On a crisp April morning in Crystal Lake, Illinois, a 911 call shattered the suburban calm. A father’s voice, seemingly steady but underlyingly tense, reported the unthinkable: his five-year-old son, AJ, was missing. Andrew Freund Sr. told the dispatcher that he had put his son to bed the night before in his favorite ninja turtle pajamas, only to wake up and find the room empty. He claimed he had searched the house, the garage, and the local park, but the boy was simply gone.

The disappearance of a young child typically galvanizes a community, and this case was no exception. Neighbors, police officers, and FBI agents swarmed the quiet residential street. Drones buzzed overhead, scanning the nearby woods and lakes, while volunteers hung flyers with AJ’s smiling face on every available surface. He was described as a sweet, intelligent boy who loved Legos and wanted to be a lawyer or a garbage man when he grew up. For days, the search intensified, driven by the hope that AJ had perhaps wandered off and was waiting to be found.

However, as the community looked outward, investigators began to look inward, focusing their attention on the run-down two-story home on Dole Avenue. While Andrew Sr. and AJ’s mother, JoAnn Cunningham, appeared on television pleading for their son’s return, police were uncovering a reality inside the home that contradicted the image of a loving family struck by tragedy. The house was in a state of squalor that shocked even veteran officers. Reports described an overwhelming smell of feces and urine, cluttered rooms where the floor was barely visible, and windows that were falling apart or nailed shut. It was a chaotic environment, described later in court as “drug-addled filth.”

The parents’ behavior also raised red flags. While they played the part of distraught victims publicly, their private actions told a different story. JoAnn was uncooperative with police early on, and Andrew Sr.’s account of the morning had gaps. But the true turning point in the investigation came not from a physical clue in the woods, but from the digital footprint the parents left behind.

Forensic experts analyzed the parents’ cell phones, recovering deleted data that would seal their fate. Among the recovered items was a photo of a shopping list handwritten by Andrew Sr. days before the 911 call. The list included items that sent a chill down the investigators’ spines: duct tape, plastic gloves, air freshener, and bleach. Even more damning was a Google search found on Andrew’s phone for “child CPR.” But the most heartbreaking piece of evidence was a video found on JoAnn’s phone. It showed AJ, visibly injured and terrified, lying on a bare mattress while his mother berated him for a minor bathroom accident. It was a window into the daily terror the little boy faced, and it proved that the parents knew exactly what had happened to him.

Under the weight of this mounting evidence, the facade crumbled. Andrew Freund Sr. finally broke down and confessed. He revealed that there had been no kidnapping, no wandering off. The truth was far more sinister. On the night of April 15, three days before they reported him missing, AJ had been subjected to a brutal punishment for soiling his underwear. His parents had forced him into a cold shower and left him there for an extended period. The autopsy would later reveal that AJ had suffered severe head trauma and hypothermia. He had passed away in that cold, dark bathroom, alone.

Andrew Sr. then detailed how he had taken his son’s lifeless body, placed it in a plastic tote, and stored it in the basement for days. As the plan to report him missing was hatched, Andrew drove to a rural area miles away and buried his son in a shallow grave, covering him with straw. He then returned home, and the couple waited before staging the 911 call. Following his confession, Andrew led investigators to the site. There, in the quiet of a field, they found AJ, wrapped in plastic, ending the community’s hope and beginning its mourning.

The aftermath of the discovery was swift and severe. JoAnn Cunningham pleaded guilty to the fatal act and was sentenced to 35 years in prison. The judge, visibly moved by the horror of the case, noted that she had “terrorized her small son” and lived a life of manipulation. Andrew Freund Sr. also pleaded guilty to charges including involuntary manslaughter and concealment of a passing, receiving a 30-year sentence.

But the tragedy of AJ Freund went beyond the actions of his biological parents. It exposed a catastrophic failure of the child welfare system. It was revealed that the Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS) had been involved with the family since AJ’s birth, when he was born with opiates in his system. Despite numerous calls to the hotline, police visits to the home, and documented evidence of squalor and injury, AJ was left in the care of his abusers. In a rare and precedent-setting move, the social worker assigned to AJ’s case, Carlos Acosta, and his supervisor were criminally charged with endangering the life of a child and reckless conduct. Acosta was found guilty and sentenced to jail time, a stark warning to the system that negligence has consequences.

The house on Dole Avenue, a silent witness to AJ’s suffering, has since been demolished, the land cleared to erase the physical reminder of the tragedy. But the memory of AJ Freund remains. He is remembered not for how he passed, but for the spark he had—the little boy who offered smiles to neighbors and dreamed of being a superhero. His story serves as a permanent reminder of the duty we all share to protect the most vulnerable among us, and the terrible price paid when that duty is ignored.