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Other news organizations followed up, trying to get Michael White to repeat his remarks.

However, no one matched the story because White was virtually unreachable. The accused wife-killer in a so-called celebrated case may as well been trapped ten miles deep in a flooded coal mine in central China.

No reporters were getting close to White – his defence lawyer Larry Anderson made sure of that.

When it came to slipping information to reporters, Anderson was tighter than the seal of a 5-year-old jar of canned pickles. It was next to impossible weaseling anything from him.

Still, some reporters phoned his office to see if arrangements could be made for them to interview White. That was like calling 411 in Pakistan and asking for the cell number of Osama Bin Laden. Ain't going to happen.

Having his high-profile client interviewed by a reporter likely contributed to Larry Anderson's chain-smoking.

Anderson was annoyed that Michael White had been interviewed. We talked about this one day at the Law Courts Building, standing on that second-floor bridge that connects Provincial Court with Court of Queen's Bench.

If Anderson and I had been in Texas, packing pistols, we might have had a good old-fashioned shootout.

But hey, this is Canada. We smiled one another down and left it at that.

Anderson might later have had a dartboard made up with my picture on it, I don't know.

The impression I got from covering Larry Anderson's trials was that if the guy had become a major league ball player (and made some real money) he would have cranked out more than his share of baseballs into the upper deck.

Michael White said that "Mr. Anderson," as he called him, warned him that Christopher was the kind of reporter who would sleep with someone to get information.

My response to that was, "Nice ass, Mike."

White went on to say Larry Anderson threatened to drop him if he gave another media interview.

Nonetheless, White and I continued to talk ... but it was mainly off-the-record.

Anderson remained on the White case until he had the misfortune of being appointed to the Bench. That happened just days before Michael White's murder trial was set to go in the fall of 2006.

Larry Anderson becoming a judge turned out to be one of CHED's last scoops on the Michael White case.

Some time after Anderson had been on the Bench, I caught up with him outside at the west end of the Law Courts Building where he was chain-smoking again. I can't remember what we talked about.

It doesn't matter who the lawyers are: they all complain when reporters try to interview their clients. It's a conflict situation since reporters want a story ... and lawyers want to protect their clients from possibly hanging themselves.

Turns out, the Remand Centre interview with Michael White had also ruffled a few feathers with law enforcement.

The lead story Monday morning (July 25th, 2005) on 630 CHED's news prompted a phone call from a prisoner and contact at the Remand Centre.

The con claimed that cops (EPS) had phoned over to the Remand, wanting to know how Byron Christopher got in. He also said police were some "fucking pissed off."

"How'd you know that?" I asked.

He said a guard just told him. The contact went on say that I should be getting a call from the police "within minutes."

He was wrong.

It took nearly an hour for police to call.

A detective reached me on my cell. He wanted to 'do lunch' as people who make more than $20 an hour like to put it.

While this was going on, an official at Alberta Justice was calling Warren Henderson, 630 CHED's assistant news director, to complain I'd gotten into the Remand under a false name.

I said, "What, like I signed in as Charles Manson?"

I suggested to Henderson he get the allegation on the record and do a story on it. But it never came to that because the official retracted the allegation and apologized.

The Australians have a great expression for that: pulling your head in.

Henderson and I let it go.

Lunch with the detective went well. We met at a pizza joint near Northlands Colliseum (or whatever corporate name the arena had at the time).

The officer avoided small talk. I hadn't finished stirring my coffee when he asked, "So how'd you get in the Remand?'

So I told him. I said instead of going through security at the main entrance, I went around to the back of the building. It was there, I explained, where I discovered an unlocked, squeaky screen door ... I pushed on it and it swung open.

The officer looked bewildered. He obviously didn't know about this door.

I continued. I walked in to see hundreds of cons standing close together, holding hymn books and singing "How Great Thou Art."

The harmony was so beautiful I was close to tears.

I told the officer I approached one prisoner, a big tall guy, and gently tapped his massive tattooed bisceps. I whispered, "Where is Michael White, sir?"

The con turned and said, "Hush, we're praising the Lord."

The detective cut me off.

"That's bullshit!" he said.

For editing purposes – I'm trying not to make this a long story – the officer may have actually said "Fucking bullshit."

I told him he was correct. Truth is, it was pure unadulterated bullshit ... but it wasn't a bad yarn, just the same.

Edmonton police also wanted to know what Michael White told me. I told the detective it was all out on the news.

The detective dropped me off in his unmarked cruiser at the east side of the Law Courts Building. I complimented him on keeping the vehicle clean and I went back to covering courthouse stories – which suddenly seemed incidental in light of the Michael White interview.

I also told the cop that should Michael White confess that he murdered his wife that I'd give him a five-minute warning before I went to air with the story. He said, "That's fair."

Five minutes would give police plenty of time to get to a radio.

This is known in the biz as playing both sides of the fence.

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deadmonton - michael white - the untold story - 3