Given that Karla Homolka was not lost in the first place, the idea that someone found her is a fiction and given that there was a decidedly commercial side to its propagation, that “finding” might just be fraud.
Not of the magnitude of Conrad Black’s accuser Richard Breenen’s corporate kleptocracy fiction rather more like Martha Stewart’s little lie to the FBI about insider knowledge not being the motivation for her $80,000 stock trade; call it obstruction of the truth by Paula Todd and Derek Finkle for minor financial gain.
I have known exactly where Karla is, and was, for almost two years. I have her physical addresses in Quebec and Guadeloupe, her email addresses and telephone numbers. I also know the three women who actually found her almost three years ago and exactly how they did it.
Unlike Ms. Todd, none us were rude or desperate enough to highjack her.
Unlike Ms. Todd’s vague and improbable descriptions of how she allegedly “tracked down” the “elusive” and “slippery” Karla Homolka by “scouring” obscure “foreign” databases, these women’s success at finding Karla and corresponding with her was quite ingenious, more so when you consider who they are and why they were looking for her in the first place.
Although “found” is still a misnomer. Karla was hiding in plain sight precisely because no one was really looking for her which puts the lie to another of Finkle’s and Todd’s assertions that there were legions of journalists frantically scouring the world for Karla.
If there was so much interest in Karla why did the two broadcasters with whom Paula Todd is closely associated, CTV and the CBC (hubby Doug Grant happens to be the head honcho of “Public Affairs” for the network) not assign the story and set her up with a professional camera man and hidden sound and video recording equipment?
For that matter, Todd could have done the hidden video/ hidden tape recorder thing herself. Why didn’t she?
Why are there no other photographs in “Finding Karla” than the one allegedly shot by the man who spent a week in a tree; albeit a tree a mile away from the Bordelais compound. Macleans Magazine pronounced the innocous and inconclusive snap an “iconic” image.
Why did Paula Todd need a man in a tree for a week? Doesn’t she have a smart phone with a built-in camera? Everyone else on the planet does. I use my iPhone to record stuff every day. It has a very sensitive built-in microphone.
Why are there no shots of the road on which Homolka lives? Or the mailbox with Leanne Bordelais printed on it? Whoops, another fiction: Karla goes by the name Emily Bordelais now and has for years. Never used Leanne. Even discussed why she would never use it with me when she and I corresponded over an 18-month period in 2001 and 2002.
Why not a shot of Ms. Todd’s quaint Guadeloupean hotel? Or the “experienced cabbie” she hired for “company,” the one she explained to – “in French” – that she was “visiting someone” but “it could be dangerous;” the one whose “warm face and intelligent eyes” she studied before she decided to “go for it” i.e. go and highjack the dangerous Karla Homolka. (God, it reads like a bad B-movie script.)
A snap of that guy with his warm face and intelligent eyes beside the post box with Leanne Bordelais’ name on it would have at least added some color to the report.
Why are there not more shots included in her digital publication to establish some sense of place?
Her clumsy, uninspired descriptions don’t cut it for me. It is as though she wrote the piece in her living room while reading the Wikipedia entry on Guadeloupe with a little Ian Fleming on the side.
Are we really supposed to believe, as Todd tries desperately to convey, that she was in fear for her life in Guadeloupe, one of the most friendly and hospitable islands in the Caribbean and therefore afraid to take pictures or use a miniature tape recorder?
The photographer’s description of his ordeal in Macleans Magazine and on the Reuters photography blog sounds so improbable it seems more likely that the picture is photoshopped or a studio set up.
Working photographers, especially ones with Zoran Milich’s pedigree, seldom ply their trade for chump change, let alone live in a tree hounded by hostile goats for a week to score such an innocuous and unremarkable shot. Surely he knew there’s no international market for grainy pictures of women bending over to pick up babies.
The woman leaning over to pick something up in the shot (that it’s a baby or small child is by no means evident) could just as easily be a model. That frame of foliage would have been a breeze to compose.
Having seen Karla in much closer proximity a number of times I can tell you that there are a lot of women out there who closely resemble her. This one photograph proves nothing. It doesn’t even establish that he and Paula Todd were on the island.
I do not “know” Paula Todd but I do know Derek Finkle who is given credit for editing and “publishing” this badly written and researched exercise in reality-based fiction.
I do know that Mr. Finkle is capable of all manner of malfeasance not the least of which is outright theft but also of publishing lies and distortions as fact. He has done so with impunity in the past.
The only difference this time is he seems to have hit a bit of a jackpot, thanks to the overwrought reaction of all Paula Todd’s “colleagues” still embedded in the ever-diminishing ranks of the old media.
I think we are in the realm of H.L. Mencken who said “no one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public.”
For a man who has been passing himself off as both a serious person and an editor for well over a decade and a mature woman who calls herself not only an “investigative reporter” (Jack Anderson’s roiling in his grave) but also a lawyer, between the two of them they could not get the facts of Karla’s crimes, deals, sentencing and life after release right.
After all, two-thirds of their e-scam is given over to a factually challenged rehash of Karla’s crimes, something I’ve been repeatedly told by senior publishers and editors in this country, has been done to death and for which there is no more public tolerance.
For instance, Karla and her lawyer had nothing to do with getting her plea agreements; those were the idea and creation of then Assistant Deputy Attorney General Michael Code and the head of the Green Ribbon Task Force, Inspector Vince Bevan. And not because the police did not have any videotape evidence. They did.
Videotape evidence, its presence or absence, had nothing to do with Karla’s deals, their motivation or their details, although you would never know it reading either Todd and Finkle’s “creative journalism” or any of the media logorrhoea it generated.
It’s a very persistent myth that the deals would not have been done if only Bernardo’s lawyer had not held onto a bunch of videotapes for so long.
After all, the Ministry of the Attorney General threw a few more millions after the tens of millions it needlessly spent putting on the deSadean theatrical production called “The Bernardo Trial,” prosecuting Bernardo lawyer Ken Murray in its aftermath for some form of obstructing Justice. Of course he was acquitted but the Ministry considered the money well spent because it reinforced their fabricated version of events.
It remains, just as the authorities carefully scripted it to become, a staple in any commentary or media reportage about the “controversial” Karla and her so-called “sweetheart deals” to this day.
To once again call on the Great Skewer of those who eschew the inconvenient truth, H.L. Mencken defined “the height of mediocrity” as “the ready acceptance of received opinion.” One would have thought a journalist of Paula Todd’s stature would have done everything she could to not end up teetering from those dizzying heights.
There’s much more: I may be splitting hairs here but Karla, legally speaking, is not a serial killer – which should concern Paula Todd – if she really is a lawyer and given that hair-splitting is that profession’s stock and trade.
Nor is Karla, by the definition accepted in law, a pedophile.
Nor is she a psychopath or sociopath as Todd and many others including Andrew Mitrovica (who should know better) unequivocally state; at least not in terms of the Hare Checklist which is allegedly the world recognized test for a condition that most level headed psychiatrists consider a fiction.
It was administered to Karla on three different occasions in the few years before she was released from prison in 2005. The Hare Checklist was negative for psychopathy every time they checked. Karla was not even close to qualifying for that scary distinction. Not that anything hangs on it one way or the other. It’s just more smoke and mirrors.
The great irony in this story is that all the facts are very easily acquired today, all a matter of public record. – absolutely no need to search in “more sophisticated databases” or resort to “forensic surfing” and “cyber border” crossing as Todd claimed she had to do.
While I’m at it, another fiction perpetrated by Ms. Todd is her self-righteous and unprofessional assertion that the Canadian public has a right to know where Karla is and also that it “needs to know” and “wants to know.” Is Paula Todd omniscient? Has an arbitrator of national morality who understands our collective psyche finally found us?
In Chapter Three (pg. 13), Ms. Todd writes in her hyperventilated, breathless style “Homolka’s back story remains seared into Canada’s national conscience…” What? Neither the Canadian public or Ms. Todd know Karla’s “back story” or they would have all of the relevant facts at hand. I mean “..seared into Canada’s national conscience?” Give me a break. Knock me down and call me Susan.
Although there is no such thing as a “national consciousness” or “conscience” they too are very convenient and often-invoked fictions by the increasingly tabloid-tempered mainstream media but the idea that Paula Todd has some kind of psychic connection to the collective Canadian consciousness is just silly. Now she is invoking a fiction to rationalize a fiction.
But let’s consider for a moment I’m wrong. If there is such a thing as a collective mind, consciousness, or conscience, Ms. Todd does not describe how she gained access to it further confounding the idea that she is “a smart, inexhaustible ace investigator”, as Zoran Milich loquaciously described her in his blog post.
Then there is the legion of straightforward factually incorrect statements she asserts such as Karla’s Catholic baptism.
During the conversation that she constructs with Karla in the last chapter (on pg. 143) Todd writes “Then I remember she was baptized a Catholic, and therefore, her confessions to a priest are considered highly confidential and usually won’t be repeated to the outside world.”
Then she says to Karla “It’s not always written that a priest can’t speak, but a priest doesn’t speak,”
It’s as though Todd, so shocked when Karla had no idea who she was told her to “google me,” is trying to draw comparison between her self-proclaimed role as a crusading journalist and avenger of the collective Canadian outrage over Karla’s freedom and future with that of a priest in the spiritual and moral realms.
No wonder Karla had no idea what the hell Todd was talking about, illiciting another sanctimonious and irritating editorialization from Todd: “Again, no sense there.” Maybe that’s the problem. Todd missed the Talking Head’s dictum to “stop making sense.” Particularly when there is none to be made.
The Homolkas are not Catholics. Baptism in the Catholic Church is a problem for non-Catholics. It never happens.
The short e-book is rife with errors like this. How much fiction should we tolerate in a work touted as “investigative journalism?” 25%? 50%? The whole enchilda, if its convenient and we are perpetuately in a resigned state of mind?
In the end, this fiction Todd and Finkle have perpetrated on the Canadian public, aided and abetted as they were by a pliant Canadian media, will evaporate in the blowback of the indisputable fact that the vast majority of Canadians, Americans, Armenians, Spanish, English, French, Chinese etc., etc. etc. do not give a rat’s ass about Karla Homolka.
No one cares where she is, what she’s doing or what she is thinking. Nor do they need to hear her say she’s sorry. As Karla told me shortly before her release from prison, “What would be the point? No one would believe me.” Duh.
And I know this how? I will explain anon.