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

  Praise for Accused

  “Sexual abuse of children is a serious crime, and should be dealt with fairly and carefully. Over the years attempts to bring offenders to justice have often been abusive in their own right. Cases built by so-called experts pressuring children through suggestive and leading questions, combined with overzealous prosecutions, have led to the debacles we experienced in California in the McMartin case, and in the Kern County prosecutions I reviewed when I was California Attorney General. They should have created a warning, a yellow light, to be careful when dealing with child witnesses. When those warnings are not heeded injustice can result, and the lives of the accused, when innocent, can be irreparably damaged. Tonya Craft’s own story, and the jury’s findings of Not Guilty on 22 counts, more than twenty years after the California cases, proves once again that when dealing with allegations of this sort, the best practices we learned the hard way need to be front and center. Will we ever learn?”

  —John Van de Kamp, Former California Attorney General

  “I’ve been a lawyer since 2001, and I’ve known Tonya Craft since 2010. Nothing prepared me for the power of this book and its markedly human perspective of the realities of being criminally accused. Tonya reveals the strength of her own character and gives the reader a look beyond legalities and into the heart of a caring mother. Accused is a must-read, a true tour de force.”

  —R. Champ Crocker, Cullman Attorney named one of the

  Nation’s Top One Percent by the National Association

  of Distinguished Council

  “Tonya Craft found herself in an unspeakable situation that rocked her world. Through the grace of God and her tenacious spirit, today she is a trusted expert highly sought by the falsely accused and those who defend them. You will be amazed at the power of forgiveness and its impact on an impossible situation.”

  —Jan Silvious, author of Foolproofing Your Life

  and Same Life, New Story

  “Accused, the true story of a Tonya Craft’s fight against the criminal justice system, is much more than a blow by blow account of a woman facing a prosecutorial steamroller. It is also a deeper journey of the heart, and how the power of forgiveness is greater than the bitter root of false accusation.”

  —Robert Whitlow, bestselling author of The Confession

  Accused

  Accused

  My Fight for Truth, Justice,

  and the Strength to Forgive

  Tonya Craft

  with Mark Dagostino

  BenBella Books, Inc.

  Dallas, Texas

  First hardcover edition © 2015 by Tonya Craft

  First trade paperback edition © 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The facts presented in this narrative have been pieced together from testimony in the trial, public record, and interviews and research done by the authors. See the author’s note for more information.

  BenBella Books, Inc.

  10440 N. Central Expressway

  Suite #800

  Dallas, TX 75231

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  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN-13: 978-1-942952-86-2 (trade paper)

  Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

  Craft, Tonya, author.

  Accused : my fight for truth, justice and the strength to forgive / Tonya Craft with Mark Dagostino.

  pages cm

  Includes bibliographical references and index.

  ISBN 978-1-941631-73-7 (trade cloth : alkaline paper) — ISBN 978-1-941631-74-4 (electronic) 1. Craft, Tonya—Trials, litigation, etc. 2. Trials (Child sexual abuse)—Georgia—Catoosa County. 3. Kindergarten teachers—Georgia—Catoosa County—Biography. I. Dagostino, Mark, author. II. Title.

  KF225.C73 C73 2015

  345.758'02536—dc23

  2015020101

  Editing by Vy Tran

  Copyediting by Stacia Seaman

  Proofreading by Amy Zarkos and Michael Fedison

  Text design by Aaron Edmiston

  Text composition by PerfecType Typesetting, Nashville, TN

  Cover design by Sarah Dombrowsky

  Cover photo by Doug Strickland

  Printed by Lake Book Manufacturing

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  Special discounts for bulk sales (minimum of 25 copies) are available.

  Please contact Aida Herrera at [email protected].

  To my two children, my husband, and my parents.

  “Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

  —John 8:32 (NIV)

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  PART I—The Promise

  PART II—The Marathon

  PART III—The Fight

  PART IV—Freedom

  Epilogue: Revelations

  Acknowledgments

  Notes

  About the Authors

  Author’s Note

  What you’re about to read is my story, told from my point of view. The details are drawn from my memory, bolstered by hundreds upon hundreds of court documents, transcripts (from depositions, interviews, court proceedings, and testimonies), taped conversations, the recollections of my close friends and family, portions of the gavel-to-gavel media coverage of my case, and a complete review of the videotaped proceedings from the in-courtroom camera that stood watch over my trial. Wherever possible, exact quotes are preserved and repeated in these pages; in cases of past exchanges and more casual conversations, I’ve preserved the words and most certainly the meanings of the conversations to the absolute best of my recollection.

  In order to protect their privacy, the first names of all children mentioned in this book have been changed.

  Some of the details in these pages are quite graphic in nature—not by choice, but because they represent the truth of the subject matter with which I came forcibly face-to-face. While I’ve chosen to mute some of the more colorful language that emerged during the tense moments behind closed doors during my ordeal, there may still be occasional moments that will shock and dismay some readers. I hope the inclusion of those details serves a much higher purpose in the end. It is not my intent to shock. It is my intent to reveal the truth of the horror that unfolds when false allegations are allowed to move forward. I hope the details of my story will push us all to work harder to seek the truth in our daily lives and to demand that truth come first in our legal system. I believe that the greatest truth begins in the presumption of innocence that every human being deserves—and flourishes through the redemption and forgiveness that every human being is capable of giving and receiving through faith.

  Prologue

  The night before they made me break the most important promise a mother can make, I woke up startled by the sound of my baby crying.

  “Ashley?” I called to her.

  Before I could get my feet over the side of the bed, I heard her little feet pattering down the hallway. “Mommy! Mommy!” she yelled.

  “Baby, what’s the matter?”

  “I had a dream,” she said as she craw
led into my arms.

  “About what, sweetie?”

  “I had a dream that I was jumping on the trampoline and David walked around the corner of the house, and he said he was home and was never going to leave again.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. Some nightmare, some monster, maybe. But not that. I pulled my daughter close and started crying right along with her.

  David was my husband of ten months. He was the most loving stepfather to Ashley and her older brother, Tyler, that I ever could have imagined. He had swept into my life and brought the three of us more joy than we had known in what felt like forever. Then six weeks before this night, he walked out the door.

  Ashley was only in kindergarten and had already been subjected to two failed marriages—first me leaving her daddy, and now her stepdaddy leaving me. The pain I’d been through no longer mattered. This whole situation was not fair to my kids. It wasn’t right. The fact that she woke up crying in the middle of the night over how much she wanted her stepdaddy back just about broke my heart.

  I didn’t let myself cry for long. I knew that wasn’t what she needed. Not from me. Not then. We’d had enough tears. What Ashley really needed was to get some sleep. After all, it was May 29. The kids had finished their last day of school, and we’d all be enjoying our first-day-of-summer celebration the very next morning. None of us could wait to get to the community pool. I loved my summers with the kids. Always had. Always would.

  God, I thought. I love my kids so much. I feel so blessed just to have them in my life. Thank you. I welled up with this warm, powerful feeling of connection. A feeling I’m pretty sure only mothers truly understand.

  “I’ll never leave you, Ashley,” I whispered. I pulled my head back just enough to see her precious little face as I held her. “Ashley, look at me. You know Mommy loves you. I’ll never leave you.”

  She nodded and stopped crying.

  “Sweetie, y’all couldn’t get rid of me if you wanted to!” I said, and she laughed a little. But then she got this scared look in her eyes.

  “What if someone took you away?” she asked.

  “No one could take me away, Ashley. And even if they did, I’d come right back.”

  “But, Mommy, what if someone took you all the way to Australia?”

  Ashley’s imagination never failed to surprise me. I had to think of a good comeback. “Well … then I’d find a kangaroo and climb on his back and hop all the way back to you,” I said. She laughed a little more at that, and suddenly it was a game.

  She asked me what I’d do if the wind blew me “all the way to Antarctica!”

  “I’d climb on a polar bear and ride him right into your arms.”

  “What if you jumped into the pool and when you came up for air you were in the middle of the ocean?”

  “I’d just grab the tail of a big blue whale and swim all the way back to you!”

  “But, Mommy, what if we were in the forest and a wolf tried to take me away from you?”

  “Well … I would transform into a giant grizzly bear and battle with that wolf until you were safe and sound again.”

  “No matter what?” Ashley said.

  “No matter what.”

  Ashley gave me a great big hug and I held her close. There’s hardly a better feeling in the world than being able to comfort your child.

  She looked up at me again. She was smiling. So was I.

  That’s when I looked my baby girl in the eye and made that promise that still haunts me to this day. “Ashley,” I said. “I’m never going to go anywhere. I promise.”

  Part I

  The Promise

  Chapter 1

  No matter what anyone tries to tell you about the long hours and low pay, one of the great perks of being a teacher is getting summers off to spend with your kids. The three of us didn’t have a schedule. We could laze around the house, or take day trips, or have friends over. Other parents had to work, so I was happy to have their kids come over anytime, too. And there aren’t many things that go better together than kids and water, so I’d take the whole gang swimming every chance we got.

  May 30, 2008, a Friday, would mark our first trip of the season to the community pool.

  Tyler and Ashley had already packed up all of their paraphernalia and were playing with it on the front porch when my friend Tammy came by on her way to work and dropped off her son, Hunter. The three kids had finished up an early lunch and were now chomping at the bit to get out the door. I was the one stuck on Georgia time, making them wait while I went to my bedroom to put on my bathing suit. I had just finished pulling on my shirt and shorts when I heard the doorbell ring. It couldn’t have been three seconds later when all three of the kids came bounding into my room together.

  “Mommy, there are two men on the front porch, but we didn’t open the door because you said to always come get you first,” Tyler said. I was thrilled to see that my lectures on not opening the door to strangers had actually gotten through to them.

  “Thank you for remembering,” I said as I walked out.

  I’ll admit I was a little annoyed at the intrusion. I’m not a big fan of door-to-door anything. I could see two men through the window wearing button-down shirts and suit jackets. As I opened the door I recognized one of them. The dark-haired one. He was the father of a little girl who went to the school where I worked. He looked a lot like Ashley and Tyler’s daddy. Could’ve been his twin brother, actually. They looked so much alike that it gave me a start whenever I caught a glimpse of him in the hallways at school—and it gave me a start that morning.

  “Can I help you?” I said.

  The other man pulled his jacket back, revealing a badge. “Can we talk to you for a minute?” he said. I remember thinking he looked more like a Sunday school teacher than a police officer.

  “What’s this about?” I asked, as all three kids squished into my legs behind me.

  “It might be better if you come out and close the door.”

  I told the kids to go play. “We’ll leave in a few minutes.” Then I stepped out just like he asked. The kids didn’t go play, of course. They stood right next to the door with their faces against the window, just as curious as could be.

  “I’m Tim Deal,” said the light-haired one.

  “And I’m Stephen Keith,” said the one who looked like my ex.

  “We’re going to ask you a few questions.”

  It felt like a script. As if they had rehearsed this.

  I said, “Okay.”

  “I see your license plate,” Detective Deal said. “Are you a teacher?”

  My car had an educator’s plate on it. “Yes,” I said. Looking over, I noticed their car parked right in my driveway, a regular-looking sedan with no police markings at all.

  “Where do you teach? What grade?”

  I found it a little surprising that the dark-haired man, Detective Keith, didn’t recognize me from school. Chickamauga, Georgia, is about as small-town as small town gets, and our school was almost like a private school where everybody knew everybody. But they kept asking these sorts of questions as if they didn’t know who I was.

  I finally asked again, “What’s this all about?”

  “We need to ask you a question about your daughter and some touching.”

  My heart sank. I was frightened to think something might have happened to my little girl. And then it occurred to me what they must have been talking about. But how would they even know about that?

  Two years earlier, Ashley had been playing with her friend Chloe McDonald when all of a sudden Chloe’s mom, Kelly, went hysterical. She lost it because the girls had been “touching” each other.1 I’ll never forget the way she said that word: touching. It made my skin crawl.

  “No kid would do something like that unless they had been molested,” Kelly had said. “I would know, because my husband was molested.”2

  The girls were only three or four years old at the time. Chloe’s mom couldn’t even explain what she meant by
“touching” because she hadn’t witnessed it. It made no sense. Still, I took it seriously and did everything a mom could. I even took Ashley to her pediatrician to be sure that nothing inappropriate had happened. The pediatrician found nothing out of the ordinary. And of course I kept an eye on Ashley for any changes in behavior. But there hadn’t been any. The biggest consequence was that Chloe’s mom and I stopped hanging around each other much after that. It had certainly never been brought to the attention of the police. Still, when Detectives Deal and Keith asked me about “my daughter” and “touching,” that was what jumped to mind.

  “Yes,” I said. “There was a situation a couple of years ago. I’ve taken care of that.”

  “You’ve taken care of touching kids?” Deal said.

  “I—what? What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been accused of molesting three little girls.”

  I stopped breathing. I stared at him. It was such an unbelievable thing for him to say. I didn’t know what to do.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked.

  It was very clear they were not kidding. There was nothing about their demeanor that implied anything but seriousness. I just couldn’t think straight.

  “No, ma’am,” said Keith.

  “Well, what do you mean? Who would say such a thing?”

  That’s when Deal spoke the names of my accusers, out loud, for the very first time.

  “Chloe McDonald,” he said.

  I tried not to react. I was shocked that my first instinct was correct. Why on earth would that day in May of 2005 be addressed now? And why would anyone be accusing me?

  Then he said the second name: “Brianna Lamb.”

  I was horrified. Brianna was seven, and I’d had an issue with her mother ever since my daughter’s birthday party a few months earlier. Brianna and her friend Lydia Wilson were saying some things to Ashley that I didn’t think were very nice, so I scolded them. Politely. Like any parent or teacher would have done, I’d said, “That was a very unkind thing to say. How would you feel if someone said that same thing to you at your birthday party?”