The Nightmare

Five months after three-year-old Riley Fox of Wilmington was brutally murdered, her father, Kevin, confessed following a long night with Will County detectives. He recanted almost immediately, but spent eight months in jail before DNA evidence led to his release. For the first time publicly, Kevin and his wife, Melissa, talk about their ordeal, an account of pain, mystery, and undying faith, wrapped around an enduring tragedy

By Bryan Smith

(page 1 of 3)

Photography by Andreas Larsson
Production: Brittney Blair

From the beginning, the attorney Kathleen Zellner (below left) was struck by the Fox family's unwavering belief in Kevin's innocence. Chad (middle, with his wife, Stacy) took the lead in the fight to clear his brother's name. When detectives sought to persuade Melissa (at right, with Kevin) that her husband had killed their daughter, she reached out to him and said, "I believe you."

Dressed in a tuxedo-dapper but slightly self-conscious-Kevin Fox took his place at the wedding altar inside Holy Name Cathedral, awestruck by the majesty that surrounded him: the light slanting through the stained glass windows, the arches soaring up to gilt ceilings, the bas-relief of Abraham offering to sacrifice his child. A self-described small-town boy from Wilmington, Illinois, he was there to act as best man for his older brother, Chad. But if he felt out of place as the ceremony began, his discomfort melted at the sight of his two children now making their way down the aisle.

Tyler, the six-year-old spitting image of his dad, bore the ring; beside him toddled Tyler's three-year-old sister, Riley. Her hair a tiara of chestnut curls, she wore a snow-white "princess" dress, a gossamer confection of satin and lace over white satin slippers. Reaching into a tiny white basket, she doled red rose petals along the aisle like a pixie spreading fairy dust.

The ceremony's original choreography called for Riley to turn right at the front of the aisle and join her mother's pew. Instead, she marched up the marble stairs and past the groom. With a huge smile on her face, she headed straight to her daddy, who scooped her up into his arms. As Kevin and countless others in the sanctuary laughed with delight, he returned her to her mother, who shook her head with resignation and took the girl to the pew.

A few hours later, at a reception at the Park Hyatt, Kevin drew on the moment as he stood to toast his brother, Chad, and Chad's new wife, Stacy. "Throughout my life, I've always followed in your footsteps," Kevin said. "I tagged around when we were in high school. I made you drive me around when you got your license. I pledged the same fraternity. But now that I have a wonderful wife, and the two most beautiful children in the world, you get to finally follow me and make a family. It's your turn to follow in my footsteps."

Chad hugged Kevin as the room burst into applause. The band broke into song. The extended Fox family danced the night away, though before too long Riley and Tyler had curled up under a table and fallen sound asleep. A picture of the children would make its way into Chad's wedding album, a cherished memento of a perfect day.

The image was almost as precious, in fact, as the photo a few pages later of Chad, Stacy, Kevin, Melissa, Tyler, and Riley smiling back at the camera in their wedding formalwear. At the time, it seemed like a happy though standard family portrait. In fact, it would be the last photo of all of them together, taken as it was just two weeks before the little girl would be found floating face-down in a creek.

***

Photograph: Courtesy of Chad and Stacy Fox

Clad in the "princess dress" she had picked out to wear at her uncle's wedding, Riley waits with her brother and father prior to the ceremony at Holy Name Cathedral. A few weeks later, she would be buried in the same dress.

Five months later, a gallery of stunned observers packed the hearing at the Will County Courthouse in Joliet. The collection of friends, family, reporters, and onlookers watched as Kevin Fox, red-eyed and shell-shocked, shuffled into the courtroom. He wore a red jump suit and was shackled at the legs and hands. Already, the shocking news had been splashed across the front of every local newspaper-Fox was being charged with an unspeakable crime, murdering his three-year-old daughter.

The state's attorney, a heavyset man named Jeffery Tomczak, swept into the room, shaking hands and nodding toward a line of police officers who stood stone-faced and imposing near a cadre of assistant prosecutors arrayed around the prosecution table. After the bailiff called the court to order, Tomczak laid out what he called cold, hard evidence of the father's guilt, including a confession. "He admitted duct-taping the child's mouth. He admitted placing her on the bank of the river, under the water. He admitted placing his finger in the vagina of the child. . . . He then went home and slept," the prosecutor said.

Tomczak added other details: The girl had been placed in the water while she was still "alive and moving and kicking." As if the image wasn't terrible enough, he said, she had been "able to remove the duct tape from her wrists prior to succumbing to drowning in the water."

At one point an assistant interrupted the presentation by bursting into the courtroom and thrusting a document into Tomczak's hand. "I've just been handed our certificate of intent to seek the death penalty in this case," the prosecutor declared. "I'm asking leave to file same." Tomczak wrapped up the hearing by asking for a $25-million bond, a request that drew gasps from the gallery.

To the people who knew Kevin Fox, the hearing seemed unreal. The Kevin Fox they knew was a wonderful father, devoted to his wife and son and daughter. His little girl had seemed to hold a special place in his heart. If you saw Kevin, you most likely saw Riley, on his shoulders or carrying their fishing poles down to the lake together. To his family, the event seemed staged, a dog-and-pony show orchestrated by Tomczak. To those who didn't know Kevin Fox, the hearing seemed to offer a shocking solution to a terrible crime . . . the cops, the judge, the seeming confidence of the state's attorney, and, most of all, the confession. Who would admit to such horrible things if he hadn't really done them?

Yet, despite the overwhelming implication of guilt produced by the hearing, a number of troubling questions lurked within the prosecutor's case. How solid was the evidence? What about DNA testing? And what were the circumstances of the "confession"? The timing of the charges also seemed curious, coming just six days before a tight election for state's attorney between Tomczak, the incumbent, and a bitter rival, James Glasgow. What's more, Tomczak's father, Donald, second-in-command at the City of Chicago's water department, had just been named in a federal indictment for corruption.

As if in anticipation of unavoidable criticism, Tomczak had earlier stopped at the defense table where Kevin Fox's attorney, Kathleen Zellner, was seated. "This isn't political," he said. "We'll see," the defense attorney shot back.

***

The murder of Riley Fox has since turned into a mystery extraordinary for reasons beyond the heartbreaking death of a little girl. The case has set in motion a series of events that bitterly divided what had been a neighborly town; cast a shadow of suspicion over a tight-knit, well-respected family; and raised questions about whether justice was forsaken for personal and political ambitions.

Kevin Fox was eventually released, and the case against him was dismissed. The murder of his daughter remains unsolved. The aftershocks of his arrest, however, reverberate in the form of a lawsuit he and his wife have brought against Will County authorities. The complaint accuses them of conducting a sloppy investigation that, from the start, focused almost exclusively on Kevin Fox and ignored any evidence that might have cast doubt on his guilt. The interrogation and arrest of Fox, the suit alleges, was part of a last-ditch effort by Tomczak to win re-election.

Tomczak did not return calls requesting an interview, but in court pleadings he has denied any wrongdoing, including any suggestion that Kevin Fox's arrest was related to his re-election campaign. "Any charges of politics are baseless," Tomczak said in a statement the day after Fox's arrest. The Will County Sheriff's Office defends its detectives' handling of the case, including the 14 1/2-hour interrogation that led to Fox's confession. "We were not happy about [Fox's release]," says Pat Barry, spokesman for the Will County Sheriff's Office. "I'm not saying he shouldn't have been . . . but we firmly believe, and the sheriff firmly believes, that [the detectives] did a good job . . . and we stand behind them."

Virtually none of the principals involved in the case has gone untouched. The original detectives on the murder have been reassigned, the former state's attorney is now in private practice, and the little town where it occurred has suffered a loss of innocence, as well as wounds to its pride that may take years to heal.

Until now, the Foxes have remained silent about their ordeal. They agreed to tell their story to Chicago, they say, in hopes of calling attention to the injustices they believe they have suffered and to breathe new life into an investigation that, even authorities admit, has not yielded any promising leads for months. Meanwhile, the members of Kevin's family hold firm to their unwavering belief in the man who they say became, like his murdered daughter, a victim.

***

Photography: Courtesy of Kevin and Melissa Fox

The Foxes-Kevin, Melissa, Tyler, and Riley-at Shedd Aquarium in the spring of 2004

The Murder

Wilmington, Illinois, just south of Joliet, stands amid the vast cornfields and high grass prairies of the Kankakee River valley, a little more than 50 miles southwest of Chicago. Its 4.2 square miles occupy a rural stretch of old Route 66 (now Route 53) and offer the picture-perfect icons of Midwestern America. A faded water tower bearing the words "Wilmington Wildcats" overlooks Main Street, and a collection of modest ranch homes, ornamented with basketball courts and large American flags, lie sprinkled along the tree-lined streets. There's a bowling alley and a post office and a small movie house. As often as not, the town's dozen full-time police officers are looked on less as faceless authorities than as neighbors and friends and former high-school classmates.

The Fox family had called Wilmington home for generations. Like their father before them, Kevin and his older brother, Chad, were born here, rode their bikes here, fished here and graduated from the town's only high school. While Chad talked about leaving for the big city, Kevin couldn't imagine living anywhere else. It was here, after all, that the lanky, blond, gentle-natured teenager had met a pretty, impetuous girl named Melissa Rossi, who eventually became his wife. The Rossi family had moved to Wilmington when Melissa was in the third grade. Her father, an avid fisherman, had learned he had cancer, and he wanted to spend what time he had left in a peaceful place along a river, she says. Melissa first saw Kevin at a high-school volleyball game. Sensing his shyness, she took matters into her own hands. "That night she asked me to her homecoming," Kevin recalls with a laugh. "I guess we were going out on a limb, but it turned out she was the one."

The relationship evolved quickly and, just after Kevin started college at Illinois State University, Melissa, then 18, became pregnant with Tyler. Kevin, 20, was overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, and the two broke up for a short period. "We were still young, so it was scary," Kevin says. But Kevin knew he was meant to be with Melissa. And he realized he needed to take responsibility for his child. He quit school and the two moved in together. Three years later, in 2000, with Kevin having found work as a union painter and Melissa as a waitress, the two were married.

For all his initial trepidation, Kevin took to fatherhood in a way that surprised even his closest family. "He is an amazing dad, I tell you what," says his mother, Dawn. "He changed more diapers and fed and bathed the kids way more than the average father."

A year after their marriage, they added a daughter to the family-an apple-cheeked princess with a pile of light brown hair. She quickly became known around town as the precocious little girl who loved Dora the Explorer, the kind of child who insisted on picking out her own flower girl dress-only after pliés and curtsies in front of a mirror. She adored her father. "They did everything together," recalls Curt Fox, Kevin's dad. Kevin even attached a cart to his bicycle, and Riley quickly adopted it as her favorite mode of travel. "If you saw one, generally the other was right behind," Curt Fox says.

The parents' doting nature meant that Riley and Tyler rarely strayed far from their sight. Only once, in fact, had the little girl wandered away from the small ranch house-that time, to play with a friend. Which made what happened even more mysterious and frightening.

***

The weekend of June 5 and 6, 2004, Melissa Fox left Wilmington to participate in a breast cancer walk in Chicago. That Saturday night, she stayed at a campsite with friends in Skokie. It was one of the first times she had spent the night away from the kids, but for her, it was a worthy venture-a way to honor her late father.

That night, Kevin drove to Chicago, too, to attend a concert with a friend and one of Melissa's brothers. He left Tyler and Riley with Melissa's mother, Sandy Rossi. According to a statement he later gave police, he picked the kids up and drove them home at around 1 a.m. Then, too tired to make up their beds, he laid them down in the living room-Riley on the couch and Tyler on a chair with a footstool. He locked the front door and retired to his room. Unable to sleep at first, he watched some TV, snacked, then went to bed around 2:30, turning on a fan against the hot night in the un-air-conditioned house. He planned to drive the kids to Chicago in the morning to catch Melissa at the finish line.

A little before eight in the morning, however, Tyler came into Kevin's room. "Riley's gone," the boy said. Trying not to panic, Kevin searched the house. He immediately noticed that the front door and screen were ajar. He then ran next door, where Riley's best friend lived. No sign of her. He called Wilmington police, but not wanting to raise an alarm prematurely, he would later explain, he decided to call the nonemergency line-a choice that was later questioned. He says the police told him he was right not to panic, that "in a lot of cases a child wanders off, and they can't find them at first." Even so, as time passed and word spread that Riley Fox was missing, a search was mounted. In less than an hour, it seemed the whole town had turned out. Kevin told police that Riley was wearing a white T-shirt with a pink flamingo on it and pink capri pants.

Melissa got the word when she called Kevin to arrange to meet the family at the finish line. "He was crying," she recalls. "He said, ‘I can't find Riley.' I said, ‘What are you talking about?'" Within minutes, Melissa and a friend were barreling down Interstate 55. As she neared Wilmington, Melissa felt a chill. "For some reason," she says, "I had this terrible feeling that I was never going to see her again."

***

By now, hundreds of townsfolk were clawing through brush and woods. "They'd come back with their legs scratched up and bleeding," recalls Kevin. As the day wore on, local merchants pitched in with food and pop. Television satellite trucks roared into town, deploying their parabolic dishes and disgorging reporters. By the afternoon, more than 500 people were scouring the area, some on horseback, others on bicycles or all-terrain vehicles. At one point, Chad received a call from a friend watching the Cubs game. An Amber alert for Riley Fox had flashed on the scoreboard. "Isn't that your niece?" the friend asked.

Suddenly, at about three that afternoon, police jumped in their cars and sped off. Bewildered and frightened, Kevin and Melissa prayed that the sudden departure was less ominous than it looked.

About a mile away as the crow flies, a Wilmington mother and daughter had decided to search Forsythe Woods, a sprawling forest preserve with dense growth cut by a tributary of the Kankakee River called Forked Creek. The elder woman had just made her way to the edge of the creek when she noticed something that looked to her like a plastic bag. She screamed when she realized what she had found.

A Wilmington crime scene investigator arrived within minutes. In the cold, shallow, murky water of Forked Creek, Riley's body floated, face-down. She wore a flamingo decorated T-shirt, dirtied now by mud and silt. Gone were any underwear and capri pants. An autopsy would later reveal that the girl had been sexually abused and probably died from drowning. Her mouth had been covered with duct tape, and adhesive residue on her arms led authorities to surmise she had been bound. The medical examiner also noted light bruising on Riley's head. "Rape kits"-samples of DNA collected from Riley's body-were sent to the Illinois State Police crime lab for analysis. A preliminary report indicated no signs of foreign DNA-with one possible exception: a test for saliva in her vagina came back "inconclusive."

Three miles away, a Wilmington police cruiser returned to Kevin and Melissa's house. "We need you to come to the police station," an officer told them.

"What's happened?" Melissa recalls asking, still holding out hope that their daughter was alive. Police would reveal nothing.

At the small brick and concrete station, just off Main Street, police put Kevin in one room and Melissa in another. "They made me sit in a room for 45 minutes," Melissa says, still furious at the memory. "I kept saying, ‘What's going on? Why can't I see my husband!'" Finally they were brought out into a waiting room, where Curt, Dawn, Chad, and Stacy had already gathered.

Melissa knew by their faces that the news was grim. But when she looked for confirmation from two detectives who stood in the room-including Todd Lyons, a burly, bald Wilmington investigator to whom Kevin had delivered papers when he was a boy-they "just stared at us," she says.

"Where is she?" Melissa asked.

"They found her at Forsythe Woods," Curt answered in a broken voice. "She didn't make it."

Kevin began to pound the walls. He turned to Lyons, incredulous that the detective hadn't told him earlier. "Todd, what the hell! Are you kidding me?" The detective shook his head. Kevin's knees buckled. Melissa begged her husband, "Please hold me, hold me."

Today, Chad fumes that his brother was not told earlier. "What kind of Cracker-Jack-box cops don't have the decency to tell the parents of a murdered little girl that their daughter is dead?" he asks.

In hindsight, the couple believe that either the police "were just completely overwhelmed by the fact that there was a murder in Wilmington and they had no idea what to do," Melissa says, "-or they were watching to see how we would react." (Lyons did not return calls seeking comment.)

In fact, the case was already out of their hands. Will County sheriff's detectives had taken charge, assuming jurisdiction because the crime scene was in a forest preserve.

***

To accommodate the expected crowds, Riley's viewing, five days after the murder, was held at the town's largest church, St. Rose Catholic. The girl's body lay in a small polished white casket with stainless steel handles. She was wearing the same "princess dress" she had picked out and worn as a flower girl in Chad and Stacy's wedding. For hours, Kevin and Melissa shook hands and gave hugs, receiving mourners until they could barely stand.

More than 6,000 people attended the wake-nearly 1,000 more than the entire population of Wilmington. Hundreds more turned out the next day for the funeral, many wearing pink ribbons and ties and butterfly pins. A steady drizzle fell, while inside, mourners wept to a slide-show collage set to the songs "My Girl" and Sarah McLachlan's "Angel." "Let the little children come to me," said the Rev. Mark M. Strothmann, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Wilmington, quoting Mark 10:14. "For it is to such as these the kingdom of God belongs."

Among those in attendance, unobtrusive but noticeable, were two men holding video cameras. Their lenses, the family later learned, were trained not on the ceremony, or the casket, but on the mourners, including Kevin Fox. The men, the family learned, were Will County detectives.