Fear of Our Father

by Stacey Kananen

  Hussey asked him, “What do you mean, everything was coming to an end?”

  Daniel replied, “He said that ‘Soon enough everybody’s gonna know my story when everything’s coming to an end.’ I asked, ‘What do you mean? Like, when your life’s over?’ He said, ‘When everything gets so bad I just give up.’”

  I also found out, years later, that the same day Hussey was interviewing Daniel, Rickie received an e-mail from our Aunt Gerri, who lived in Ireland at the time. She was very concerned that some of Grandpa’s heirlooms might come up missing and she wanted them. She kept e-mailing Cheryl to ask where they were. When Cheryl told her that Mom’s house was being emptied, Gerri sent an e-mail to Rickie on December 16, asking why he was cleaning out the house and whether he had the legal right to alter the home of a runaway. She also asked if there were warrants out for Mom’s arrest on charges from Social Security and the IRS.

  His response to her on December 17 told her what he was telling everyone else—at the beginning, we thought that our father was involved, but after looking at the paperwork that she had supposedly left out, he discovered that Mom had been collecting Social Security all those years, and that she filed joint returns with the IRS, with our father’s name attached.

  He told her that Mom’s bank accounts were frozen and none of her bills were being paid as a result, and that our cousin Laureen had advised him to get Mom’s stuff out of her house before it was seized. His intention, he told Gerri, was to save Mother’s things so when she returned all of her irreplaceable collectibles would be waiting for her.

  He signed it, “Love, Rickie Stacey.”

  Christmas was just around the corner, and that year was going to be hard. Susan and I were torn over whether we should decorate or not, but we were trying to live a relatively normal life. Susan loves the holidays and festivities—she’s just like a little kid; it’s one of the things I love about her—so we went ahead and tried to merry the place up a bit. But Rickie wanted none of it. His attitude was, “Don’t put this shit up in my room.”

  I told him, “It’s not going in your room, but you need to respect Susan’s wishes.” I put lights and decorations up around mid-December, because I was trying to give Susan some Christmas joy.

  We were also trying to maintain a modicum of normalcy at Mom’s house, even if he had placed her belongings in storage—so I thought. Rickie mentioned to me that the utility bills over there were not being paid by the automatic online system that he had set up. So he asked me to call the bank and find out what was going on.

  This is where it gets dicey, because I honestly don’t know whether I called saying I was Marilyn Kananen or if I used my own name.

  I can, realistically, see either scenario playing out. We all know that banks will only talk to the account holder, so it’s feasible that I did say I was her, because that was the only way I could get the information I needed. On the other hand, the way I remember it is that I said I was Stacey Kananen, Marilyn’s daughter.

  In any case, I do not deny making the call and never have. Mom’s utilities were in danger of being shut off, and we were trying to keep her house up and running. Rickie asked me to help out by making the call, so I did. But the bank employee who took my call and reported it to the police said that I pretended to be my mom.

  Because it was already a suspicious situation, it looked pretty bad for me. However, after the bank employee told me the account was frozen and gave me instructions to call Detective Hussey, I did so immediately. He didn’t answer, so I left a voice mail telling him why I was calling, and left our home phone number for him to call back.

  Detective Hussey called back later and Rickie answered the phone. He told Rickie that he had some information about Mom’s bank accounts, and he wanted him to come down. Even though Hussey did not specify that he wanted to talk to me, Rickie told him I’d be there with him. That night, Rickie was up, shredding papers. Call me stupid and naïve, but I didn’t think anything of it. I guess I should have. It’s no big deal, usually. Shredding papers doesn’t mean you’re guilty of murder.

  CHAPTER 23

  The Rug Gets Pulled …

  Sometimes, when I look back on my life and the story that I’ve lived, I think about the weekend of December 20, 2003, and realize that it marked the end of my innocence. Yes, I had been viciously molested and raped in every way possible, I was raised and tortured by a criminal psychopath, I had witnessed and survived things that no person should ever have to experience. But that weekend was the last one where I believed that my parents were both still alive and my brother was not a murderer.

  When I went to the Orange County Sheriff’s Office that Monday morning, December 22, I was told that they had information about my mother and I was both hopeful and fearful about what I was about to hear. But Rickie assured me that all was well; we’d just go in and see what they had to say. Once we got inside, however, they took us into separate rooms and the life-changing conversations began.

  I sat down at the table in what was a pretty typical police interview room, the kind you see on TV shows, and was joined by Detectives McCann and Ruggiero. They started out with some fairly innocuous fact-gathering questions about my parents and their relationship. I didn’t think much of it until their questions started to veer toward me, like what kind of vehicle I drove and how much I paid for it. That seemed sort of irrelevant to me.

  Then came the question, “Has anything belonging to your mom been sold since her disappearance?” Oh great, I thought. That damned garage sale. “No, it has not,” I told them.

  To my relief, they dropped it and asked what Rickie was saying about Mom. I told them, “He thinks she’s afraid of the IRS, and she’ll be back whenever things settle down with them.”

  I was surprised to hear, “According to what we know she had no problems with the IRS.”

  I responded, “He has a letter, something about she didn’t put his income into the income tax. She had to send them a payment.”

  McCann said, “I mean the fact that she’s missing has nothing to do with the IRS,” and I replied, “Okay. I was just hoping …”

  He interrupted, “Is that what you have been led to believe by Richard?”

  This wasn’t going the way I expected. Led to believe? What? I said, “Well, I was hoping that’s why she left and maybe she’ll be back when whatever’s screwed up is taken care of.”

  Then began a barrage of questions about changes that Rickie had been making to Mom’s house. What about all of her personal items? What about the new garage floor? Why were these things being done? All I could do was tell them what he had told me. I gave them as much information as I had, but it wasn’t helping much.

  “Did your brother represent himself as his grandfather, to do internet banking in his name to withdraw money? Has any money been provided to you by your brother?”

  I didn’t know anything about him using Grandpa’s name, but I was sick when I had to admit that, yes, he had given me and Susan some money recently, almost seven thousand dollars, between paying off the car, helping me with my truck down payment, and things like that. I could have kicked myself when I had to own up to being naïve and trusting, and not asking him exactly where he got the money from. I told them, “Well, he’s been doing a lot of electrical work so I just assumed. I don’t ask a lot of questions. I grew up in a household where you just didn’t ask those kinds of questions.”

  “Now,” one of the detectives said, “the Nissan that you have, we understand was paid for in cash. That you don’t owe anything on it.”

  Immediately, I corrected him. “Yes, I do. I have a payment book coming. My truck was not paid for in cash.”

  This was turning ugly. He continued, “Since your mom’s disappearance, upwards of a hundred thousand dollars has been taken from the trust fund.”

  All I could say was, “Holy smokes!”

  He pressed on. “Now, how did that happen?”

  I was flabbergasted. “I have no idea. I have a
bsolutely no idea.”

  “Did some of that money go for the purchase of your pickup truck?”

  “No! No!” I insisted.

  “Did your brother go with you when you purchased the pickup truck?” he asked.

  “Yeah, he was with me because my truck was dying every couple of blocks. I had to have somebody with me to help me drive it.”

  He wasn’t letting up. “Well, why does Nissan say that it’s paid for?”

  I insisted again, “My truck is not paid for. I have the paperwork at the house. I have a payment book coming of $227 a month!”

  When he asked how I came up with the six thousand dollars for the down payment, I explained, “My brother helped put it together. A little bit of electrical work he’s been doing, some money I’ve been saving. Not six thousand. He gave me a couple and then I had some in my bank account. I believe it was maybe twenty-five hundred and I had the rest in my account.”

  One of the detectives asked, “So, the reason he’s living in the house with you and not still at the mobile home is what?”

  “He moved in to help me do some work on my house. I bought it in March 2003. He asked, when we were working on the house, ‘Well, this is really nice. Can I move in with you guys?’ and we said sure. We’d love to have you. I’d like to think it’s because he wants to be closer to me. I haven’t seen him much in a lot of years.”

  “Does he pay you rent?”

  “He hasn’t,” I said, “but he’s been helping me with home repairs I guess in lieu of rent. So, I assume when he gave me some money it was to help pay for the bills.”

  Detective McCann asked, “How did you learn that the bank accounts were frozen?”

  “McCoy Bank sent a letter and it said, nonsufficient funds, accounts frozen.”

  He asked, “So, who called the bank?”

  I told them, “I called to ask a question and of course they won’t give me any information because I’m not Marilyn. I asked them if they could tell me why the accounts were frozen.”

  “So, they told you that because you weren’t Marilyn they weren’t going to give you any information on the accounts?”

  “Uh huh. That is correct.”

  “Why did you call the bank about the frozen accounts?”

  “Because I was curious and I was concerned.”

  “Did Richard tell you to call?”

  I told McCann, “He might’ve mentioned it, but not in a way that he made me call.”

  “Is your mom’s car in one of those storage units?”

  I was beginning to get sick to my stomach, because it was becoming apparent that they knew something sinister was going on. “No, I don’t believe so,” I said. “I only know about one storage unit.”

  “When we go to your house and dig up the garage floor, are we going to find anything?”

  I was confused. “No. You’re going to dig up my house?”

  “We’re going to dig up the garage floor where the metal plates are.”

  More confusion. “Are you talking about my mother’s house? Not to my knowledge. No, I wouldn’t expect you to find anything.”

  “What if she’s there?”

  My heart lurched in my chest. “I … why did you say that?”

  “Because we think she may be.”

  I couldn’t answer that. The implication was sinking in.

  Detective Ruggiero said, “You’ve lived in that house, correct? And your mother’s lived there for quite some time? And after her disappearance these metal plates appeared in the garage floor. Did you find that strange?”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  “Little bit. We do, too. We get paid to ask questions. We work in Homicide. If you know something about what happened to your mother …”

  I interrupted, “I have no …”

  “Listen, hear me out. If you know something about what happened to your mother, you need to be completely honest with us. Did Richard tell you how to answer us?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  He persisted, “You guys are coming in to talk to Homicide detectives and you don’t talk about questions you may be asked? I find that very strange. If I was going to talk to a Homicide detective with somebody, I would be talking about questions that may be asked.”

  “I honestly didn’t know you guys were Homicide detectives. He told me that we had to talk to Mark Hussey about Mother’s leaving.”

  “You didn’t answer my question about the plates. You would find that strange?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said.

  “Who put them there?”

  “My brother did.”

  “Why?”

  I stammered, “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I don’t ask questions. When I grew up as a kid you just didn’t ask questions.” That comment led into a long conversation about what it was like when I was growing up. I explained that our father was a dangerous man, and we were all lucky to have survived. When they asked if Rickie was like him, I had to say that I didn’t think he was. I really didn’t. I couldn’t see him being violent.

  Ruggiero was dubious. “Even to protect all three of you and the mother?”

  “I can’t see my brother being that kind of a person.”

  McCann said, “It’s happened before. Where to protect the family something is done like that and then the family isn’t hurt anymore. I think that’s probably what happened in this case with respect to your father.”

  I had no response to that. He asked, “Your brother has a take-control type personality, would you say? He seems to have taken charge after your mother’s disappearance pretty quickly. I mean what with moving stuff out, with getting a storage unit, redoing the garage, taking care of all kinds of things. I don’t know him. I’ve never met the man. But it would seem to me that would be his personality. Do you understand where we’re coming from?”

  “I’m having a hard time with what you’re thinking, but I think so.”

  McCann continued, “Now we’re talking about your mother, who has been working solidly every day for eight years or more. Every day. She never disappeared once. She was very conscientious. All of a sudden she doesn’t show up anymore and her car doesn’t show up? Now that tells us that whoever did this is pretty secure that we’re not going to find her or the car. That’s why I asked you if we’re going to find the car in one of those storage units. And then we have the issue of the hundred thousand dollars. Where is the money?”

  I felt stupid, but had to say, “I don’t know.”

  Detective Ruggiero said, “What we’re getting at is people like your mother don’t tend to disappear. Then we have the hundred thousand dollars coming out of accounts, which have been accessed in all likelihood via the computer. It would seem that whoever’s doing this would have information that she isn’t going to come back. And then we have the whole scenario with the garage and the residence itself.”

  McCann asked me again about making that phone call to the bank. He said, “You know what that situation would put you in. If we’re talking about a homicide here. Alright? So, we want you to be absolutely up front with us, Stacey, right now. Because from now on it’s a downhill slide, alright? If there’s something you know, we need to hear it right now.”

  I was beginning to get a little panicky. They wouldn’t believe anything that I was telling them. I said, “I don’t know anything. I’m just a little taken aback by what’s been said and …”

  He asked, “Why didn’t you report your mom missing?”

  “We all three were in the house at the time the report was made!”

  “Your sister reported your mom missing. And she’s been in regular contact with us. I don’t recall any information about you coming in and talking to anybody. That didn’t happen, Stacey. Didn’t you love your mother?”

  I was practically in tears. “I love my mother very much. I miss my mother very much. This is probably the worst thing that could ever happen to me, is to not have her here.”

  “Right. Are you and Richard in
cahoots?”

  Why wouldn’t he believe me? “No. Goodness, no!” I cried.

  “This is over something as simple as money. Simple greed, money! Did he take money out of the trust to go buy a truck?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he kill his mother because he wanted to go buy a truck? Because I bet that his business is worth crap. I bet that he doesn’t make crap day-to-day in his business. And I bet that he’s home more then he’s somewhere else, and he’s how old?”

  “He’s forty six.”

  “And he doesn’t have his own place, he’s got to live with you?”

  I didn’t answer. He had a good point.

  “Huh?” he jabbed at me. I had nothing to say in response.

  “If he had such a great business, he’d be living on his own; he’d be living with his wife. But apparently, she’s had enough.”

  The truth was crashing down on me. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

  “Is Richard dragging you into something, Stacey?” McCann asked.

  Detective Ruggiero took over. “Stacey, I think that you need to maybe open your eyes a little bit regarding your brother. Because I think he’s manipulating you, and I think he’s taking advantage of you. Because maybe you are a little too trusting. But now is the time where if you know something or you’ve heard something, now is not the time to protect your brother. Because I’m here to tell you, we’re going to find your mother. We’re going to dig up that garage and I’m here to tell you people don’t put steel plates down on a garage for no reason.”

  I could barely speak. All I could say was, “Okay.”