No home for a child
Two troubled people met at a McHenry County courthouse in 2012. Today, they stand charged in the murder of their 5-year-old son.
He noticed her crying that day inside the McHenry County courthouse. JoAnn Cunningham was facing a divorce. She had no job, no attorney and — by her own admission — was addicted to a dangerous mix of up to 15 prescription painkillers a day to ease the aching she said she felt throughout her body.
Andrew Freund, a local attorney nearly 25 years Cunningham’s senior, approached her in the hallway. He had addiction problems himself, with pills and alcohol, that had threatened his legal career. But Freund still had his license. He walked up and offered to help. Their chance meeting in early 2012 spiraled into a dysfunctional relationship fueled by drug abuse and violence. The following year the Crystal Lake couple had their first child together: Andrew Thomas Freund Jr.
They called him AJ. Less than six years later he was dead, and Cunningham, 36, and Freund, 60, stand charged with murder.
The grim details of AJ’s fatal abuse have again forced the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services to answer difficult questions about how it responded when police, hospital staff and others raised concerns. And a close review of the case by the Tribune shows DCFS failed to properly assess the dangers AJ faced in his home.
But any examination of the boy’s short life and brutal death begins long before DCFS was involved.
It begins with his parents — damaged individuals who got clean of heroin to regain custody of AJ but eventually fell apart, leaving them unable to pay bills or provide a safe home for their children. Their history includes multiple police and child-welfare hotline
calls, a filthy house, domestic violence, misdemeanor arrests and two prior incidents in which AJ had suspicious bruising.
Even knowing all this, the way AJ died was shocking. The 5-year-old boy who loved books and puzzles, playing with firetrucks, bulldozers and his two brothers was fatally beaten in his own home, prosecutors say. His parents allegedly forced AJ into a cold shower, put him to bed wet and naked and, after they found he had died, reported their son missing.
After six days of searching, the child was found in a shallow grave, wrapped in plastic, about 7 miles from his home.
Cunningham’s mother, Lori Hughes, knew her daughter was capable of many terrible things, from lying to manipulation to neglect. But Hughes, in her first public comments since the tragedy unfolded, said she still cannot understand how the artistic, straitlaced “girly girl” she raised is now accused of something so unfathomable.
“This is the JoAnn I raised,” said Hughes, holding a photo of Cunningham on her wedding day. “She was a beautiful girl. She was a beautiful woman and a great mom. She really was.”
Hughes paused.
“Up until the drug use.”
Early promise
At Crystal Lake Community High School, Andrew Thomas Freund was voted the Class of ’77’s “most desirable date.”
High school yearbooks capture a time of popularity and promise for Freund. He wore a Tiger uniform on the football and baseball teams, snapped photos on the yearbook staff and was a member of the senior class varsity club.
A black-and-white yearbook photo shows Freund dressed in a tuxedo and ruffled shirt, a crown atop his head, posing after being voted prince of the junior prom.
Classmates described him as popular but quiet, with a wry sense of humor. They called him Drew, a nickname that stuck. It was in high school that Freund began using alcohol to cope with his problems, he would later admit in a lengthy 2014 interview with child welfare officials reviewed by the Tribune.
“He was very shy,” said Sue Lowry, who graduated high school with him. “Everybody loved him, especially the girls.”
In the summer of 1975, when Freund was 16, his mother filed for divorce to end her 26-year marriage, accusing her husband of infidelity and mental cruelty. Helen Freund also alleged her husband “has for long periods of time continuously and repeatedly been in an intoxicated condition causing the plaintiff great embarrassment,” according to court records.
Freund and an older brother remained with their mother, a registered nurse who worked part time for a local school district.
Their architect father, Robert Freund Sr., remarried. In records reviewed by the Tribune, Andrew Freund described an often distant relationship with his dad, now 91, and his brother, but he said he remained close with his mother until her death in 2006.
Freund graduated with high honors from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign in 1981, obtaining a bachelor’s degree in accounting. Three years later, he earned a law degree from John Marshall Law School in Chicago.
Freund settled in at a Crystal Lake law firm but said he was “asked to leave” due to his alcohol problems in 1994, according to records. He sought out substance abuse treatment but, Freund told child welfare officials, relapsed with alcohol and opioids during stressful times in his life, including after his mother’s death.
Eileen Kozlowski said she briefly knew Freund several years ago when the two attended the same Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. She recalled he came alone, typically dressed in U. of I. gear. He rarely spoke, she said, and seemed to be in poor health.
“He never shared a lot,” Kozlowski said. “He’d say, ‘I’m just here to listen. I’m going to pass’ when it was his turn. I never knew what his deal was. I always questioned to myself, ‘What is he even doing here if he’s not going to participate.’ ”
Over the next 15 years, Freund practiced law on and off out of his longtime Crystal Lake home on Dole Avenue. In 2012, he also worked part time at a local grocery store. A former co-worker, Michael York, said he and other employees wondered why a licensed attorney was bagging groceries and stocking shelves.
Freund said he was “trying to drum up legal business,” York recalled, but he realized the attorney was in dire financial straits after he began renting a room in Freund’s basement.
York, a divorced father of two, said he moved into Freund’s house that June after hiring the attorney to represent him in a custody battle with his ex-wife. York said it became apparent that Freund had a pill issue, and he assumed Freund worked at the grocery store for the health insurance benefits.
“There were prescription pill bottles everywhere,” said York, who recalled seeing Vicodin on some of the labels. “When I moved in, it all became crystal clear. I walked back to the store and said, ‘I know why he’s here.’ ”
A happy childhood
JoAnn Cunningham’s parents married in the summer of 1979, two years after Freund graduated high school. Her mom, Lori, was just 18.
Her husband, Joseph E. Cunningham III, was the 20-year-old son of a successful Korean War veteran who owned an electronic security systems business in the northwest suburbs. The newlyweds moved in with Cunningham’s parents in Roselle and welcomed a son, Joseph Donald, late that same year.
But about two weeks before the couple’s first wedding anniversary, Joseph Cunningham was arrested and accused of burglarizing a home. The unemployed electrician pleaded guilty.
“Do you have a family?” the DuPage County judge asked him, according to a transcript of the 1983 proceeding. “Yeah, one and a half,” said Cunningham, 24. “I got one coming.”
Two weeks later, on Feb. 28, JoAnn Doris Cunningham was born. She was named in honor of her paternal grandmother, who had died just weeks earlier.
Her mother filed for divorce that same year, at age 22. The mother of two also sought an order of protection, alleging in various court documents that her estranged husband had an “uncontrollable temper” and is “a man possessed of a mean and violent disposition” who drank heavily.
Their divorce was finalized in September 1984, when JoAnn was about 19 months old. Her father’s life continued to deteriorate. He served three stints in prison in the late 1980s and 1990s on burglary, theft and drug charges, according to Illinois corrections records.
In a 1989 psychological report contained in one of his DuPage County criminal court files, he admitted to years of drug use, bar fights, burglaries, hospitalizations, depression and failed suicide attempts. He began using drugs at 14, he said, starting with pot and then LSD, cocaine and other substances. He blamed his divorce on his drug addiction, “erratic lifestyle” and anger issues. He conceded his family withstood “a lot of abuse from him.”
JoAnn Cunningham’s father was 44 when he died in 2003 in a Los Angeles County hospital, according to medical examiner’s records. He had been found unresponsive earlier that day in a parking lot. Authorities described him as a longtime homeless man with a history of alcohol and drug abuse who suffered a fatal head injury after an accidental fall on the pavement. Severe cirrhosis was listed as a contributing factor in his death.
Her father was “not a good role model” and never involved in her life, according to a detailed interview child welfare officials had with Cunningham in 2014. But Cunningham said she had a good childhood.
Her mother agreed. Hughes said they had a “normal, happy life” with family camping trips and vacations to spots like Disney World.
When Cunningham was 7, her mother remarried. Cunningham said she had a close relationship with her stepfather. As a child, she said, the only discipline she received was to be grounded or sent to her bedroom.
The family moved from the Schaumburg area to Harvard in McHenry County when Cunningham was about 10. She was a good student who played basketball and ran track in elementary school, records show. Hughes said the two were close. Back then, she never worried that her daughter would have anything less than a good future.
“She never got into trouble,” her mother said.
Turning points
When JoAnn was young, she wanted to be an artist, according to her mother. An avid sketcher, she showed enough promise to be accepted into an invitation-only art camp to study under the guidance of college faculty and local artists.
But at 16, while still in high school, Cunningham got pregnant.
She and her boyfriend met through mutual friends when she was about 14, records show. Christopher Butler, 2½ years older, grew up nearby on McCullom Lake in McHenry.
Cunningham dropped out of school, against Hughes’ wishes, and moved in with Butler at his parents’ house. The baby, a boy, was born in July 2000. The young mother obtained her GED during this time and, Hughes said, devoted her life to her child.
A year before her son was born, Cunningham inherited about $50,000 after her paternal grandfather died at 70, according to court records. The money came without restrictions, and Cunningham spent it on big-ticket items like a Jeep and boat, her mother said. The young couple spent time boating and fishing on the lake and raised their son with their parents’ help.
In July 2001, Cunningham’s only sibling, Joseph, 21, committed suicide in Winnebago County, according to a coroner’s report. His girlfriend had called 911 for help, telling police he told her he was “going to be with grandpa tonight.”
Records show that financial issues had forced him to sell a house in Roscoe he bought with his inheritance money. He hanged himself from a tree branch in a
wooded area near his former home.
Tests showed he had cocaine and marijuana in his system.
“Family had observed that Joseph had been depressed and using drugs more often since the death of his grandfather,” the coroner’s report said. “He also had in the past attempted to commit suicide, but was found before the act was completed.”
Cunningham said her brother was her best friend and she “struggled to cope with his death,” according to later interviews with child welfare officials, contained in records reviewed by the Tribune. She said his death left a “huge gap” in her life.
Cunningham’s relationship with Butler, her child’s father, lasted nearly a decade, though they never married. Police records show the relationship was punctuated with violence.
In March 2003, Butler was charged with domestic battery after he allegedly punched Cunningham in the stomach during a dispute at their neighbor’s home in McHenry, records show. Cunningham, who was 20 at the time, posted Butler’s bail that next day. The charges eventually were dropped.
Hughes said her daughter moved back home by age 23, with the 5-year-old boy, after the young couple broke up.
Cunningham’s mom and stepdad helped raise her son while she completed cosmetology school. She became licensed in September 2005. Hughes recalled that Cunningham, despite her young age, was an excellent mother to her son — loving and attentive.
“She spent lots of time teaching him letters and numbers and reading,” Hughes said. “He could play Monopoly and be the banker at 5.”
Cunningham began dating her future husband, Craig Summerkamp Jr., in 2006. The two were the same age and met at a party, Hughes said. On New Year’s Eve 2007, he proposed, giving her a $10,000 engagement ring and band, according to court records.
Her fiance had little in common with Butler, who was described by family as “a free spirit.” Summerkamp had served in the U.S. Marine Corps and the Iraq War and owned a home in an unincorporated area near McHenry.
It was about that time, Cunningham would later say, that she began taking a prescription painkiller because of chronic back pain due to fibromyalgia. Hughes said she does not know if there was an actual medical diagnosis, but she recalled her daughter complaining of pain after working long hours on her feet as a hairstylist and cosmetology teacher.
Cunningham married Summerkamp in May 2009, according to court records. Two years later, she became a licensed foster parent to her 6-year-old godson, whom she described as a distant relative of Butler’s.
She told the foster care licensing specialist that she took a prescription painkiller but said it would not affect her ability to care for the boy and her biological son. In a letter of reference, a local pastor and his wife wrote that they had weekly contact with the couple, describing them as a loving and stable family with “extremely good morals.”
Less than three years into the marriage, in January 2012, her husband filed for divorce.
Summerkamp accused his wife of becoming violent during arguments, including twice punching him on the side of his face, throwing hot coffee at him and trying to kick him down a flight of stairs, according to divorce records.
By this time, Cunningham needed a mix of 12 to 15 painkillers — including Norco, Percocet and morphine — to get through the day. She admitted buying them illegally on the street when she could no longer get a doctor to prescribe painkillers, according to her later interviews with child welfare officials.
Summerkamp did not respond to Tribune requests for comment. But in an April interview with the British website DailyMail.com, he said: “Our marriage started off well and it was like a switch flipped in her head.
“She was a decent person. But then she got hooked on pills and it all went downhill superfast.”
Moving in with Freund
Summerkamp moved out of the home he bought before the marriage in 2012 and agreed Cunningham should remain until the summer so her son and foster child could finish the school year, records show.
Freund filed his first appearance as Cunningham’s divorce attorney in February.
“She was crying in the hallway of the courthouse, and he saw her sitting there and walked over … and said he’d help her for free,” her mother, Hughes, recalled of the chance meeting.
Cunningham sought continued financial support from her estranged husband, citing her fibromyalgia, an injured ankle and her need to take care of her son and foster child as reasons she could not work.
“I am a very good person,” she said in a February 2012 divorce filing.
Police made frequent visits to the house that year, with Cunningham asking officers to investigate whether someone had bugged her home, hacked into her phone and email, and was keeping her under surveillance.
Summerkamp also complained to police that Cunningham was selling his belongings at a garage sale without his permission. She told police she needed the money for her car payment but agreed to end the sale.
Two neighbors called police to complain about Cunningham that June. In one incident, she approached a man on his property, accused his wife of calling DCFS on her and yelled “stay out of my business,” according to the police report. She also accused Summerkamp in the divorce case of calling DCFS with false allegations.
The agency received two hotline calls that month alleging Cunningham was abusing prescription drugs and neglecting her foster child, records show.
One Hope United, a nonprofit agency that DCFS had hired to monitor her foster child’s care, noted Cunningham was going through a difficult divorce and struggling financially, but the caseworker who made twice-weekly home visits did not report safety concerns at that time.
Freund vouched for Cunningham in a phone call with the caseworker. He identified himself as her friend. “He stated she was a good mother,” a July 2012 document says. “He had no concerns.”
Nothing came of the DCFS hotline calls, initially. But, within two months, Hughes said, Cunningham’s decline worsened. For example, she was convinced that a neighbor who had called police and DCFS was trying to kill her, Hughes said. Cunningham even forced her son at times to remain in her bedroom, which she called a “safe room,” and said if they left the room the neighbor would kill them, according to court records.
Hughes said she and other relatives confronted Cunningham about possible illicit drug use, which she denied, and encouraged her to get into rehab for her dependence on painkillers.
“She was hallucinating. She was going downhill fast,” said Hughes, who said she used to drop off bags of food at her daughter’s doorstep and look for her grandson after school to make sure he was OK. “You had to walk a fine line with JoAnn. You had to be careful because she would cut you off, and I didn’t want to lose (access to) my grandson.”
Cunningham had moved into Freund’s home in Crystal Lake by August. In her divorce case, she was accused of causing nearly $20,000 in damage to Summerkamp’s house before she left. The house reeked of dog waste and urine, had insect and mold infestations, and suffered major damage including kitchen appliance fires, according to divorce records and court testimony.
By then, the caseworker monitoring Cunningham’s foster son was losing confidence in her, noting Cunningham’s problems and her struggles to drive the boy to see his parents for scheduled visits. Police were called when the caseworker discovered Cunningham had moved with him and her son without notification, and DCFS removed the foster boy, 7, from her care. She voluntarily surrendered her foster license.
Her divorce trial began Oct. 9, but the judge temporarily delayed proceedings because he suspected Cunningham had showed up to court impaired. Later that month, she and Freund were found guilty of indirect criminal contempt for removing items from Summerkamp’s house in violation of a court order.
“I would prefer not to go to jail,” she told the judge regarding sentencing. “I’ve never been in trouble before. I never had a ticket in my life.”
The judge ordered Cunningham to serve 30 days in the McHenry County jail after telling her he had “zero faith” she’d comply with a less harsh punishment, such as paying a fine. Freund received a 14-day jail sentence.
During this time, Hughes began raising her 12-year-old grandson. It was an informal arrangement at first; Hughes said he had been spending more time at her home in the previous months as Cunningham struggled with the divorce.
Shortly after Cunningham began serving her jail term, her ex, Christopher Butler, died on Nov. 17 of a drug overdose at age 32, coroner’s officials said. Hughes said she went to the Woodstock jail to tell her daughter, who cried upon hearing the news.
His fatal overdose marked the third time Cunningham had lost someone unexpectedly, including the deaths several years earlier of her brother and the father she never knew. All three were related to substance abuse.
One month after Butler’s death, Cunningham’s marriage was officially dissolved. The judge found she “has been guilty of repeated acts of physical violence” against her husband and denied Cunningham’s request for continued financial support, ruling she is unemployed for “no stated credible reason.”
She later acknowledged to child welfare officials that around this time, her painkiller addiction progressed into something even more serious — she was using heroin. When asked how it began, Cunningham said that after she got out of jail, she posted bail money for a woman whom she had befriended as the two served their sentences.
As repayment, she said, the woman gave her heroin. And soon Cunningham was addicted.
Arguments, threats, police visits
When Cunningham moved into Freund’s house, her presence changed everything, said York, Freund’s former roommate.
York knew Freund had a pill problem and a past alcohol addiction. Still, he said, “Early on, it was almost a functional arrangement.”
“After she moved in, then the madness began,” York said. “I began seeing things I never would have thought he was capable of.”
The first documented trouble between Freund and Cunningham began within days of her arrival. There would be a half-dozen police calls by the end of 2012, with many more to follow.
In the first incident, paramedics took Cunningham for a mental health evaluation on Aug. 24 after a friend called police to report she had texted, “I’ll see you on the other side.” She also texted Freund, “I’m going to hang myself in your house.”
The two had argued that day. Police found her asleep inside the house, a 10-foot red rope near her bed. She tearfully admitted sending the texts but would not say why, according to the police report.
Officers were back twice in September when York accused the couple of pawning his personal items to buy Vicodin illegally when he was at work. No one was charged. Police stood by as York moved out at the end of the month.
“Once upon a time, that house was nice,” he told the Tribune. “After she moved in, all these low-life degenerates and teenage kids would come by at all hours of the night. I saw needles and I lost my mind.”
York’s kids would sleep over during visits, he said. “I knew it wasn’t a safe environment. I had to get out.”
York said the couple fought “all the time … almost from the start. He did kick her out a few times, but he would cave and she’d be back the next day.” Though the two kept separate bedrooms, York said Freund and Cunningham were romantically involved while he lived there.
York described her initially as “very personable, very outgoing and attractive.” That changed rapidly. He said she slept most of the day and was always “high.” He said she told him pills were “a necessity” to get through the day.
She easily had the more volatile temper of the two, according to York.
“I saw it,” he said. “She’s got a powderkeg temper. If you got in her bad graces, she would turn on you quick, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
Late Oct. 1, 2012, Freund walked into the Crystal Lake police lobby wearing only his underwear and a blanket, alleging Cunningham had flown into a fit of rage — hurling pens and pencils at him and punching him in the head — after he told her he was too tired to work on her divorce case. She denied it, and he declined to pursue charges.
Officers were called to the house for three more fights that month, including when Freund accused Cunningham of smacking him in the face as the two argued while rearranging furniture. He again declined to pursue charges, but police said they called DCFS because Cunningham’s son was in another room when the fight erupted.
DCFS did not investigate the complaint. The agency typically opens investigations in about a third of all calls to its hotline, agency statistics show. Of the complaints that are investigated, 1 in 4 is deemed credible enough to be “indicated.”
On Oct. 25, officers responded to two