Accused: My Fight for Truth, Justice & the Strength to Forgive

by Tonya Craft

  While those preparations and that whole subpoena process was under way, my attorneys went back to the very origins of the case against me. They looked at the fact that the detectives and the ADA had told my original attorney that if I passed a polygraph test, the charges would be dropped—and we decided it would be in my best interest to go get a polygraph of my own. We began a search for the most-qualified polygraph examiner we could find—someone whose reputation could not be questioned. By anyone.

  The thought of it terrified me. How was I going to sit there and answer questions without my nervousness overtaking everything and making me look guilty?

  At the same time, we went ahead and hired a private investigator to start finding out more about the circumstances of the allegations. I followed the advice of Scott and Cary and we hired a man named Eric Echols, a P.I. with impeccable credentials and a stellar reputation for getting to the bottom of things. Eric came aboard with a healthy skepticism; I could tell. He didn’t presume I was innocent. It wasn’t until he listened to what I had to say, and then did a little digging himself, that he came to the conclusion that the allegations against me were false and that his abilities as an investigator could be put to good use to help me prove it. We assigned him a huge task to begin with: background checks on all of the key players involved in my case, including ADA Chris Arnt (the assistant district attorney assigned to my case, whom I hadn’t even laid eyes on yet), the detectives (Stephen Keith and Tim Deal), and even my own husband, David—everyone. Then we put together a list of names for him to subpoena, including some of my friends, acquaintances, and colleagues—hoping to bring them in for a series of videotaped interviews that would illuminate who I really was. Those friendly interviews would be sworn in and witnessed in a manner that would make them acceptable in a court of law. We had to dot every “i” and cross every “t,” and we knew it.

  Eric was also tasked with serving subpoenas to Joal and Sarah and a whole host of my new “adversaries.” We didn’t expect those would be easy to get, but Eric was skilled at delivering court orders and getting cooperation from the uncooperative. I put a lot of trust in the fact that he would be out there doing what I needed him to do while I continued my personal battle for survival.

  Finally, as August came around, we found the best polygraph examiner we could find—and he just happened to be located right in Atlanta. Charles Slupski was his name. He was a graduate of the US Army Polygraph School and a former instructor at the Department of Defense Polygraph Institute. He founded the American International Institute of Polygraph. He was the guy who taught people how to do this. He was just what I wanted and needed. He was beyond reproach. It would cost a small fortune to get him to administer a polygraph himself, but at this point I knew it was worth it. After all, you get what you pay for. My dad had always hammered that phrase home with me, and boy, oh boy, did I understand it now. If I was going to cut corners, it wouldn’t be with this.

  We set an appointment for August 8. I was ready to go prove my innocence. I got up and had coffee with Diana that morning, and we both got into her car for the drive to Atlanta. That’s when the panic attack hit. The racing heart. The cold sweats. The trembling. The fear.

  “Diana,” I cried. “What happens if I fail?”

  Chapter 22

  My panic attack never let up.

  Mr. Slupski kept me locked in a room for hours, grilling me over and over again with those wires and straps on me. It was torture. The whole time I thought for sure my shaking and sweating had falsely pointed toward my “guilt.”

  Mr. Slupski’s face remained expressionless the whole time, even when he finally gave me my result: “Tonya, you passed the polygraph.” I burst into tears. I stepped out of that torture room weeping, with my head held down, my face smeared with makeup. Cary and Diana looked anxious at the far end of the hall. “What’s wrong?” they asked. They didn’t understand. Mr. Slupski had delivered the news of my “stellar outcome” to them a few minutes before he revealed the news to me. I couldn’t put it into words at the time, but expecting me to be happy after enduring that experience was like expecting someone who had been viciously violated to “just be happy that it’s over.”

  Plus, it wasn’t over. I still had a possibility of failing. I’d have to come back in a few days for “part two” in order for Mr. Slupski to confirm his findings. I felt like I’d just completed the first round of chemotherapy—something that I hoped and prayed was good for me, but that made me sick nonetheless. I fell fast asleep as Diana drove me home.

  We wound up postponing the second half of that polygraph exam. The very same day it was supposed to happen, we walked into the Juvenile Court in Chattanooga prepared to resolve the matter of seeing my children, only to have the judge argue once again that it wasn’t in their jurisdiction. We had to move everything over to Circuit Court and schedule another hearing—for September.

  Joal had gone ahead and enrolled my kids in a school in Tennessee. I was worried sick that my daughter may still be showering with her stepmother.16 Because of our filings in Tennessee, an investigator had supposedly knocked on their door to check into the allegations—but then walked away after Joal said that everything at home was normal. The investigator didn’t talk to Ashley, Sarah, or anybody else.

  I was a wreck.

  “I need to see my kids,” I told Cary as we sat in his car in the parking lot afterward. “I’ll go to Four Points. I don’t care if they treat me like a monster in that facility. I can’t take it anymore. I need to see them!”

  “We’ll set up an appointment,” Cary said as I broke down and dissolved into a shell of myself right in front of him.

  As we drove up to the Chickamauga Elementary administration building on August 15, we saw camera crews out front and hordes of people. When we rounded the corner to find a place to park, I spotted a dark-haired man in a suit standing off by himself, talking on a cell phone beside the building. I wondered if he was the attorney for the school board. There were more police vehicles there than I could possibly count, and the number of uniformed officers walking around made it look like there’d been a bomb threat or something.

  Why is this happening? I wondered. Why does it need to be this way?

  After they aired my mug shot on TV, school superintendent Melody Day suggested to me that I should resign. She suggested that would be “best for everyone.” I unequivocally stated I had done nothing wrong and had nothing to hide. She did not seem to like that very much. How it turned from a private matter into a public spectacle, though, I have no idea.

  Seeing all of those townspeople gathered out front, I could only imagine that I’d have some pretty ugly words tossed at me on the way into that building. I took a few minutes to prepare myself. Finally, with my team surrounding me, we walked toward the front door—only to find a whole bunch of supporters filtering up the steps. No one shouted anything nasty at me. Instead, all I heard was, “You go, Miss Tonya!”

  “We’re here for you, Tonya!”

  “Stay strong, Tonya!”

  An officer stood there at the doorway vetting everyone who came in. He was sort of like an usher at a wedding, only instead of asking if guests were with the bride or the groom, he asked, “Are you for or against?” When people answered, they were shuffled into one room or another.

  It floored me that so many people would come out to support me. I closed my eyes and thanked God—and when I opened them, I spotted an old friend: Kim Walker. Kim was the young woman I’d yelled at on the phone the day those detectives first rang my doorbell. Seeing her caught me off guard. I glared at her something awful.

  It was almost time for the hearing to begin, and a whole bunch of authorities swarmed the building trying to create some sense of order. The hearing room filled up as they finally let my supporters in, and my attorneys donated their own seats to people who had no place to sit. Everybody who wasn’t seated was kicked out of the room. They either stood in the hall or went outside to join a prayer circle th
at somebody told me had formed on the front lawn. Who ever heard of a prayer circle to support someone accused of child molestation? I thought. I was truly moved.

  There was one supportive face missing from that crowd, though—the one face I had most hoped to see right behind me that day. I guess I half expected him not to show up, despite the subpoena. The school board’s attorney had made a last-minute filing that morning to ensure that we wouldn’t be able to call any witnesses related to the criminal case. It sure felt fishy that word got around to the witnesses in time for them to not show up. Still, David’s absence stung. I really thought he’d turn up for me. I looked down at my wedding ring and silently prayed, once again, “God, please let us reconcile or please let me stop loving him.”

  Suddenly the hearing was called to order and the entire building stuffed full of people quieted down.17 My attorneys spoke first, asking for a continuance to address the eleventh-hour changes we’d been presented with that morning. The school board denied the request. Instead they went ahead and called Superintendent Melody Day to testify.

  Ms. Day got up there and testified that she had no knowledge of any facts that would support the charges against me. She also stated that she had never seen me behave inappropriately in any way toward a child. She agreed with my attorney’s assertion that no one had ever reported any inappropriate behavior by “Miss Craft.”

  “She is a very good teacher,” she said. According to her own testimony, her first knowledge of my allegations came from the media.

  Then they called ADA Chris Arnt forward to testify. He was the man I had seen on a cell phone outside the building—a stocky man with a wide nose, dark eyes, and an odd hairline scrawled across the top of his forehead like it was drawn by a child’s shaky hand. I was suddenly face-to-face with the man who was heading up the case against me. It’s hard to describe how that felt. I could barely look at him, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him, either.

  The cynical side of me could not ignore the fact that he and everyone else in the DA’s office would be up for reelection that November. Is that what this is about? Am I just a pawn in a political campaign?

  The ADA got up there in front of all of those people and recounted the fact that I had been arrested on felony charges of inappropriately touching three girls, all of whom were students at Chickamauga Elementary. He didn’t use the word “allegedly.” It didn’t seem to matter that the alleged “touching” had not happened at the school. It did not seem to matter that we were requesting an administrative leave without pay until the outcome of the case was determined and that therefore I wouldn’t have contact with anyone at the school. It didn’t seem to matter that none of the allegations had been proven or that I hadn’t even been indicted. Nothing seemed to matter. The whole “hearing” was nothing but a formality to a foregone conclusion.

  ADA Chris Arnt was the last witness the school board allowed.

  After the briefest deliberation imaginable, the school board delivered their finding: terminated.

  I’d predicted that outcome all along, I suppose, yet somehow it didn’t hit me until I heard the actual word. My lawyers assured me they would file an appeal, but I knew in my heart that appeal would be denied. Cary King went out in front of the cameras as soon as it was over and proclaimed my innocence to the world, saying we would “prove” my innocence when my case came to trial. I doubted the truth of the latter part of his statement more than ever on that terrible day.

  Chris Arnt went outside in front of those same cameras and told them that justice had been done there that day—and that justice would be done when Tonya Craft was put behind bars.

  I climbed into the car with Scott and Clancy and wondered what was taking Cary so long. I just wanted to leave.

  “You’ll never guess who just pulled me aside,” Cary said as he got in.

  “Who?”

  “Your friend Kim Walker.”

  “Oh yeah? What did she want?” I asked.

  Turns out Kim wasn’t against me. She came there to stand with my supporters.

  “What?” I said. “What did she say?”

  “She teared up,” he said. “She wants to help. She said, ‘I know Tonya didn’t do this.’”

  Kim had been mixed up in this thing from the beginning. I had assumed she was on the side of Sandra, Joal, Kelly, and the Wilsons. If I was wrong—and apparently I’d been wrong—then she knew what had happened and might be able to help us. Her daughter, Skyler, was there when this all began. Her daughter had been questioned by the detectives. If she was willing to forgive my judging her in haste, Kim could potentially help me understand how this all began.

  “That’s good news,” I said.

  “It’s extremely good news,” Cary added.

  A part of me felt terrible. If I had judged Kim in haste, then she needed to hear my apology. Kim is one of the sweetest people I have ever known. I hoped and prayed that she and I might be able to be friends again.

  I didn’t get more than a few seconds to savor that feeling of relief, though.

  As the car pulled away, and I saw those camera crews packing up, the hard truth of what had just happened in that building hit me like a kick to the stomach. Teaching had been my God-given passion. It was, in the truest sense, my life’s work. And in a matter of minutes, based on nothing but allegations, that school system had just tossed my entire career—one of my very reasons for living—out the window.

  Chapter 23

  There were days when I woke up wishing that I hadn’t woken up at all—feeling angry at God for not taking me in my sleep just to stop the pain.

  I was in that state when I went to see Mr. Slupski again on August 27.

  I shook. I broke down. I left in tears. I walked out of the building as quickly as I could. I was sure that I’d failed that second polygraph. This time, I’d have to wait for days until an analysis was completed in order get my results.

  I was also in that state when I went to visit Four Points, to make all the preparations to finally see my children in that highly supervised facility. My interview there was as grueling as the polygraph. They made me feel like a monster. I hadn’t been convicted of anything whatsoever, but the people at that facility barked orders at me about how I wouldn’t be able to have any physical contact with my children. I worried about how damaging it might be for my children to see me under those conditions, and I asked God once again why I was being punished when I had not done a thing.

  I was tucked back inside the motor home with the shades drawn when the email from Mr. Slupski finally arrived. I left it unopened on my laptop for hours. I’d learned a few things since I’d gone in for the first polygraph. Things that left me too scared to look. For instance, in the state of Georgia, no one in law enforcement can be hired until they pass a polygraph. If polygraphs are considered a reliable test before handing someone a badge and a gun, then clearly if I failed that test, the prosecution would be salivating to use it against me. If I failed, it was my understanding that it would stand as “proof” of my guilt. I felt like I’d just dug my own grave. I wished I’d never taken it.

  At some point, I decided it would be better to know my fate than to wonder, so I got off the bed and opened the email. I scanned the document from the top, as quickly as I could. When I finally reached a section called “Findings,” I noticed that I had been holding my breath that entire time. I closed my eyes. I filled my lungs. I exhaled slowly. I tried to calm down. Then I looked and saw the words that mattered: “a conclusion of No Deception Indicated … Tonya H. Craft was being truthful.”

  The bolds and underlines are exactly how they appeared in that report.

  My attorneys would of course think those findings were wonderful. Me? I knew I’d been telling the truth all along. Seeing that report, all I could think was, Why do I need this? Why have I been put through this?

  I couldn’t even muster up a smile.

  I had agreed at the outset of these allegations to take a polygraph with the examiner i
n Catoosa County. All I asked was to have my attorney present. I’d agreed to it on the very first day those detectives first rang my doorbell, and I’d agreed to it again through my attorney ten days later—only to have that offer rescinded and a warrant issued for my arrest. Now I’d finally gone and done what they wanted, and I stood there doubting whether any of it would matter.

  My body was failing me. I felt sick and exhausted. I was hardly doing anything but sleeping and praying. And then things got worse.

  First, Joal refused to take Ashley and Tyler to Four Points even though there was a court order directing as much. Additionally, ADA Chris Arnt placed one phone call to Four Points and somehow quashed the possibility of me seeing my children in that facility. One call and it was over.18

  Then my dad’s mom died. My sweet grandmother, Mabel. I wasn’t allowed to attend her funeral. There would be children there. My bond said I would have to remove myself from the presence of any children as quickly as possible. My attorneys said I simply should not go.

  I used to say to people, “If something ever happened and I couldn’t be with my kids, you might as well bury me.” I swear, the death of my grandmother made me wish that I could’ve followed her into the ground. I would never consider taking my own life, but I felt in my heart that death would have been easier than spending the rest of my life in prison.