Introduction
With testimony at the public inquiry into David Milgaard’s wrongful conviction spread across two years, critical connections were missed. Key revelations got buried in yesterday’s newspapers. Now, for the first time, this book assembles all the hundreds of thousands of pages from the public inquiry evidence and Supreme Court of Canada review of Milgaard’s case into one shocking, readable account – the complete story the Internet age never got to dissect. It’s not new information – it’s the full truth finally visible in one place, showing exactly how and why the system failed.
This is the first book to assemble all the inquiry’s findings into one scandalizing narrative and connects the dots.
The Milgaard inquiry called it ‘case closed.’ But with missing police files, an ignored suspect, and zero consequences, was it really?
David Milgaard himself rejected the inquiry’s findings, insisting the truth had been ignored. This book examines the discrepancies he wanted the world to see. How could so much evidence lead to so little accountability?
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Author’s Note
A Note on Sources and Relationships
This book uses material from three key sources: (1) the 341,634 pages of Milgaard inquiry record, (2) trial transcripts from 1970 and 1992, and (3) 14 months of conversations with David Milgaard before his passing in May 2022.
All interviews with David were conducted with his explicit consent – he often began calls by asking, ‘Is your recorder on?
I first spoke with David Milgaard by phone on June 4, 2021, shortly after I’d written about his advocacy work for Odelia and Nerissa Quewezance, two Indigenous sisters he maintained had been wrongfully convicted of murder. At the time, I was covering crime and courts for SaskToday.
David found me in an unexpected way. After reading my story online, he’d called some of the offices of Saskatchewan’s dozen community newspapers connected to SaskToday until he found someone who could connect us. Later, he’d explain that he valued journalists who took a detailed and thorough approach and the fact that I had been a licensed private investigator, which he had noticed on my author bio.
When I called him back, we hit it off immediately. There was something about his energy – his determination, his humour, his refusal to be defeated – that drew me in.
David was spontaneous and full of life. About a month later, when he travelled through Saskatchewan, he asked to meet in person. Over the course of a day, he shared not just his advocacy work but his pride in his children, his hopes for the future, and his lingering grief over the system that had failed him.
He spoke warmly of his daughter Julia’s academic achievements and his son Robert’s passion for social justice. Though separated from his wife, Cristina, he still referred to her as “my wife” – family, to him, was everything. What struck me most was how someone who had suffered so profoundly could have a remarkable capacity for happiness and human connection.
In the months that followed, David included me in his circle of trust. He sent me songs – everything from Fleetwood Mac to Bjork, and included me in group emails signed with a cheerful, “Thought this would make some of you laugh! David.”
Following David’s passing, I was deeply honoured to speak with his wife, Cristina, and their children, Robert and Julia, in phone interviews arranged through Byron Christopher – a trusted journalist friend of David’s who had first interviewed him after his release from prison in 1992. I also had the privilege of connecting with David’s sister, Susan, for an interview. Earlier, while David was still alive, his brother Chris had reached out via email to thank me after I wrote in September 2021 about David’s ordeal in prison.
In October 2021, David invited me to a webinar hosted by International Wrongful Conviction Day, where he openly criticized the public inquiry into his case for its failure to hold anyone accountable. Afterward, he urged me to dig deeper. So, I did.
At the Saskatoon Public Library, I pored over archives – news clippings and books. I obtained trial transcripts and the inquiry’s thousands of pages and supporting documents. The library’s historian, who remembered the atmosphere of the city during David’s 1970 trial, asked why I was researching his case. When I explained, she paused. She said she was struck that I was a kind person – the right one, she believed, to share David’s story about his lingering dissatisfaction with the inquiry into his wrongful conviction.
I couldn’t help but smile and her response stayed with me. It reminded me of my first meeting in person with David. He had studied my face and said, “You have kind eyes.” He repeated it, as if kindness was everything.
I worked through the fall on an in-depth piece for SaskToday, but the project grew larger than I’d anticipated. David didn’t live to see it published as he passed away on May 15, 2022. The article and accompanying video – Hear David Milgaard in His Own Words – ran that July. But a news feature could never hold everything: the gaps in the inquiry, the unanswered questions, the weight of a story this vast. That’s why I’m writing this book.
During our phone conversations about his wrongful conviction, David often asked, “Do you have your tape recorder turned on?” – not for vanity, but because he wanted every word to matter.
This is the story David trusted me to tell. Not because I was the only one who could, but because he believed it was time.
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