Wrongly Accused Read online

  Cover image © Digital Vision/Getty Images

  Cover design copyrighted 2004 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2004 by J. Michael Hunter

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Covenant Communications, Inc.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real.

  First Printing: July 2004

  To my wife LeAnn

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to express my appreciation to Jennifer James Spell, my sister-in-law, whose excellent editorial assistance made this a better story. I would also like to thank Jennifer, along with my wife LeAnn for their encouraging words. I express appreciation to Detective Heather Stringfellow of the Salt Lake City Police Department. Detective Stringfellow reviewed the manuscript for errors in police procedure as it pertained to police work in Salt Lake City. I tried to be as accurate as possible in these matters; any inaccuracies are solely the responsibility of the author who hopes that the reader will understand that this is a work of fiction rather than a documentary.

  Finally, I would like to thank the wonderful people at Covenant, especially Catherine Langford for being an excellent editor, and Shauna Humphreys, Covenant’s managing editor, for guiding me through this new experience and bringing this whole project together.

  CHAPTER 1

  Friday, December 12

  Brad’s roommate, Jess, woke him at 5:55 a.m. They’d overslept. Jess should have been at Salt Lake International no later than 6:00, since his flight to San Francisco was scheduled to leave at 7:00. With both of their alarm clocks flashing zeroes, there was no question that the electricity had gone off at least momentarily in the night.

  “I’m going to miss my flight,” Jess said as he rushed about the dorm room, trying to dress as he grabbed the last few personal items he needed to take home with him to California. “We shouldn’t have stayed out so late last night.”

  Brad jumped out of bed and grabbed his discarded jeans from the floor. “Don’t worry, Jess. You’ll make it.” He fitted one leg after another into his jeans and pulled them up. “But I don’t see what staying out late has to do with our alarm clocks not going off.”

  “When I go to sleep on time,” Jess said, “I wake up on time, with or without my alarm clock.”

  Brad looked at his cousin Jess through blurry eyes. Even in a rush, Jess managed to look like he had just stepped out of a Nordstrom ad. His blue oxford shirt and tan pants were wrinkle free and his belt matched his brown oxford shoes. Brad never looked that well pressed, even when he spent all morning trying.

  As Brad pulled a shirt over his head, Jess started organizing his textbooks in a neat pile on his desk. Jess was definitely in panic mode. When things got stressful—like exams—Jess started organizing. Somehow, external order created internal peace for Jess. Brad was the opposite: the more stressed he became, the messier he got.

  Maybe Jess’s tidiness also came from not having a mother for the past two years. Maybe that’s how Brad would be if he didn’t have a mom to pick up after him, to wash and iron his clothes. He took his laundry home every week for his mother to wash. She expected it.

  Brad sat on the edge of his bed and pulled on a dirty pair of socks, then his Reeboks. Jess was starting to make his bed. Brad grabbed his green parka from the floor and stood up. “Come on, Jess, you don’t have time for that.” Brad grabbed Jess’s suitcase by the door.

  Jess left his bed unmade, and grabbed his carry-on bag. He turned and looked one last time at the messy room before turning off the light and closing the door behind him.

  * * *

  The Wasatch Mountains were hiding behind a heavy blanket of fog, which had descended low into the Salt Lake Valley. The gray covering invoked an image in Brad’s mind of someone closing the cap on a jar. When the air looked like this, Brad felt he was in that jar, struggling for air and almost suffocating. At times, winter in the Rocky Mountains was dreary, grim, and claustrophobic. He couldn’t wait for the cloud cover to lift and reveal the beautiful mountain peaks mottled with snow.

  Brad hadn’t expected the heavy snow. Every few miles his heart raced as he drove past accident flares, red and blue twirling highway patrol lights, the distressed looks on the faces of accident victims. The tires of his BMW slid from time to time, and he always stiffened until he regained control. Yet he was determined to make an all-out effort to get Jess to the airport, even if it turned out to be a futile effort. He knew Jess would blame him if he missed his flight. It probably was Brad’s fault that they had stayed out so late.

  They had taken Brad’s car to the restaurant where they’d gotten together with friends the night before. Jess had suggested it was time to leave a few times. Brad realized that he had done a lot of the talking, telling everyone how he hated pre-med and wanted to switch his major to journalism. Jess scoffed at the idea. Brad had tried to ignore Jess’s negative comments at the time, but found himself bothered by them as the night went on. He had been offended by what Jess had said and was still feeling the irritation this morning. He told himself to drop the whole subject but found his mouth moving before the self-suggestion sunk in. “I don’t know what you have against journalism, Jess. It could be an exciting profession.”

  Jess ignored the comment for a moment and stared out the passenger window. He seemed to be carefully considering his response. “I have nothing against journalism, Brad. I just don’t think it’s right for you. It’s hard to make a living as a writer, and medicine just seems to be a more stable career. Besides, it’s a family tradition. If you want to rebel against your dad, do it with something less critical to your future.”

  “Is that what you think this is about? Rebelling against Dad?”

  “You’re the one who keeps saying he’s pushing you toward medicine. You seem a little angry about it sometimes.”

  Brad clenched the steering wheel. “Jess, this may come as a surprise to you, but money’s not the most important thing in the world. Doing something I like is more important to me than making a lot of money.”

  “You say that now, Brad, but wait till you have a family to support. You might see things differently then, except by then it might be too late to do anything about it.”

  Brad glanced sideways at Jess. “You worry too much, Jess. That’s your problem. You need to loosen up, have some fun. You spend too much time worrying about the future and not enough time having fun in the here and now.” Brad realized he was overreacting. The frustration he had felt all semester at being trapped in a major he was not excited about, and his unwillingness to talk with Dad directly about how he felt about medicine, were now being directed at Jess. Brad’s frustration increased with Jess’s attitude, partially because Brad expected the same response from his dad. Of course, the response—negative or positive—would only come if Brad could muster the courage to tell his father about his desire to change majors.

  “There’s nothing wrong with setting goals and planning, Brad. Someday you’ll grow up and realize that it’s just part of real life.”

  Brad didn’t want to think about the “real life” Jess was talking about. He had his whole life to think about real life. He thought about Jess’s lab job. His father, Brad’s Uncle Gordon, had a friend in the Pathology Department who gave Jess the job. Jess loved it, but Brad knew he was missi
ng out on so many other things because he was always either working or studying. “We’re just going to have to agree to disagree on this one, Jess.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who brought this up, Brad. I’m just giving you my honest opinion.”

  They sat in uncomfortable silence for the remainder of the trip. Brad sighed with relief as they pulled into the airport terminal. On this morning it was a popular place; SUVs and trucks raced by, their drivers unmindful of the icy conditions, anxious to make a flight. Brad pulled up to the Delta loading zone, parked, popped the trunk, and jumped out to grab some of Jess’s bags from the trunk.

  Jess stepped out. “What’re you doing, Brad?”

  “I’m helping you catch your flight.”

  “You can’t park here. It’s a loading zone. Any cars left unattended will be towed.”

  “With conditions the way they are, I have plenty of time to get you settled inside and get out here before they even notice my car.”

  “You’re always taking unnecessary chances, Brad.”

  “Unnecessary? I want to make sure you make your flight. That’s necessary. Come on. We’re wasting time out here arguing.”

  They ran in through the revolving doors and glanced at the departure board. The snow had worked in Jess’s favor; all flights at Salt Lake International were delayed. Jess would catch his flight.

  “Thanks, Brad. It will be good to be back in California for a while. I’m anxious to see Dad. I just hope the flight goes by fast for me. You know how I hate sitting too long.”

  Brad smiled, thinking of Jess’s energy. He was always on the move. He would someday make a great doctor. Even though Jess and Brad had the same tall, athletic build and dark hair, they couldn’t have been more different in temperament and interests.

  “Too bad you don’t have a laptop to play games,” Brad said. “Whenever I travel with Dad, I keep busy by playing games on his laptop.”

  “Maybe I’ll try to sleep,” Jess said. “Maybe you should go back to the dorms and try doing the same thing.”

  “Oh no. I’m not going back to the dorms until after the holidays. I’m going straight home to Mom’s cooking.”

  “Look, Brad, you’d better go. You’re parked in the loading zone.”

  Brad grinned at Jess, the consummate worrier. “Okay, I’m going.” Brad walked to the nearest exit, glancing at the clock over the door. It was 7:20 a.m. He stepped into the windblown morning. It was cold and thick; clinging flakes chilled his face. Brad hurried to his parked car just as an airport security officer was looking at his license plate and talking into a radio. Brad ran to the driver’s side and opened the door.

  “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” the officer yelled. “Can’t you read?”

  “Sorry,” Brad said with a smile.

  “Yeah, yeah,” the man returned. “Just move it out of here.”

  Maneuvering his BMW along the icy roads, Brad made his way from the airport to the traffic backed up on North Temple, passing several accidents. In the Avenues, he came upon a yellow VW Bug that had slid off the road into a bank of snow. The driver appeared to be in her early twenties and was pushing on the gas in an impatient effort to get back on the road, sending her wheels spinning. Brad pulled over and ran to the driver’s side of the stranded car. The woman rolled down her window just enough to talk.

  “Need some help?” he asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’ll get behind you and push. Just a minute.”

  It was obvious she wasn’t used to driving in the snow. He noticed she had an Arizona license plate.

  “Okay, put it in second gear and push on the gas.”

  The driver stepped on the gas again, and Brad pushed with all his might to send the VW sliding back onto the road.

  “Thanks,” the woman shouted from her window as she waved and drove away.

  After that, he enjoyed a relatively smooth drive to his parents’ house on Salt Lake’s east side, not far from the University of Utah. The day before, his mom had called asking for his dirty clothes, so Brad had stuffed a duffel bag with what he would need for the break and dropped it and the dirty clothes by the house before his last exam that day. Jess, who had been trying to study at the time, made some pointed remarks about how spoiled Brad was.

  Brad was smiling when he pulled into the driveway because the Christmas vacation was beginning and—perhaps more importantly—he was looking forward to his mom’s homemade pancakes. She would make them for him, he was sure of that. She would make anything he wanted. She would hug him, kiss him, and make him feel like she hadn’t seen him for months, even though he lived a few miles from the house. When he and Jess had arrived back at the dorm late the night before, he had glanced at the caller ID and seen that one of his parents—most likely his mother—had called. She was probably just calling to try and get him to change his mind about bringing Jess by the house for dinner, even though he had told her that he and Jess were going out to eat with friends.

  As he parked in the snow-packed driveway, Brad glanced at his dashboard clock and noted the time: 8:16 a.m It usually took only twenty minutes to drive from the airport. The weather and helping the woman in the Bug had slowed him more than he had expected.

  Usually his father had the large driveway plowed by this hour, but he was obviously running as late as Brad. No tire tracks appeared in the snow from the garage to the street. However, there were a few sets of footprints going from the street to the kitchen door.

  He looked at the four-car garage. He could open the door with his remote and park in the garage, but his BMW was covered with dirty snow. His dad didn’t like the garage floor to get too wet and dirty, so he decided to leave the car and return later to brush it off before taking his place in the garage. He’d go in through what his family called the “friend’s entrance,” which was the kitchen door between the garage and the formal entrance at the front of the house.

  As Brad stepped from the car into the deep snow, he felt some of it slip into his Reeboks, and a rush of cold wind blew snow into his eyes and mouth. Halfway to the kitchen door, he realized he’d left his parking lights on, so he flipped his parka hood over his head, ran back, turned the lights off, slammed the door shut, and then rushed to the kitchen door.

  Before entering, Brad picked up a plastic bag containing a rolled Salt Lake Tribune and shook the melted snow off. Dad is definitely running late this morning, he thought. By now he should have already read the entire paper and worked the crossword puzzle. He grabbed the brass knob and pushed against the door. It was locked. On a hunch, Brad lifted the lid to the Winder Dairy box next to the door and saw the milk was still there. What is their problem this morning? I guess Jess and I weren’t the only ones who overslept.

  He pulled his key ring out of his pocket and unlocked the door before shoving the newspaper under his arm and grabbing the milk, then pushed the door open with his spare hand. The steady beeping of his parents’ alarm system started, beginning a forty-five-second countdown to disarm the system.

  He rushed to the pad and suddenly realized that he didn’t remember the code. The security fob he used to carry on his key chain could bypass the code, but it was in his desk at the dorm. He had stopped carrying it because it made his keys bulky, and since his parents only set the alarm before they went to bed at night and turned it off when they awoke early in the morning, he had found he no longer needed it. His parents were not in the habit of setting the alarm when they were away during the day. How could this be happening?

  “Dad! Mom!”

  Frantically he began to punch numbers at random. It was useless, and he knew it, but what else could he do?

  “Dad! Mom! The alarm is going. What’s the number?”

  The last feverish beeps of the alarm had been replaced by a deafening screech, indicating that the alarm was now being transmitted across phone lines to the security agent, who would call the police.

  The kitchen was dark, and, in spite of the squeal of the alar
m, Brad felt disappointment that the aroma of his mother’s breakfast cooking hadn’t greeted him. He turned on the light and saw everything as his mom always left it, but something was wrong. The alarm should have roused an immediate response from even the deepest sleepers. Where were they? Why hadn’t they told him they’d be gone? Maybe his father had gone in to the office after all. But the unmarred driveway told him no one had left the house since the snow had started, which had been since before Jess woke him.

  The piercing ring of the phone suddenly added to the commotion. Brad grabbed the handset from the kitchen counter and did his best to block out the sound of the irritating alarm.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Dan with security. We have registered an alarm at this residence. Could I have your password please?”

  “Oh, it’s okay. I’m Brad Armstrong. I live here. I set the alarm off when I came in the house this morning.”

  “Your password, please.”

  “I don’t remember it,” Brad responded, his heart sinking.

  “I’m sorry, sir. We’re going to have to call the police.”

  “Do what you have to, but I’m telling you—”

  The man hung up.

  Brad put the phone down and made his way from the kitchen to the front foyer. The Christmas tree, a huge spruce, stood proudly by the bay window in the front sitting room. The gifts he’d chosen for his parents were under the tree, wrapped in paper from the stores where he had purchased them. A multitude of other gifts surrounded the tree. Mom and Dad had overdone it again. Conrad, his best friend next door, would tell him how spoiled he was.

  A thought entered his mind. Perhaps Mom and Dad had gone to Conrad’s house. They were best friends with Conrad’s parents, Darlene and Fred Henderson. Darlene was from Atlanta, Georgia, and she sometimes invited them over for one of her famous southern breakfasts. He could almost smell the eggs, bacon, sausage, and French toast. Dad had often commented that he couldn’t understand how Fred managed to stay so thin with a wife who cooked like Darlene.