Born with fetal alcohol syndrome into an abusive home, he became a
violent drunk -- and a killer
Kim Bolan, Lori Culbert and Lindsay Kines
Vancouver Sun
Monday, November 26, 2001
The life story of Marvin Alexander Tom -- like those of many men who
attack and sometimes kill prostitutes -- has striking similarities to
the backgrounds of the vulnerable women who make a living on the
streets.
Many of the prostitutes who have vanished are aboriginal, like Tom.
And, like Tom, most of them have tragic pasts filled with abuse,
addiction, unemployment and poverty.
But while Tom became a killer, the missing women -- many speculate --
have become the victims of a murderer, possibly the most prolific
serial killer Canada has ever seen.
Vancouver's sex-trade workers started disappearing in 1984, and Tom
has been in prison for the majority of the intervening years. But is
the person responsible for this mysterious and troubling case someone
like him? Someone who has struggled since childhood and, in
adulthood, can no longer control fatal impulses to lash out against
some of the most fragile members of our society?
Police say they have as many as 600 suspects in the missing women
case -- essentially a list of men convicted in B.C. of violent
attacks on prostitutes.
This is the story of one of those men.
AGASSIZ -- Marvin Tom has a few theories about who may be killing sex-
trade workers in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside.
He thinks it is someone acting alone. Someone who maybe had a mother
or a sister who was a prostitute.
"He must have had a vicious background, let's put it that way. I keep
thinking that someone in that person's family was a prostitute or
something, like a sister or a mother or a cousin."
If there is a serial killer responsible for the disappearance of
about 45 women in recent years, Tom thinks the man is cunning and
calculating.
"They will go to any lengths. They will make sure that there is no
loose ends," he said.
"If you were the murderer or a serial killer, I'd be classifying you
as a person who knows how to play his cards. In other words, someone
who knows how to beat the system."
But he doesn't think the serial killer is anything like him --
despite his arrest and imprisonment for killing one prostitute and
raping two other women in a drunken four-day spree of violence in the
Downtown Eastside in 1993.
In fact, Tom, who is serving an indefinite sentence as a dangerous
offender at Kent Institution here, thinks of himself as a gentle soul
who loves women.
That image is in drastic contrast to his vicious actions over a booze-
crazed weekend more than eight years ago.
It started on Friday, July 30, 1993, when Tom was released from the
Regional Psychiatric Centre after serving four years for slashing the
throat of his girlfriend in an alcohol-fueled rage.
He was driven to the Downtown Eastside and dropped off about 11 a.m.
at the Salvation Army's Harbour Light detox centre by a student
social worker. He was told to come back by 1 p.m. to register.
Instead, Tom hit the bars and by the next morning, Lisa Lynn McLaren
was dead.
The 24-year-old prostitute was found naked from the waist down, lying
in some bushes beside the railway tracks at the foot of Dunlevy
Street. Her head had been severely beaten, and bones were broken on
both sides of her throat.
Covered in blood, Tom walked into the Vancouver police station the
next day and said he had just found a body. Police, who had already
located McLaren's remains, took Tom's clothes and a blood sample. He
was questioned and released.
He continued his boozing. And he continued his violence, sexually
assaulting two more women in the same neighbourhood within the next
two days.
A 24-year-old prostitute says Tom agreed to pay her $50 for sex, but
then raped and beat her in a field off Keefer Street. She escaped
with scrapes, bruises and a broken breastbone.
Another woman testified in court that Tom followed her, pinned her
down after she fell, sexually assaulted her, and repeatedly smashed
her head into the sidewalk before running away.
Tom was convicted in two separate trials in 1995 of manslaughter in
McLaren's death, and aggravated sexual assault and sexual assault in
the other attacks.
In a parole decision earlier this year, a three-panel board denied
Tom's application for release, noting the vicious nature of his
crimes and the over-all problem of violence against prostitutes in
the Downtown Eastside.
"Your victims have all suffered serious physical and psychological
damage and the community has expressed its concerns regarding the
safety of street prostitutes," the National Parole Board said in its
decision.
Board members ruled Tom remains an undue risk to society.
Tom doesn't think it is fair that convicts like him have their parole
eligibility impacted, in part, by public concern over the missing
women, whose pictures are on a poster in the prison's entranceway.
"When they keep going missing, it is hitting also the people who are
incarcerated and they are putting them down in the same category --
see he is a prostitute killer . . . it makes it harder for me to get
out," he said.
"I can understand where the public's coming from, but sometimes you
have to understand and realize that some people are dealing with
their issues."
- - -
A lot in Tom's 36 years could be classified as unfair.
Even a Kent prison guard escorting Sun reporters through locked
corridors casually observed: "Nobody says Marvin has had an easy
life."
That life began in Fort St. James on Sept. 13, 1965. Or so Tom
thinks. He isn't even sure where he was born. Like so much of his
past, including the violent acts that landed him in jail, things are
blurry.
He was brain damaged even before his birth from fetal alcohol
syndrome. As the oldest of Lawrence Tom and Matilda "Tilly Rose"
Joseph's three boys, Marvin received most of the beatings when his
dad was drunk. And that was often.
Cigarettes were butted out on his head. His leg was broken when he
was kicked with a steel-toed boot. He lifts his striped T-shirt to
show the scar on the right side of his stomach from his father
holding him over a wood stove.
"Marvin was treated worse than his brother Lawrence, because he was
the oldest," Tom's foster father David Dyck confirmed in an
interview. "Even now if you look on his head, you'll see cigarette
burns."
Social workers placed Tom in a series of foster homes. He and his
youngest brother Lawrence finally ended up with the Dycks, a decent
family with 16 children of their own on a small farm outside
Vanderhoof. The Dycks looked after Tom for at least 10 years, from
age five to his mid-teens, when he became lost to alcohol.
He doesn't remember much of his early childhood, except the fear of
the beatings.
"According to my grandma on my mom's side, she said I was the oldest
in the family and I was the one who was getting most of the beatings,
so whatever my youngest brother did, I was the one who was getting
it. I pretty well got it every time."
When he was forced to visit with his father at Dyck's home, Tom would
hide, his foster father said.
"As soon as they mentioned my dad's name, I would be running in the
other direction," Tom recalled. "I was scared to be in kindergarten.
When my foster mom dropped me off in kindergarten there was more
fear -- like maybe my dad was going to come in the door."
Court records in Prince George and Vanderhoof indicate Tom's father,
Lawrence Seymour Tom, has had a violent past and many run-ins with
the law.
On May 14, 1984 Lawrence Tom Sr. repeatedly stabbed his second wife,
Kathy Tom, with a butcher's knife on the Pinchi Reserve near Fort St.
James. The attack left her paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair. He
was convicted of aggravated assault and sentenced to three years in
jail.
Lawrence Tom Sr. has also been convicted of threatening his daughter
Laurie Tom and assaulting his son Vern Tom with a knife, among other
violent offences over the years.
If Marvin Tom's memories of his father are bad, the memories of his
mother are non-existent.
Sun files indicate Matilda Joseph died of a drug overdose in Oakalla
prison at age 26, a few months after participating in a jail break
with seven other inmates.
According to court documents and Tom's step-mother Kathy, Joseph was
in jail because she attacked her husband in self-defence.
Joseph's death was deemed accidental by a coroner's jury, despite
testimony from another inmate that Joseph had been crying in her cell
before deliberating injecting herself with the drugs that killed her.
Tom was thrilled when provided with two short news articles about
Joseph published in The Sun in 1974.
"Cool. I have been trying to track down her records for so long. I
didn't even know her age until right now," he said. "I don't even
know why she went to prison in the first place. What I've been told
is that she and my dad got into an argument, or got into a fight or
something on the reserve, and from there I guess my mom just had
enough of it -- enough of the violence -- and she just spun out one
night."
Tom was nine when his mother died, and has a foggy memory of being
taken to her funeral by a social worker.
Years later, while in prison, he addressed a suicide note to his
mother, saying he wanted to kill himself so he could be with her.
Court documents indicate he has tried at least a dozen times to kill
himself by slashing himself, swallowing razor blades, over-dosing and
hanging.
His forearms are covered in scars from self-mutilation -- slashings
done with razor blades both inside and outside prison. He jokingly
calls them "Indian tattoos."
But Tom refuses to talk about the suicide attempts, or the sexual
abuse that court and parole records say he endured in some of his
foster homes.
"If it did happen, I probably wanted to forget about it," he said
matter-of-factly.
Dyck, his longtime foster father, said Tom was well-behaved as a
young boy, but a slow learner who didn't like doing chores around the
house.
"He was reasonably good, but he never seemed to want to work,"
recalled Dyck, 86. "Going to school, he'd sit there and sleep instead
of learning. What he has learned, I think he learned in jail."
Dyck sent Tom to a Christian school, where several teachers made
extra efforts to help the boy. But he struggled with learning
disabilities now associated with fetal alcohol syndrome. Although he
stayed in school until about age 15, he left with a Grade 4
education. He still doesn't read or write very well, although he is
taking classes in prison.
Tom said he started drinking at about age 10. Jack Daniels was his
favourite, but he would drink anything he could get his hands on. He
also started sniffing glue about age 12 and experimenting with drugs
at 15, court documents show.
Add to this vandalism, truancy and stealing cars, and Tom said his
foster mother got more and more concerned about his behaviour. As a
teenager, his run-ins with police were mostly for drinking. And for
mouthing off.
By the time he was 18 and 19 years old, court records in Prince
George and Vanderhoof show Tom was continually in and out of court.
Breaking windows. Smashing the headlights of a police car. Impaired
driving. Failing to comply with probation orders -- mainly drinking
when he had been ordered by the courts not to.
In one stint in prison, Tom was incarcerated in the Prince George
regional correctional centre. His father was a fellow inmate. "We
basically just talked like father and son kind of thing. I forgive
him but I can't forget."
Tom's step-mother and former foster father both say Tom would
do "anything" while drunk.
"Normally he is not violent," Kathy Tom said. "But he does get
blackouts when he is drinking and that's when it happens."
By the time he left the Dycks in his mid-teens, Tom was "shacking up"
with a series of girlfriends. The focus of all the relationships was
alcohol, and they were frequently volatile.
He said he fathered his first child, a girl, at about 16. He saw the
baby briefly at the hospital, but said the mother moved to Calgary.
He doesn't even know his daughter's name.
A couple of years later, he said, he fathered his second baby -- a
boy he named Steven. He doesn't remember the mother's name.
His third child to yet another woman was a boy, also named Steven.
"Steven I knew how to spell, so that's why I picked the name," Tom
explained.
Exactly how many babies Tom has fathered isn't clear. He has told
different stories to lawyers and psychiatrists -- ranging from two to
six.
Tom's first assault conviction came in April 1985 after he broke into
the home of a former Vanderhoof teacher with whom he had become
infatuated. The victim would later testify in court that he climbed
in her living-room window, grabbed her and began choking her before
she fought him off. Tom was sentenced to serve seven months at the
Hudta Lake Forestry Camp.
After that incident, Tom's aggression continued to escalate. He has
since been described in court as hating women.
Tom told The Sun his relationship with the mother of his third child
was particularly explosive. But he believes the woman was always
falsely accusing him of being abusive, though he admits to throwing
beer bottles at her.
"Even the RCMP in Prince George said: 'You guys have got to break up.
We are getting calls from you left and right. It seems that every
weekend we are getting calls to the apartment or in town or
something. One of these days either she is going to kill you or you
are going to kill her,' " Tom recalled.
They did break up and he moved in with Pauline Gillis.
Tom was convicted in 1989 of aggravated assault after police were
called to a Prince George home and found Gillis had been stabbed in
the neck with a 12-inch butcher knife. Tom was drunk, and the couple
had argued over his welfare money when Gillis was attacked and
told: "You're dead, bud," court documents say.
But Tom says the couple had been fighting over Gillis' care of her
baby girl. He remembers leaving her apartment to go drinking, but
said he does not recall what happened when he came back about 5 a.m.
"I got charged for stabbing her on the side with a knife. In the
neck. That is what really discourages me sometimes, how that went
down. All those years, like I didn't want to be like my dad," Tom
said.
He insists he cannot recall the attack, but said police showed him a
photo of Gillis' bloody wound. "It scared me more than anything else.
How could that happen? How could I let it go that far?"
His four-year sentence for the aggravated assault of Gillis put Tom
in the federal prison system and brought him to the Lower Mainland.
He was released on parole four times -- each time violating his
probation by returning to the Downtown Eastside, where he had women
friends and drinking buddies. And each time he was sent back to jail.
But on July 30, 1993, his sentence expired and he had to be released -
- despite concerns raised by the parole board.
A decision written seven days before he was freed said: "You remain a
risk to re-offend while on any form of release. It is noted with
regret you will re-enter the community. . . . One can only hope some
of the institutional programs will be of some benefit, and allow you
to function as a law-abiding citizen."
Tom said he intended to return to the North where he had another
girlfriend waiting for him.
But first he was supposed to complete the Salvation Army's detox
program in the Downtown Eastside. Once he got to the neighbourhood,
Tom's craving lured him to the booze that had controlled his entire
life.
Tom claims to have no memory of the days that followed, or the
rampage that has landed him in prison, possibly for the rest of his
life.
"I told one of my friends I am going out on a big binge before I
leave Vancouver," he recalled. "But they were trying to say stuff
like: 'You should go back home. That is where you belong.' "
Twice in the first 24 hours since his release from prison, he was
thrown into the Vancouver Detox Centre. And in between those visits,
Lisa Lynn McLaren was murdered.
Asked if he remembers McLaren, Tom repeated what he said during his
1995 murder trial: "I didn't even know who she was until in court ...
they showed me a photo and said: 'Do you recall seeing her?' and I
said, 'No. Who is that?' "
He can't explain why he went into the police station and said he knew
where a body was. He can't explain the blood all over him. He can't
explain why he was wearing McLaren's running shoes. He can't explain
his DNA being inside the victim.
"That is something that plays in my mind sometimes," Tom said of all
the unanswered questions.
He has almost convinced himself of his lawyer's suggestion that maybe
someone else was there when McLaren was killed.
"To be honest with you, I am not really sure myself about it. It is
like being in another world without even realizing it," Tom
said. "I'm not too aware of my surroundings or who I am with or who I
am drinking with or whatever because to me I will drink with anybody."
Whether a blackout or denial has clouded Tom's memory, he
acknowledges he probably did do something horrendous -- something he
does not like to think about.
"If I took this person's life, and these are only my words, they
should take me out and hang me. To me, I don't know if I can handle
it."
The Sun attempted to contact McLaren's family through Crown counsel
but was unsuccessful.
Although he was tried for first-degree murder in McLaren's death, a
jury convicted Tom of manslaughter because he was so drunk.
But Judge Donald Brenner still declared him a dangerous offender and
handed him an indefinite sentence.
"The circumstances of Lisa McLaren's death, in particular the severe
nature of her injuries, were of such a brutal nature as to compel the
conclusion that Mr. Tom's behaviour in the future is unlikely to be
inhibited by normal standards of behavioural restraint," Brenner said.
While he said Tom has shown signs of trying to rehabilitate himself,
Brenner concluded the man "is likely to violently reoffend."
Tom's defence lawyer Jim Hogan had earlier argued his client didn't
ask for his start in life -- much the same way his victims didn't
choose their backgrounds.
"[The complainants are] inadequate to some degree as far as their
addictions and prostitution and cocaine and street life,
unemployment, everything that may not be their fault -- and that
leads me right into Marvin," Hogan said to the jury.
"I am not asking you to have sympathy and, therefore, relieve him of
his responsibilities . . . what I am asking you is to understand and
not condemn him for what he is . . . Marvin Tom did not ask for any
of his inadequacies. He was born with them or they were bred into
him."
Judge Michael Catliff, who presided over the sex-assault trial, said
he understood Tom's "unfortunate early history," but said the
offender should be kept "out of harm's way" for as long as the law
would allow. "This man is a ticking bomb who will explode as soon as
he is released from custody," Catliff said.
Quoting from a psychiatrist's report, Catliff noted Tom was "a very
unfortunate and pathetic man who is really grossly lacking in the
psychological resources necessary to manage in the world or handle
his own problems. He is clearly someone who can at best lurch and
stumble through life."
But Tom also has his supporters. Todd Cassidy, a Corrections
counsellor who works with some of B.C.'s most troubled federal
inmates, believes Tom could be rehabilitated if the prison system
offered better programs -- both for his mental health problems and
his alcohol addiction.
Cassidy is not necessarily advocating that Tom could one day be
released, but that his quality of life in prison could be more
productive if he were given the help he needs to heal -- and perhaps
the opportunity to pass his story along to other troubled native
youths.
"He does have flashes of brilliance, good ideas of straightening out
his life and working with youth so they don't have to go through what
he goes through. He is trying to change."
In the 2 1/2 years Cassidy has worked with Tom, he said the inmate
has shown no signs of violence to anyone but himself. He said Tom is
in a segregated unit in Kent, not because he has attacked other
prisoners, but because he has been a victim of such assaults while
incarcerated.
"He's like a child who people can lead," said Cassidy, a former
inmate who served a total of 27 years in jail but has been working
with prisoners ever since his release in 1983. "He hasn't progressed
past about 10 years old emotionally."
Tom says he doesn't want to use alcohol as an excuse for whatever he
has done.
But he can't say if he could quit drinking if allowed out on bail. He
talks about going to a treatment program in Nanaimo. He mentions an
article a friend read about surgery that can stop the cravings. There
is also medication he hopes to take months before being released.
But there are no guarantees.
Tom hinted that alcohol was available behind prison walls, though he
claimed not to be drinking. A parole board report said he had got
into trouble in prison and may be involved in the drug sub-culture
behind bars, something Tom denied to The Sun.
Throughout Tom's interview with two reporters in Kent's nondescript,
internal court room, a prison guard remained nearby and was able to
hear everything.
At the very least, Tom said he finally realizes he is an alcoholic.
And that drinking makes him uncontrollably violent.
"I am starting to see more what other people are saying," he said. "I
don't joke about alcohol any more either. I gave that up. To me it's
like if you joke about it, you are still into it. The one thing I
have to deal with is my alcohol. That is the main key to all the
issues is the alcohol. That is my biggest downfall, when I go
drinking."
Tom has been in prison, with the exception of a few drunken days, for
more than a decade, and does not know when -- or if -- he'll ever get
out.
His last parole decision referred to him as a moderate psychopath,
with "possible organic brain impairment, impaired intelligence,
depression and suicidal tendencies, anger and violence, sexual
deviance and a personality disorder with inadequate, dependent,
immature, borderline and anti-social features."
At his dangerous offender's hearing in 1996, a forensic psychiatrist
said Tom has a vicious hostility toward women -- something Tom denies
is true.
"It is something I am not really aware of," he said.
Asked about his history of assaulting women, Tom seemed incapable of
seeing a pattern of violence. He tried to separate his actions from
the charges of which he is convicted.
"That boils back down to what I have been charged with. Legally, the
courts look at it as what was all done, or what harm was done.
There's a sense that I've been labelled basically by what goes down
on my files," he said.
But in the 1995 sentencing hearing for the manslaughter conviction,
Judge Brenner noted Tom has an established pattern of
behaviour. "These attacks indicate Mr. Tom's substantial hostility
towards women."
Nonetheless, Tom argues he has always been friendly to prostitutes
when they met in bars or when he passed them on street corners. "I
guess people look at them as the lowest of the lowest, but they are
human themselves. You've got to do what you've got to do. Who am I to
judge another person by what they do?"
Even though he said he is still not sure what happened during those
horrific four days in the summer of 1993, he does want to apologize
to McLaren's family.
"I regret what has happened to her and I know how it feels to lose
somebody who's really important to them. If there was anything I
could do to change things around, I would," he said.
"It shouldn't have happened the way it happened. If I could change
lives with her, I would in a heartbeat. I wish there was something I
could do to bring her back."
And for the other two women he was convicted of sexually assaulting,
Tom also offered an apology.
"I regret putting them through the terror and the misery. It is
something I don't want anyone more to go through. I regret the whole
situation from the beginning, from day one. It is the biggest mistake
of my life."
© Copyright 2001 Vancouver Sun
Courtesy of The Vancouver sun
Link: http://www.canada.com
-reano