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Winnipeg Free Press - PRINT EDITION

Book chronicles father's struggle

By: Staff Writer

Posted: 02/26/2009 1:00 AM | Comments: 0 (including replies)

JAMES Kostelniuk chronicled the murders of his two children and ex-wife in his book Wolves Among Sheep: The true story of murder in a Jehovah's Witness community, which was published in 2000 by HarperCollins.

He began corresponding with their killer, Jeff Anderson, in 1987 in an attempt to better understand what happened. A few years later, Kostelniuk ended what he called a "restorative justice" relationship because he could no longer trust anything Anderson told him and the story became "too sad to bear."

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Here is an excerpt from the book, in which Kostelniuk recalls finding out about the murders:

I was at home with my wife, Marge, when the RCMP officer arrived. My mind raced frantically through all the possible reasons for his visit. He was dressed in plain clothes, and I guessed by his demeanour that this was not a routine call. I remember thinking that he didn't look the way you'd expect a policeman to look -- that is, calm and impersonal. In fact, he appeared very nervous.

The officer looked as if he needed something solid to sit on, and I offered him a seat at the kitchen table. He took the chair gingerly, as though it might break. Looking down, he paused for what seemed like a very long time. I heard the piece of paper he had taken from his pocket rattle in his hands, and it was only then that I noticed he was shaking. I thought, "Something terrible has happened." Then I realized I, too, was trembling.

Finally the words came. "Are you the father of Juri and Lindsay Kostelniuk?" I braced myself and told him that I was.

"I'm sorry to inform you that they and their mother, Kim Anderson, were murdered in Burnaby, British Columbia, at about 12:30 p.m. today. Jeff Anderson, Kim's husband, is in police custody." The room careened, and a wave of nausea swept through me. I felt fragmented, as if a part of me were watching from every corner of the room.

"How... did they die?" I managed to ask. "What kind of weapon?"

The officer looked down at his piece of paper and cleared his throat. "It was a shotgun murder, sir."

Another wave of nausea. I held my stomach and doubled over in agony. "A shotgun?" Marge's voice rose with emotion. "Why the children?" she cried. "What did they do... ? Why . . . ?"

The officer grimaced and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I'm sorry," he said. "That's all the information I have."

What could he say? What could anyone say?

That day -- August 29, 1985 -- would mark the end of my life as I had known it, and the beginning of unthinkable anguish and unending heartache. It would also mark the beginning of a relentless quest for answers that would force me to examine the darkest corners of human experience.

Republished from the Winnipeg Free Press print edition February 26, 2009 A5

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