Suspicion | The Billionaire Murders: The hunt for the killers of Honey and Barry Sherman - S3 40 Years Cold | E1 The Victims

Episode Date: June 17, 2024

Susan Tice and Erin Gilmour were living separate lives. One, a newly divorced mom of four; the other, in her early 20s with a love of fashion and her life ahead of her. Then something horrific and fatal happened to both of them, something odd to unite them in their death. With no firm leads, the families were left to grieve in utter confusion. The cases went cold, for four decades. This episode discusses sexual assault and murder. If you’re impacted by any of our themes, you can reach out to the Canadian Association of Sexual Assault Centres at casac.ca to help you find a centre close to where you live. Toronto Star subscribers will also get exclusive early access to all episodes on June 17. Non subscribers will get new episodes each Monday. If you are not a Star subscriber, please visit thestar.com/subscribe. Suspicion seasons 1 and 2, ”Death in a Small Town” and “The Billionaire Murders: The hunt for the killers of Honey and Barry Sherman,” were hosted by Kevin Donovan and are available in this feed.  Audio sources: CityTV, YouTube, Retro Ontario

This podcast contains descriptions of sexual violence, murder, and the mistreatment and sexual exploitation of youth. If you're impacted by the themes of this episode, we have resources in our show notes. I woke up to my mom sitting on my bed. And I said, what happened? happened and she said it's Aaron and she says she's she's been killed and and I just remember sort of Yeah, I just, I sort of, um, remember just yelling. Literally like yelling, no. And then I reached over and punched a hole in the wall. It was 1983. Canada was at the beginning of a steady rise in crime that would see violence

levels peak across North America within a decade. In Toronto, police were grappling with an alarming 50% rise in bank robberies over the previous year, and they had their hands full investigating a series of mysterious, unsolved killings. Two of those cases, the sexual assaults and murders of two women in their own homes, baffled police for decades. The investigation took them from the Toronto neighbourhoods of Yorkville and Little Italy, all the way to some of the coldest regions of the Canadian North. I'm Toronto Star crime reporter Wendy Gillis.

And I'm Toronto Star court reporter, Betsy Powell. And in this series, we'll take you through the harrowing story of two women's final moments at the hands of a rapist and murderer, layers of intergenerational trauma, and how new science changed the way police close in on a killer. From the Toronto Star, this is 40 Years Cold. Episode 1, The Victims. Toronto 1983, The People City. Toronto was growing into a new version of itself. The country was still grappling with skyrocketing interest rates and high unemployment, a hangover from the 70s.

But for Toronto, 1983 was the start of a massive boom as money and people from the rest of Canada and around the world flooded into what was becoming the undisputed hub of the entire nation. That's People's City in Toronto. Guests of Enterprise stay right in the heart of Toronto's thriving business section at the magnificent King Edward Hotel, Toronto's finest. This figures to be the best Blue Jay season ever, this season of 1983. [♪upbeat music playing on radio and radio Susan Tice was kind of everybody's mom, or at least her warm energy made all her kids' friends, who were constantly buzzing around the Tice House feel taken care of. Sue, as most knew her, had wanted a big family. She met her husband, Fred, after moving to Hamilton from

her hometown of Owen Sound on the shores of Ontario's Georgian Bay. And before long, the couple had four kids, Ben, Jason, Jonathan, and Christian. Jason and Christian were adopted. It was an openly discussed fact that made both children feel wanted. Sue's love of the outdoors meant the family spent summers camping under the stars and canoe-tripping. But Sue also encouraged her kids to find their own interests. For Christian, the family's introvert, it meant giving her a nudge out the door. So she would put me in like judo, art class,

baseball, song, or music camp. Man, like when I was in grade five, she put me in the music camp. So I think she was really trying, like as a parent, really helping me get out there and have all these experiences and and even though at the time I absolutely hated it I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world and I respect her so much for having that knowledge to do that. Like my younger brother was really very extroverted and artistic so she looked

up like art schools for him because he thought he might want to be an actor. So that was her. So I think she's probably our biggest cheerleader. And Sue was also much more than a mom. She started her own family counseling practice and went back to university in her 40s to get a master of social work. She was learning hypnosis treatments to help people quit bad habits and tested them out by using her kids as guinea pigs. She had a tight circle of girlfriends who she stayed close to even after Fred landed a new role at an investment firm. The job had meant uprooting the family from Toronto to Calgary.

Among her closest friends was Anne Chisholm. The girls had instantly clicked when they met at camp. Chizzy, as Sue called her, remembered being drawn to Sue, the outgoing girl in Bermuda shorts, a classic preppy style Sue kept all her life. A few months ago, when I cold called Anne while reporting this podcast, I asked if she was the Anne who knew Susan Tice. She paused and said, I'm looking right at her. Chiszie keeps a framed photo from that summer prominently displayed in her home. In it, the girls are keeled over in laughter and Sue is wearing a silly straw

hat. That picture is, um, that's us, that's us. She's part of my life in that way. I can still hear her laugh. She has a very distinctive laugh. She was a great girl. By 1983, Sue needed to lean on friends more than ever. The move to Calgary put a strain on Sue and Fred's relationship. Eventually, they sat their kids down with big news. The family was moving back to Toronto, and Sue and Fred were separating. To Christian, who was 16, the separation wasn't a surprise. Her parents hadn't been getting along for a while. After the split, her mother kept her usual bubbly, positive demeanor, while Christian

noticed troubling changes in her father. She quietly resolved to live with her mom back in Toronto. This is kind of when I started not liking my father. He was very bitter because she kept it together. Like even though they were like separating, she still did the parties together. And people were like, look, because I think my dad started telling everybody that they were separating and it got back to her that they were awful to her. They're like, why are you here?

And what do you like? Because my dad presented, you know, the victim thing. And that's one of the things that I didn't like about my father was that he, he was a very charismatic man, but he could also really play loose with the truth. My mom was there to support him and yet he didn't appreciate that. She still talked fondly of him, whereas he wasn't as generous. In July of 1983, Susan packed up her Calgary life and bought a charming two-story home on tree-lined Grace Street in the heart of Toronto's Little Italy.

She was 45, newly single, and ready for a new chapter. She was happy. She was happy to be out. Oh no. She was ready to get me out. Oh no. She was ready to launch. Really. After the shock of the whole stall, there is a wonderful freedom. In a remarkable coincidence, Anne was also separating from her husband and moving back

to Toronto from away. The two friends were thrilled to be reunited and starting their new lives together. Chisholm's daughter, Allie, remembers Sue coming over to their midtown Toronto home that summer. We had the kitchen cabinets that weren't installed yet in the living room and Sue came over, this is on our house in Cranbrook, and she had her feet up on the kitchen cabinets that weren't yet installed and she said, Chissy, we've got our lives ahead of us. We'll be right back. As I started going into puberty, like teenage years, that was a time when we were becoming

closer. I became very much, I think, well, I don't want to say a mama's girl, but I just didn't, I stayed home and I'd rather hang out with my mom. And so, because we did our thing, we had our like, um, our lunches, which was like the Caesar salad. She would go fishing with me or she, she's the one that taught me how to drive. And if I had to do something, she was the one that always made sure like I knew what

I was doing. Like for example, like to apply for, um, there was a couple of camps that had leadership programs. So she was the one that was really like, okay, I'm going to drive you. Before moving back to Toronto, Sue dropped Christian off in Alberta's Cananascus Mountain Range for wilderness camp. They waved goodbye, then traded letters that summer. In one dated August 9th, 1983, Sue told Christian she'd gone sailing and was making plans to spruce up her home with a new coat of paint, that she was happily settling in to her new Toronto life. The letter was filled with exclamation marks.

Every day is a parade at the CNE, and you can even try keeping in step. What's a visit to the X without a stroll down the midway? Yay, it's getting eggs! Thanks, come on! You can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it,

you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it, On a weekend in mid-August, Sue strapped a canoe to the roof of her blue Pontiac with Alberta plates and drove to see family back near Owen Sound. Then she was due back at her sister Nan's place in Brampton that Monday night. She was going over for dinner. But she never showed. Nan called over that night, then again on Tuesday.

No one answered. So on Wednesday, Nan's husband Bob drove through the house on Grace Street. It was just after 11 a.m. when he arrived at the two-story brick home among a line of upscale row houses that are typical of Little Italy, set back and looming above the street. He climbed the steep stairs to her front door and knocked. No one came. He peeked through the mail slot and was alarmed to see letters piled up on the ground. He went around to the back of the home looking for another way in. There he found the back door ajar.

He ventured inside. Calling out Sue's name, he walked through the main floor of her home, a space she was in the midst of making her own. Still quiet, still with no response, he moved towards the wooden staircase and walked up to the second floor. It was as he approached Sue's bedroom that he made a horrifying discovery. Sue was lying on the floor next to her bed. She was naked, covered with a blanket. The room was a complete mess. The mattress and carpet were soaked in blood.

Then, in the midst of this traumatic discovery, the phone rang. So I'm at camp, and we had just been canoeing, and this is really freaky, but I was like, I gotta call my mom, I gotta call my mom. And that whole weekend, it's like, you're on my head.

And as soon as we got back in and I got to a phone, I called and who am I calling? My mom, and it's my uncle that picks up as he's finding her body. So I didn't recognize his voice, and I'm like, because there was a clock call, and he goes, no, you won't accept the charges. And I'm like, who the hell is this?

How dare you not accept? Like, I want to talk to my mom. Sue had been stabbed 13 times, and she had injuries that indicated she'd tried to defend herself. A forensic examination found semen on Tice's body. She'd been raped. As police swarmed Tice's home in Toronto, three provinces away,

Christian's eldest brother Ben drove to her camp to give her the news in person. And I remember I walked in and I could see him and I knew instantly something was wrong. He said, Mom died this afternoon and then, blank. I don't know what happened after that. I remember just instantly bawling. Toronto Police launched an immediate investigation. They canvassed neighbours, learning that one had heard a commotion, but dismissed it as a dream.

In the days after the murder, Chisholm accompanied Fred, Sue's husband, inside the home to get Sue's valuables before the cleaners came. And that was not a nice trip. You know, oh, it was awful. Yeah. And Fred said, only the walls could talk. There were various police theories. As the Toronto Star reported, investigators were, quote,

grappling with puzzling circumstances. There had been no sign of forced entry. Sue's purse, antiques, and her valuable Seville wristwatch, they were all left untouched. An early theory was that she may have picked up a hitchhiker on her drive back from Owen Sound. By October, police had announced a $50,000 reward in a slaying they called mystifying. Meanwhile, Christian was conducting her own investigation.

She was now back in Toronto, living with her dad, but the once close Tice family was rapidly drifting apart, isolated in their grief. That fall, Christian started almost compulsively hopping on the subway to her mom's now empty home, entering with a spare key and spending hours just going from floor to floor searching for clues. And so a lot of times I'd walk up and down the stairs and I was trying to figure out how it happened or just I don't know just that it was I maybe was to be closer to her just to be

surrounded by her things and you know the the sadness of what if kind of thing. And, you know, I would just sit in her bedroom and kind of grieve, I guess, and feel the house. I was really trying to figure out the house and the sounds it made and like why she couldn't run. So you're trying to think of, okay, who would do that? So who would cross paths? So clients or, you know, one of the utility people. But that was like the biggest mysteries, like who could have done it and how? Like how would they know she was on her own? We'll be right back. The merriest Christmases start at Simpson's.

Simpson's has it. Christmas, 1983. The tree was up inside the McCowan home and the family was getting ready to celebrate the holidays. 13-year-old Sean and 11-year-old Kaylin were excited to spend some time with their older sister, Erin Gilmore. Erin was the epitome of the cool older sister. She was 22 and from their mom Anna's first marriage to David Gilmore. It was a name well

known in Canada's business world. David was the business partner of tycoon Peter Monk, the co-founder of mining company Barrick Gold. Erin was dating Peter's son, Anthony. of mining company Barrick Gold. Erin was dating Peter's son, Anthony. She adored her kid brothers and they loved her. Everyone did, Sean remembers. She would walk into a room and everyone would sort of gravitate towards her because she was this blonde haired beauty

who always had something to say as well. And she was extremely friendly, was always surrounded by a group of very close friends and had the ability to sort of make fun out of nothing. So it was a great environment to be around and there were so many occasions where I remember being sort of dragged out by her to sort of hang out with her and her friends and whether it was be a trip to the beaches or going to a movie or taking me to a restaurant or whatever, it was just, she just always wanted to create something out of nothing

and make a lot of fun for those around her, including her kid brothers. It had been a big year for Erin. She'd flown the nest, moved into her own apartment in Toronto's chic Yorkville neighborhood. Conveniently, her place was above the women's clothing store where she worked, testing out a budding interest in fashion. Just under a week before Christmas, she'd carved out time between parties and shopping

to hang with her brothers in her new place. She always wanted to make sure that we were doing something. It was six days before Christmas and she wanted to sort of see us and she had a bit of a schedule with parties, et cetera. And so we went down and stayed with her the night before and watched movies and literally hung out. And then the next morning, the morning of the 20th, Kaylin and I got up and I was going to go to Christmas shopping. So I sort of stayed in the Yorkville area just to sort of go peruse some shops etc. and buy some last-minute stuff for a 13 year old. And Kaylin got a lift home from Erin.

And that was the last time I saw her that morning. Later that day, Erin worked a shift at the clothing store downstairs. She closed up shop around 8 45 p.m. She had to rush a little. Anthony, her boyfriend, was picking her up to go out. Then, just minutes after she arrived home, a man broke into Erin's apartment and violently attacked her. He placed a black band on Erin's mouth, gagging her. He bound her hands behind her back. And he stabbed her twice in the chest.

The killer then fled, leaving Erin naked from the waist down, except for yellow socks. Seaman later found on her body confirmed she'd been raped. Retired Toronto police officer Gary Ellis was one of the investigating officers. What we had heard was the boyfriend and her had a date. Anthony Monk was to pick her up. He arrived and the door to her upstairs flat was ajar, which he thought was very strange. He went in, called out, didn't see her, went up, stared, looked around, didn't see her, came back down. I believe he called her mother or something to find out where she was, went back up and actually

found her in the bed underneath a very thick duvet. And he called the police. Anthony thought it was a suicide. Emergency. Emergency. Please, please come as soon as possible to 37 Hazleton Avenue. What's the problem? Someone's committed suicide. Who on earth has this person used? I'm not sure. I don't even know what. Please get over here. I'm asking you, did they have a weapon or did they overdose?

I don't know. I don't know. Please. The police arrived. So they did first aid, which messed up the scene. That created some problems later. But, you know, they had to choose. And they chose to try to revive her because there's possibility of life, but she was dead.

I woke up to my mom sitting on my bed, and she sort of like was giving me a bit of a shake. And I woke up and there was just like a, I don't know, there's gotta be five or six people in the room. I don't know. I looked up and my stepdad, my now stepdad was there. You know, the local priest from our church was there, even though we weren't a very religious

family, but he was there. And my mom sort of woke me up and I was like, what, you know, what's going on? And she said, there's been a terrible accident. And yeah, that's how she phrased it, sort of terrible accident. And I said, what happened? And she said,'s been a terrible accident and yeah, that's how she phrased it. So terrible accident. And I said, what happened? And she said, it's Aaron. And, and she says she's, she's been killed. And, and I just remember sort of, um, yeah.

And I just, I sort of, um, remember just yelling, um, like literally like yelling, no. Sorry. Yeah. Yeah, I remember like sort of yelling no and then I literally reached over and punched a hole in the wall. And it sort of stayed there for a while. You know that hole stayed there for, God I want to say, at least six months, maybe a year before sort of it was fixed. And I think just, I'm sure that my mom wanted to fix it day one, but I'm sure she got some

people telling her just to sort of leave it there for a little bit. Toronto police threw tons of cops at the case and pursued various theories. That Erin had opened the door to her killer, expecting her boyfriend. That the attacker was a man who'd made obscene threats to Erin over the phone. They figured robbery wasn't a motive. Erin was found wearing her diamond ring, diamond earrings, and gold wristwatch. They had zero suspects.

Because Erin had a party at her home a few weeks before, police even did the painstaking work of interviewing and fingerprinting guests, hoping to isolate the perpetrator's prints in her apartment. We were going to do everything we could to solve that case. I mean, it never left me when we're working. We worked very, very hard, long, long hours, and we thought it was going to be solved, but we didn't know how. I solved that case 20 times in the first week. Must be him, must be him, must be him.

Do you remember any of those cases? Yeah, I do. Give a couple examples. Yeah. There was somebody who was very close to her. And in our questioning, I just, they didn't act normal. But I didn't know what normal was. I've now done a lot of work in behavioral and people under stress act differently.

You can't judge. So I thought, ah, this person must've done something. You know, they're very extra nervous. Asked questions. They really revealed personal thoughts they had about Aaron that might've been inappropriate. Um, I started to squeeze them a little bit. They threw up. Uh, and I thought, okay, this guy did it.

If I saw him today, I'd apologize to him. But I didn't know. The number in my head, about 700 people we talked to, that it was getting very frustrating and almost desperate. Like, what more can we do? Erin's death shattered her family. Her mother still tried to have Christmas that year for her boys. Her mother still tried to have Christmas that year for her boys. Aaron had left gifts under the family tree. Sean opened them, crying. As time went on, he voraciously read the news, eager for any update. I couldn't get my hands on enough newspapers.

I remember reading the Star. I remember reading. I was just literally trying to find out. He didn't really want to ask too many questions of my mom who was going through a lot then too. It was just very, very difficult for her obviously. But at the same time, I was just starved for information, like what the hell has just happened. Very hurt, very confused about how does this happen in Yorkville? How does this happen to my sister? And at the same time, just trying to figure out what was going to happen next.

You sort of assume that the police would make an arrest in short order and this is going to be solved quickly and they will catch the SOB that's done this, right? For what reason did this happen? Like nobody could figure out why. For the families of Susan Tice and Aaron Gilmore, 1983 brought unthinkable tragedy and confounding questions. Then the year closed, no answers. Same with 1984, 1985, 86, 87, and on and on and on. Police continued to investigate, but the cases turned cold.

For decades. We always held out hope that something would happen. But, you know know as decades go by it's kind of hard to hold on to it. The sad thing is we suspected my father because nine times out of ten it's you know the spouse and I saw like the anger, the alcohol. I didn't think it was my dad until a few years later, I thought maybe he hired somebody because I saw an anger in him that was not normal. For me, I was like, wow, you could have done it.

What's remarkable now, looking back, is that in the earliest hours after Erin Gilmore's murder, investigators made the explicit link to Tice. Take this line from the front page of the Toronto Star on December 21, 1983, the day after Erin's death. Quote, police likened the slaying to the still-unsolved murder of Susan Tice. As in the Gilmore killing,

Tice was stabbed to death in her bedroom. Now, this is notable because after this, no official connection was made between these cases. For two decades. Detectives investigated them separately, though police long suspected there could be a connection. As Gary Ellis explains, the cases had undeniable similarities.

Looking at it, you have two women murdered in their home. There's a sexual assault involved. The method of death is similar with a knife. You got to take a really close look at that. But in the year 2000, police investigations across the country took a massive step forward, with the creation of Canada's National DNA Data Bank. That bank, which is maintained by the RCMP, stores genetic material from unsolved cases and from every offender convicted of serious crimes, like sexual assault or murder. It's designed to automatically detect links across the country

between a criminal and a crime. But in the Tyson-Gilmore case, it made a forensic link of a different sort. The semen sample investigators had preserved from the Tice crime scene and the semen sample from Gilmour's, they were from the same man. Suddenly, the murders were no longer isolated. They were the work of a repeat rapist and killer.

It completely changed how police and families thought about what happened. And then once the connection with Susan Tice was made, and there was such a different victimology between them, in terms of their lives, in terms of their paths, I think Susan Tice had come from Calgary, and it just sort of, it made it seem like there probably wasn't someone in her circle or whatever. It made it seem like it was just something really off the beaten path. The victimology from both of them were so different. When they

connected the two DNA, they tried to say, well she was out going to the bars the same as Erin. I'm like, no, she's 40. She was 40. Like my mom was so focused on trying to find a job, hooking up with her friends again. That's why I'm like, no, she's 40, she was 40. Like my mom was so focused on trying to find a job, cooking up with her friends again. That's why I'm like so befuddled of how the hell this happened. These victims, they didn't have much in common. One was a 45-year-old newly single mother of four. The other was a 22-year-old woman from a well-off family who was just starting her life.

So while the DNA link was a new lead, it didn't get police very far. And what they found out eventually was it couldn't. Because perhaps even more terrifying than a motive that would connect the two murders was that there was no connection. At all. Susan and Erin had no friends or even acquaintances in common. They didn't go to the same parties or have the same networks or even go jogging in the same park.

Only one thing connected them. Or rather, one person. In 1983, one man committed two rapes, two murders. Then he left Toronto, fleeing really far north to one of the most remote communities in Ontario. There, he settled into a life on the land. He hunted, he trapped, he fished. He got married.

He had a son. He lived a quiet, simple life. And for nearly 40 years, he never told a soul about what he did. This episode of 40 Years Cold was written by me, your host, Wendy Gillis, and Julia De Laurentiis Johnston. Julia produced this series along with Sean Patten-Din. Sean also wrote our theme music and mixed the show. Our executive producer is JP Fozo. Special thanks to my co-host, Betsy Powell, as well as editors Ed Tubb, Doug Cudmore, and Grant Ellis. And to the stars librarians, Astrid Lang and Rick Schneider.