Ex-deputy gets 20 years for killing Sonya Massey after she called 911 for help

A fatal 911 call

The video begins in a dim Springfield-area kitchen just after 1 a.m.

Former Sangamon County sheriff’s deputy Sean Patrick Grayson stands a few feet from the stove, his gun drawn. Across from him is 36-year-old Sonya Lynaye Wilburn-Massey, barefoot and in a nightgown, having invited deputies into her Woodside Township home after calling 911 about a possible prowler.

Grayson notices a pot of hot water on the burner and tells her to move it. She picks it up. As he backs away, she says twice, “I rebuke you in the name of Jesus.” Grayson responds, “I’ll [expletive] shoot you right in your [expletive] face.”

“I’m sorry,” Massey says, ducking behind the counter. Three shots ring out. One bullet enters beneath her left eye and exits the back of her neck. She is pronounced dead minutes later at a Springfield hospital.

Maximum sentence for second-degree murder

On Jan. 29, a judge sentenced Grayson to 20 years in prison for killing Massey, who had called law enforcement for help during what authorities later described as a mental-health crisis. The maximum sentence for second-degree murder in Illinois capped an 18-month stretch that saw a rare criminal conviction of an on-duty deputy, a $10 million civil settlement, a federal civil rights inquiry and a sweeping new state law on police hiring named in Massey’s honor.

Grayson, 31, was convicted in October in Peoria County of second-degree murder in Massey’s July 6, 2024, killing. Jurors rejected first-degree murder but found he intentionally shot her without lawful justification. Prosecutors dropped related aggravated battery and official misconduct counts before verdict.

At sentencing, the judge imposed the stiffest punishment allowed for second-degree murder, plus two years of mandatory supervised release. Because Illinois generally allows day-for-day credit, and Grayson has been in custody since July 2024, he could be eligible for release in roughly eight and a half years.

“I made a lot of mistakes that night,” Grayson told the court before he was sentenced. “I froze. I made terrible decisions that night. I’m sorry.”

Massey’s relatives, seated in the gallery alongside supporters who had packed prior hearings and protests, reacted with a mix of relief and anger.

“He gets a chance at life. Sonya doesn’t,” a family member said outside court, arguing that the sentence, while harsh under state law, could not match the loss of a daughter and mother of two teenagers.

What deputies encountered—and what the video shows

The shooting unfolded less than 24 hours after Massey’s mother, Donna, called 911 to request help for what she described as her daughter’s “mental breakdown.” In that call, Donna Massey begged dispatchers to be careful about who they sent.

“Please don’t send no combative policemen that are prejudiced,” she said. “I’m scared of the police. Sometimes they make the situation worse.”

Internal records later labeled Massey as having “10-96 issues,” a code for mental-health concerns. On July 6, when she called about a possible intruder, Sangamon County deputies Grayson and Dawson Farley were dispatched to her home just outside Springfield.

Body-camera footage shows Massey thanking the deputies as they enter, then moving to the kitchen while they take down her information. When Grayson tells her to remove the pot of boiling or near-boiling water from the stove, she complies. As she holds it, he retreats a few steps, referring to it as “hot, steaming water.”

Twice, Massey says, “I rebuke you in the name of Jesus,” a phrase common in some Christian traditions. At trial, Grayson testified he interpreted the words as a threat that she would kill him and believed she would throw the water in his face. He acknowledged he did not deploy his Taser, saying he doubted it would work because of her clothing.

His partner offered a starkly different account. Farley told jurors that at no point did he view Massey as a threat.

“She never did anything that made me think she was a threat,” Farley testified. Instead, he said, Grayson’s escalating tone and actions heightened his concern.

In the video, after threatening to shoot Massey, Grayson fires three times as she apologizes and ducks behind the counter. After she collapses to the floor, Farley fetches dish towels to stanch the bleeding. Grayson retrieves his medical kit but is heard saying, “I’m not even gonna waste my med stuff then,” before tossing it aside.

Later, speaking to other officers at the scene, Grayson refers to Massey using an expletive and says, “This [expletive] is crazy. She set it up on purpose… I didn’t have a choice.”

Charges, firing and an uncommon prosecution

The Sangamon County Sheriff’s Office quickly referred the case to the Illinois State Police for investigation. Within about 10 days, the Sangamon County state’s attorney concluded Grayson’s use of deadly force was not justified. On July 17, 2024, a grand jury indicted him on three counts of first-degree murder, aggravated battery with a firearm and official misconduct. He was fired and jailed without bond; the Illinois Supreme Court later denied his bid for pretrial release.

The prosecution of an on-duty deputy marked a departure for the largely rural county. Local records show few, if any, similar criminal cases against sheriff’s deputies in recent years for conduct while on duty.

Scrutiny of hiring and prior misconduct

The case also raised questions about why Grayson was wearing a badge at all.

Personnel records and public reporting revealed that before joining the Sangamon County Sheriff’s Office in 2023, Grayson had cycled through at least half a dozen law-enforcement agencies in central Illinois. He previously served in the Army as a wheeled-vehicle mechanic before a 2015 drunken-driving conviction and a general discharge for “misconduct (serious offense).” A second DUI followed in 2016.

As an officer, he had been reprimanded or investigated for incidents including a high-speed pursuit in Logan County that hit about 110 mph after supervisors ordered him to terminate the chase, and a false arrest in the village of Kincaid in which a man was taken to jail on what officials later said was a bogus warrant.

Despite that record, Sangamon County Sheriff Jack Campbell hired him in May 2023, later saying Grayson received “twice as much training” as other new deputies. After the shooting, Campbell described him as “a rogue individual that acted outside the scope of his authority… He had all the training he needed. He just didn’t use it.”

Campbell announced his retirement in the weeks after Massey’s death, effective Aug. 31, 2024.

Civil settlement and federal oversight

In February 2025, Sangamon County agreed to pay $10 million to settle a wrongful-death lawsuit brought by Massey’s family. Civil rights attorney Ben Crump, who represented them, called the settlement one of the largest in Illinois for a single police shooting and argued that Massey “did everything right” by calling for help.

The U.S. Department of Justice opened a civil-rights investigation into the Sangamon County Sheriff’s Office, leading to an agreement that requires the agency to report misconduct complaints to federal officials twice a year and to develop a mobile crisis response team that pairs behavioral-health specialists with law enforcement on some calls.

A new Illinois law in Massey’s name

The killing also accelerated efforts at the Illinois Capitol.

In August 2025, Gov. J.B. Pritzker signed Senate Bill 1953, widely known as the “Sonya Massey’s Bill” or “Sonya Massey Law.” The measure, which took effect Jan. 1, 2026, requires law-enforcement agencies to obtain and review comprehensive, largely unredacted personnel, disciplinary and performance records from applicants’ previous employers before extending final offers for sworn positions. Applicants must authorize the release of prior employment, military, criminal and driving histories, and former employers face deadlines and possible court orders if they do not comply.

“When Sonya Massey feared for her safety, she did what anyone would do — she called law enforcement for help,” Pritzker said at the bill signing. “Our justice system needs to be built on trust.”

State Sen. Doris Turner, a Springfield Democrat who sponsored the legislation, said the law aims to keep “individuals with backgrounds such as Sean Grayson” from being hired as officers.

Advocates and some legal experts have noted that while the law may make it harder for “wandering officers” to move between agencies without scrutiny, it cannot, by itself, ensure agencies decline to hire applicants with troubling histories. In Grayson’s case, many red flags were already visible when Sangamon County brought him on.

Mental-health crisis response still under strain

Massey’s death also highlighted gaps in Illinois’ approach to mental-health emergencies. The state’s Community Emergency Services and Supports Act, intended to route certain 911 calls involving mental or behavioral health to clinicians rather than police, had not yet been fully implemented when she called in July 2024. Supporters of the law have argued that if it had been in place statewide, a different kind of help might have arrived at her door.

National leaders weighed in as the body-camera footage spread. President Joe Biden said in a statement that when Americans call for help, “we should be able to do so without fearing for our lives,” and that Massey “should be alive today.” Vice President Kamala Harris cited the case in urging Congress to pass federal policing reforms, saying Massey “deserved to be safe” in her own home.

An open question for the community

For Massey’s family, the criminal conviction, settlement, federal oversight and new law offer some measure of acknowledgment, but not closure. Her two children are growing up without their mother. Her mother’s recorded plea to 911—asking that “combative” officers not be sent—now plays back as a warning that went unheeded.

The next time a family in crisis in central Illinois reaches for the phone, the systems that failed Massey will be tested again. Whether a maximum sentence and a law in her name are enough to change what happens on the other end of that call remains an open question for the community she left behind.