Not even after Duncan’s body was found fourteen years later were they given an honest account of how he had died. No authority supervised the recovery of his corpse, and even though it lay for an entire week in one of the world’s most advanced institutes of forensic medicine, his parents weren’t told the cause of his death.
Against all of this obfuscation, we have fought back. After our meeting at Dick Penniman’s house in September 2010, I continued researching the story for another year. Much of what I found confirmed what Lynda and Bob had long suspected but couldn’t be sure about. Working together with them, comparing their thoughts and notes with mine, we assembled an ever clearer picture. Questions that had long plagued them were answered, at least with a high degree of probability. The closer we got to a comprehensive understanding of their ordeal, the less burdened they felt by it.
Lynda became more lighthearted and quicker to laugh at the ludicrous parts of the story. One day she told me she’d been going through Duncan’s old photos and letters, and was finding it interesting instead of painful. She also found herself dwelling less on the lousy public officials she’d encountered, and giving more thought to the good people who’d done their best to help. Even the disappointing characters seemed more comprehensible to her.
At a two-year reunion dinner in Saskatoon, we again fell into a conversation about why, in certain situations, people find it so hard to tell the truth. Lynda had become, it seemed to me, far less dogmatic than she’d been at our first meeting.
“I guess there are a lot of people out there whose lives are dominated by fear on the one hand and craving for something better on the other,” she said. “And when they find themselves in a story like this, they don’t know how to do the right thing.”
It was a profound statement, and it went to the heart of human affairs. Most of us go through life trying to avoid conflict, even if it requires tolerating bad behavior. We don’t want any trouble, and we don’t want to rock the boat. If we hear about an injustice happening to others, we often fear the potentially negative consequences if we get involved, and we therefore choose to stay out of it.
“You may think I’m boasting, John,” Lynda continued. “But I’m not afraid of anyone.”
“It’s true,” Bob said. “Once Duncan warned her about being too confrontational with people. ‘Don’t forget that you are a tiny woman,’ he told her.”
“And I told him that size doesn’t make the man,” Lynda said.
The conversation reminded me of a thought I’d been turning over in my mind for a few years—namely, that courage is the chief virtue from which all others spring. Doing the right thing often starts with having the guts to do the right thing.
If there is redemption in the MacPhersons’ story, it is from their own fortitude. They did everything possible to find their child, and through terrible frustration they stuck together and refused to let their marriage become an additional casualty. In the face of endless deception, they persevered in their quest for the truth, and ultimately exposed public officials for accommodating powerful interests instead of enforcing the law. Treated with a long train of shabby behavior, they never yielded to the temptation of hate or cynicism. Tricked and manipulated, they remained honest. Encountering all that is lamentable about human nature, they responded with all that is best about it.
Appendices and Illustrations
Appendix 1: Physical Evidence
Duncan’s wallet, two of the cards inside his wallet, the left side of his left heel, his snowboard bindings, his left boot liner, and his snowboard all display marks made by a cutting instrument of approximately the same size and shape as grooming tiller tines.