaking this down turned out to be no easy matter.

The marines readied their weapons and produced a battering ram, but when they moved to breach the front door, it didn’t budge. A wooden door would have splintered off its hinges, but this door was a marvel of reinforced steel – some of the marines later likened it to an air lock on a submarine. For all the noise that their efforts made, the door seemed indestructible. Normally, the friction of a battering ram would heat the steel, rendering it more pliable. But the door was custom-made: inside the steel skin, it was filled with water so that if anyone tried to break it down, the heat from the impact would not spread. The marines hammered the door again and again, until the ram buckled and had to be replaced. It took ten minutes to gain entry to the house.

That’s some door! Provides quite a bit of privacy, I would think.

I’m always amazed at how cheap really rich people can be. Beny Steinmetz made a killing flipping part of his company’s interest in the iron ore range, turning a profit of over $2 billion. However, his company apparently only offered one of the parties to the deal $1 million to destroy some documents they were supposed to have. The payoff would have gone up to $5 million, but only if the company was able to win at trial and hold on to the assets. If I’d been offered such a cheap bribe I would have rejected it just on general principle.

Takeaways:

It’s hard to go through life trusting no one, but at the very least you shouldn’t extend trust to anyone who doesn’t trust you.

True Crime Files

The Count and the Confession
By John Taylor

The crime:

On the morning of March 5, 1992 the body of 60-year-old Roger Zygmunt de la Burde was discovered lying on a couch in the library of his Virginia estate with a revolver next to him and a bullet in his head. Originally considered a suicide, police investigators began to suspect Burde’s lover, Beverly Monroe, of being his killer. Monroe had been with Burde the previous evening and was the last person known to have seen him alive. After a long battery of coercive interrogation Monroe seemed to confess to killing him. Upon being formally charged she denied having been involved and claimed to have been brainwashed by the police. She was convicted at trial, but the decision was reversed on appeal in 2003 and Monroe was released from prison. It’s still unknown who killed Burde, or if it was a case of suicide.

The book:

A year or so ago I did a bunch of research into the culture that has grown up online that deals out supposed “hard truths” about dating and relationships grounded in evolutionary psychology and big data.  A lot of this on the male side – the manosphere or red-pill community – is openly misogynist, though there are similar hard truths, culled from the same sources, for women to take aim at men with.

I found myself thinking about these findings when reading The Count and the Confession because they provided a helpful paradigm for thinking about the relationship between Roger de la Burde and Beverly Monroe. Helpful in the sense of making understandable what, on the face of it, made little sense to me. This isn’t to say that I took the book as endorsing any of these paradigms, whose validity I find open to question in various ways, but I do think they provide an interesting entry point to the case. With that caveat registered, let’s dig in.

In the first place you have the question of what men want. At the most basic biological level this can be boiled down to reproductive success for young men and end-of-life health care for older ones. Burde wanted both. In terms of reproduction this was mixed in with a twist of Old World chauvinism, as only a male heir would do. He had daughters but they really didn’t count. He wanted someone to carry on his (made-up) family name. This became nothing short of an obsession in his final years, as he took to basically looking for any available womb and inquiring if it might be for rent. And I very much don’t mean he was looking for sex with younger women. He wanted a woman who was capable of having children and that was it. When he found one it was straight off to the fertility clinic and drawing up a legal agreement laying out how all this was going to work (Item 3: “Child/children will carry de la Burde name. This name cannot be changed until maturity or marriage.”).

The last part of the written arrangement, however, also provided for the second biological imperative. Item 6 states that the surrogate “obliges herself to help care and cater to R. B. in his advancing age.” One suspects this is why he kept Monroe around as well. She was past child-bearing age but could still function adequately as a nurse. Oh, those selfish genes!

Then you have the question of what women want. Again staying at the most basic level, this is usually reduced to resources. In cultural terms this translates as status, which is something that even outlives the reproductive imperative. Which is to say, even after menopause women are still mating for status.

But the thing about status is that it isn’t a real thing. The perception of status is the reality. This, at least, is the only explanation I had for Monroe’s attraction to Burde. As far as can be gleaned from the story here, Burde wasn’t just a complete phoney (his claims to being a Polish aristocrat were entirely bogus and even some of his much ballyhooed art collection was apparently forged) but someone who alienated many of the people who knew him best, including his own kids. Despite living in a big house he wasn’t that rich, and money troubles may have been one of the things weighing on him at the end. But he was educated and he did go to swank parties and he dressed well and he lived on that big estate. In short, he had status.

I wasn’t the only one scratching my head over Monroe’s attraction. Even she had to sit down and write out her thoughts on why she stayed with him to try to understand. Meanwhile, the jury found Burde “so despicable a person” that while finding Monroe guilty of murder “it was almost justifiable homicide.” The incredulity of one lawyer at the trial sums the matter up pretty nicely:

Warren Von Schuch, who had not known what Krystyna’s testimony would be [Krystyna was the woman Burde had gotten pregnant just before his death], listened with mounting incredulity to her story. The feminist movement would not be pleased, he decided. Beverly with her master’s degree  and Krystyna with her Ph.D. in biochemistry and they’re fighting over Roger de la Burde. Twenty-five years of feminism and this was far as they’d gotten.

Even Monroe’s defence lawyer had to go out of his way to address the point. “You may ask yourself why . . . why did this lady, this nice-looking lady sitting behind me, why did she put up with all this malarkey, this junk? Why didn’t she say, ‘I want out of here,’ ‘Hit the road,’ ‘Forget it fellow’? And the answer is . . . she loved him.”

And I’m sure she did. But this begs the question of what is meant by “love.” Wasn’t what Roger felt for the future mother of his children love? Wasn’t it love he felt for the woman, or women, who would promise to “care and cater” to him in his old age? This is where I find the harsher, evolutionary psychology approach to relationships comes into things. It’s incredible to me that Monroe could have loved someone like Burde, but if you translate “love” as an attraction to a man who had status and presumably some charm, however false, then it makes sense. One of the harsher mantras among the red-pill community is that women don’t fall in love with a man but a lifestyle. The lifestyle is something Burde had. The man was worthless.

I don’t know if that’s what was going on. It’s just a way of viewing the personalities involved through a particular lens. But in a “true murder mystery” like this you naturally start looking around for guideposts. For what it’s worth, it seems highly unlikely to me that Monroe killed Burde. Her behaviour after the fact, especially in relation to the police, doesn’t make any sense if she did. Her “confession,” such as it was, was so obscure as to seem almost surreal even when placed in context. It also appears to have been co-opted, and the behaviour of the police went beyond the usual (and inevitably disastrous) tunnel vision into something altogether darker. One of the investigators hired by the defence made a note on how he thought the agent in charge might even have been insane.

John Taylor provides a very full reckoning of the case. Indeed, I thought there was more here than I cared to have, especially with regard to Monroe’s family (one of her daughters played a key role in her appeals). Though not a particularly long book, it feels heavier than its page count and I could have wished it a hundred pages shorter. It does read well, however, and for anyone interested in the psychology of the false confession, or just looking for a true crime story that has the drama of a well-scripted podcast without playing fast and loose with the facts, it can be heartily recommended.

Noted in passing:

Why are polygraph devices or “lie detectors” (I have to put the scare quotes on such a name) still in use? Just to manufacture evidence in cases where the police have nothing else to go on? I think they must be like diet pills for obese people: a magic bullet that will make the problem go away without having to actually do the hard work of losing weight/investigating a crime. They’ve never been shown to have any significant scientific validity and yet they’re still widely employed by law enforcement.

So why are they still with us? Wikipedia provides one answer:

In 2018, Wired magazine reported that an estimated 2.5 million polygraph tests were given each year in the United States, with the majority administered to paramedics, police officers, firefighters, and state troopers. The average cost to administer the test is more than $700 and is part of a $2 billion industry.

Takeaways:

Innocent or guilty, you have nothing to gain by talking to the police. It won’t do you any good and could get you in a lot trouble.

True Crime Files