Connie knew that Tonya led a difficult life, but she couldn’t do much for her. Tonya was a private person, revealing little about herself or her past. All anyone really knew was that she was a young, married mother from Alabama with a psychotic husband. But then, no one pried since most of the dancers at Passion’s had histories they wanted long buried, lives they didn’t want to remember, or changed completely.
Tonya Dawn Hughes was no different.
So it came as a great surprise to Connie and several others at Passions when they learned of Tonya’s plan to leave her husband. Kevin had finally convinced Tonya that she could escape without notice, and in the weeks before the accident everyone at Passions noticed a subtle change in her demeanor. She wasn’t just “going through the motions,” as she had since she’d arrived in the fall. She was energized, as if she had a purpose. She smiled easier, talked more, and gave everyone at Passions a brief glimpse at what all believed was the real Tonya. And they liked what they saw. There was even a brief conversation about going to college and becoming a nurse. The sudden turnaround was noteworthy, if only because everyone knew Tonya was intelligent, but no one believed that she’d ever leave her controlling husband.
Tonya didn’t reveal how she would leave her tormentor. But Connie could see a newfound determination in Tonya’s eyes. She was serious, and she was scared.
“If he finds out, he’ll kill me and Michael,” said Tonya. “But I can’t stand him and can’t stand being around him. I’m going to get away.”
CHAPTER 7
Connie pulled a chair to the side of Tonya’s bed and sat there, softly caressing her forehead and whispering into her ear when a nurse walked in to check her vital signs. Startled, Connie stood up and said she was a friend who drove down from Tulsa.
As Connie spoke, Tonya’s head moved, following Connie’s voice.
“Oh my God, she’s responding to you,” said the nurse.
Tonya raised her right arm and appeared to be reaching for Connie, who grabbed her hand and held it tight.
“I’m going to get a doctor,” said the nurse.
Tonya was still in a coma but appeared to be slowly emerging from her unconscious state. Kevin was allowed to visit and when he spoke, Tonya moved her head in his direction.
Recognizing her friends was good news, and the medical staff was pleased with her progress. Given the significant blow she had received on the back of the head, doctors initially had their doubts that she would recover. They had other doubts, too, and they centered on her husband, Clarence.
He had displayed little emotion when he arrived that first morning, and his bizarre No Visitors sign startled the nursing staff. Of more concern was the mysterious theft of Tonya’s personal effects, including her clothes. All were missing. Perhaps most disconcerting were Tonya’s injuries. When Connie questioned Tonya’s condition and the lack of visible marks and bruises, the doctor pulled her aside.
“This was no car accident,” he said.
“I knew it,” said Connie.
Connie was quick to share her suspicions concerning Clarence and the violent nature of Tonya’s relationship with her husband, whom she was planning to leave.
Kevin had told Connie just that morning the details of her bold plan, and Kevin was going to help.
“What changed her mind? We’ve been telling her to run for months,” said Connie.
“Something happened over the past month,” said Kevin. “She wouldn’t tell me, but she started talking about a new life, of going to college.”
Connie was surprised to hear that Tonya had finally wised up. But then, it didn’t make much sense. Tonya was doing something she never did; she was making plans. She was talking about a future.
The medical staff took Connie aside and suggested she visit with the Oklahoma City Police Department. They also made it clear that it was time to go. Clarence was clear in his demands that Tonya receive no visitors. Connie remained in Oklahoma City, taking a room at a nearby hotel. Considering Tonya’s response to Connie, the medical staff welcomed her visits and would call her whenever Clarence left the hospital.
Connie was sure that Clarence had something to do with Tonya’s injuries, and only hoped that when Tonya awoke, she’d tell the medical staff, her friends, and the police what had really happened early Thursday morning. Tonya’s condition gradually improved enough that Connie left Oklahoma City on Sunday morning and by midafternoon was at Passions relaying the good news. Though she had yet to regain consciousness, doctors were sure she’d come out.
“Maybe by midweek,” said Connie.
A few hours later, she received a call from Clarence. He was still in Oklahoma City, and he was irate.
“Who told you to go to visit her in that hospital!” he screamed. “I told you she can’t have no visitors! Those bitches at the hospital will all be fired. No one is allowed in that room. No one!”
Connie held her composure. She explained that Tonya was her friend and no one, not even her husband, was going to keep her away. She said nothing about visiting the police, something she figured she’d do once Tonya recovered. Clarence’s anger quickly subsided as he changed the subject. He needed money and asked Connie if she wanted to buy some furniture.
“I’m moving to here and need to sell everything in the trailer in Tulsa. You interested?”
“Moving? What for?”
“To be near Tonya.”
“What about Michael?”
“Never mind Michael. I’m his daddy and I’ll take care of him. I’ll call you on Friday. If you want the furniture let me know then.”
Connie called the hospital and told them that Clarence was clearing out and suggested they keep an eye on Tonya. He must have tried to kill her once, she reasoned, and what’s to stop him from trying again? Connie decided to head back to Oklahoma City the next day and gave the hospital her home and work numbers in the event of an emergency.
Early the following morning the phone rang. It was the hospital. Tonya’s condition had suddenly worsened. She was on life support and not expected to live through the day.
Tonya was going to die, and if Connie wanted to say good-bye, she had to leave now.
When Connie arrived at Presbyterian Hospital early in the afternoon she ran up to Tonya’s room. The No Visitors sign was gone, and Tonya’s bed was empty. A nurse pulled her aside and told her that Tonya had been pronounced dead. With the exception of two nurses and a doctor, no one was with Tonya at the end. Not even her husband, who was given advance notice in the morning, but said he wouldn’t be there. Instead he barked out orders to have her organs donated and her body immediately cremated. There would be no funeral or service of any kind.
“Cremated?” said Connie between her tears. “She didn’t want to be cremated. I know. We talked about this stuff. We both wanted to be buried. And we have to have a service. How can that bastard not have a service?”
Connie was led downstairs and into a room where Tonya was lying on a gurney, covered by a white sheet from head to toe. The nurse pulled the sheet to reveal Tonya’s face. She looked the same, as if she were sleeping. Connie exploded in tears. Her friend was gone.
“What happened?” said Connie to the nurse. “She was coming along. She was supposed to come out of it.”
“We don’t know,” said the nurse. “Her husband visited with her last night and this morning her vitals were falling. There was nothing we could do. She never came out of her coma.”
An orderly walked in and said it was time to move the body. Connie kissed Tonya’s forehead and said good-bye. The gurney was rolled away and the Oklahoma Organ Sharing Network facilitated delivery of Tonya’s organs to various individuals. Her heart was given to a sixty-six-year-old Arizona woman who returned to her husband and grown children following the transplant operation. Tonya’s liver went to a thirty-nine-year-old New York woman who was married with two sons and was a registered nurse. One kidney went to a twenty-four-year-old man from Texas, married with one child. The o
ther kidney was transplanted into a fourteen-year-old girl from Oklahoma who had been on dialysis for one year. Two blind Oklahoma residents were given Tonya’s corneas, and an assortment of individuals benefited from donated bone.
Connie was led to the lobby and drew sympathy from the medical staff, which had been leery of Clarence Hughes from the beginning. Connie asked about a wake and a funeral, and the hospital agreed to move Tonya’s remains to Tulsa, so long as a check to cover the transportation expense arrived by the end of the business day, and her husband gave permission.
Connie called J.R. Buck, who readily agreed to front the money to transport the body. She then called Clarence, and told him that having a funeral was the right thing to do. Connie explained that the employees at Passions would pay for the funeral, and that Tonya deserved a decent burial.
“You’re going to pay for a funeral?” said Clarence, who resisted, but finally relented, stipulating there would be no open casket during the wake. Connie relayed the news to the medical staff, which agreed with the decision for a closed casket.
Before leaving, the nurses told Connie of one last problem, and it had to do with Michael. He wasn’t talking or crying. He was dirty and smelled of urine. It was gently suggested that Connie visit social services.
CHAPTER 8
On Tuesday, May 1, Eleanor Johnson of the Oklahoma Department of Human Services drove to 6306 N. Meridian, Apt. #103, Oklahoma City, Clarence Hughes’s new address. He had called DHS that morning and requested placement of his son in voluntary foster care. Clarence said his wife had just died and that he needed someone to care for his two-year-old son for a week. Clarence was on the telephone when Ms. Johnson arrived. He had emptied his trailer in Tulsa, and boxes littered the living room. Ms. Johnson waited patiently for Clarence to finish his call, watching as Michael crawled into his father’s lap and gave him a hug. Clarence placed the phone down and told his guest that his wife was to be buried on Friday, May 4. He’d pick up Michael on Monday, May 7.
Michael was taken to Choctaw, some twenty miles west of Oklahoma City, where he would live with a temporary foster family. Upon his arrival, Michael was led by the hand to the front porch, where he stopped. He couldn’t lift himself over the first step and began to cry, emitting the same intense, guttural animal sounds he did on the ride over. The social worker lifted him by the arm and walked him inside the house. Standing in the foyer, Michael dropped to his knees and slammed his head down on the hard floor, over and over.
Ernest and Merle Bean had served as foster parents to more than sixty children over six years but had never received a boy in such a distressed emotional state.
The Beans lived at 17580 Bode Road in a comfortable neighborhood dotted with attractive homes all separated by tall trees. Choctaw was a quiet, rural area, surrounded by open fields. Merle was a homemaker and Ernest an amiable, self-employed air-conditioning and heating technician who once worked for Sears. Deeply religious, with four children of their own, the Beans believed it was God’s will and their Christian duty to open their modest home to so many troubled children. When the call came in that morning concerning temporary housing for a two-year-old boy named Michael Hughes, the Beans said fine, bring him over. It would only be for a short while, perhaps a week, said a Department of Human Services supervisor. Michael’s mother had died the day before—killed in a car accident, and his father was busy with arrangements and other personal business.
Michael wouldn’t stop crying. He was lying on the foyer floor and appeared to be in utter agony. The Beans felt for the little boy, but his screaming and banging was disturbing the other children under their care. Merle had never turned down a child before, but she was quick to call DHS.
“Don’t ask me to keep this boy,” she said.
After Tonya’s organs were harvested on April 30, Dr. Charles Engel at Presbyterian Hospital transfered her body to the Oklahoma City office of the Chief Medical Examiner, where Dr. Larry Balding began his autopsy at 10:30 A.M. on May 1.
Balding’s examination revealed numerous older bruises over much of the body, with fresh abrasions on her lower left back, a swollen left ankle, and a previously undetected fracture of the right fibula between the knee and ankle. Tonya’s remaining organs, including tongue, stomach, intestines, lungs, and pancreas, were normal. Balding also noted that Tonya had had several pregnancies and multiple medical procedures, including the breast implants and implants in her buttocks.
Most severe was the damage to Tonya’s head. The brain was swollen and filled with blood throughout the dura, the cavity between the skull and the brain tissue. The severe impact to the back of her head, which caused the large hematoma just above the neck, rocked her brain forward, causing damage to the left occipital lobe and cerebellum and a distinct softening of the brain matter. There was no evidence of natural disease.
Balding determined the probable cause of death was “Closed Head Injury,” the result of a “violent, unusual, or unnatural” death.
Under “Manner of Death,” Balding checked “Homicide.”
Connie returned to Oklahoma City on May 2, visiting first the police and then DHS. The police, privately aware of the coroner’s report, seemingly ignored her, explaining that Tonya’s death was ruled a hit-and-run accident and there was nothing they could do. Connie left in a huff, then met with social workers from DHS, only to learn that Michael Hughes was already placed in their temporary care. They told her that Clarence had placed Michael with DHS the day before. Connie suggested that Clarence learned his wife was going to leave him and killed her, and that she feared for Michael’s safety under Clarence’s care. DHS workers said they would investigate. The following day Connie received a call. It was Clarence again, and he was furious.
“How could you do this to me!” he screamed. “They’re not gonna give me Michael!”
The juvenile bureau of the district attorney’s office had filed an application alleging that Michael was a deprived child and that he should be made a ward of the court, which could ultimately result in termination of Clarence’s parental rights. For the moment, Michael would not be returned to Clarence as planned. Profoundly pleased with the news, Connie didn’t let on to Clarence, saying only that social services approached her, asked a few questions, and that she didn’t give them much.
“That’s my son. He needs his daddy. You better help me get him back,” said Clarence.
Connie suggested they meet with social services the day after the funeral to straighten things out, but she had no intention of helping Clarence. Tonya’s funeral was to be held on Friday, and Connie’s only intention was to get through the solemn event without incident.
The closed wooden casket was surrounded by bouquets of flowers, mostly red and white carnations or roses, all from friends and coworkers at Passions.
Pews on the right side of the Ninde Garden Chapel were filled with an equally colorful collection of individuals, including strippers, prostitutes, and bouncers. J.R. Buck, Bambi, Desiree, Tammy, Kevin, Chris, and Connie sat up front. Several regular customers were also there, including Dr. Ray, a smallish man who had showered Tonya with money.
The left side of the chapel, reserved for Tonya’s family, was empty.
It was Friday, May 4, and the service was to begin at 2 P.M. Connie prepared a small program card. “In Remembrance, Tonya Dawn Hughes, September Nineteenth, Nineteen Hundred Sixty-seven, April Thirtieth, Nineteen Hundred Ninety.” Printed on the inside was the Twenty-third Psalm, which begins with “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”
It was shortly before 2 P.M. when Clarence arrived. He snarled his way into the chapel, wearing dark glasses, a blue suit, his thin hair pinned back in a short ponytail and dyed a macabre burgundy, the coloring still wet and running down the back of his neck. Clarence was accompanied by two burly men in suits, both Tulsa sheriff’s deputies, one of whom lived next door to Clarence. Fire burned in his eyes as he walked down the center aisle, stopping at the first pew and looking down at Conn
ie.
“Bodyguards,” he said, pointing to his two companions.
The Reverend M. Miles Henry began the service, giving way to Clarence, who had something to say. He positioned himself in front of Tonya’s casket and told the assembled friends that they didn’t really know his wife.
“She had secrets that will never be revealed, and it would be best for all of you to just let things be,” he said. “Bury her and let things be. Do you hear me! Let things be!”
His voice raised, Clarence morphed from a grieving husband to a tent-revival preacher spewing fire and brimstone, raising his hands and his voice as he accused all those present of sins before God, of living a sinner’s lifestyle that would surely damn them all to Hell.
Connie sat there, smoldering, wanting to pounce on Clarence and tear him apart. She looked over toward his bodyguards, who kept their eyes away from Clarence and on Connie and the others. One of the bodyguards exposed his gun kept inside his suit jacket near his chest. It was surreal. Clarence looked and sounded like a sacred preacher, his arms flailing and his garish silver belt buckle, with the word Painter, reflecting the lights inside the church.
Connie knew he was a murderer.
After twenty minutes, Clarence directed his attention toward Connie. He seethed over Michael, and he blamed but one person.
“All of you didn’t really know her, and you don’t know me, yet you’re taking my son away! How dare you! How dare you!”
Clarence returned to his seat, satisfied that he had infuriated everyone in attendance. The reverend paused for several minutes, then delivered his remarks, which were decidedly in Clarence’s favor.
The service concluded, and Clarence placed a photo on top of the casket. It was a picture of a man, probably around thirty years old, and a girl, around five years old, sitting in his lap. Connie didn’t know what to make of it, and didn’t want to ask. Perhaps it was Tonya’s father.
A Beautiful Child Page 6