Photographs of the boyish-looking suspect were sent to every major Canadian media agency, along with his name, as Ontario police prepared for one of the largest manhunts in the nation’s history. Soon Peter John Peters’s face was emblazoned on the front pages of newspapers across the country.
Northern Exposure
At noon on January 25, 460 kilometres away in Sault Ste. Marie, Peter John Peters stepped off the bus and breathed in a lungful of cold northern Ontario air. A few metres away, he spotted a woman brushing snow from her windshield — another easy target. He walked up to make her acquaintance.
“Get in the car, or I’ll kill you.”
The woman stood gazing back at him as if unable to comprehend his request, so he repeated himself. Again. And again. Suddenly a light of recognition appeared in her eyes, and she took off running. Realizing he had drawn attention to himself, Peters jumped into her car and slammed his foot on the gas. He headed for the cover of the back roads, but after driving for nearly an hour, found that the heavy snows were slowing his escape, and decided he needed to be armed. Ditching the vehicle, he made for a nearby house and kicked in the door, startling nineteen-year-old Brad Johnston. Peters held the knife to his throat.
“Do you have any guns?” The young man showed him to the family shotgun. Still pressing the blade to his flesh, Peters forced him to load it before taking the weapon from him. Peering out the window, Peters sighted some hydro workers inspecting his abandoned vehicle and aimed.
“They didn’t do anything to you,” Brad implored him. “You don’t need to kill them.” Incredibly, his words seemed to resonate with Peters. When Peters lowered the shotgun, Brad offered to assist him in finding another vehicle. They left the home around 2:00 p.m. to search. Farther down the road, they saw a car parked in an elderly man’s driveway. Inside, Reverend Ron Hubbard of the local Pentecostal church and retired homeowner Ernie Cattley were conversing when Brad suddenly entered the dwelling with his hands in the air. Peters followed behind him with the shotgun pointed at his back.
“Just do as he says. He means business,” Brad warned them. Peters asked whose car was parked outside, and the reverend replied that it was his.
“You’re a cop!” Peters yelled, turning the gun on him. Fearing for his life, the reverend produced credentials from his wallet, calming Peters. The gunman demanded the car keys, and the men complied immediately. Before leaving, Peters destroyed the telephone, then took off in what was to be his fifth stolen vehicle in as many days. Once he had left, Brad Johnston, Ernie Cattley, and Reverend Hubbard sought help. Fortunately, it found them. Police cars swarmed the area, having been alerted by the hydro workers to the abandoned car. When the officers showed the three survivors a photograph of Peter John Peters, they positively identified him, but noted that his hair had been cut short.
Meanwhile, Peters continued to display a remarkable lack of driving skills, miring his car on another snowy back road. He approached a nearby residence and used his shotgun to blast the lock to pieces. Entering, he demanded the keys to a blue Ford Tempo from the terrified homeowner. Peters sped off yet again, only now his behaviour had become so reckless that he was running out of places to flee. The police had barricaded the roads and were rapidly closing in on him. While driving along a main road at around 4:00 p.m., he noticed a cruiser behind him. Exhausted, Peter John Peters did something entirely unexpected: he pulled over and exited with his hands in the air. The notorious spree killer who everyone assumed would go out in a blaze of glory lay meekly in the snow to be handcuffed. After five continuous days of fight and flight, his rampage had come to a decidedly anticlimactic finale.
Scars and Tattoos
Other than his good looks, Peter John Peters hadn’t been
Northern Exposure
At noon on January 25, 460 kilometres away in Sault Ste. Marie, Peter John Peters stepped off the bus and breathed in a lungful of cold northern Ontario air. A few metres away, he spotted a woman brushing snow from her windshield — another easy target. He walked up to make her acquaintance.
“Get in the car, or I’ll kill you.”
The woman stood gazing back at him as if unable to comprehend his request, so he repeated himself. Again. And again. Suddenly a light of recognition appeared in her eyes, and she took off running. Realizing he had drawn attention to himself, Peters jumped into her car and slammed his foot on the gas. He headed for the cover of the back roads, but after driving for nearly an hour, found that the heavy snows were slowing his escape, and decided he needed to be armed. Ditching the vehicle, he made for a nearby house and kicked in the door, startling nineteen-year-old Brad Johnston. Peters held the knife to his throat.
“Do you have any guns?” The young man showed him to the family shotgun. Still pressing the blade to his flesh, Peters forced him to load it before taking the weapon from him. Peering out the window, Peters sighted some hydro workers inspecting his abandoned vehicle and aimed.
“They didn’t do anything to you,” Brad implored him. “You don’t need to kill them.” Incredibly, his words seemed to resonate with Peters. When Peters lowered the shotgun, Brad offered to assist him in finding another vehicle. They left the home around 2:00 p.m. to search. Farther down the road, they saw a car parked in an elderly man’s driveway. Inside, Reverend Ron Hubbard of the local Pentecostal church and retired homeowner Ernie Cattley were conversing when Brad suddenly entered the dwelling with his hands in the air. Peters followed behind him with the shotgun pointed at his back.
“Just do as he says. He means business,” Brad warned them. Peters asked whose car was parked outside, and the reverend replied that it was his.
“You’re a cop!” Peters yelled, turning the gun on him. Fearing for his life, the reverend produced credentials from his wallet, calming Peters. The gunman demanded the car keys, and the men complied immediately. Before leaving, Peters destroyed the telephone, then took off in what was to be his fifth stolen vehicle in as many days. Once he had left, Brad Johnston, Ernie Cattley, and Reverend Hubbard sought help. Fortunately, it found them. Police cars swarmed the area, having been alerted by the hydro workers to the abandoned car. When the officers showed the three survivors a photograph of Peter John Peters, they positively identified him, but noted that his hair had been cut short.
Meanwhile, Peters continued to display a remarkable lack of driving skills, miring his car on another snowy back road. He approached a nearby residence and used his shotgun to blast the lock to pieces. Entering, he demanded the keys to a blue Ford Tempo from the terrified homeowner. Peters sped off yet again, only now his behaviour had become so reckless that he was running out of places to flee. The police had barricaded the roads and were rapidly closing in on him. While driving along a main road at around 4:00 p.m., he noticed a cruiser behind him. Exhausted, Peter John Peters did something entirely unexpected: he pulled over and exited with his hands in the air. The notorious spree killer who everyone assumed would go out in a blaze of glory lay meekly in the snow to be handcuffed. After five continuous days of fight and flight, his rampage had come to a decidedly anticlimactic finale.
Scars and Tattoos
Other than his good looks, Peter John Peters hadn’t been
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