CHAPTER 17

Winnipeg’s two daily newspapers – the broadsheet Free Press and tabloid Sun – were spread out on the coffee table. A small pile of powdered cocaine sat nearby. Michael Syrnyk sat slumped on the couch, dishevelled and somewhat disoriented after going for what seemed like days without sleep. He was coming down off a series of highs, all energy now drained from his body. Syrnyk’s swollen, red eyes gazed at the front page of the papers, which told dramatic stories of his latest conquest. Numerous witnesses described what they had witnessed. “I was in the Safeway, paying for my groceries, when all of a sudden I hear bang, bang, bang, four or five shots.” said one man. “I saw the guy running with the rifle in the air past the window. Someone said ‘Get down!’ and we all got down. A lot of people were shaken up,” said a Safeway employee, adding the store had never been robbed during her 18 years of employment. A young man and his grandmother told of the horror of having their back window shot out as they drove through the parking lot. “I couldn’t believe it. I’m just glad my grandmother and I weren’t hurt,” the man said. “We’re alive, thank goodness. I was really scared,” added his shaken granny. Syrnyk felt little empathy towards his victims, the cocaine masking any real emotions. He snorted another line.

Syrnyk did twig to news police had found his car. There was no mention of the note. Syrnyk only thought of leaving the taunting scrap of paper during his frantic run for freedom. Maybe it was the adrenaline – most likely it was the cocaine – but he couldn’t resist the urge to let police know who was in control. He wished he could have seen the expression on the officers’ faces when they found it, knowing they must be burning inside at their utter failure to catch him. Police admitted in the newspaper stories they had the bandit’s DNA but had been unable to get a match. Investigators were also quoted saying they thought the bandit might have been struck by one of the guard’s bullets, as he was seen limping away from the scene. If only they knew how close.

The stories also gave Syrnyk some insight, for the first time, into what police actually knew about him. Until now, he’d never made a point of really monitoring what the media was saying about his crimes, as sober second thoughts about many of the robberies left him wanting to escape the reality of what he’d done. But no more. Syrnyk was now anxious to see how he was being portrayed in a city that surely must be in fear and awe of what he’s accomplished. He scanned through the various reports. “Const. Bob Johnson said the robbery is similar to past hold-ups in Winnipeg since 1998, particularly the hold-ups at Polo Park and outside a Wal-Mart store Dec. 24, 1999. And on May 12, 1999, a masked gunman robbed an armoured car outside the Safeway store at Mountain Avenue and McGregor Street. Police say the robber has planned the heists well in advance. For instance, he’s picked a time to act when he thinks it’s the least anticipated and that the robberies are all in daylight and always in places full of people. He also knows when the armoured truck will be there and knows the layout of his getaway, leaving a stolen car in place hours beforehand. But what has police most concerned is the level of violence and his disregard for life.” Syrnyk chuckled to himself about a police quote that said, “it’s possible the robbery yesterday was pulled by someone copying the method of operation used in the previous stickups.” Syrnyk had clearly hit the big time, the thought that other criminals might want to emulate him giving his already over-sized ego another boost.

******

“My car was hit with a bullet.” The 41-year-old man had called police the day after the Safeway robbery, reporting yet another case of an innocent bystander narrowly avoiding tragedy during the wild, daytime shootout. This victim worked as a manager at a nearby bank and told investigators he didn’t immediately check his 1997 Chrysler Intrepid the previous day because it was boxed in by police tape. Only in the late evening, when he was allowed to get the car out of the scene, did he discover a dent and chipped paint on the rear right fender. Police returned to the grocery store parking lot and began an additional search for evidence in the area where the man was parked. Only a few paint chips were found. No bullet was recovered, but police believed a shot had probably hit his fender, then ricocheted into the air and away from the vehicle. Once again, police were left shaking their heads at the fact nobody had been killed.

Police struck out in their attempts to gain information about the getaway vehicle that was abandoned near the crime scene. Heavy pedestrian traffic in the area had made a dog search impossible, especially given the passage of time from when the van was likely dumped to when it was found. Police did find a set of fresh footprints leading out of the u-shaped bay where the vehicle was located, but they disappeared after cutting through the front yard of a home towards the front street. Homeowners in the area claim they didn’t see the car getting dumped or anything else suspicious.

An anxious public was demanding answers, and Winnipeg police were in the difficult position of being able to offer very little to settle the nerves of merchants, guards and innocent civilians worried they might be caught in the next crossfire. A few tips had come in, but nothing that appeared to be of substance or were related to the identity of the Yuletide Bandit. Inspector Keith McCaskill, the head of the major crimes unit, spoke publicly with the media the day following the Safeway incident, assuring all citizens that steps were being taken to bring the culprit to justice. He chose his words carefully, knowing it was likely the bandit was listening. McCaskill said extra officers would be assigned to work the case, but admitted police still hadn’t identified a suspect. And he repeated a plea for public assistance, urging anyone with information to call immediately, even anonymously. Police braced for another onslaught of bogus leads and wasted time, but it was a necessary evil when you had little else to work with. Investigators didn’t want to appear desperate, but behind the scenes, far away from the microphones and television cameras, they most certainly were.

******

Syrnyk was introduced to the young Frenchman through a mutual friend, a fellow cocaine user who also supplied the powder when needed. The stranger introduced himself as Rene Sylvestre. While snorting powder together, Syrnyk and Rene bonded quickly. Cocaine was taking Syrnyk out of his self-imposed shell, and he began enjoying the company of his fresh-faced new acquaintance. In a heavy French accent, Rene told Syrnyk plenty about his life. He came from a good French-Canadian family. Both his parents were alive and well and living in Winnipeg. He had a brother and sister he cared for deeply. There were many other relatives, including grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. The Sylvestre clan was tight. But Rene had separated himself from his loving family in recent months, an experiment with cocaine turning into an addiction that quickly got out of control. Rene was sucked into a wild party lifestyle – endless nights filled with a cocktail of alcohol, cocaine and women. Syrnyk took Rene under his wing, a protégé of sorts he enjoyed showing around town.

There was one major problem for Rene – living the so-called good life carried a heavy price tag. He quickly found himself out of cash and with no immediate prospect of income, as days were spent coming down off the previous night’s high and getting ready for the next flight. Syrnyk wanted to help his friend. He enjoyed having someone around to talk to, someone who shared a common interest, and Syrnyk didn’t want to lose his connection. One night, while both men were in a drug-induced frenzy, Syrnyk told Rene he could help him get some money. “But first you’re going to have to pass a test,” said Syrnyk.

******

March 1, 2002

The S.I.R. Sports Store on Ellice Avenue had been hit again. A middle-aged male clerk described to police a frightening scene that began when two masked men stormed into the store just before 9 p.m. Both men were carrying shotguns. The pair ran directly to the rear gun counter, passing by about a dozen customers and staff members. Three young children were among the witnesses. “I was in an aisle and saw the two individuals. As soon as I saw them I assumed they were going for the guns. My priority was to confirm that others were calm and out of the way. I did not see them grab the guns, but on the return trip they had several guns in their arms,” the clerk told investigators. “On their way out, one individual shouted out ‘Yeah, fuck you!’ to nobody in particular.” He described the men as wearing dark clothing with either grey masks or duct tape covering their faces. Three shotguns, valued at approximately $2,500, were stolen. “How long were they in the store?” an officer asked the clerk. “About 30 seconds. They didn’t stop. They seemed to know where they were going,” he replied. Major crime investigators were immediately notified by general patrol officers about the hold-up. The general description and modus operandi suggested it was likely the work of the Yuletide Bandit. But a greater mystery to police was the sudden emergence of a second suspect.

The “test” turned out to be much more than Rene had bargained for. For a man with no previous brushes with the law, running into a crowded store waving a shotgun around was a jarring crash-course in the criminal lifestyle. Syrnyk told his friend the job had gone perfectly. He felt alive having someone along for the adventure and once again was having visions of forming an invincible team. He was lonely, and felt like he’d finally found someone who understood him. Rene, however, wasn’t so sure. His conscience – when it wasn’t clouded by crack – seemed to get the better of him, telling him he was on the path to destruction. To Syrnyk chagrin, his partner in crime was calling it quits after one wonderful night. Syrnyk was alone again.

******

During his many sexual escapades, Syrnyk met women from various walks of life. Some were loving mothers. Some were reckless drug addicts. Most were victims of some kind. And then there were the entrepreneurs. Syrnyk admired people who got creative in trying to make a buck, and his ability to get money whenever he needed it allowed him to lend a helping hand from time to time. One woman’s venture was of particular interest to Syrnyk. Internet pornography.

Syrnyk first met the woman years earlier at a massage parlour and stayed in semi-regular contact, knowing she was struggling to make ends meet while supporting her children as a single mother. She made decent money selling sex, but the woman had expensive habits and needed more. The woman quietly set up a home-based Website, catering to the crude and curious by offering links to various amateur pornography sites. She did most of her work while her children were in school, in bed, or with relatives. Her stay-at-home job was a secret to her family. Financial success was limited, as the World Wide Web offered millions of options for advertisers and everyone wanted their piece of the pie. Syrnyk was intrigued when the woman mentioned a possible “expansion” of her business, one she believed would allow her to stand out in cyberspace and create a cash windfall. She wanted to begin creating her own pornography, broadcasting video-on-demand into the homes of Internet browsers willing to pay a few extra bucks for a “personal touch.” Trouble is, the woman needed some additional video equipment that was bound to be expensive. Her daily cash flow limited her options. Syrnyk suggested he might be able to help.

******

March 21, 2002

The sight of a masked man wielding an axe was a truly terrifying sight for customers inside the Future Shop store in Winnipeg’s St. James neighbourhood, just across the street from Polo Park Shopping Centre. He had burst into the store just before closing time, carrying a green garbage pail in his hands. The man set the pail on the floor and immediately pulled out a shotgun, screaming at everyone not to move. A large man who was shopping in the store took a few steps towards the gunman.

A coked-up Syrnyk raised the shotgun, pointing it directly at the man, and prepared to shoot. The shotgun was loaded but hadn’t been chambered, but Syrnyk quickly fixed that with a “click” which seemed to convey to the wannabe hero that he meant business. The man stepped back, reluctantly raising his arms in the air. Syrnyk could see the intense anger in his eyes. The gun still in hand, Syrnyk again pulled the axe out of the garbage pail. He moved towards a glass display counter housing several digital cameras and web cams, reached back with the weapon and gave a mighty swing. Pieces of shattered glass fell in all directions, the violent move striking further anxiety in customers who feared for their lives. Syrnyk reached into the case and scooped up several cameras, dropping them into his garbage pail. He fled the store, but not before pointing the gun again in the direction of several customers who were still frozen with fear. A routine evening trip to a popular electronics store had turned into a nightmare they would never forget.

Syrnyk’s friend was thrilled with the gift. Several cameras were ready to start recording lurid, homemade images that would be broadcast around the world. Syrnyk was happy to help. He had a much more personal motive for hitting the Future Shop. Reading about his crimes lately had given Syrnyk a new kind of rush, a surge of power in knowing that his actions had caused such a ripple effect in the community. Daily cocaine use was causing Syrnyk to have extreme fantasies about how to increase that coverage, to make sure everyone in Manitoba, even Canada, would know about him. He had come up with a brilliant idea. What if, instead of just reading about his crimes, people could actually see them as they happened? As in up close and personal.

Syrnyk wanted to begin wearing a small pinhole camera on his body, which would record a first-hand perspective of his crimes in progress. He hadn’t found one during the frantic Future Shop hold-up, but paid a return visit to the Spy Shop he had robbed years earlier. Only this time he was a law-abiding customer. Pumped with cocaine, Syrnyk found just what he was looking for and returned home to play with his new toy. He planned to test it out soon, and then send the raw footage to local television stations. Producers would surely wet themselves at the juicy video they’d been delivered on a silver platter. Can you say ratings?

******

Spring was in the air. Snow was melting quickly, and the warm weather was bringing Manitobans out of their winter hibernation and back on to the street. Syrnyk wasn’t taking any time to savour the dawn of a new season. He couldn’t have cared less. Walking quickly and with a purpose, Syrnyk set out from his West End Winnipeg home, headed towards downtown. His feet led him into a large Anglican church, located in the heart of the city just across from the Eaton’s shopping centre. Syrnyk walked through the large gated entrance, through the front doors and quickly took a seat in one of the front pews. It was mid-day, and the parish was empty.

Syrnyk could hear the voices of a couple of elderly woman in one of the back rooms, but couldn’t see them. He fidgeted in his seat, contemplating his next move. He was sweating now, his hands wet with anxiety. Syrnyk had thought for days about this moment, about escaping the world he’d created for himself in the most hallowed of places. Gone were his mother, his family, and the friends he could have had. His life had become nothing more than a miserable existence filled with drugs and despair. Gone was hope.

Syrnyk had always felt comfort in the church. He thought it would be the perfect place to end his life. Syrnyk wanted to shoot one bullet in the palm of his hand. He’d fire another two into his feet. The pain would surely be excruciating, but Syrnyk wanted to feel every second of it. When it became too much, he would calmly raise the gun to his head and pull the trigger. Syrnyk cast another glance around the church, ensuring he was still alone. Then he pulled the gun from his pocket.