Keep Her Safe

by Sophie Hannah

  MT: But, Bonnie—

  BJ: No buts, Mallory. I’m sorry, but any fool can see it! If Annette and Naldo Chapa think Emory should still be alive, that has to mean that they don’t believe Melody should ever have been conceived. This is why I had my people find out where Melody was born, and it’s how I came to meet Mallory here. I wanted to ask her a very specific question—not one about the Chapas this time. A more general question that would finally provide me with the proof I needed to make the police sit up and take notice. Now, Mallory, you and I first met ten days ago, didn’t we? And what you told me put a great big smile on my face. Not only were you in the room when little Melody Chapa was born, but you’d known the Chapas for some time. You gave them counseling after they lost Emory, their first daughter. When I heard that, I cried out, “Well, thank you, Lord!” Out loud. Right?

  MT: Yes, you did.

  BJ: And then I asked you a question. Do you remember what it was?

  MT: You wanted to know when Emory would have been born if she hadn’t—

  BJ: Oh—sure, but that’s not what I mean. For those viewers only just joining us, we’ve already established that if Emory Chapa had not tragically died in the womb, Melody couldn’t have been conceived when she was and would therefore never have been born. But Mallory, what did I ask you next? I want our viewers to hear this from you, not me.

  MT: You asked if it was common for a couple to lose a pregnancy, for a pregnancy to miscarry, and then for them to get pregnant again during the time when they would have been still pregnant with the baby they lost.

  BJ: Okay. That’s quite a tongue twister, isn’t it? Ha! But I hope everyone can follow what we’re saying. If Emory hadn’t died, Melody wouldn’t have lived. That’s simple, right? I figured that must happen a lot. I haven’t been blessed with children myself, but I wanted them oh, so desperately, for oh, so many years—you have no idea! When I was married to my ex-husband—the vile and ruthless Raoul Juno; don’t get me started on him!—I conceived twice. I lost both babies, one at ten weeks, one at thirteen weeks. Heartbroken doesn’t begin to cover it. On both occasions, I said to Raoul, “Let’s try again. Please, let’s not give up.” Both times, I could easily have gotten pregnant again—I didn’t, but I easily could have—before the baby I’d lost was due to be born. So I figured that had to be pretty common, for that to happen. Mallory, what answer did you give me?

  MT: What you just said: it’s common. Many women conceive soon after losing a baby—during what would have been their prior pregnancy, had that not failed.

  BJ: Uh-huh. And you and your team, your colleagues—you support these women through these subsequent pregnancies, don’t you? When they’re nervous the same thing might happen again—that the pregnancy might not make it all the way?

  MT: I do, yes.

  BJ: So you’re a real expert. Next I asked you if women in that position—in Annette Chapa’s position after Melody was born, a healthy, live baby—do such women ever remark upon the fact that they wouldn’t have this beautiful new living, breathing baby in their arms if they hadn’t miscarried their previous pregnancy?

  MT: Yes, they do.

  BJ: What—sometimes, often? Rarely? Let’s get some context here.

  MT: Almost always.

  BJ: I’m sorry, Mallory, I know this is difficult for you. It must feel as if you’re helping me argue a case you don’t agree with, but all I’m asking for is the facts. You think I’m hell-bent on putting Annette and Naldo Chapa behind bars? Well, that may be so, but no fact has ever had an agenda. Facts are just facts. They’re neutral, and they’re all we have to go on, so . . . we need to hear them. Are you going to tell the viewers at home, or shall I?

  MT: Women in Annette Chapa’s position almost always say they feel conflicted: they’re so happy to have their baby, obviously—that’s a joyful thing—but at the same time, they know that baby wouldn’t be there if they hadn’t lost the baby that didn’t make it. They feel guilty. They ask if it’s okay to be happy about the new baby—whether celebrating its arrival is indirectly celebrating their deceased baby’s death. I always tell them that of course that’s not the case at all, that of course they must celebrate—

  BJ: Did Annette Chapa say anything of this sort after Melody was born? You were there: a firsthand witness. Were Annette and Naldo overcome with joy when Melody made it into this world safe and sound?

  MT: I’m sure they were, yes.

  BJ: You’re sure, huh? Did they express this joy that you’re so positive was in their hearts? Verbally, I mean, or with their body language?

  MT: No, but not everybody is the same.

  BJ: What did Annette Chapa say to you when Melody was born, Mallory?

  MT: She said it was a tragedy that Emory wasn’t there with them. She felt Emory should have been there to meet her little sister and she wished that she could have been.

  BJ: She said those words: “Emory should be here”?

  MT: Yes.

  BJ: She said that, knowing that if Emory had been there, Melody would not have been?

  MT: That makes it sound . . . She didn’t mean that! She just meant—

  BJ: Did Annette ever say to you what, by your own admission, almost every woman in her position says—that she was overjoyed to have Melody, but also felt guilty? Did she ever ask you, as so many mothers have over the years, if it was wrong for her to be happy about Melody’s arrival knowing it wouldn’t have been possible if Emory hadn’t died? Did Annette or Naldo ever say anything like that to you?

  MT: No.

  BJ: All the same, it came up in conversation, didn’t it? Tell us how.

  MT: I visited the Chapas at their home when Melody was three weeks old. Naldo seemed okay. Annette didn’t. She was quiet and subdued. I was concerned. I thought maybe it was the kind of guilt we’ve been talking about.

  BJ: So, although she’d never given you any reason to think she felt guilty, you wondered if Annette was punishing herself for being happy about Melody’s arrival—in case that happiness could be construed, indirectly, as an acceptance of Emory’s death?

  MT: I wondered, yes. Like I said, that feeling is just so universal among women who’ve—

  BJ: So did you ask Annette if this was the case?

  MT: Yes.

  BJ: And what did she say? How did she reply?

  MT: Look, women who’ve just had babies say all kinds of strange and scary things. It’s really common. And immediately afterward, as Annette did, they burst into tears and tell you they don’t really mean it.

  BJ: We should probably mention that this behavior is known among self-proclaimed experts as “ugly coping,” or “coping ugly.” For those unfamiliar with the term, it means dealing with a traumatic incident in a way that’s inconsistent with socially acceptable behavior. It was coined by Dr. George Bonanno of Columbia University and it’s now regularly used to defend murderers who are guilty as sin—so thank you for that, Dr. Bonnano. It was used by Jose Baez to defend Casey Anthony, who went out partying and got herself a new tattoo saying “La Bella Vita” when she was supposedly desperately worried about her missing daughter, Caylee Marie. Mallory, I’ll be honest: I don’t have any more time for this “ugly coping” theory now than I did back in 2009. And you haven’t answered my question: What did Annette Chapa say when you asked her if she felt horribly guilty to be so thrilled to have her beautiful new baby Melody? I’m sure you’re wishing now that you’d never told me what she said, but you did, and it’s my duty to get this out there, so—

  MT: She said it was the other way around. She said she felt as if, by allowing Melody to be born, she’d colluded in Emory’s death. As if by having Melody, she’d somehow made Emory’s death final and irreversible, and . . . sometimes this made her feel she hated Melody and wished she’d never been born. But—

  BJ: And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen. Annette Chapa wished that her beautiful little daughter Melody had never been born. The woman is a monster. Mallory Tondini, thank you for joi
ning us here on Justice with Bonnie. Next up, I’ll be talking to the Chapas’ lawyer, Lexi Waldman, and asking her: Is there anybody, any monster out there, who she would not defend? Does she have no morals at all? See you after the break.

  7

  October 11, 2017

  Can I really stop now, without knowing how the Melody Chapa story ends?

  You promised yourself you would.

  Yes, I did. But that was before I knew how much I’d want to know what happened after Bonnie Juno interviewed Mallory Tondini. Surely her theories alone weren’t enough to make detectives arrest Annette and Naldo Chapa and charge them with the murder of their daughter?

  There’s still the last part of the Overview to read. That’s where the answers to my new questions will be. A quick glance shows me that part three is short. I have to read it. Then I’ll stop. Then I’ll concentrate on my own problems.

  Melody Chapa—the Full Story

  An Overview

  The Murder of Melody Chapa: Part 3—Bonnie Juno, Mallory Tondini and a Change of Direction

  After Bonnie Juno’s live interview with Mallory Tondini on Justice with Bonnie on September 2, 2010—and in spite of Tondini’s repeated insistence on that show that she did not believe Annette and Naldo Chapa had harmed Melody—the official investigation into the disappearance of Melody Chapa took a different direction. Annette and Naldo Chapa were cross-examined again and their home was searched more thoroughly than it had been previously. Once again, nothing was found. This time, however, Detective Larry Beadman decided to take it one step further and also search Melody’s parents’ workplaces. This, incredibly, had not been done before—no doubt because of the circumstantial evidence mounting against Kristie Reville.

  At the back of a cupboard in Annette Chapa’s office, Beadman and his colleagues found several garbage bags filled with books that were waiting to go to a charity auction. At the bottom of one they found some dead blowflies and larvae—the same species found in Melody’s schoolbag. As stated earlier, these flies are commonly found on and near dead bodies, which led detectives to conclude that body parts belonging to a deceased person must have been inside the garbage bag at some point. Laboratory analysis found that there was blood all over the inside of the bag. Forensic testing confirmed the blood was Melody’s. In Naldo Chapa’s office, a shirt belonging to Melody and covered with her blood was found in a hold-all that Naldo claimed he’d forgotten was there and hadn’t touched for several years.

  Melody’s parents’ protestations of their own innocence convinced nobody. They faced multiple charges, though both continue to protest their innocence to this day. In June 2013, after hiring and firing three different legal teams, they were finally found guilty of the murder of their daughter, Melody Chapa, and were later sentenced to life in prison without possibility of parole.

  No charges were ever brought against Jeff and Kristie Reville. They turned down a lucrative book deal and never spoke publicly about the case. In 2014 they set up a children’s charity that they still run: the Melody Chapa Foundation.

  Many books have been written about this case and many questions asked. Most of these remain unanswered and perhaps always will. Who snatched Melody? Annette and Naldo Chapa were both provably elsewhere—so did they send someone else to abduct their daughter from the school parking lot, having set up solid alibis for themselves? Kristie Reville admitted shortly after the Chapas were charged with murder that she did not, as she first claimed, take Melody all the way to the school playground. Eager to get to the home of Victor Soutar, and running slightly late, she waved good-bye to Melody in the parking lot and then drove away. The walk from the parking lot to the playground is seventy-five yards, and there are parents and children walking there in large numbers at that time in the morning. Did someone grab Melody and bundle her into their car without anybody noticing? It seems unlikely, yet what other conclusion can we draw?

  It has been suggested that if a third party acting for the Chapas murdered Melody and disposed of her body, it’s unlikely that the garbage bag and the hold-all containing incriminating evidence would have found their way into the offices of Annette and Naldo Chapa. This is only one of the many contradictions the case has thrown up. Bonnie Juno has stated that she believes Annette and Naldo Chapa asked whomever they hired to do the hit job on their daughter to bring them each a souvenir of the murder, and that this would explain the evidence found in their offices. “Naldo got the bloodstained school shirt Melody was wearing on the day she died, and Annette got goodness knows what. I can’t imagine she’d have been satisfied with five dead flies, so I’m guessing there was a garment in that sack when she first got it. I have no idea where that garment is now, but I suspect she moved it or disposed of it after seeing Mallory Tondini on my show. She knew the net was closing in and tried to ditch the evidence.”

  Since the Chapas seem unlikely ever to admit their guilt, we will probably never find out for certain why they murdered their daughter, or had her murdered by a third party. Bonnie Juno has always maintained they did it because, ultimately, they could not forgive Melody for not being Emory—the daughter they lost.

  On the Andrew Runcie show, Juno said, “Let me tell you something about abusive parents, Andrew. Most of them claim to love their children—and never more so than when those children are sitting quietly with neat hair and clothes, silently quaking with fear in case they do something wrong. Perfectly behaved children, sleeping children—they’re not a challenge. They don’t make an abusive parent want to hit out. Same goes for dead children. I firmly believe Annette and Naldo Chapa worshipped Emory only because she never lived, never caused them even one second of stress. She was their lost angel, a perfect memory. Melody, on the other hand, was a real flesh-and-blood person with needs and wants. Like all children, she must have had tantrums, broken things, cried, not been able to sleep some nights. Good, loving parents take all that in stride, but the Chapas, as we all now know, were not good and loving. They were monsters—monsters who killed their own beautiful daughter to punish her for the death of her sister. They’re sick and wicked and I hope they rot.”

  Neither Annette nor Naldo Chapa has yet revealed the whereabouts of Melody’s body. So far it has not been found.

  The sound of the doorbell reminds me that there’s a world outside my head, beyond the story of Melody Chapa.

  It must be room service, here to collect my breakfast tray.

  By the time I get to the door, I’ve decided: I don’t like Bonnie Juno, but I agree with her. Annette and Naldo Chapa are guilty.

  Of what? Melody’s alive, remember? You met her.

  Also . . . if Kristie Reville’s totally innocent, why did she have blood all over her arm? Nate Appleyard and the petrol-station man both saw it.

  It’s not the room service waiter at the door. It’s Tarin Fry, in white linen culottes, a navy blouse with a pattern of pink blotches, white sandals and a powder-pink sun hat. Her eyes are hidden behind dark glasses. “You get over your fit of the vapors?” she asks me. Behind her there’s a club car and driver waiting.

  “Come on, we’ve got things to do. I’m tired of waiting and wondering. Let’s find Riyonna, see if she’s gotten those cops back here yet. Grab your room key. Let’s go.” She claps her hands together.

  I open my mouth to protest, but she’s turned her back on me and is marching back to the club car. “Wait!” I yell, and run back inside to get my handbag and casita key.

  “Go, driver,” Tarin says once I’m in the club car. Then, to me, “So—are we good, you and me?”

  Is she asking if I’m still annoyed?

  “Last night you asked why I didn’t tell you sooner that Zel and me are on the third floor. It’s because I have some pride. When you said the room Riyonna sent you to was on the third floor, I thought, ‘Hey, what a coincidence! We’re on the third floor, too!’ I could have said it, but it’s the kind of thing only a dick would say. Like, ‘Can you believe the weather we’re having?’ or ‘H
aven’t you grown since I last saw you?’ So I didn’t say it.”

  “Fair enough. I’m sorry if I seemed freaked out. Listen, I’ve worked something out. Last night, when I was standing in the corridor talking to you, outside your room—you were in the doorway, and Zellie walked up behind you and went into the bathroom, didn’t she? She went through a door on the right. The right from where I was standing, I mean.”

  “So?”

  “The room where I met the man and the girl was the opposite—the bathroom was through a door on the left after you walked in.”

  “Nice!” Tarin sounds impressed. “That’s a useful way to narrow it down. I’ve made progress, too. I’ve been asking around, and I’ve got the names of the guests in the other three rooms.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “Charmed my breakfast waiter.” She grins. “They have a typed list each morning of who they expect to show up for breakfast. And right beside their name, there’s their room number.” Tarin reaches into her shirt pocket and pulls out a small white envelope embossed with the Swallowtail logo. “Wanna hear? Okay. Room 322: Carson Snyder and Yegor Lepczyk—both men. A gay couple. The waiter I spoke to, Oscar—he knows who they are, he’s served them a few times—says they seem young, fun, regular guests. So that rules them out. Room 324: Robert and Hope Katz—drew a blank with Oscar. He can’t recall ever meeting them and wouldn’t know them by sight. Room 323: Suzanne Schellinger, a young businesswoman traveling alone, here for a conference in Scottsdale. Oscar knows who she is—says she’s a little aloof and always on her laptop, obsessed with whatever dreary job she’s wasting her life on.”

  “He said that?”

  “What? No, not the bitchy part. That’s my take. So, anyway . . . I think it’s pretty clear.”