been dreaming when I first heard Stacy’s cries. Dreaming about Darlene. I still remember that dream all these years later. I keep thinking my head would’ve been clearer if I hadn’t been dreaming of her. But you can’t control your dreams, right?”
“Keep going. You’re helping yourself now. That’s good.”
“I was annoyed that the dream had been cut short, annoyed at Stacy for waking me up. I went over to her room and turned on the light and sat next to her on her bed. ‘What’s wrong, pumpkin?’ I said. I soothed her for a while, but all the time I was seething.
“‘I want a glass of water,’ she said.
“‘Stay in bed. I’ll get it for you.’ I told her. I walked out of her room and was by the steps when I heard her whimpering behind me.
“‘Don’t leave me alone,’ she said.
“I yelled at her. ‘Go back to your room.’ She just stood there crying. I said, ‘Be quiet. You’ll wake up Mommy.’ She didn’t move. I don’t know what happened. I just felt this fury flood over me, fury that Stacy had gotten out of bed, fury that it wasn’t Janine taking care of her, fury that I didn’t kiss Darlene back even though I wanted to so badly. I smacked her behind, just a little, just to let her know I meant business. It was just a tap. She must have lost her balance, ‘cause she fell down the stairs. I just stood there. And then it was so quiet. I ran down the steps. Her body was limp. Her eyes were wide open, but she didn’t move. I kept tapping her face—I knew I shouldn’t move her. But she didn’t wake up. She must have broken her neck in the fall.”
“You’re telling me it was an accident?” Cannon said.
“I swear to God.”
“Then why didn’t you call the police?”
“How could I explain to Janine that I’d killed our daughter? How could I explain to the police? They’d see the empty beer bottles, they’d test my blood-alcohol level. They’d never believe it was an accident. I couldn’t breathe life into Stacy. The only thing I could do was save myself. I wrapped a blanket around her and put it in the trunk of my car and drove to a forest an hour north of town, where I used to go deer hunting. I walked into the forest and buried her. What was the crime in that? A father’s allowed to bury his daughter.”
“Well, for one, you were guilty of impeding a police investigation. Filing a false police statement. I could keep going. I’m sure I could come up with a long list of crimes.”
“I wasn’t thinking straight. I’d just lost my little girl.”
“Go on. What did you tell Janine?”
“When I got back to the house, the sky had just begun to brighten. It was still dark but a grayer shade of dark. I slipped into bed and waited for Janine to wake up. My mind kept racing with thoughts of what I had done. I knew my life would never be the same, that I’d never forgive myself. Only God could forgive me. … I must have fallen asleep. Janine woke me by shoving me, screaming, ‘Wake up. Stacy’s missing. Wake up. We’ve got to find her.’ The rest of that day and the next few days were a blur. Hysterics and sirens—those are the sounds I remember. I was too afraid to say anything when Janine told the police we’d left her window open for some air. I let everyone think she’d been snatched from her room by a stranger. After a week went by, I started worrying that I’d picked a forest too close to home. I drove back and got her body. I unwrapped the blanket and poured gasoline over her and then dropped a match and watched as she burned. I kept saying to myself, ‘It’s just a shell, it’s not my daughter,’ over and over. I didn’t want her to be found, I didn’t want her to be recognized. I’d seen enough police shows on TV to know a lot could be figured out with forensic evidence. I couldn’t take a chance. If the police knew it was Stacy, they’d see she had a broken neck. They’d figure I killed her on purpose. I wrapped her body in a new blanket, a store-bought blanket Janine wouldn’t recognize, and drove to the next state. When I passed a forest, I pulled off the road and