Wrongly Accused by J. Michael Hunter

Author:J. Michael Hunter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published: 2015-08-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Wednesday, December 17

The pain. It was so hard to think with the pain shooting up through his body. If he could only get up, but his back was a mass of burning flesh. His head was pounding. What time was it? Tuesday night. Was it still Tuesday? Was it Wednesday yet? Who were those people who kept looking at him? How could he get out of here? He could hear the moans coming from his own lips and tried to stop them. He tried to think.

“Brad?”

He opened his eyes and looked up into Detective Chandler’s face. “Where am I?”

“A hospital room at University Medical Center.”

“What happened?”

“You were stabbed.”

“Stabbed? By who?”

“I don’t know. I found you slumped over and bleeding. Your wallet was beside you. There was no money in it. Someone obviously wanted quick cash for drugs or alcohol and didn’t want to bother with credit cards.”

“That wasn’t him. I saw his face. It wasn’t him.”

“I know. I figured that out after talking with him.”

He could feel that he had a large bandage on his forehead where he had fallen forward. His eyes were cloudy. How foolish he had been to follow them to the park.

“What day is it?” he asked.

“Wednesday morning.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. You’ve been on painkillers. They knocked you out. You have a good doctor, a friend of your father’s, Peter Cummings.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s good.”

“Mrs. Henderson and Conrad came to see you. They waited for nearly three hours, but when we realized you were going to sleep longer, I sent them home.”

“Good. I don’t think my head could handle Sister Henderson.”

Detective Chandler smiled. “At least you still have a sense of humor.”

“That’s good. You’ll need it.” It was Thornton’s voice.

Detective Chandler turned. “What do you want, Thornton?”

“I came to pay a visit to poor Bradley here. Word down at the station is he was mugged last night while searching for a bushy-headed man down by the viaducts. Did the bushy-headed stranger stab you, Bradley?”

Brad looked at him in silence.

“I talked to the doctor. He told me your wounds were superficial, that they didn’t penetrate the chest cavity, and that it didn’t appear that any internal organs had been damaged. All they did was sew a few stitches in the wounds.”

“Thanks for the report,” Brad said and glowered at Thornton.

Dr. Cummings walked in. “I hope we’re not upsetting our patient here.”

“No, Doctor,” Thornton said and smiled smugly at Brad.

Dr. Cummings scowled at Thornton. “Well, Brad needs to get his rest. He has a funeral to attend tomorrow.”

“It’s good to see you again, Dr. Cummings,” Brad said.

“It’s been too long, Brad.”

“You two know each other?” Thornton asked.

“Dr. Cummings is an old friend of Brad’s father,” Detective Chandler answered.

“Really?” Thornton said. “How long have you known the Armstrongs, Dr. Cummings?”

“I’ve known Allen since high school. We graduated in the same class.”

Thornton took out his pad and pencil. “That was here in Salt Lake City?”

“Yes.”

“East High?”

“No, Allen and I went to West High.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Thornton scribbled some notes. “And you both became doctors? That’s impressive.

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