For 36 years, Tim Rees lived under the crushing weight of a terrible accusation – the murder of a child. He was branded a killer, a label that followed him through two decades spent within the unforgiving walls of some of the nation’s most brutal prisons. Even as years turned into decades, Rees maintained his innocence, a steadfast refusal to confess that could have shortened his sentence.
The winter sun felt unfamiliar on Rees’s face as he walked out of a Toronto courthouse, the shadow of that accusation finally lifted. The Crown had withdrawn the murder charge, but the relief was tempered with a profound sadness. “It should be a happy day,” he confessed, his voice thick with emotion, “but it’s really not because I’m still sad over Darla’s death and there’s no justice for her.”
The case began on the last day of school before March break in 1989. Ten-year-old Darla Thurrott went to bed in her Etobicoke home, sharing the house with her parents, a tenant, and James Raymer, the landlord, whose room was directly across from hers. Rees, a longtime friend of Darla’s father, had stayed the night after an evening of drinking and drugs.
The next morning, Darla was found lifeless in her bed. Her mother, Darlene, was irrevocably broken by the loss, spiraling into a life of addiction and ultimately meeting a tragic end herself. Five adults were in the house that night, yet suspicion quickly fell upon Rees, who was ultimately convicted of second-degree murder.
For years, Rees fought to prove his innocence, relentlessly seeking someone to listen. His persistence finally led him to Innocence Canada and lawyer Heather Pringle, who began digging through the original police files in 2007. Hidden within a dusty banker’s box, they discovered a trove of 58 cassette tapes.
Detective Keith Bradshaw painstakingly listened to each tape, and unearthed a shocking revelation: an unmarked police interview with James Raymer, the landlord, that had never been disclosed. Raymer, despite testifying he hadn’t seen Darla that night, initially admitted to kissing her goodnight and making disturbing claims about a past relationship with the child.
The recording revealed Raymer’s behavior was deeply suspicious, suggesting he should have been the primary focus of the investigation. Yet, the tape was deliberately buried, overshadowed by a confession coerced from Rees while he was still under the influence of alcohol. The son of an OPP superintendent, Raymer’s connections may have played a role in shielding him from scrutiny.
Last year, arguments presented before the Ontario Court of Appeal led to Rees’s conviction being overturned and a new trial ordered. Faced with the evidence of misconduct by the original investigators, the Crown made the difficult decision not to proceed with a second trial. The prosecutor stated that, given the passage of time and the years Rees had already served, pursuing the case was no longer in the public interest.
The judge acknowledged the profound impact this ordeal has had on Rees, offering her best wishes but recognizing the trauma would likely remain with him forever. But wishes felt insufficient. The justice system owed him more than sympathy; it owed him an apology.
“Who wants to be labelled as a killer when you’re not?” Rees asked, his voice raw with emotion. “It means the world to me to have my name… I did not kill Darla. I did not cause her any harm whatsoever. But yet I paid the price.” He was presented with a shirt proclaiming his innocence, a symbol of a freedom hard-won.
The cost of those lost years was immeasurable. Rees spoke of losing the “prime of his life,” the possibility of having a family, and the future that was stolen from him. He looked out at the horizon, contemplating what might have been, and simply sighed, “Just gotta deal with it.”
