The Powerhouse Murders: A headless corpse, a burning room, and two trials at the start of BC's electric age.

We could start at the end, with the opening of a trap door, the plunge of a chair, and the breaking of a neck.

We could commence in the middle of our timeline, with an accused killer going free or with the discovery of a headless body.

But let us begin at the scene of the first murder, at a famous railway substation that once helped connect the Fraser Valley to Vancouver.

Note: the details in this story come largely from newspaper coverage of court proceedings, and are thus subject to the naturally fallible memories of both witnesses and reporters. Accounts come from four different sources: the Vancouver Sun, Vancouver Province, Vancouver World, and Chilliwack Progress. Many details—ranging from names to accounts of the key events—have changed over time. We have tried to preserve uncertainty where there are conflicting details. We have tried to focus on information that was consistent across the various accounts, though some details may come from a single source and should be read with a degree of skepticism. The Province and Vancouver Sun stories can be found using historical archives accessible to those with a Fraser Valley Regional Library card. Progress stories can be found here.

Chapter 1: A fire and a body

The Sumas Substation sits heavily at the base of Vedder Mountain, between a little-used rail line and a soggy forest. It’s been there since 1906, when it was constructed as part of a massive project to bring electric rail to the eastern Fraser Valley.

After decades of decline, 21st century renovations brought new life to the building’s concrete facade. Inside the historical grime was wiped away and replaced with a sprawling kitchen, large home theatre room, wine cellar, and other details befitting a “luxury mansion.” The building is now a local real estate curiosity, a favourite of internet writers looking to go semi-viral, and a short-term rental that costs $2,700 a night.

But on the night of June 12, 1915, the substation was still new and a key cog in the bustling BC Electric Railway that connected communities between Chilliwack and New Westminster. It was one of five identical substations built along the rail line to convert electricity from newly built dams into power that could be used by trams carrying goods and people. But the substations were far more than simple powerhouses. They were also operational hubs for local rail work, and housed living quarters for engineers and operators. (Rail labourers frequently lived in nearby shacks and cabins.)

An industrial building, a rooming house, and a social gathering place for local rail workers, the building was—and still is—the largest for miles. Every day, eight trains would pass the station, four in each direction. Motorists were also a regular sight, with Vedder Mountain—and its slopes overlooking Sumas Lake—an increasingly popular place to spend the day.

June 12, 1915, was a Saturday evening and daylight would have lingered as solstice approached. As the sun finally dipped toward the horizon around 8pm, the Sumas Substation was full of people. The building’s regular residents were there: operator Frank Chamberlayne and his wife, engineer Jesse Magoon, school teacher Miss Carey Elliott, and at least one other relief operator. The Chamberlaynes were also hosting two friends that evening: Lorne McIntosh and Joseph Drinkwater.

Around 8pm, a familiar face appeared in the doorway.

Rocco Ferrante was a square-chested railworker from Southern Italy who bunked in a nearby shack with another labourer. Ferrante was well-liked and had seemingly become close friends with 40-year-old Magoon, who by one account was teaching Ferrante to read and write.

Magoon had worked on the railroad for more than a decade after immigrating to the Canadian west from Massachusetts, where he worked as an engineer while racing his bike competitively. His room at the substation was indicative of his expertise and experience at keeping electrical transportation system work in the early 1900s.

The substation, though, wasn’t his home. Magoon was a settled man, with a wife, two adolescent sons, and a newborn daughter down the tracks in New Westminster.

Ferrante, meanwhile, was in his mid-30s and had no family in Canada. But he was doing his best to change that. Three or four nights a week he would walk up the road to the substation to visit the residents—particularly Miss Elliott, a young woman who taught in nearby Abbotsford. Although he had a rough job as a labourer, he wasn’t a ruffian. He would dress to impress and before visits, he would change his coat for a sweater, especially if it was a Saturday.

• • • • •

Ferrante was seemingly in love. But he wasn’t all that confident about his prospects for success.

Earlier in the day, Magoon had visited Ferrante in his shack nearby. Ferrante asked his buddy if he had a chance with the young teacher. Magoon thought he did. So Ferrante told his roommate: “I am going to fix things up tonight,” and picked up a pen.

That evening, Ferrante put on a navy blue suit and a black hat, walked to the nearby substation, found Elliott, handed her a letter, and left soon after.

An hour later or so—after Ferrante had left and yet another visitor, Walter Wolfe, had come and gone in a car—Chamberlayne decided to call it a night soon.

With company over, he had arranged to bunk in a colleague’s room. He stepped into the hallway and saw a man, one wearing a brown sweater and a brown hat. The man emerged from Magoon’s quarters, saw Chamberlayne, and then ducked back into the room.

Chamberlayne took brief note of the strange behaviour, then went to bed. But as he was straightening his covers, he sniffed the air. Something smelled like smoke.

Chamberlayne returned to the hallway and tried Magoon’s door. It was locked. Chamberlayne then grabbed a ladder and a fellow operator, and went outside to climb up to Magoon’s room. Around the same time, a train rolled up and its crew also joined in the rescue operation.

The smoke bursting out of the window had become too thick, so Chamberlayne went back inside the substation and broke down the door.

Inside, clothes hanging on a wall were on fire. On the bed, Magoon’s body lay naked and still.

Magoon was taken from the burning room while the fire was extinguished. Still seemingly alive, he was placed on the train and rushed to Huntingdon for medical help. But he never made it, and died en route.

More than a century later, it’s easy to think that justice in the early 1900s frequently involved authorities and the public rashly rushing to conclusions, with little concern for evidentiary and procedural requirements. That, surely, was sometimes the case—especially when minorities were involved. But the days, weeks, and months following the demise of Jesse Magoon reveal a side of BC’s early 20th century justice system that still exists today: one that struggles to match a respect for due process with the fact that the humans involved in those processes—witnesses, investigators, prosecutors, reporters, criminals, and victims—are imperfect creatures prone to messing things up.

Subscribe to Premium to read the rest.