Fear of Our Father

by Stacey Kananen

  “Did you take this notebook out of your house to the storage unit on December 22?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know where your brother would have gotten it from?”

  “It could have been anywhere in my house,” I said.

  “So going back to this note”—she pointed at the note to Cheryl, from that notebook, on the same page where Rickie had written his note to her, in the truck—“is that the sentiment in the note, the apology to Cheryl for something related to her kids and your mother, is that a sentiment or a feeling that you had that you wouldn’t have expressed at the time?”

  “I would have,” I stated, “when I first heard about Cherokee School because I wouldn’t want my mother to take the kids from Cheryl. Cheryl needed to raise her children.”

  “When you look at that writing, what is it about it that looks like it was written by you?”

  “‘I love you and the kids with all my heart.’ ‘With all my heart’ is something I said to all my family.” I could see Cheryl in the gallery, rolling her eyes.

  “Is that a note that you would have written as an apology to your sister for having killed your mother?” Diana asked.

  “No, absolutely not.”

  She continued, rapid-fire, “Did you kill your mother?”

  “No.”

  “Did you help your brother kill your mother?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Was that note in response to you killing your mother?”

  “No, it was not.”

  “Would it have been unusual for you to write a note to someone, an apology, or about a tough subject that you did not send or give?”

  “Not unusual. I wrote everything down when I was upset. I didn’t speak to anybody. I didn’t know how to say how I felt. It’s not something we were taught when we were young. It’s not something that was allowed to be done when we were young.”

  We wrapped up my testimony and I was desperately relieved. That note to Cheryl was pretty damning evidence, and Diana just blew it out of the water. Thank God the trial was postponed that first week, even if the delay did cause me considerable angst, because my incredible defense attorney never would have found that notebook.

  Robin’s turn was next, and I braced myself for her cross-examination, because she wasn’t going to go easy on me, no matter how weird Diana said she might feel about coming after me. She had been attacking my integrity for two weeks, not to mention the fact that she thought so little of me that she charged me with two heinous crimes three years ago, and now here we were, face-to-face.

  It would soon be up to the jury to decide. This had gone past her intimidating me now. I was facing the ultimate intimidation, in that courtroom. I thought, “You can’t do any more to me. You can’t take that little piece of humanity that I have left,” and it was very small by the time I went to trial, let me tell you. I felt absolutely like I was going to lose, up until Hussey testified and Diana got ahold of him.

  To say, however, that Robin was a total bitch is inaccurate because when I sat in her office right before my brother’s trial was supposed to begin, she asked about my sexual abuse. I told her about Arkansas, the rape, and she cried. She couldn’t talk to me on the way out of the office.

  I don’t think she wanted to do this trial, but it was her job. So to the best of her ability, and the only way she knew how, she played my brother and she did a good job with him. Just like anybody else paid to do a job, you do what your boss tells you. I really want to believe that about her. Hussey had a grudge against me, but I don’t believe Robin did.

  I think she got ugly because she had to, and everybody hated her for it, but if I look at the facts of the case, I don’t think she was out to destroy me. I think she had to do what she had to do, but the uglier she got the more she turned the jury against herself.

  Fortunately, by the time Robin had her turn, all of the witnesses had been on the stand and everything had already been discussed. I was the last witness, and Diana had made sure that she asked me everything she knew Robin would, and I had already responded fully, so she had a solid foundation to object and say, “Asked and answered.” There wasn’t much Robin could do.

  She didn’t throw me any surprises. I knew the case she had laid out against me: the checks, the bank accounts, the garage sale, et cetera. I won’t say that I was confident, but I was ready. I had Susan sitting there in the gallery, along with my friends, all showing their support. Susan kissed the moonstone necklace I had given her years ago, to send a kiss to me, up there on the stand.

  Robin tried to trip me up, and she tried to piss me off. She tried to catch me in lies, and she tried to ridicule me. We went through it all, start to finish, her condescension plain. The only time I really allowed myself to get upset was when she asked me about the suicide note, and that fateful line.

  She said to me, “‘We had a part in Mother’s leaving.’ That’s ‘we.’ That’s you and Rickie had a part in mother’s leaving. You figured when this note was going be found, Miss Kananen, you would be dead.”

  I shot back, hopefully explaining that note for the last damned time, “I didn’t know if I was going be alive or dead. My part in it was I put my brother in my house, on Okaloosa Avenue, put him ten or eleven houses down from my mother. I got him close to my family, close enough to screw everybody up. He messed with my nephew’s head, messed with my sister. Got my sister upset with me and then I found out that he killed my mother and put her in my backyard. I should have never let that man move into my house.”

  She wasn’t buying it. She said, “Daniel, your heart and soul, is why you killed your mom, right?”

  I glared at her and said, “I never killed my mother.”

  CHAPTER 36

  The Verdict

  After my testimony ended, not a moment too soon because I was fried, closing arguments began. Robin went first. She spent a long time going over, again, what a liar I was. She repeated pretty much everything she said in her opening argument, laid out her whole case again, and made fun of the way I said “I don’t know” about many things.

  “I don’t know,” she sneered. “I don’t know!” I didn’t remember cashing that check. I didn’t remember if I had used my name or Mom’s when I called the bank. I didn’t know where Cheryl’s apology note had been written.

  She mocked our handwriting expert and the flyer I made. She tried to take apart Diana’s clever discovery of the notebook. “Do you really think that lo and behold Richard went through the notebook and somehow Stacey wrote this note back a month or so earlier when this letter came from Cheryl and he just happened to come upon that page? It just doesn’t make sense. He told you the page was blank.”

  She addressed the fact that I was a witness for her case against Rickie but told the jury that I should have been arrested the same day as Rickie. “That is not your question to decide today. Your question to decide is plain and simple. Was Stacey Kananen involved in the murder of her mother? Was she a principal in this crime? Did she intend for this murder to happen? Did she actively participate? That’s the question to decide.

  “The fact that Stacey Kananen was ever put on a witness list doesn’t mean we have to buy her story. And it doesn’t mean we have to believe everything she said on the witness stand today. Ladies and gentlemen, use your common sense and look at how Stacey’s story changes from when she’s playing stupid with detectives to when she’s talking to her partner in crime. The one thing that changed, May 1, 2007, was that Richard Kananen stopped protecting her.”

  I had a hard time not getting angry at what Robin was saying about me. It was bad enough I was on the stand for hours and then she got to attack me again. But that was all she could bring to her closing, to attack me. She couldn’t bring any facts that said I was guilty; all she could do was mimic and mock me.

  Diana brought facts to the table. How could my mother’s car be in two places at once? How could Rickie spin five stories and anyone know which to believe? All Robin coul
d do was say, “Oh, I don’t know …” She didn’t have any facts. If she had facts, that was the time for her to throw them out there like Diana did.

  When Diana got up to rebut Robin’s closing argument, she said, “Ladies and gentlemen, sarcasm doesn’t mean you’re right.” And then she, once again, laid out the facts of her case and asked the jury to come back with a verdict of “Not Guilty.”

  We were released Friday, March 10, right around dinnertime, so Diana Tennis, Susan, Diane, and I, along with several people from the resort who stayed in Orlando for moral support, just in case the verdict came back that night, made our way down the street in downtown Orlando to eat at a little Italian restaurant. I couldn’t eat. My stomach was in such knots, knowing this might be my last real meal, that I could not force myself to get anything down. I didn’t know how else to sit there at dinner, just staring at the walls, and people were trying to get me to eat, trying to laugh and joke. I understood what they were trying to do, but I wasn’t able to participate. I was surrounded by friends and family, and Susan and I just held hands and prayed. Then Diana got the call. The verdict was in.

  We headed back to the courthouse immediately and Diana took me aside. She made everybody leave me and she walked me into the courtroom. She said, “If you have anything personal on you, hand it to Susan.” This was becoming way too real. My insides felt like they had been thrown into a deep freeze. I took off my watch and necklace and handed them to Susan. I told her that Diana said to hold onto them until afterward.

  By the time I got those words out of my mouth, several deputies had lined up there in the courtroom. I thought, “They must know something,” and I freaked out. I freaked … out. I started to shake, and Diana and Toni each grabbed one of my hands. I whispered, “Why are they here?”

  Diana said, “It’s just procedure.” I said, “Procedure my ass. I’m scared to death!” and Diana said, “You’re supposed to be. That’s a normal reaction.”

  I was not this scared when I got arrested, but that moment I was petrified with fear—real fear. I’ve never seen so many deputies, and all of them with handcuffs in hand. I sat there thinking, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” and then Judge Lubet brought the jury in.

  Everyone stood up, as we always did when the jury entered or exited. Susan was right behind me, in the front pew of the gallery, with Jeanice sitting beside her. Diane, our surrogate mom, sat behind Susan. I was the last to stand, because I couldn’t feel my legs.

  Judge Lubet gave another one of his speeches. “I don’t want any cheering, screaming or yelling. This is a courtroom. It may be 10:30 at night but it’s still a courtroom. Anybody who makes a ruckus is going to be escorted out by the deputies. Do we understand each other? Good.”

  Susan stood behind me with a tissue pressed to her mouth, eyes squeezed shut. I went dead inside. “This is it. This is the end. Just get it over with. Just get it over with. Let’s end it. Just send me to jail and get it over with.” I didn’t even have the energy to be nauseated. I could hear Susan sobbing quietly.

  The jury was taking forever to be seated. Didn’t they know my entire life was in their hands? God, I couldn’t take the dead silence in the room as we waited, waited, waited for them to take their seats. Finally the bailiff said to us, “Be seated,” and I was able to drop back into my chair. Now I felt like I could puke.

  Judge Lubet said, “Alright Mr. Foreman, it’s my understanding you’ve reached a verdict in this case,” and the foreman replied, “Yes, Your Honor.” The judge said, “Please make sure the form is signed and dated please, and that there’s only one check mark on it. Fold it over and hand it to the court deputy.”

  The deputy walked the verdict over to the judge as my life passed before my eyes. I was able to see how everything that had ever happened to me had led to this moment, from being stranded on a floating deck in Lake Hebron, Maine, to the rape in Arkansas, to Mom’s head being carved with a knife, to that horrible trip to Arizona and back. Father’s disappearance, the happy years since, and then Mom’s grisly murder. It all made sickening sense, somehow. Of course this is how it ended up. Of course. How could it have been otherwise? This is the story of my life.

  The judge unfolded the paper and read. He passed it, folded, to the clerk, with no visible reaction on his face, and asked her to publish the verdict. She unfolded the paper and looked surprised. “In the Circuit Court of the Ninth Judicial Circuit for Orange County, Florida,” she read as I closed my eyes, bracing for the worst, “Case Number 48-2007-CF-6901-O for Orange County, the State of Florida versus Stacey Kananen. Verdict as to Count One: We the jury find the defendant not guilty.”

  Stunned.

  I just sat there. There had to be more. Another shoe was sure to drop.

  “So say we all, this twelfth day of March, 2010,” the clerk continued.

  I finally felt it. Oh my God, not guilty. Not guilty. The two sweetest words ever. I allowed myself a small smile as Toni patted my back. Diana turned to me and said, “My God, we won!” and gave me the best hug of my life. I could feel her sobbing as I rested my head on her shoulder and just said, “Thank you.” She gave me a heartfelt squeeze and released me. We looked each other in the eyes, and I loved her so much, right then. We laughed a little and then both broke down in sobs. Poor Susan was falling apart behind me. She is a loud crier, and I can only imagine how hard it was for her to keep quiet.

  The judge polled the jury to make sure that the verdict was unanimous while we continued to cry. Diana was so sweet, obviously so moved and happy for me. Although the reason for our happiness was a horrid one, I felt light and free, for the first time in too many years. God, it was finally over.

  They continued polling the jury, as we continued to cry, but Cheryl just sat there, staggered. She didn’t move; she didn’t blink. Finally, the judge said, “Miss Kananen, a jury of your peers has found you not guilty. At this time I’m going to adjudicate you not guilty. You are released from all your bonds. Do you have a monitor on your ankle?”

  “Yes, I do, Your Honor,” I answered.

  “Alright, it will be removed.” He said to Jeanice, sitting behind me, “Can you remove that this evening?” and Jeanice said, “Yes, I can remove it now.”

  “You can wait for your paperwork if you want, otherwise you are free to go,” the judge said.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” I said. I hugged Diana again and whispered, “Thank you so much.” We hugged and cried for a long minute as the judge thanked the jury for their time and consideration. Then I turned and hugged Toni, sobbing even harder. As she and I pulled apart and I sat back up in my chair, I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I just started bawling, all the tears that had been pent up for so very long. I thought about my poor mom, my poor mentally ill brother, and even poor Cheryl. Poor all of us. What a hard life we’d had.

  Finally, I had no more tears, and I wiped my eyes. The judge was still talking to the jury as I sat there sniffling. I took a deep breath, my first free deep breath, and said, “My God, it’s over. Thank God, it’s over.”

  “Court’s adjourned, you’re free to go,” Judge Lubet said, and with that, it really was over.

  EPILOGUE

  Reach the Beach

  I woke up Saturday morning in our Orlando hotel room, Susan asleep by my side in our bed, surrogate mom, Diane, sleeping in the other. Still groggy, I reached down to unplug the cord to my ankle bracelet because it would be done charging by now—I had to stay plugged in for twelve hours a night.

  I felt around and couldn’t find it. Suddenly, it dawned on me, “Hey, it’s not there anymore!” After three years of vigilant awareness of that thing, it was no longer a concern. It felt weird, like getting used to wiggling a loose tooth and one day it’s not there anymore.

  Susan woke up then, and was in a bit of a hurry to get back to Hudson, to our home and our friends at GCR. Diane was looking forward to being in her own house again, as well. I told them, “I want to drive by my mother’s house. Then we can
go home.” They thought I was crazy, but I insisted, “I just feel I need to do this.”

  When we got to Alachua Street, to the house where I had grown up and where my mother had died, I couldn’t let Susan stop the car. I was crying too hard to get out and look around. I glanced as we drove by, and I was angry because the house was falling apart. Then we went by our old house around the corner on Okaloosa and saw that it was occupied. That felt right. I was glad to see that there was life happening there, that our personal tragedy didn’t haunt our little home and that the new residents were taking care of it.

  Then we drove by Cheryl’s house and I saw my brother’s truck there in the driveway; it had been given to Chris after Rickie’s arrest. Mom’s car was in Cheryl’s possession, as well. I wondered if I could forgive my sister for believing I could help my brother strangle and bury our mother. She allowed me to watch her children and they spent many nights in my house. Only time will tell.

  We didn’t linger in Orlando. Wendell was calling Susan every twenty minutes, asking, “Are you on your way?” The folks at the resort had a party planned for my return. I loved them for it, but my heart just wasn’t in party mode. While the verdict was a dream come true, I was shredded inside. He told Susan, “We have a whole parade waiting for you!” and I had to say, “I’m sorry. I’m going at my speed, for a change.” It felt good to be able to say that, and to know that my wishes were being respected.

  When we arrived back at Gulf Coast Resort, Wendell met us out on the main road, which almost three years earlier had been lined with police cars waiting to arrest me. This time, that same road was lined with golf carts and friends holding signs and waving banners. As we pulled in to the resort, they all fell in line behind us and formed a parade. We all gathered at the resort’s common grounds, and there were hugs all around. Everyone wanted to see my ankle, sans bracelet.