andrea Egger - Grave Accusations: A Suspicious Death, A Husbands Arrest, A Fight for Justice--A True Story

Copyright 2001 by Andrea Egger and Paul Dunn

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever, including electronic, mechanical or any information storage or retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in the 1976 Copyright Act or in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission should be addressed to:

New Horizon Press

P.O. Box 669

Far Hills, NJ 07931

Andrea Egger in collaboration with Paul Dunn

Grave Accusations: A Suspicious Death, A Husbands Arrest, A Fight for Justice A True Story

Cover Design: Robert Aulicino

Interior Design: Susan M. Sanderson

Library of Congress Control Number: 2001089169

ISBN-10 (eBook): 978-0-88282-524-3

New Horizon Press

2005 2004 2003 2002 2001 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

Authors Note

This book is based on the experiences of Paul Dunn and reflects his perceptions of the past, present and future. The personalities, events, actions and conversations portrayed within the story have been taken from his memories, extensive court documents, interviews, testimony, research, letters, personal papers, press accounts and the memories of some participants.

In an effort to safeguard the privacy of certain people, some individuals names and identifying characteristics have been altered. Events involving the characters happened as described. Only minor details have been changed.

Table of Contents

Im filing battery charges against you today.

Monica Dunn looked out the window, her perfect face hidden from her husband. Such a simple word, battery. But it could end a police officers career. Even one with a fifteen year record of dedication and honesty.

What in the world are you talking about? Paul Dunn asked, trying to hear over the resounding crunch of cereal and laughter from their four-year-old and five-year-old daughters in the nearby kitchen. Monica continued to stare out at the street as the sun glinted off her shiny, dark curls. Her carefully made-up brown eyes and delicate cheekbones radiated an energy of their own. She didnt answer her husband. She didnt even flash those sparkling, bedroom eyes at him.

Her back to Paul, Monicas silence seemed to grow deafening. She finally whirled around and spoke. Look at me. Im bruised all over.

She stood there only moments then strode past him toward what had been the bedroom they shared for so long before their separation two weeks ago. Now he didnt belong. Stunned, Paul watched her hips swivel in the fitted, deep purple dress that clung to her breasts and tiny waist, snugly fitting around those luscious hips. The button-down dress accentuated every curve. Her legs swirled endlessly in high-heeled, spiked pumps. Paul remembered those pantyhose-clad legs wrapped around him during moments of abandon.

Are you kidding? You know I never hit you, responded Paul, his blue eyes darkening as he marched down the hall after the vision in purple.

What are you saying, Monica? Paul called out, desperation in every syllable. Anxiety and panic spun around in the thirty-five-year-old police officers head and turned his thoughts to confusion. He was answered only by a sharp click. Shes locking the bedroom door, Paul thought.

Monica! Please let me in. We have to talk, Paul pleaded. When there was no reply, he pounded on the door, muscles bulging underneath his sport shirt. Please, Monica. What are you trying to do to me? The sound of his pounding heart drowned out all other thoughts.

You miserable bastard!

Anger seared the air. Her wordsthen silence. Even in his numb state, he knew he had to do something fast. Monica! Let me in, damn it!

He heard a click a few seconds later. Her husky voice called out.

Come here.

Paul opened the door. A glance showed him the waterbed with its maroon quilt and oak headboardand Monica. Then he saw the shotgun. He knew it was loaded, because guns were always loaded in his house. He had told Monica to keep them that way. Invoking the code of the old west, some of those he arrested became violent and threatened to pay him or his family back.

A second became a lifetime as a nightmare followed in slow motion. The shotgun, the blast, buttons exploding, blood spurting on the quilt, onto the purple dress. Monicas body flew backwards, skimming the air like a swan then crash-landing, blood spilling onto the floor. This cant be happening, he thought. But it was. Monicas blood flowed from her body.

A scream echoed. It took a moment for Paul to realize it came from his own throat. He ran to the unconscious Monica and tried to lift her, but she was covered in blood and slipped from his hands. She gasped weakly, the only sign of life he saw or heard. But her bodys feeble attempts at living couldnt bring Monica back to the instant before the shotgun blast violated the body men once would have sold their souls to possess.

How dreadful knowledge of the truth can be

When theres no help in the truth!

Sophocles

By the time April rolls around Farmington, New Mexico, winter says a hasty good-bye in its dashing way of fur-trimmed coats one day and sleeveless attire the next. Roaring dust devils cause north-western New Mexicans to chew more earth than chewing tobacco, as the monsoon season has not yet begun. Once overflowing rains turn the swirling dust devils to memory, New Mexico appears to be more of a rain forest than a desert. Flash floods surprise drivers on the interstates and cracked dirt roads. Then, they too are gone and made into another memory as the bone-dry desert sucks in the water and only thirst survives.

Farmington is known for its oil, stunning landscape, the San Juan River and the Rio Grande. Rocky hills surround the small town, which is right at the tip-top of the state in a region known as the Four Corners. If you go to the right place, you can stand in four states at onceNew Mexico, Utah, Colorado and Arizona. While Farmington has its share of the rich, it also has its share of the farmers and ranchers who make their living off the land. Signs along Highway 64 remind you of that bold, unprofessional-looking writing. Hay 4 Sale handwritten in red brightens one white sign. Another sign for peaches didnt have enough room for the whole word so the sign glares Peachs in black letters. Still another sign down the road a piece corrects the spelling error and helps people figure out where the peaches are located by including arrows. Flea markets line the sides of the road.

Many easterners consider New Mexico to be the epitome of the Wild West, filled with cowboys and Indians. But many Native Americans wear cowboy boots and hats, while a lot of Anglos wouldnt be caught dead dressing cowboy style. A large amount of the population in the state is split between Native Americans, Anglos and Hispanics, with a small percentage of African-Americans. Some New Mexicans try to act as if theyre not inherently racist while also striving to erase that racism inherent in all humans and replace it with a culture of tolerance.