Darkness Drops Again

by Melissa E Manning

  Ethan fidgets with his suit before responding, “Pretty low key.”

  I laugh. “Does that mean only one sleepover per night?”

  Ethan shoots me a dirty look before snapping, “Why don’t you try worrying about your own love life for a change.”

  A dagger right to my heart. I inhale audibly and fumble around for an equally painful retort, but nothing comes to mind. After a few tense minutes, I quietly ask, “What did you mean by that?”

  Ethan runs his hand through his hair, before responding, “Now it's my turn to say sorry. I’m just incredibly frustrated. I really like this guy, but he won’t commit. I’m not sure how much longer I can settle for sloppy seconds.”

  I feel like an idiot. I just assume Ethan likes playing the field. I’ve never really thought about whether he might like to fall in love and settle down one day. “Well, then that guy is stupid because you’re a huge catch. He’d be lucky to have you all to himself.”

  Ethan nods appreciatively in my direction but lets another several minutes pass in silence. I carefully merge from I-90E to I-55S toward Joliet where we’ll stay for the majority of the hour-long trip. Thinking back over my response, I realize it was a bit trite. Ethan opens up to me and I give him back a Hallmark soundbite. I take a deep breath and try again. “Hey, relationships are tough. Patrick and I have been married for almost a decade, but most days it feels like we’re roommates rather than spouses. You aren’t wrong to suggest I should worry about my own love life.”

  Ethan takes a sip of his coffee before sheepishly inquiring, “I take that to mean not much is happening between the sheets these days?”

  Of course, Ethan focuses on sex. But I concede, “You could say that. How long do you have to abstain before you can be deemed a born-again virgin?”

  Ethan chuckles and seems to take solace in our mutual dissatisfaction. He turns his attention to trying out all my pre-programmed radio stations. I allow my mind to wander as an endless landscape of farmland takes the place of skyscrapers. It always amazes me how quickly you can leave the third largest city in the country and enter the rural Midwest.

  As Ethan and I car dance to Electric Feel by MGMT, the imposing concrete monstrosity of Stateville enters our vision. The prison sits on sixty-four acres of land completely enclosed by a thirty-foot high wall. The land immediately surrounding the prison is barren and desolate. I pull into the visitors parking lot adjacent to the enormous red brick reception center. Ethan and I look at each other and I take a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Ethan and I are assigned a table in the visiting room, as they call it, and we wait for the guards to bring Simon down. Ethan turns and asks, “What exactly is Tom hoping to get out of this visit? The cops know Simon wasn’t home when Kyleigh died. They have video from the 7-Eleven of his car leaving his house before Tammy enters and then not returning until the following morning.”

  I concede, “I think Tom just wants us to confirm that Kyleigh was wrapped up tight in the comforter when Simon found her.”

  The large metal doors leading out into the hallway clang open loudly and the guards lead a painfully thin young man into the visiting room. Simon is about average height with stringy, unwashed reddish brown hair that’s been pulled back into a ponytail. He also sports an unruly beard and mustache. The skin that’s visible has the unhealthy pallor and pock marks typical of a user. Simon is wearing the de rigueur orange jumpsuit and his hands are cuffed in front of him.

  He sits down at table three opposite Ethan and me and immediately gets to the point. “What the fuck do you two want? I waived my right to an appeal in the plea agreement.”

  Ethan takes the lead. “Good morning, Mr. Harr. I’m Ethan Colopy and this is my colleague Maeve Shaw. We represent Tammy Sanford. We want to ask you a few questions about her daughter, Kyleigh.”

  Simon gives us a nasty grin revealing several missing teeth. The remaining ones are discolored. A condition referred to by medical professionals as “meth mouth.”

  “I hope that bitch rots in jail.”

  No love lost between the formerly potential in-laws. Maybe some sympathy will make Simon more willing to cooperate.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Simon,” I say. “How long were you and Kyleigh together?”

  Simon turns his attention to me and blatantly conducts a slow appraisal from my legs up. Indicating his appreciation of my Houndstooth pencil skirt and white blouse, he flashes me a hungry smile.

  “Ky and I are ancient history, sweetheart. I like to live in the present.”

  Why does it seem that all the prisoners I meet have Don Juan delusions? I attempt to cover up my distaste. “Understood. But if you remain uncooperative, I’ll walk out of here and you won’t get the pleasure of ogling me. If instead you tell me about the night Kyleigh died, I’ll stay a bit longer and give you some new visuals for your spank bank. Deal?”

  Simon throws back his head and cackles at the ceiling, drawing the guard’s attention. The guard tenses and grips his nightstick in anticipation of trouble. But Simon quickly recovers and seems more relaxed. He awkwardly puts his shackled hands on his head and leans back. “Fair enough. Fire away.”

  Ethan seems surprised at Simon’s one eighty, but plows ahead. “Can you tell us a bit about Tammy and Kyleigh’s relationship? Did they get along?”

  Simon guffaws. “Not since Ky stopped bringing in the pageant money. Say what you want about me, but that woman pimped out her daughter for years before I had my turn with her.”

  My protein shake starts to make a reappearance, but I want to keep Simon talking. “Is that what Kyleigh thought?”

  Simon leans forward. “That’s the truth. Tammy put Ky in every pageant she could find within two hundred miles. Ky had to dance and sing like her little puppet. She put lipstick and mascara all over her face. Ky showed me pictures. She hated that shit. She was happy when she hurt her back and had to quit. Her ma was sure pissed though. She actually had to get herself a j-o-b at Walmart. After that, Tammy got herself that little mutt and started pimping him out instead.”

  Simon will make a perfect witness for the prosecution painting Tammy as an overbearing pageant mom. Of course that’s all hearsay. Simon didn’t know Kyleigh before she needed his drugs. “Is that when you met Kyleigh? After she hurt her back and stopped performing?”

  Simon thinks for a moment before responding. “Can’t say I remember exactly when I met Ky. She just started showing up at the house and getting high. After a while, her and her baby just started living there.”

  I cringe at the mention of Garrett living in that crack house. Simon doesn’t seem bothered by it though. Quite the opposite. I feel dirty and my skin tingles. I want to get Simon talking about the comforter so I can get the hell out of here. I prompt, “Can you tell us what you remember about the night Kyleigh died?”

  “You mean the night her mom killed her,” Simon snaps. “Yeah, I can tell you about that. The baby had been screaming all damn day. It was driving me nuts. I couldn’t sleep. I tell Ky to shut him up and she says something about his ears hurting. So, she calls her mom for money to take him to the doctor. Bitch owed her after all the pageant money she stole. But when Ky told me her mom was coming over after work, I bounced. I hated that bitch.” Simon smiles to himself before continuing, “She hated me too, I guess, ‘cause when I left I saw her in her fucking Dodge Charger waiting for me to go.”

  Funny Simon noticed that. Maybe it wasn’t the first time. “Was that usual? I mean, did Tammy usually wait in her car until you left?”

  Simon shook his head. “Nah. Tammy had no trouble barging into my house and cussing me out. Made her feel better to blame me for Ky’s problems instead of looking in the goddamn mirror.”

  I pause for a minute to think about this, and Ethan jumps in. “And then you didn’t come back to the house until around nine the next morning?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” Simon says vaguely. “I remember it was early. I knew something wasn
’t right when I walked in the door. I found the baby sleeping in his car seat, so I knew Ky had to be home. That’s when I went into the bedroom and found her.”

  Simon looks away from us. He seems sincerely shaken by the memory. Ethan asks the million-dollar question, “Can you describe how Kyleigh looked when you found her?”

  Simon turns back. “Well, at first I didn’t know she was dead. She was all wrapped up in this big blanket on her side like she was trying to get warm. But when I got closer, I could see her face was bluish. Something wasn’t right. I called nine-one-one. To be honest, I thought she’d OD’d and just needed a shot of Narcan.”

  Having gotten what we needed, Ethan and I begin to put our legal pads and pens back in our respective bags. Simon looks anxious at the prospect of losing the only visitors he’s had for a while.

  “Don’t you want to know why Tammy killed her?”

  Ethan and I jerk back to attention. “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  Simon gives a triumphant grin. “After the police left, I found the adoption papers ripped in half and thrown in the garbage. Tammy had been badgering Ky to let her have that baby for months. But Ky didn’t want Tammy to fuck up Garrett like she’d fucked her up. When I saw that Ky had torn up the adoption papers, I knew Tammy did it.”

  My mind’s reeling. How has the adoption never come up? I scramble for an alternative explanation, stammering, “But you don’t know Kyleigh tore the papers up in front of Tammy. She could have torn them up before Tammy came to the house and never told her.”

  Simon’s grin becomes joker-esque. “Nope, because Ky and I were looking at those papers before I left the house. Tammy had dropped them off the last time she gave Ky money and diapers. She told Ky she either signed them or she was cut off. Ky was going on and on about whether she should go ahead and let Tammy have him. She knew she wasn’t the world’s best mom. I told Ky, if you do it make sure you get something out of the deal. Tell Tammy you’ll sign for five grand. Tammy wants the baby so bad, let her have him. But make her pay. When I walked out the door, Ky said she wasn’t giving her baby up for less than ten.”

  I feel sick. Not just because of Simon’s baby blackmail scheme. But because he can give the State their missing motive.

  Chapter 17

  “Don’t we have a duty to tell Porter about this?” I prod.

  Ethan and I dropped Simon’s little bombshell on Tom the minute we got back to my car. We are receiving his less than satisfying response via Bluetooth as we haul tail back to the office.

  “Absolutely not,” Tom emphatically declares. “You didn’t uncover new evidence, exculpatory or incriminating. What you got was a theory from a convicted felon. A convicted felon who admittedly hates our client.”

  Ethan and I exchange skeptical looks, before I counter, “I think you’re minimizing the impact of this, Tom. There’s no mention of Tammy’s proposed adoption in any of the police reports. Tammy never mentioned wanting to adopt Garrett in any of her interviews. Even when she was directly asked by the police whether she ever considered taking Garrett away from Kyleigh given her drug abuse, she demurred. Her omission alone lends credence to Simon’s theory.”

  Tom sighs like a professor frustrated by his subpar pupils. “Listen to yourself, Maeve. You just admitted what this is. A theory. Nothing more. We are under no ethical obligation to make the State’s case for it. If Porter hasn’t found the time to drive out to BFE and interview Simon, that’s his fault. We simply cross Simon off of our potential witness list and move on.”

  Undeterred, Ethan enters the fray. “Tom, while I see your point, we did potentially uncover incriminating evidence. Simon said the ripped-up adoption papers were in his trash can. He said he saw them after the police processed the crime scene. And then he was arrested two days later. They may very well still be there. Given the state of his apartment, I doubt he bothered to clean up.”

  The line falls silent. Ethan’s point is brilliant. Those papers are probably still at the crime scene just waiting to be discovered.

  Tom recovers himself and issues a directive. “You two are not to go anywhere near that apartment. We don’t know whether Simon discarded them or not. And we are under no obligation to investigate further. Leave them be. Do you understand?”

  I look at Ethan and can tell from his furrowed brow and thoughtful expression that he is as uncomfortable with Tom’s demand as I am. But what else can we do? It’s Tom’s case. We’re just his minions. I take a deep breath before emitting a perfunctory, “Understood,” and disconnect the call.

  Ethan and I maintain silence for the remainder of the ninety-minute drive back to Chicago. The long stretches of pasture and open highway slowly give way to concrete and standstill traffic. Ethan appears to be alternately responding to email and browsing social media and I find myself mindlessly cycling through the five pre-programmed radio stations unable to settle on one. I finally admit to myself that I’m not going to be able to let this go. I need to find out if Tammy and Kyleigh argued about Garrett’s adoption on the night of her death. But I can’t directly disobey Tom’s order to stay away from Simon’s place. Then it dawns on me. While I can’t visit the crime scene, Tom’s prohibition doesn’t extend to questioning witnesses. I spot the Armitage exit and quickly merge onto Ashland Avenue going south.

  “Where are you going?” Ethan inquires. “This isn’t Monroe.”

  “I know,” I respond nervously. “Up for another prison visit?”

  Ethan smiles approvingly. “Let’s see if I can get us added to today’s visitors list.”

  ***

  Tammy looks suspiciously at Ethan and me as she takes her seat across from us. This unexpected visit seems to have her nervous and I have a hunch that we may be able to get some useful information. Before I can dive in though, Tammy turns to Ethan and asks, “Do you have any pictures of Rapscallion?”

  Ethan grins and obligingly pulls out his iPhone 11. He scrolls through his camera roll before landing on a picture of a dainty-looking dog with a white body and mostly brown face and ears. A streak of white fur runs down the center of his face. His large brown eyes beam back at the camera.

  Tammy gets misty eyed as she lovingly strokes the picture. I need to put an end to this photo sesh.

  “Good afternoon, Tammy. Sorry for the unexpected visit, but Ethan and I went to see Simon Harr this morning and a few things came up that we wanted to ask you about.”

  Tammy’s disposition changes from nostalgic to pissed in a hot second. “Why the hell did you go see him?”

  Ethan unsurprisingly jumps in to calm Tammy down. “Tammy, if we are going to competently defend you at trial, we need to speak to all of the witnesses. We have to make sure there are no last-minute surprises.”

  Tammy shakes her head. “But Simon ain’t no witness. He wasn’t even there when Kyleigh died. Off selling drugs, of course.”

  “Right, but Simon was Kyleigh’s boyfriend,” I reason. “And, even more importantly, Simon is the one who discovered Kyleigh’s body and called the police. You see why we would want to get his story?”

  Tammy begrudgingly grunts, “I s’pose,” so I continue.

  “Ethan called you last week and told you about our expert’s theory that Kyleigh died of positional asphyxiation, right?”

  Tammy manages a half-hearted nod. “Didn’t understand most of what he was talking about, but Ethan said this expert will testify I didn’t kill her.”

  “Right. Our expert, Dr. Smart, will testify Kyleigh wrapped herself so tightly in her comforter she couldn’t get enough oxygen. And because of the drugs she had taken, her brain couldn’t tell her body to change positions. Understand?”

  Again, Tammy gives a small nod. “Sounds right.”

  “Well, Simon corroborated many key facts our expert is relying on, including that Kyleigh was still wrapped tightly in her comforter when he found her.”

  Tammy picks a hangnail from her left thumb until it bleeds. She then puts her thumb in her
mouth and sucks it.

  Apparently Tammy is unimpressed by Dr. Smart’s theory. I plow forward. “Unfortunately, after speaking with Simon we don’t know if we’ll be able to call him as a witness at trial.”

  Tammy’s interest peaks. “Why’s that?”

  Time to pull the pin from the grenade and lob it in her direction. “Well, because he could also testify that Kyleigh was trying to bribe you in exchange for custody of Garrett.”

  Tammy’s stunned silence speaks volumes.

  “What happened that night after Kyleigh demanded ten thousand dollars in exchange for signing the adoption papers?”

  Tammy leans toward Ethan and, without uttering a word, Ethan is getting the pack of Marlboro reds from his briefcase. He lights one, takes it out of his mouth, and hands it across the table. She takes a slow drag and exhales the smoke in my general direction.

  “I knew Simon put her up to it. Kyleigh’d done a lot of bad stuff by then, but she wouldn’t have thought to try to sell her baby. Kyleigh was a good mom, when she was sober. You know, Garrett was taken by the state for three months after his birth because he was born with opioids in his system? Kyleigh had to submit to weekly drug tests in order to regain custody. She even went to rehab for six of those weeks. I visited her at Rosemont. She said she threw up every day for the first two weeks. It was hard, but she was determined to get him back. And when she finally did, she was so happy. She’d play with him and read books to him. Hell, she even co-slept because she couldn’t stand being away from him. But then she went out with some friends for her twenty-third birthday and got high. A month later she moved in with Simon.”

  Tammy wipes away the tears at the corners of her eyes with the back of her shackled hands. While I empathize with Tammy’s situation and truly believe she loved Kyleigh, that, unfortunately, only makes it more likely that she murdered her. After all, seventy-nine percent of all homicides are committed by friends or loved ones. It was time to turn Tammy’s focus back to the night in question.