Robert Mailman has a problem he never thought he’d have. He has to buy Christmas presents this year.
The 76-year-old was exonerated on Jan. 4 of a 1983 murder for which he and his friend Walter Gillespie served lengthy prison terms. At the time, his legal team said he had been diagnosed with terminal liver cancer and been given only months to live.
Nearly a year after New Brunswick Court of King’s Bench Chief Justice Tracey DeWare proclaimed him and Gillespie innocent, Mailman continues to defy death. But he says he has been robbed of the joys of life and in some ways feels he’s still behind bars.
DeWare’s ruling came after federal Justice Minister Arif Virani ordered a new trial on Dec. 22, 2023, saying evidence had surfaced that called into question “the overall fairness” of the process that led to the convictions.
In February, the two men reached an undisclosed settlement with the New Brunswick government, but less than two months later, Gillespie died at the age of 80.
It was Mailman who thought he wouldn’t make it through the year after doctors delivered what he calls a “death sentence” in November 2023. “I spent 18 years in prison, 24 years on very strict parole, and I was exonerated,” he said last week in an interview in his apartment in Saint John, N.B. “I came home … and was put on death row.”
There are signs in the one-bedroom apartment that he is gravely ill and is preparing for death. His refrigerator is filled with high-calorie vanilla-flavoured supplements, along with diluted fruit juice, the only nourishment he can tolerate. On a table in the hallway is a large white envelope with the words “Funeral Arrangements.” He also has an urn picked out for his ashes.
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But before he dies, he wants to see the outcome of a “comprehensive review” that Saint John police Chief Robert Bruce ordered in January into the force’s investigation of Gillespie and Mailman. A written submission presented to the court in January by Innocence Canada, which led the two men’s legal battle, alleged “police tunnel vision,” non-disclosure of important evidence, recantations by the two key Crown witnesses,” as well as a disregard for the men’s strong alibis.
Mailman is not alone in wanting answers. Premier Susan Holt said in an interview this month she wants to know more about the police investigation.
“Where is the report? Is it complete? What were their findings?” she asked. “Because certainly (Gillespie and Mailman’s) experience having been wrongfully convicted, and for that long, really, it would be devastating. We don’t want anybody else to have to experience that. So we need to learn from the times we’ve got it wrong.”
When it was announced, no date was given for the review’s completion, and on Wednesday, Staff Sgt. Matt Weir, a Saint John police spokesman, said he had no details to provide.
Mailman appreciates that DeWare declared their case a miscarriage of justice, but he doesn’t expect to get an apology from the police. “I’m trying to be a Christian now,” he said. “So (the police) didn’t apologize to me, but I want them to know that I forgive them, and that’s sincere.”
He doesn’t know how to sum up the year since his acquittal. There are days when he still feels he’s behind the bars of his prison cell, he said. “I can touch them,” he said, clenching his fists as if around steel bars. “That always stays with you.”
Gillespie, whom he calls Wally, was his best friend for more than 40 years, and his death has left a void. He vividly remembers their last conversation, small talk about the day’s plans, as they met for their ritual morning coffee on April 18. It was the day before Gillespie died after a bad fall in the shower.
Mailman said he had sensed his friend “slipping away” over the last months of his life. There were times when Gillespie had trouble recognizing him or his car. What “got him in the end,” Mailman reckons, was the stress from fighting to prove his innocence for nearly 40 years.
“He stood his ground, and he got to the end of it,” he said, shaking his head. “But all that stress just wore him down.” He still goes to their regular coffee shop: “I just sit there. I can see him.”
Mailman’s two sons, his only children, died while he was in prison, and in their memory a Christmas wreath with red berries sits on his kitchen island. He said he visits their graves four to five times a week and said he “talks to them.”
In spite of his acquittal, compensation and the satisfaction of leaving a legacy for others who have been wrongfully convicted, Mailman cannot bring himself to meet with his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He said he fears tainting their future by being associated with him. “It’s my choice, and they respect it,” he said.
He delegates the Christmas shopping to his partner, but he has made sure this year’s gifts will get to the younger generations. “They all love me, and I love them. That’s the way we leave it.”
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