When the Devil Came For Easter: The Murder's of Anita and Richard Dacre

 

     Introduction: A Knock At the Door.

     Easter is supposed to be a resurrection. A celebration of life, rebirth, innocence wrapped in pastel-colored hope. But in 1986, on a cold Thursday in Mission British Columbia, Easter was gutted. Two small bodies were propped up on a couch, still warm from life, cloaked in a sheet. Between them , their father. His suicide wasn't a cry for help. It was an act of possession. One final, monstrous declaration: if I can't have them, no one can.

     Anita was eleven. Richard was five. They were slaughtered by the man meant to protect them. Shot at close range with a rifle he didn't own. It wasn't impulsive. It was planned. Purchased ammo. Staged. Allan Dacre had pulled the trigger on more than just his children's lives- he obliterated the spine of everyone who loved them. 

     It's been almost four decades. But those who knew Anita and Richard, time hasn't healed a thing. The trauma calcified. Buried in bone. Marianne- their older sister, still flinches at the memory of a balloon tapping her mothers cheek after the funeral. The silence of Easter is louder than any scream. And the two little white coffin's still haunt those who saw them. 

     This is not a story about death. It's a story of evil. Calculated. Premeditated. Cold. And of what that demonic leaves behind.

      Part one: The Man with Beer and Bullet's.

     Allan Dacre didn't kill his kid's because he snapped. He wasn't "driven to madness" or lost in some drunken haze. He killed them because he wanted to. He drank often. He used speed. But he was violent long before beer. Drugs only loosened the mask. 

     Paul Babcock, his friend and roommate, told the coroner's jury, that Al was terrifying after just a few pint's. His voice changed. His posture shifted. His humanity flickered out like a dying bulb. Paul watched the rage bloom without warning. With speed, Al was oddly calmer- sharp, focused, but no less dark. 

     Al and Jane, the children's mother, had a turbulent history soaked in bruises and police reports. They lost custody of their children due to domestic violence. The kid's were placed in foster care. Jane was given one option: leave Al or lose her children. She chose the children. 

     But system's don't protect children. They sign off. They allow visitation.

     Even to devil's. 

      Part Two: One Last Visit.

     It was March 27, 1986. Four day's before Easter Sunday. Jane and her eldest daughter Marianne, drove Anita and Richard to Paul's house in Mission, where Al was crashing. 

     Marianne didn't trust her dad. At fifteen, she'd seen to much. Manipulation was his second language, and she wanted to keep her mom from being dragged back into his orbit. 

     While her younger sibling's played, Marianne asked her dad for some chocolate. It was Easter weekend after all. She went to his room and noticed the Winchester rifle behind the door. She didn't know it was loaded with bullets her dad bought the day before. 

      He grinned. He said goodbye.

      And then he waited. 

      Part Three: The Killing's.

     No one knows what those kid's were doing in those final minutes. Maybe watching cartoon's. Maybe eating cereal. Maybe curled up in a blanket. What's certain is this: he walked up behind Anita first. She never saw it coming. One shot.

     Then Richard. 

     He survived the first round. He didn't die instantly. 

     It took a second shot to silence him. 

     Al sat them both up on the couch, draped a sheet over their tiny bodies, and positioned himself between them. Then he placed the barrel under his chin and ended his own life. 

     He left the door unlocked.

     He wanted Jane to find them. 

     He wanted her to drown in what he had done. 

      Part Four: Discovery and Collapse.

     But it wasn't Jane who found them. 

     It was Paul. 

     He came home early from his trip, walked inside, and saw death sitting on his couch. He saw his gun, used. His friend, obliterated. Two children gone. 

     Jane was told at 5:30am.

     Two plainclothes officer's came to her door. Marianne remembers the knock. She remembers her mother collapsing. Her screams. The hospital lights. Shock buried under morphine. 

     The funeral came fast. Two tiny white caskets lowered into the ground at Terry Fox Cemetery. The entire town, silent. 

     Al's mother and sister showed up. They were asked to leave. 

     They wanted to spread Al's ashes over the children's graves.

     Jane refused.

     She still held the legal rights to his remains. She had him cremated, mixed into a block of cement, and dumped into Pitt Lake.

     That's where he belongs. 

      Part Five: The One's Left Breathing. 

     Jackie and I were eleven. We were taken to Aunty Janice's house that day and that they had to talk to us. 

     We were told Anita and Richard were dead. 

     Jackie fainted.

     Collapsed backward in her chair.

     Just day's earlier, the kid's were at our house, and begged not to visit their dad. We remember their mom saying " Sorry guys, you have to go"

     Jane passed years later. Her ashes were spread over her babies graves, where she belonged. 

     Jackie inherited Anita's BMX bike. But something wasn't right. The first time she rode it, she felt a presence. A weight. A second rider. She dropped the bike. Ran inside. For a year, she felt Anita everywhere. 

     And Marianne? She's never stopped feeling them. 

     When the balloon at the funeral, began tapping Jane's cheek, it left us all speechless. With no breeze, it then floated to Marianne. No one touched it. No wind moved it. 

     We believe it was the children.

     We still do. 

      Part Six: The Failure's That Killed Them.

     The jury said there was a breakdown. Government agencies didn't communicate. Police. Social worker's. Addiction counselor's. Everyone failed. Everyone passed the file. Visitation was granted without question. 

     Jane had already taken a severe beating just a month earlier- Valentine's day, 1986. Marianne had taken her sibling's to social services herself. It wasn't enough. 

     Al's rage wasn't a secret.

     It was ignored.

     He planned the murder. Bought bullets. Chose the weekend. Knew they'd be delivered. He didn't snap. He executed. 

      Conclusion: The Shape of Evil.

     Allan Dacre did not take his life in remorse. He didn't suffer a breakdown. He wanted Jane to live in agony. He wanted to leave fingerprint's on her sanity. 

     This wasn't a murder-suicide. This was a ritual. 

     Two kid's. Easter weekend. A broken mother. An eldest daughter with a memory she can't unsee. A friend who walked in on horror. A town with white coffin's burned into it's collective consciousness. 

     Evil doesn't always wear a mask. 

     Sometimes it smiles. Offers you a beer. Opens the door.

     And waits.

Written By Janine Reid.

In memory of Jane, Anita and Richard. Forever in our hearts. 

And to Marianne, my sister. I love you. 

   Citation: Bocking, Mike. "Killer Violent on Beer, Friend Tells Jury." The Vancouver Sun, November 28, 1986.