by Kit Frick
I’M AWAKE NOW.
That’s not quite right. I’ve been awake something like sixteen hours a day—usually more—since I came to Pathways over two months ago. Minimum 1,040 hours of awakeness. But now, these past few days, it’s like I’m emerging from a very long, deeply muddled dream. It’s that feeling the morning after you’ve taken something to help you sleep. The drug’s still there in your bloodstream, fuzzing the edges, padding the air between you and the bright light of morning. But you’re awake. Clawing your way to the surface.
Here’s what I know to be true: Something happened on New Year’s Eve. Something very bad. But I was not in Herron Mills. And I did not kill Zoe Spanos.
Almost two weeks after my defense team filed the pretrial motion, five days after the prosecution filed their response, and while we’re all waiting for the judge to set a date to hear our case, I’m informed that Pathways has finally granted the update to my approved-visitors list that I requested back in August. My lawyers advise against the meeting, prep me on the things I absolutely cannot say. Aubrey, my fidgety social worker, says I should do what will “best benefit my mental and emotional health and well-being.” Thanks, Aubrey. Pretty sure both of those things haven’t been very well for a few months now.
But this is a conversation I need to have. I’ve been trying to reach Zoe’s dad for weeks, at his business address so Aster and Mrs. Spanos wouldn’t see my letters. On Friday afternoon, the guard who always smells like sandalwood tells me that George Spanos is waiting for me. Now that my innocence has settled in my gut like a solid fact, not a shifting, bruising question, I need to see him more than ever. I let her escort me upstairs.
We’re in the lounge, a cold room trying to be warm with stained orange and yellow couches and a few windows that could use a good scrub. A smattering of other inmates with their visitors perch on couch cushions and prop elbows against tabletops. Two guards lean like land-bound hawks against the wall near the door. Across a little white table, Zoe’s dad stares down into his oily coffee. I’ve been trying to see him for weeks, but now that he’s here, my stomach is doing flip-flops. I pick at the paint flaking up from the tabletop.
“I tried to come sooner,” he says finally. “I got your letters, but I wasn’t on your list.”
“I know.” I meet his eyes for a second, then look away. I can’t unsee the hungry, animal grief that welled there the one time we met, that night at his glassed-in pool. He wants to know why I confessed. I want to know why he didn’t tell me the truth.
Before I can utter the words police coercion or false memories or compromised reasoning ability or improper police procedure, he says, “I knew it would only be a matter of time before you figured it out. And you deserve to know the truth.”
I stop picking at the paint.
“At first, I thought you were jealous. Zoe’s life—she had everything. When Aster brought you to our home in July, my heart stopped. This girl, so much like my daughter. Nanny for the family next door to her fiancé. Befriending Caden. Befriending my younger daughter. Stepping into Zoe’s life.”
“It wasn’t—” I start to say, but he holds up his hand. Was it like that? Maybe that’s exactly what I was doing.
“When you confessed ten days later, I thought … Of course you had found each other. Of course you would grow to resent her.”
My heart speeds up in my chest. I force myself to meet his eyes. His pupils are wide black pools.
“I don’t think … ,” I say finally, then start again. “We never met, Zoe and me. Not like I thought we did. But she did reach out to me. In December, right before she died. She found me online, said she needed to talk to me, in person. She told me to come meet her in Herron Mills. That’s why I thought … But I didn’t. I didn’t respond to her messages. I didn’t go to the Hamptons last winter.”
Across the table, Mr. Spanos nods, just once, a clipped, careful gesture. His coffee is getting cold.
“You know why she wanted to talk to me. Why she wanted to meet.”
He sighs, a long stream of breath that seems to deflate his entire body like a punctured tire. “I think we both know the truth, Anna. I knew the minute I laid eyes on you this summer. Zoe was a smart girl. I knew she suspected, but I refused to talk to her about it. I wasn’t ready to admit the truth.”
“We look so much alike because we were sisters,” I say slowly, watching his face. Testing the words I think he wants me to say out loud. “I’m your daughter.”
Mr. Spanos nods. The skin around his eyes relaxes. “I met your mother years ago, when I was separated from my wife. She used to come to Herron Mills on vacation with her husband. John never knew, I don’t think. Or maybe he did. Maybe that’s why he left your mother. The thing is, Anna, I didn’t know for certain until I saw you in July. Your mother never told me. When you were little, I had my suspicions, but Gloria swore you weren’t mine. I hadn’t seen you since you were three years old, and then, the resemblance was only starting to show. But when you stepped into my house, when you told me your name …”
“Why now?” I ask the man in front of me. My father. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? You could have … you could have saved me. Cleared up this mess!”
He frowns. “I wouldn’t go that far. I thought you were guilty, just like everyone else. And telling my wife, telling Aster … it would have torn my family apart for no reason. Not when we thought you would go to trial for Zoe’s murder.”
Second-degree manslaughter, I want to correct him, but I don’t.
“And now?” I ask instead.
“Now things have … changed.”
“Because you believe me? That I didn’t have anything to do with Zoe’s death?”
“I know you didn’t,” he says, and tears fill his eyes. “Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
“How?” I almost shout, and the guards snap to attention at the edges of the room. “We’re going to court soon, to argue the motion. If you know something that could help my case, you have to tell me. Mr. Spanos, please.”
But he’s already standing, chair scraping back against the cold concrete.
The next word hitches on my tongue. Then I spit it out. “Dad.”
He flinches. “I’m sorry, Anna. I’ve already said too much.”
He’s not going to tell me. He’s going to leave me here.
4 NEW YORK: CRIME AND COURTS
MANSLAUGHTER CHARGES DROPPED AGAINST BROOKLYN TEEN AS LONG ISLAND YOUTH CONFESSES TO ROLE IN COVERING UP SISTER’S ACCIDENTAL DEATH LAST NEW YEAR’S EVE
Published Oct. 11 at 12:56 p.m.
A Brooklyn teen awaiting trial in juvenile detention since her August confession to involvement in the death of Long Island resident Zoe Spanos, 19, was released on Saturday. Anna Cicconi, 17, was charged in August with second-degree manslaughter and concealment of a corpse. Cicconi’s release came on the heels of the arrest and confession of Aster Spanos, also 17, younger sister of Zoe, whose body was found submerged in a boat in Herron Mills’ Parrish Lake last August.
On Saturday, Judge Emanuella Castera announced that following Aster Spanos’s arrest, Anna Cicconi would be released from Pathways Juvenile Center into the immediate care of her mother, Gloria Cicconi of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. Judge Castera had been previously considering a pretrial motion filed by Cicconi’s defense team to dismiss the charges against her on the grounds of police misconduct. The motion was expedited and granted on Saturday.
While full details of Aster Spanos’s confession have not been released, Spanos’s lawyer said in a statement this morning that “Miss Spanos has come forward, truthfully and willingly, to disclose information she knew regarding the tragic and entirely accidental death of her sister Zoe last New Year’s Eve. Miss Spanos did not cause her sister’s death, nor has she been charged as such. She is cooperating fully with police. The Spanos family requests the public’s respect for their privacy at this deeply difficult time.”
According to police, Aster Spanos was initially taken in
for questioning late Thursday evening after a neighbor complained about Spanos and another teen trespassing on her property. In a follow-up interview on Friday, she disclosed information to police regarding her sister’s January first death and admitted to finding and concealing her body. The rationale for Spanos’s actions is not yet known.
Aster Spanos has been charged with concealment of a corpse, aka Amanda Lynn’s Law, a class E felony in New York State. The crime carries up to four years in prison and a $5,000 fine. As a minor without a previous criminal record, it is unlikely that Spanos will serve the maximum sentence, if convicted.
32 October
Herron Mills Village Police Department, Long Island, NY
DETECTIVE MIRA HOLLOWAY’S shift ended an hour ago, but she’s still in the interview room, reviewing the tape. It’s been over twenty-four hours since Aster Spanos’s arrest. This is the third time the detective has watched the interview from start to finish, pen in hand. They were overeager with the Cicconi girl, everything they thought they knew dissolving to mud. But now they’ve been offered a second chance like manna from heaven. She should really go home, get some sleep. But she needs to reassure herself that this time, they got things exactly right. The case depends on it. Detective Holloway’s job depends on it too. She presses play.
The camera lens rests on a girl with the lean muscles of a swimmer and a feathery pixie cut. She sits all the way back in a wobbly metal chair, olive skin covered in denim and soft cotton. She tugs on a long-sleeved gray shirt, bunching the sleeves in her hands.
To the girl’s right sit her parents and a solemn-faced lawyer. Hollow circles line the woman’s eyes. The man shaved before they came here, but he missed a few spots.
Across from the Spanos family and their lawyer, Detective Holloway sits with AD Massey, their hands propped on a thin metal table, a new addition to the room. AD Massey pushes his rolling chair two inches forward, then two inches back, then two inches forward, then two inches back.
“You can start at the beginning, Aster,” Detective Holloway says gently. A small twitch in her jaw betrays how hard she’s working to keep her voice free from its characteristic edge.
The girl takes in a deep breath and scratches absently at the skin where her shirt’s neckline hits her collarbone. Her mother gives her leg a reassuring squeeze.
“I guess it started over Thanksgiving break, almost a year ago. Zoe was home from Brown, and things were weird with Caden. She wouldn’t talk to me about it, but I could see the hurt all over her face.
“That Saturday, Caden was hanging out with friends in the city—at least that’s what he told Zoe. She spent the afternoon visiting Mrs. Talbot at Windermere, which wasn’t unusual. They were really close. But when Zoe came home that night, she was in tears. She locked herself in her room and wouldn’t talk to me. The next morning, she went back to Brown.”
“We weren’t aware—” Joan Spanos starts to say, but AD Massey silences her with a raised hand.
“This is Miss Spanos’s statement,” he says. “We need to hear only from her.”
George Spanos takes his wife’s hand in his, and they both nod at the detectives across the table.
“What happened after Zoe returned to Brown?” Detective Holloway asks.
Aster sighs softly. “I snooped around her bedroom. She’d taken her computer, obviously, but I found some flash drives in her desk drawer. On one, there was a series of photos of Caden with this pretty girl I didn’t recognize, and also a bunch of emails that had been cut and pasted into a Word doc. The photos were all saved with Saturday’s date, and the most recent email was dated November twenty-eighth, Thanksgiving Day. So it was all really recent, and I figured that must have been what made Zoe cry.”
“Did you tell your sister what you’d found? Could she confirm your suspicion?” Detective Holloway asks.
“Not directly, no. Like I said, she wouldn’t talk to me about it, which is how I knew something was wrong in the first place. She must have pulled the photos and emails from Caden’s laptop while she was visiting Mrs. Talbot. If I hadn’t found the flash drive in her desk, none of this would have happened.” Aster’s chin quivers, and her voice catches. Her mom squeezes her leg again. “If I could go back, I’d never look in Zoe’s room. That’s what I wish, more than anything.”
From two seats over, there’s a loud choking sound, and George Spanos raises a tissue to cover his mouth. The lawyer busies himself with his notes.
“What happened next, Aster?” Detective Holloway asks.
“Over the next couple weeks, I tried to get Zoe to open up. Caden was hurting her, and she was just letting it happen. I never told her what I’d found because I knew that would shut the conversation down. I tried to get her to tell me herself, but she pretended like everything was fine.
“When Zoe came home for winter break, I thought maybe things would change. But Christmas came and went—nothing. If Zoe didn’t want to tell me, fine, but it was increasingly clear she wasn’t going to confront Caden. She always wanted to make everyone happy. And he was taking advantage of how good she was. That asshole!” Aster’s voice rises, and she drops her shirtsleeves to clench the arms of the chair in her fists. “Sorry,” she adds, eyes darting to her parents.
She draws in a breath, then turns back to the detectives. “The thing is, I’ve always looked out for Zoe. She was the best person in the world, but she didn’t know how to put herself first.”
“Go ahead,” Detective Holloway prompts gently, keeping the conversation going.
“When Caden texted her from the city on New Year’s Eve, ditching their plans for that night, she told me she needed to be alone for a while, that she was going to take a walk on the beach. She’d been crying.” Tears well in Aster’s eyes, and she scrubs a sleeve across them. “I couldn’t let her keep doing this to herself. It just wasn’t fair. So I decided to send Caden a message. Punish him.”
Aster’s lawyer clears his throat but doesn’t stop his client from speaking. Joan’s fingers dance nervously along her collarbone.
“Okay. What did you do next?” Detective Holloway asks.
“I went over to Windermere.”
“Did you have access to the grounds?”
“Like permission to be there? No, but it’s easy to get onto the Talbots’ property,” Aster replies. “All you have to do is squeeze through that overgrown privacy hedge out front. They were still in the city; there was no one around.”
“And where did you go once you’d entered through the hedge?”
“To the stable. Caden used this stall in the back as a kind of hideout; he kept booze there.”
“You’d been inside the Talbots’ stable before?”
“A couple times, when we were all still at Jefferson. I knew about his hiding spot. I would have left the flash drive in his room if I could, but I didn’t have any way inside their house. So I put it right next to his whiskey, where I knew Caden would find it. It was supposed to be an anonymous warning that someone knew—he wasn’t getting away with it.”
“And what happened next?”
“I went home. Zoe got back a little after I did and locked herself in her room. She left for Jacob Trainer’s party around nine that night, as everyone knows. I hung out with my friend Martina for a while, but she had an eleven o’clock curfew, even though it was New Year’s. Her parents are strict like that. After Martina left, I couldn’t sleep. I stayed up in my room watching crap on Netflix. Around one, I got this gut feeling something was wrong. I started feeling guilty about leaving the flash drive in the stable. I still wanted to punish Caden, but it was Zoe’s relationship. I knew she’d be furious when she found out what I’d done.
“I wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, so I snuck out. Borrowed our parents’ car, drove over to Windermere. I could have walked, but like I said, I had this icky feeling in my gut. I wanted to get there fast.” Aster takes in a shaky breath and looks at her mom. The older woman nods at her daughter, giving her tac
it maternal permission to go on.
“When I got to Windermere,” Aster continues, “I knew something was wrong. The stable door was open, and the light was on. I started running, but I was too late.” Aster’s voice catches, and she drops her face into her hands. “Zoe was on the floor, and she was so cold. She wasn’t breathing. There was an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside her, and the flash drive was gone.” She looks up, straight into the camera. “Zoe never drinks. I can’t emphasize this enough. She. Never. Drinks. It never crossed my mind she’d go to the stable that night, I swear.”
“But she did,” AD Massey says. “What happened when Zoe arrived, Aster?”
“Don’t answer that,” Aster’s lawyer cuts in. “My client couldn’t possibly know what happened before she arrived, detectives.”
“I’ll rephrase,” AD Massey says. He turns to Aster. “I want you to put yourself in your sister’s shoes. What do you imagine happened when Zoe got to the stable?”
Aster’s lawyer holds up his hand, but Aster speaks anyway. “It’s okay. She went there with that Max guy, like he said she did. It makes sense. She was hurting, looking for a distraction. But then she must have seen the flash drive. It had these yellow and black polka dots; it was pretty distinct. She would have known right away that it was hers. Maybe she thought Caden had found it in her room and taken it to his hiding spot for safekeeping?”
“Could you smell alcohol on Zoe when you found her?” Detective Holloway asks.
Aster nods.
“Please answer verbally for the recording, Aster.”
“Oh right. Yes, I could. There was an empty whiskey bottle right next to her.” She glances at her parents again. George is staring hard at his shoes. Joan hastily swipes tears from her eyes, then takes Aster’s hand. “She must have, I don’t know, gotten alcohol poisoning, or overdosed on her anxiety meds?” Aster’s chin quivers, and the tears pooling along the rims of her eyes spill over. Detective Holloway pushes a tissue box toward her, and she takes a fistful.