— V —

There was no immediate family at the memorial service for Audrey Gleave, which took place shortly after her death. She had none. Former students and friends posted loving comments about her on the funeral home website. She was an original, brilliant, funny, eccentric. She could also be a polarizing figure as a teacher. A former student, Steve Mihalich, who was in her physics class in the mid-1970s at Barton Secondary School, said she was a tough marker, and especially severe with male students. He said her expectations were high — higher than her students were able to achieve.

“It’s so sad what happened to her,” he said. “You never imagine that someone you knew in your past would have their life end that way.”

Allan Gleave did not make the trip from where he lived up north to attend the memorial. Audrey’s ex-husband had heard it was a private affair and wasn’t sure he’d be welcome. And he wasn’t keen on tackling the winter roads.

Two people spoke at the service. One was Phil Kinsman. His voice broke as he spoke: “I know private is a word that has often been used to describe Audrey, but I’m amazed at how many people she affected in her life.

“I want to share one small story. I remember the first time Audrey ever hugged me. Understand, she was a private person, but even more so with physical affection.

“I remember I was over at her house; we had spent the entire day planting flowers. She loved flowers. She shared with me all the research she had done. At the end of day, we were both exhausted and a bit frustrated, and she said to me point blank, ‘Well, did you learn something today or not?’ And I said, ‘Of course I did.’

“The way she left us is tragic, but in these situations of chaos, it’s instinctive to ask why, to look for answers. I prefer to just be so thankful she left us with a lesson, that our time is so short. Every moment we can spend together in love, and cherish together, it’s so important to do that.”

The other speaker at the memorial was Lynne Vanstone, whom Audrey had appointed in her will as trustee. (The will listed her house at a net value of $425,000, and personal property at $50,622.87.) Lynne handled all the arrangements. She could not fulfill Audrey’s request to bury her ashes in the pet cemetery beside two of her previous German shepherds — that is illegal in Ontario. Friends said the ashes were sprinkled on the golf course in Brantford instead.

Her beloved dogs, Togi and Schatze, were assessed by animal control officials to see if they had suffered trauma during the murder. Audrey had previously purchased two plots for the dogs for when they died. A dog-loving couple out in the country adopted the shepherds.

Lynne Vanstone talked to reporters initially, but then she stopped. The whole thing had been awful, the entire experience just terrible, she said. She was too upset to talk anymore. Moreover, the killer was still out there.

“She was kind of a mystery woman,” Lynne said at the memorial. “She had a positive influence on every life she touched. She was private. And caring, kind, shy at times. Chatty when you got to know her. Stubborn. Fair. Real. A beautiful mind. A kind soul. Extremely intelligent. Funny. Eccentric. Generous. Giving. There are not enough words to properly describe our Audrey. She was unique and very special.”

The mystery surrounding Audrey, and her death, fuelled interest far and wide. Why was she targeted? Why was nothing stolen? One rumour was that Audrey’s purse had been found by police inside the house, stuffed with important papers she always carried around, but it had been left untouched. Had the killer even entered the house from the attached garage? Were the dogs locked in the kennel inside where she kept them, or loose in the house?

Phil Kinsman was emotional at Audrey’s funeral.
Hamilton Spectator.

The couple who adopted Audrey’s dogs said that Togi, the big male German shepherd, was agitated every night when they tried to put him in his cage — even though the dog had spent most of his time in a cage when Audrey had him. Had the dog been trapped in his cage as Audrey was being murdered, and did the cage symbolize something frightening for him? The owner, who is a dog expert, thought that was possible.

Online true-crime chat forums discussed Audrey and the case at length. Why did she keep her married name, Gleave, all those years? Why did she not revert to her Doveika family name? Had Audrey — computer junkie that she was, up at all hours of the night — met someone online who frightened her? Is that why she was so paranoid about privacy and her safety? Had Audrey been the one to email friends just prior to her death, or was the killer on her computer, pretending to be her?

One of the oddest comments came from an American who observed — incorrectly — that Audrey’s father had worked for the Atomic Energy Board in the U.S., the same place where Jack Tarrance worked. Jack Tarrance was thought by some to be the infamous “Zodiac Killer” in the San Francisco area in the late 1960s.

Others were intrigued by the fact that Audrey’s parents were from eastern Europe, and by the fact that Audrey had posted a picture of Einstein in her classroom. Einstein left Nazi Germany in 1933, “only four years before Ms. Gleave’s birth,” wrote one commentator. “I have to wonder if there could have been some family or professional connection between Einstein and her parents.”

Shortly after Audrey was murdered, word spread that the prime suspect was David Scott, the homeless man who had lived in a barn near the crime scene. His sister, Deb, visited him at the Brantford Jail in the days after the murder. David was serving time for breach of probation — he was caught with a large hunting knife concealed in his waistband when he used a washroom in a bank. Hamilton police waited for his release from the jail before they went after him and arrested him at a laundromat.

Deb looked at David, into the deep blue eyes that matched her own.

“Dave,” she told him, “you might want to think about getting a lawyer. You’re under investigation for Ms. Audrey Gleave’s murder.”

“Who?”

That was his first reaction: Who? He got upset. He told Deb maybe he knew someone who had been out that way. Why, he wondered, didn’t the police come and talk to him; he might be able to help. The naïveté, the innocence in his words — Deb knew her brother had done nothing wrong and that he was not capable of such violence.

A friend pointed out to Deb that, while David was no dummy, he would not be smart enough to cover his tracks after a stabbing. Presumably, there had been blood all over the place, along with his DNA.

She had always looked out for David. He once called her his “anchor,” the one person he always could count on. But if he had done it, if David Scott had killed Audrey Gleave, Deb would never try to protect him. She was sure of that.

She entertained the theory; she searched her heart. No way he had it in him to do it. She even called Hamilton Police to tell them so. The police weren’t listening to Deb, though. They had their man. She knew they had zeroed in on David from the start. She read in the Spectator how a neighbour of Audrey’s had called police offering more information, but the police had not even followed up. The writing had been on the wall. In the media, her brother was referred to as “David Laurie Scott,” the use of his formal full name casting an ominous shadow.

Hamilton homicide detectives put him through an intensive interrogation. It is what detectives do: wear down a suspect until the truth emerges. He kept saying he was innocent. They showed David some pictures from the crime scene — also a common tactic. Look at this — see this? See what was done to Audrey?

Deb had first heard about the murder from her older brother, who saw the news on TV. And David? His name was mentioned in the media from the get-go as a person of interest: the homeless guy, a drifter who had been spotted not far from Audrey’s place. Deb knew David had spent time out Lynden way, but not recently. But then she heard he had, in fact, been staying out in the barn on Lynden Road. Not good. And then he got arrested for breach of probation, carrying the knife. Also not good. The media made it sound as if David had been squatting in the barn, which wasn’t the case, Deb said. He knew the woman who owned the land there. She was fine with him staying in the barn.

David Scott had grown up on a farm in Lynden, along with Deb and two brothers. He was the second born. The farm had crops, dairy; everyone worked it. When the parents split, they sold the farm; their father moved out east, their mother to Brantford. It was a tough time. Of all of them, David had loved the farm most.

From that point on, David lived a freewheeling life, without a home. He had attended Brantford Collegiate Institute, but quit. Deb always left her door open for him, but mostly he was out on the street. He gambled a bit at Casino Brantford and just hung out there. He worked as a bricklayer. He drank some, but was not a drug user, Deb said. He attended church. Rumours in the community said he had burned down a church in town, that he was violent. Deb said that that was not true.

He was unpredictable, could be loud, had resisted arrest in the past. His mother said he was diagnosed with schizophrenia years ago. She told Deb that during the Audrey Gleave investigation police had interviewed her and asked if, with his mental health issues, David’s anger would sometimes escalate. She had agreed that could sometimes be the case.

Deb understood how it all looked. He was a marked man because of his proximity to the crime scene, his record, the knife, his personality.

The Brantford Expositor reported that David had once been arrested for cruelty to animals. Deb knew that cruelty to animals was considered a significant sign. Wasn’t that part of the profile for a serial killer — hurting animals? Didn’t it show that you were mentally unstable, had anger issues. And David’s mother had said that she and her son had been on poor terms recently. So, perhaps people thought that he had taken it out on Audrey Gleave.

Deb said it all wasn’t what it seemed. That big knife he carried — he didn’t use the thing. He didn’t hunt. He went into town each day to borrow a dollar from someone to buy food. He bought the knife with Christmas money his dad had sent him; showed it to the family for shock value. Cruelty to animals? She said that charge was for letting his girlfriend’s cat run away on purpose because he was jealous of all the attention the pet received. David had definitely been upset around Christmastime. The family had not wanted him to come over, which Deb thought was wrong. But the situation was manageable; he could always vent to her. She knew it was not something that would push him to hurt somebody.

The Brantford Expositor reported that the judge who presided over the breach of probation matter portrayed David Scott as a loose cannon, but not dangerous. He has a problem with authority figures, Justice Ken Lenz said, “but the fact is, if you leave him alone, he’s fine.… I know he frightens people. Sometimes he frightens me.”

In February, Deb’s second reaction upon hearing about her brother being charged with murder was to call police and lobby for his innocence, to wrack her brain about who might really be the killer. She thought about calling neighbours on Indian Trail herself, but wondered if they’d be freaked out hearing from “the murderer’s sister.” Her first reaction upon hearing the news was to slide off her chair, roll into a fetal position, and weep for a long time. She knew that if David was sent to jail he’d never survive. She talked to her dad on the phone about it.

“I’ve just lost my brother.”