It was the kind of story that can forever shatter a family.
On the morning of July 27, 2006, Kevin White, the dealer principal of Whitewood Chrysler, arrived at work to find a van with Alberta plates parked on his lot. The owner of the van, a man calling himself Robert Summer and a 14-year-old boy Summer identified as his son, needed a new tire.
White obliged, selling the man a used tire and installing it even before the business opened for the day. That's just the kind of community Whitewood was.
The pair hung around the southeastern Saskatchewan town for a few days during which they paid a visit to a small family farm just outside the town owned by Lyle and Pam Miller. The Millers welcomed Summer and the teenager, who Summer now introduced as his nephew, into their home.
On July 30, the man and the boy returned to the farm, ostensibly to buy some fresh eggs. Lyle was out working driving his truck and Summer mentioned to Pam he had some errands to run, perhaps his nephew and the Miller's 10-year-old son Zachary could play together for the afternoon?
Pam agreed. Zachary and the older boy took off for a bike ride to explore an abandoned house that is haunted according to local legend.
The boys did not return for lunch and Pam got scared. She went out looking for them. When she found the two bikes, but no sign of Zach, she immediately called Lyle and the RCMP.
When officers ran the plates and V.I.N. of the van from the Chrysler dealership's records, what they got back was a shock that would send ripples of horror throughout the community and beyond.
The man was not Robert Summer, he was Peter Whitmore, a notorious pedophile, who had racked up a 13-year record of child abduction and sexual assault that could make even the most liberal observer want to lock him up and throw away the key.
And the 14-year-old was not his son, nor his nephew. He was Jordan Bruyere, who had gone missing from Brandon, Manitoba a week-and-a-half earlier.
The police issued an amber alert for Zachary, the first ever in Saskatchewan, and a nationwide warrant for Whitmore's arrest.
For two days, Lyle and Pam went through hell, fearing the worst, but clinging to the faint hope that Zach, a strong and resourceful kid, would make his escape.
In fact, he did. When a farmer near Kipling came across a van matching the description of Whitmore's in an abandoned farmyard, he called police. When officers arrived on the scene, Zach bolted out of the brush.
After a standoff lasting 10 hours, Whitmore finally surrendered.
The incident was over, but the Millers' ordeal had just begun.
A year of intense media scrutiny, of cops and lawyers and courtrooms, of therapy and fear, followed, none of which the simple farming family was prepared for.
A hand to hold
Fortunately, they were not alone. Parkland Victims Services (PVS) was there right beside them from the abduction all the way through Whitmore's sentencing at Court of Queen's Bench in Regina on July 23, 2007.
Few people know the value of the local victims services program better than Lyle Miller.
"They're very well-trained people," he said. "They were able to come in when we were at our worst. They're just an amazing group of folks and we're very grateful for what they did for us."
That included handling phone calls and visits from friends, neighbours and the media during the kidnapping, Zach's escape and Whitmore's ensuing arrest.
It entailed comforting and providing referrals to professional resources during the horrifying process of Zach recounting for police and prosecutors the heinous events of his captivity, rape and threats of violence and death against his family.
It meant coordinating victims services volunteers back in the Millers' home province of Alberta to help family members there.
It involved educating the family about the justice system, updating them on the progress of the case and being there with them step by step as it grinded its way through the courts.
"We do whatever [victims] need us to do," said Cheryl Tiller, PVS coordinator.
But it goes even beyond that, Lyle said. He recalled volunteers bringing a gift of quilts to his two daughters, who were severely traumatized. Those little touches, he said, make a huge difference.
"They're very special things at the time, especially for kids because they don't know what's going on at all," he explained. "It's not something that should be taken lightly."
Shifting focus
One might think that consideration of victims has always been a priority for the justice system, but it's actually relatively new, or rather, new again.
Historically, criminal justice was victim-centric. Victims initiated and handled the prosecution of offenders. Crimes were committed against people and penalties focused on restitution by the offender to the victim or retribution by the victim on the offender.
In most ancient civilizations and pre-colonial indigenous cultures, restorative justice has always been a cornerstone of dealing with crime.
And, although as early as the 11th century the seeds were sown for a state-focussed justice system, in which offences are deemed to be against the state, or the Crown-"the King's peace" as it were-it wasn't until the late 19th century that victims were virtually removed from the equation altogether. Throughout the majority of the 20th century, victims became little more than witnesses for the prosecution.
That slowly started to change in the late 1960s when Saskatchewan became the first province to pass a victim compensation act.
For the rest of the 1960s and most of the 1970s other provinces followed suit passing and enhancing laws aimed at recognizing and reducing the impact of crimes on victims. The federal government got involved in 1975 providing funding for the provinces' victim compensation programs.
In 1979, the Edmonton Police established the first victim service unit in the country.
The 1980s saw growing awareness of victims' rights issues, court decisions upholding those rights, national workshops and task forces, increased legislation and a proliferation of resources for victims and victims services programs.
In 1985, the United Nations adopted the Declaration of Basic Principles of Justice for Victims of Crime and Abuse of Power. The Canadian government and all the provinces and territories followed suit three years later.
In 1989, Parliament passed Bill C-89 establishing the inclusion of victim impact statements in court proceedings and adding the victim fine surcharge to the Criminal Code.
Most recently, the federal government's Increasing Offenders' Accountability for Victims Act, cleared its final hurdle with its adoption by the Senate on April 30 doubling the victim fine surcharge and making it mandatory for all offences under the Criminal Code and Controlled Drugs and Substances Act.
Closer to home, the Saskatchewan government announced $128,418 in new funding to expand the PVS program to Canora, Esterhazy, Melville, Moosomin, Wadena and Wynyard.
All good, said Lyle Miller, but the perception remains there is still not enough being done for victims.
"Victims are kind of swept under the carpet," he said.
Local impact
That is not to say things have not improved, particularly in this region where there is strong and compassionate leadership.
"You can't do much better than Cheryl," Lyle said.
Sgt. Rob Laurent, currently detachment commander for the Yorkton City RCMP, agrees with that assessment. In fact, he said, the Parkland program has always been strong although it was not necessarily immediately accepted. He was stationed in Kamsack when PVS was founded in 1993.
"Right at the beginning, the RCMP membership I was working with was somewhat leery of what it was," he said. "After about six months or a year of the members working with the victims services workers, we quickly realized that this is a very good program, it's going to help us immensely as police officers and it's just really good for the community."
Police officers have an obligation to victims of keeping them up-to-date on their files, Laurent explained, but because of their sometimes awkward schedules, they're not always able to fulfill that role in the most timely fashion, something that is exceptionally important to someone who has suffered trauma and/or loss.
Victims Services workers, on the other hand, pick up the slack helping victims feel the system is more responsive to their needs and giving cops more time to do police work.
Public acceptance has also improved dramatically during Laurent's tenure in the region, he said. Every person who has been affected by a crime, accident, fire or other traumatic event is offered victim services. He said not everyone accepts, but the number who do, has grown steadily.
"I've noticed a huge increase," he said. "From the inception of Victims Services, a lot of people were very leery of what Victims Services could do and who these people were. There were some trust issues because people didn't want other people knowing that the police were involved with them, but that's been quickly erased because the people who work with Victims Services are very professional in what they do."
Unseen and unsung
Aside from victims, the public rarely gets a glimpse of what the handful of paid workers and dozens of volunteers who make up PVS do on a daily basis. And that is by design.
"Confidentiality is key," Tiller said.
To ensure that discretion and professionalism, investigators put volunteers through a rigorous security clearance, not just the standard background check that has become common for job applications and such. Then they must complete 40 hours of intensive training. Any breach of trust is grounds for immediate dismissal.
Lyle Miller says PVS doesn't get nearly the credit it deserves, but even though they are the ultimate behind-the-scenes workers, Tiller says it can be very rewarding.
"It's not that you become friends, but you certainly have a relationship that's different than any other one," she said. "It's a working relationship, but you also get to know individuals very personally."
That sometimes makes it difficult, as well, she added.
"Your heart breaks for them because you know they don't deserve what's going on."
As Parkland Victims Services enters its 21st year, with the population of the region growing and prosperity at an all-time high, the new provincial funding was much needed and very welcome, Tiller said.
"That kind of money was a surprise," she said. "We weren't sure what we would get, but when they came out and told us, yes, it was a surprise."
They have never turned anybody down, though, Tiller said, but workforce constraints sometimes meant prioritizing and getting to some files later rather than sooner.
Last year, Tiller handled 304 new files and that doesn't include all the ongoing cases.
"Our numbers have gone up, but I don't like to talk about our work just in numbers because I can work with the same person for three or four years until a matter goes to trial," she said.
The new money will allow Tiller to hire new part-time coordinators for the outlying communities and train a whole new team of volunteers who are currently on a waiting list.
Tiller is also very encouraged by the new Increasing Offenders' Accountability for Victims Act.
"I am extremely happy with that decision because our program and programs around the country are around because of the victim surcharge," she said. "I've seen instances, as well, where you know the offender has resources to pay the victim surcharge and judges have waived them, so now that it's mandatory, I can't say enough good about that."
Epilogue
The Peter Whitmore case still has victims' rights activists shaking their heads. The same year PVS was founded, 1993, Whitmore was sentenced to 16 months in prison for abduction and five sex offences involving four Toronto boys.
Shortly after his release in 1995 he was back before the courts for abduction and confinement of an eight-year-old girl and sexual interference with a nine-year-old boy after posing as a professional babysitter. He received a five-year sentence and was banned from being in the presence of children under the age of 14 for life.
In 2000, with less than a month out on parole, he was arrested in a downtown Toronto motel room with a 13-year-old boy. He got another year for breach, but that did not stop him from breaching again in 2002 with a five-year-old boy. That was another three-year sentence.
While he was serving that time, clinicians at the National Parole Board wrote in a report that Whitmore "has a 100 per cent probability of recidivism," even after having completed a High Intensity Sex Offender Program. Nevertheless, he was back on the street in 2005.
When a Regina judge sentenced the repeat offender to life in prison with no eligibility for parole for seven years, victims' rights advocates were outraged. If Peter Whitmore was not the poster boy for the designation of "dangerous offender" and life imprisonment without parole, who was?
The sentence was a plea bargain. In return for a guilty plea, thus saving Zachary Miller and Jordan Bruyere from having to testify in open court, prosecutors took the dangerous offender provision off the table.
Whitmore was eligible to apply for parole this year, but waived his right to do so.
Meanwhile, the Miller family continues to struggle with the psychological impact, Pam Miller told Yorkton This Week.
Lyle has become an outspoken advocate for victims services, sharing his family's story with workers and volunteers across the province regularly. He is also heavily involved with preventing children from becoming victims in the first place through Kids in the Know, a safety program targeting kids from Kindergarten to Grade 9, parents and educators with age-appropriate resources.
The family, including Zachary, continues to lobby governments for improved victims' rights legislation, better resources and stronger penalties for offenders. They have had meetings with the Prime Minister and Rob Nicholson, the minister of justice.
And, of course, there is the ongoing matter of Peter Whitmore's incarceration. He will have another chance to apply for parole in 2015.
"You can bet your life we will be there every time to oppose it," Pam said.
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