Sleep My Darlings

by Diane Fanning

  Julie watched life flee from the body that she had nourished inside her for nine months, sixteen years earlier. Did she feel any remorse? Did she have any regrets? Her actions after this second murder indicate that she did.

  Pulling the chair, holding the bleeding body of Calyx away from the desk, Julie rolled it off the plastic floor protector, covered with coarse, medium, and fine spatter. She pushed the burden down the hallway to her teenage daughter’s bedroom. In Julie’s wake, a double-track trail of blood marked the path she had taken.

  Julie lifted her child’s body and laid it flat on the bed. She took care to place Calyx’s ravaged head partially on a pillow, at the top of the bed. Julie went to the linen closet in the bathroom and grabbed a few towels. She wedged them against her daughter’s shoulder to absorb some of the blood. She returned to the closet and retrieved a blanket. Back in Calyx’s bedroom, she draped it over the bloodied body of her firstborn child.

  Julie rolled the desk chair to the den and pushed it snugly into the niche under the workstation, as if tidying up after her children. She went back to the bathroom once again and grabbed a white blanket from the linen closet. Turning off the lights on the second floor, she went back downstairs and into the garage. She opened the front passenger door of the mini-van and removed Beau’s bloodstained glasses from his face, propping them on the dashboard. Then she spread out the second blanket, too, covering Beau’s body, concealing what she had done to her youngest child.

  Although the postmortem covering of her victims indicated that Julie felt a great deal of conflict over what she had done and that she still had a strong feeling of connection to her children, her next act belied those emotions. Julie picked up a Toshiba laptop and sat down in the living room to compose an e-mail message to her husband, Parker: “Get home soon—we’re waiting for you!”

  CHAPTER 22

  Although it is easy to see a dark, malicious intent contained in the e-mail to her husband, it was also possible to wonder if she had entered an extreme state of denial. Her stability had been suspect for more than a year. Had her mind now traveled to a place where reality was unknown? Or did she revel in the fact that she had accomplished her mission to teach her children a lesson?

  She reinforced the believability of the possibility that she was totally delusional and disconnected from the real world when a short time later she sent Parker another message: “calyx has all b’s and a’s=yipps i beau has 2 c’s wehich will cross out a couple a’s he has, bur till a 3.” Was that missive merely an attempt to disarm her husband? Or was it further proof that she had no conscious awareness of her actions?

  One can only assume that Parker, like Julie’s brother, Dave, had grown accustomed to poor spelling, no capitalization, and awkwardly worded e-mails from his wife. If so, the communication probably raised no alarm, simply a sense of relief that he would be home soon.

  Julie sent an e-mail to her mother and siblings that night, too. That message contained a distressing indication that Julie was contemplating suicide. She wrote that she was tired of the kids talking back and added “it would all be over soon.” She did not mention the deaths of the two young teenagers in her care. She did not express any remorse for the horrific act she had just completed. No one in the family saw the e-mail until the following morning.

  After sending that message, Julie went outside and sat in the lounge chair by the pool, where she chain-smoked and wrote down the details of what she had done and why she had done it. She detailed the shooting of her children and wrote about the next step she planned to take—the one that would end her own life.

  According to police reports, her descriptions of her actions were the methodical, nonemotional retelling of the murders of her own children. She wrote about it all in a very matter-of-fact tone.

  She picked up her phone after midnight and sent out text messages to Lisa Prisco filled with incoherent abbreviations, jumbled words, and misspellings. One read: “Txt me f or still awake. The hekks r k Comein the mbdoorzthimay be asleep butill be awack—r illbe wacke wjheack when come thru.” Half an hour later, she sent another text: “Might need some help this wknd come thru the mb slider—tell me ur are coming k?”

  At some point, Julie rose from that chair. Did she simply walk a few steps away and collapse onto the apron of the pool? Or did she make a tour of the home, surveying the consequences of her actions?

  CHAPTER 23

  Thursday evening, Sara, Jena, and Tatiana jumped on their computers to watch The Office. Calyx did not join them. The others were disappointed but not worried. They thought that she either had fallen asleep or had to go out to dinner with her family. That evening, they did not give it another thought.

  * * *

  Julie’s parents, Jim and Pat Powers, were beginning another day in Texas, escaping the harsh midwestern winter in the warmer southern state. On January 28, 2011, Pat checked her e-mail. What she found shook her hard. The message from her daughter made Julie’s current state of severe depression glaringly obvious. Her complaints about her children and her ominous statement that “it would all be over soon” rocked Pat to her core.

  She tried to call her daughter Julie but got no answer. Pat dialed the cell phones of both Beau and Calyx, but neither of them picked up. Something was not right. Pat wanted to rush over there and check on the family herself, but she was too far away. Helpless to take direct action, she looked up the number for the police in Tampa and dialed it with shaking hands. She explained the situation in her daughter’s North Tampa home and asked them to please go to the Schenecker house and make sure that all was well with her daughter and grandchildren.

  Officer William Copulos received a message from Dispatch informing him of the need to make a welfare check at a home where a mother might be suicidal and the two children, suspected of being the only other two residents in the house, were not responding to phone calls.

  He and Officer Gregory Noble entered the upscale gated community using the code that every secured community is required by law to provide to police and emergency services.

  The Schenecker home was a two-story, concrete-block, thirty-three-hundred-square-foot single-family residence. The house was tan trimmed in white, with the house numbers affixed above the garage door. The entry doors faced west and, like the rest of the trim, were painted white. Cement pavers extended from the garage to the street.

  When no one answered the front door, Officers Noble and Cupolos walked into the sixty-by-one-hundred-foot backyard. They opened one of the two doors from the lawn to the screened enclosure around the cement-marcite swimming pool, where they discovered Julie, lying on the back porch, upon the hard surface of the pool apron rather than the far more comfortable white vinyl outdoor lounger.

  They scanned the area with trained eyes with every step they took. Scattered around the pool were various pool chemicals and cleansers. Next to a green pool float officers found three cigarette butts. Beyond that were another inflated float, a round beach ball, and an assortment of other deflated pool toys.

  From inside the enclosure, entry to the house was accessible through two sets of sliding doors—one into the family room, the other into the master bedroom. On a window ledge beside the latter an empty, clear water bottle sat beside an ashtray overflowing with dozens of cigarette butts, a crumpled green cigarette box, a pair of red-handled garden flower clippers, and a Real Simple magazine opened to an article titled “9 Easy Ways to Be Happier.”

  Beside the main entrance into the house were a hockey stick, two pairs of flip-flops, and a pair of orange Croc slide-on shoes. The officers absorbed these surroundings in a matter of seconds, registering the typical dishevelment of a busy family home. They turned their attention to the semiconscious woman lying at their feet. The sight of her wiped all thoughts of normalcy out of their minds. The woman, presumed to be Julie Schenecker, wore a bathrobe spattered with blood—lots of blood. Her face was speckled with even more of it, and they could also discern a fine black powder dusting h
er features.

  When Julie agreed to their request to go into the house and check on the children, the officers escorted her inside and into the family room. Next to the family room was the formal living room still decked out for Christmas, complete with unopened, prettily wrapped packages. In her chaotic emotional state, Julie apparently neglected to ship or hand-deliver some of the gifts the family had purchased.

  Past the tree, a pair of French doors with a dead bolt and lever handle led to a foyer. The lock was not fastened and was intact. Next was a formal dining room with a wooden table, five chairs, and a cabinet, its drawers filled with silverware. Next to the cabinet was a coatrack and beside that a piece of furniture containing dinnerware.

  On top of the dining table was a white clothes basket filled with folded shorts, socks, boxer underwear, and shirts. Directly on the surface were a neat stack of towels and a pair of green-and-blue plaid pajama bottoms. Nothing there looked at all unusual.

  Copulos led Julie into the kitchen, situated between the dining room and the family room, where chicken and an opened container of blueberry yogurt sat unrefrigerated on the counter next to stacks of mail and magazines. A small crate of clementines, some oranges, a bowl filled with plums, and another with vegetables sat nearby.

  The sink was littered with items that needed cleaning, including two plates, a pot, and a fork. Next to it sat an empty, used wineglass and an assortment of utensils. A cutting board holding a serving bowl with chicken at least a day old rested on the center island. On a white plate beside it was a piece of chicken with a fork and a yellow Post-it note that read: “Calyx wouldn’t eat the French chicken. Was going to make something else??” Although that note was not threatening, it was foreboding under the current unknown circumstances.

  In the garbage can in the cabinet under the center island, unseen by the officers, were three empty Heineken beer bottles and a two discarded wine bottles, one of which once held Vendange Chardonnay, the other Vendange Merlot, as well as soda cans and other refuse.

  A brown purse sat on another counter. Inside it, a receipt dated January 22, 2011, for a .38-caliber Smith & Wesson Bodyguard handgun and a box of ammunition from Lock N Load in Oldsmar, Florida. That was certainly a red flag.

  Officer Noble was intent on his mission to locate Calyx and Beau. In the master bedroom he spotted another laundry basket, partially filled with clothing, on the floor next to a chest of drawers. The bed was disheveled, with the comforter and top sheet tangled on the floor at the foot of the mattress. In the middle of the bed he found a prescription bottle with twelve small pills. The label bore Julie’s name and identified the contents as clonazepam, a long-acting muscle relaxer and hypnotic used for anxiety and as a secondary epilepsy drug, known for causing drowsiness and cognitive impairment. Even after use has ended, this drug caused memory loss that could be permanent. “Sleep” was scrawled in handwriting across it. Next to it was a black cell phone, a flower-topped green ink pen, and a blue spiral notebook, later discovered to be full of the incriminating commentary regarding Julie’s deadly plans and the actual commission of a double homicide.

  On one of the nightstands flanking the bed, a turned-on lamp revealed an empty Heineken beer can and a bottle, emptied of its contents—its label marking it as once containing hydrocodone, a narcotic analgesic, prescribed to relieve pain and coughing—in contrast to the clonazepam, it was known for causing anxiety.

  Labels on other bottles revealed the presence of more serious and often unpredictable pharmaceuticals: benzatropine, used to reduce the side effects of antipsychotic drugs and to treat Parkinson’s disease but, taken in excess, having the capability of inducing psychosis: lithium, prescribed to prevent episodes of mania in people with bipolar disorder, its long list of potential side effects included depression, joint and muscle pain, tiredness, weakness and twitching of the muscles, slow, jerky movements, and blackouts; and oxycodone—now depleted of pills—a narcotic pain reliever derived from synthetic opium, which often brought on memory loss, fatigue, and anxiety. All of the labels bore Julie Schenecker’s name—a troubling combination of drugs that indicated there were serious problems in this woman’s life.

  Inside the top drawer of the small table was another bottle labeled “Lithium” as well as one for amoxicillin, an antibiotic, and a third, now-empty bottle, for triazolam, a sleeping pill—also prescribed for Julie. Noble found a handgun on the dresser and secured it.

  Then he discovered the box of ammunition in the bathroom. On the vanity next to that he spotted five empty shell casings, a business card for Colonel Parker Schenecker, “USA Deputy NSA/CSS, Representative,” a man’s gold wedding band, and six more prescription bottles for Julie Schenecker: venlafaxin-hydrochloride and citalopram, both antidepressants; warfarin and coumadin, two anticoagulant drugs; buspirone, an antianxiety medication; lamotrigine, used to treat epileptic seizures; and a white prescription bag with seven loose pills.

  On the second floor of the home Officer Noble spotted a large quantity of dried, spilled blood around the desk. He followed the trail of dark red that led from there to a closed bedroom door, apprehension increasing with every step he took. Opening it, he found the body of Calyx, covered with a blanket, on top of her bed. The bloodied face of the young girl sickened him. He checked to make sure she was deceased and then checked the other bedroom and bath, hoping to find Beau alive and hiding somewhere in the house.

  Everywhere Officer Noble went, he spotted Post-it notes. One read: “Do not resuscitate.” He had no idea if that message referred to the children or if it was a note written by Julie in reference to herself, as the suicidal e-mail to her family indicated was a possibility. Either way, the message was as dark and disturbing as a swamp on a moonless night.

  Back downstairs, he went down a hall, past the laundry room, and into a three-car garage, where a chalkboard hanging on the wall bore the mind-boggling message: “2011, Best Year ever.” Inside was a black Volkswagen Passat and a white Honda Odyssey mini-van. Noble’s hopes were dashed by his next ominous discovery: a single bullet hole, shot from the inside out, marring the windshield of the Honda. Inside he found the sight he dreaded: young Beau, sitting in the passenger side, covered with a blanket, dead from multiple gunshot wounds to the head. Even with the evidence right before the officer’s eyes, it was difficult to believe that any mother in this upscale community could brutally shoot both of her children.

  After being read her Miranda rights, Julie confirmed the reality, confessing to shooting her son twice in the head on the way to soccer practice. She then admitted she drove home and shot Calyx in the back of the head while her daughter was studying.

  What Julie told the officers confirmed the suspicions arising from the destruction and death they viewed upstairs and in the garage. The only time she grew emotional, however, was when she learned that she was going to go to jail.

  CHAPTER 24

  Sergeant Preyer called the station to request the presence of his supervisor Lieutenant Diane Hobley-Burney, the commanding officer for all District Two police ranked at sergeant or below. He did not summon Fire Rescue—he knew it was too late for them to render aid.

  In response, he received a call informing him that the homicide squad had been contacted and detectives were on the way. With the arrival of additional patrol backup, Preyer had officers secure the exterior of the home and then stationed one at each of the doors—front and back. Copulos escorted the cuffed suspect out to his car and secured her in the backseat. She shook uncontrollably and her eyes looked as if she had just survived a violent attack.

  Detective Gary Sandel arrived on the scene just after eight thirty that morning. On the way into the house, he spotted Julie Schenecker sitting in the backseat of a patrol car. After a briefing from Sergeant Preyer, Sandel directed Copulos to transport Julie Schenecker to police headquarters at 411 North Franklin Street. Sandel then called Detective Michael Kirlangitis and asked him to write a search warrant. After that, the detective walked the
perimeter of the house examining all the first-floor windows and doors for any indications of a forced entry. He found none.

  Copulos arrived at the station house with the prisoner and briefed Detective Kirlangitis on the situation they found at the Schenecker home. He then waited with Julie in the eighth-floor holding cell until he was relieved.

  Detective Sandel left the crime scene, traveling to headquarters to interview the woman in custody. At his request, Officer Sonya McCaughey relieved Copulos, sitting down with the suspect in the confined space at 10:20 that morning. Julie was still wearing pajamas, slippers, and a robe, but the belt had been removed from her waist and placed outside of the cell.

  McCaughey offered Julie water, cookies, and coffee with cream and sugar. While drinking the water, Julie slipped into sleep, causing the liquid to spill on her clothing. McCaughey reached for the bottle and Julie woke up. She pressed the bottle to her lips again, but as soon as she started drinking she had a coughing spell.

  “Is the water too cold?” McCaughey asked.

  “It just went down the wrong pipe,” Julie answered.

  Sandel contacted Detective Stephen Prebich, requesting photographs and the recovery of Julie’s clothing as evidence. A crime scene technician entered the cell to photograph and retrieve the clothing worn by the prisoner. The tech brought along a white bio-suit with a jacket and booties to replace Julie’s personal garments.

  Following directions from Detective Sandel, the tech photographed the splatter on Julie’s face, the fine black powder on her left cheek, and the deep red stains on her hands, clothing, and accessories. The handcuffs were removed from Julie’s wrists, and the bloodied watch from her left wrist was confiscated and placed into a marked bag as evidence.

  Next, her robe and slippers were removed and each secured in a separate container. Her bloodstained pants came off next. Seeing that Julie wore no underwear, police officers were considerate enough to pull the pants of the bio-suit up to her waist before her pajama top was taken off to be replaced by the jacket of the suit. The tech pulled booties on Julie’s feet. The two pieces of her pajamas were secured in individual bags. Julie was then escorted to the conference room for an interview.