Even so, Dreesen noticed that the boys were less reclusive and more animated after their father was out of the house. They had never dared to speak back to him on any subject, but as Dreesen commented to another of Brad’s relatives, “Once Brad was in jail, and calling to talk with the boys, sometimes I’ve noticed that they actually disagree with him. . . .” Jess, Michael, and Phillip were no longer the obedient automatons that Brad had programmed. They were brilliant young boys, beginning to assert themselves, but they must have been terribly confused.
Sara Gordon read the news of Brad’s arrest. The Ore gonian headlined it “Jury Indicts Man Six Years After Murder.” It confirmed what she had finally come to believe: that Brad had indeed murdered Cheryl. But she worried constantly about Jess, Michael, and Phillip. She had managed to go on with her life; she had had no choice. Brad was suing her for child support, but he had made it impossible for her to see her sons. They had been little boys when they went away, and now Jess was in his teens.
Sara and Jack Kincaid had renewed their romance. He had been there for her when she needed someone solid—someone who told the truth. They were considering marriage and had purchased a secluded house that fronted on Lake Oswego. (“I loved that house more than any other I’ve ever had,” she would remember.) They had been in their new home for two months when Brad was arrested.
Brad’s indictment meant that Sara would again be in a witness chair for days of testimony. This time, Brad would be in the courtroom, and she knew he would instruct his attorneys to go for her throat. If that had to be, it had to be. But it was something she dreaded. She wasn’t alone. Every other woman ever involved with Brad dreaded the thought of once more testifying against him. Their fear wasn’t something they could explain—not to someone who hadn’t lived through it.
Sara had never had children of her own, and Jack had raised his two. They had planned a life without children, although Sara knew she would always miss the sons she had been allowed to have for only a short time. But now Brad’s arrest meant that Jess, Michael, and Phillip, by law, might be returned to her. Sara was their legal mother and she wanted them back. But she wanted to be sure they were comfortable with her. She had no idea what Brad might have told them in the last three years. She had listened to their angry voices yelling at her on the phone, heard Brad coaching them in the background. For all she knew, her sons might be completely brainwashed by now and consider her the ultimate enemy, the real cause of their father’s downfall.
Sara got in touch with Herm Dreesen and they talked about what would be best for the boys. The weekend after Brad’s arrest, Betty and Marv Troseth and Sara and Jack went up to Dreesen’s house to see Jess and Michael and Phillip. They moved very gently and very slowly. They had some idea what the boys had been through. And they knew the boys were seeing relatives they hadn’t been allowed any contact with for years—relatives their father had told them were dangerous and evil.
Ever so slowly, the ice melted. Sara had never been anything but loving to her sons, and they began to remember that. They began to remember “Mom” and they began to remember their grandmother, Betty Troseth. “Every weekend after that,” Sara said, “I went up to Lynnwood to spend time with them. Herm and I agreed that they should finish the school year up there, but that it would be best if they came back to live with me and Jack.”
Brad continued to fight extradition to Washington County, Oregon. He was finally transported to Hillsboro and arraigned on murder charges on May 6, 1993, in the county where Cheryl had died. On June 6, Brad pleaded “not guilty” to murder charges.
If Jess, Michael, and Phillip hadn’t gone to live with Sara, they would probably have been placed in a foster home. It was their decision and they picked Sara. But it was not going to be an easy road.
On June 22, 1993, Sara and Jack drove to Lynnwood and brought the boys home to Lake Oswego. By that time they had come to a decision about their relationship. The future they had planned together had to take a backseat to Sara’s sons. “Sara and I had finally gotten to the point where most of the financial messes Brad created were resolved or under control,” Kincaid remembered. “We had a great life together and it looked even brighter, despite the lingering concern about Brad’s continued legal harassment and some issues of personal safety. . . . Bingo! Brad gets arrested. Because I knew it wouldn’t work with me living in the same home as Brad’s three children, Sara leased a home for herself and the boys . . . where she lives at this time. Obviously, this has taken a toll on our relationship, but not on our friendship. . . .”
Sara had made her choice, the only choice she felt she could make. Jack stayed in the house on the lake for a while, they still saw each other, but it wasn’t the same.
Brad was rapidly running out of family to support him—both emotionally and financially. Herm Dreesen finally realized that he was merely expedient to his nephew. That was brought home loud and clear when Brad assumed his uncle would pay for criminal defense lawyers, and referred prospective attorneys to Dr. Dreesen. Estimating conservatively, a murder defense was going to cost two hundred thousand dollars. Dreesen had backed Brad for years now, given him and his children a home, advanced money to him, tried to get a building project started, but there was no way he could afford legal fees like that. With his refusal to guarantee Brad’s legal expenses, his uncle Herm became another one of Brad’s “enemies.” He told the court that he was indigent. The State of Oregon would have to provide him with an attorney. But as always, he would continue to go through attorneys the way a hot knife cuts through butter.
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Sara hired a nanny to be with Jess, Michael, and Phillip when she was at the hospital. She was happy to see that they were all accomplished on the Mac computer that Brad had bought them, and that they still loved sports. They began to rebuild their lives together, steadily narrowing the emotional distance that three years had wrought. Sara signed the boys up for tennis, baseball, and basketball, and chauffeured them around herself. She went to every one of their games she could. Jess loved to fish, Michael—who was the image of Cheryl—had a great sense of humor, and Phillip had real talent as a cartoonist. At first, Phillip’s drawings were mostly black on black, but gradually he began to use yellow crayons, flooding his work with “sunshine.”
Meanwhile, as Brad awaited trial, Sara had little sunshine in her life beyond her sons. She was under almost constant siege—by phone and by mail—from the man who gave his return address as “cunningham dad, Washington County Jail, 146 N.E. Lincoln Street, Hillsboro, OR.” Brad addressed his letters to “Cunningham” or “Cunningham Boys/3.” The envelopes were decorated with cartoons demeaning Sara, and with pornographic references to Jack, whom Brad had dubbed “The Infamous Lake Oswego Weasel—Mr. G.Q.”
Brad had always related to his sons in an oddly demarcated manner. He demanded absolute and unquestioning obedience from them because he was their father, and yet he often treated them as peers, as small adults whom he dragged into press conferences and discussions that would be terribly upsetting to any child. Sara was trying to protect them now, but Brad did everything he could to undermine her.
He phoned his sons often and Sara accepted the collect calls. But it was soon obvious that Brad was telling his sons outrageous lies about her. She did not cut off his phone contact with the boys, but she informed Brad in writing that she would be taping his calls and monitoring what was said. It scarcely slowed Brad down. He told the boys they would be better off in a foster home than living with Sara. He said she was a lesbian who hated men, “and you are little men.” He berated them for calling her Mom “after all she’s done.” He suggested to his sons that Sara was giving them drugs.
Sara was trying to follow counselors’ advice; she didn’t want to cut the boys off completely from their father. But understandably, she didn’t want them to listen to a steady stream of propaganda against her either. It was hard to find a middle ground.
* * *
Brad’s first state-appointe
d attorney was Timothy Dunn. Dunn was a capable attorney, but he was a mild-mannered man and his client would find fault with almost everything he did. Even in court appearances, it was soon obvious to spectators that Brad intended to run the show. He was always tugging at Dunn’s sleeve or whispering in his ear.
The first real skirmish in what would prove to be a long, long road to a criminal verdict took place in Judge Alan C. Bonebrake’s courtroom 309-C in the historic Washington County Courthouse on August 24, 1993. Brad was seeking to be released from jail on bail pending his criminal trial. Not surprisingly, Scott Upham wanted Cunningham kept inside the Washington County jail. If ever a defendant had shown a tendency to disappear, it was this one.
Only a handful of spectators waited on benches outside Judge Bonebrake’s courtroom. Mike Shinn was there, Betty and Marv Troseth, Jim Karr, Jack Kincaid, a few reporters. It might well have been a simple traffic or domestic dispute hearing for all the interest Brad’s bail hearing aroused.
A broad-shouldered man dressed in a dark suit—probably an attorney from the look of him—approached the courtroom door. He was carrying a huge file, and he had to juggle it as he tried to turn the knob. He scrupulously ignored the others waiting to get in. Only on a closer look were the handcuffs on his wrists apparent. It was Brad. He wasn’t alone; he was followed by two court officers, J. C. Crossland, a huge man who stood six feet seven and weighed a good 250 pounds, and a slender female security officer. Their eyes never left Brad. He moved into the courtroom easily. If he was embarrassed or felt diminished by his restraints, he didn’t show it.
The bail hearing would take more than four days—as long as most trials. Scott Upham gave an overview of his case and presented more than twenty-five witnesses. The small gallery saw a minitrial, the “Cliff’s notes” of the real trial to come. Featuring a parade of witnesses beginning with paramedic Tom Duffy and ending with Oregon State Police criminalist Julia Hinkley, the proceedings were fascinating, intense, and comprehensive.
A handful of attractive women who had once loved Brad took the witness stand. They answered Upham’s questions—but almost reluctantly, offering no more than they were asked. One spectator commented later in the hallway. “You know why they’re not talking, don’t you? They’re scared to death he may be getting out on bail!”
Defense Attorney Tim Dunn argued that the State had no direct evidence linking his client to Cheryl Keeton’s murder, and that witnesses’ memories had become so faulty with the passage of time that they gave conflicting statements. On Friday, August 27, 1993, however, Judge Bonebrake ruled that Upham had met the State’s burden of proof in presenting evidence to show why Brad should be held over for trial without bail.
The first trial date was set for January 1994. But Brad had fired Dunn as his attorney and could not, of course, proceed. He needed time for his new attorneys to get up to speed on his case, and there were voluminous files for them to go through. His new court-appointed attorneys were two of the best criminal defense attorneys in the state of Oregon: Tim Lyons and J. Kevin Hunt. Hunt was an expert on DNA and a superior researcher, and Lyons was smooth, sharp, and quick on his feet. Hunt was an intense young man who rarely smiled; Lyons was more laid back and smiled often.
There was a scheduling problem. In fact, there were to be problems month after month. Hearings would be set and postponed. Lyons was involved with another murder trial in which the victim was a small child. It was impossible for him to know when he could go to trial with Brad. An omnibus hearing was on the docket for June 6, put off until June 14, and then rescheduled for July 5. Omnibus hearings take place before the trial itself to give both sides a chance to bring up issues that concern them and may be ruled on before the trial begins. In many trials, it saves time. No one could yet have any idea how timeconsuming Brad’s legal maneuverings would be.
As the weeks passed, Brad continued to bombard Sara’s home with letters and phone calls. He knew that his calls and letters were being monitored and that Sara had informed Judge Bonebrake that she was going to do so to protect the boys. Brad rarely failed to complain about that on the envelopes. One envelope had a cartoon of a rabbit. The balloon over its head read, “. . . and I thought I had big ears!” Another cartoon of a child talking into the phone read, “You mean she’s still doing it? . . . Man, she’s either a straight up freak, or dominantly stupid!!” Beneath the phone, Brad had printed “TAP-TAP-TAP.” Most of the envelopes’ cartoons had to do with sex, vibrators, batteries, and sexual toys most fathers would not discuss with preadolescent boys.
For years Brad had kept his sons continually on the move to be reassured that they would not testify at a grand jury hearing or in a trial. He was doing his best now to continue influencing them through phone calls and letters. In June 1994, with his trial date scheduled for August, he hand-printed a four-page letter to Jess, Michael, and Phillip—a document full of outrageous lies—that detailed for them how he was being unjustly persecuted by a crooked prosecution team and, of course, by Sara. Brad had once blamed Mike Shinn, John Burke, Betty Troseth, and Sara Gordon for the problems in his life. Now he included Scott Upham as a scheming “coconspirator.” Never since her death had Brad referred to Cheryl as the boys’ “mom,” and he didn’t in this letter.
Brad wrote to tell his sons to remember that “Cheryl died clutching a small wad of hair in her hand. It was determined that the hair was not my hair, and the hair was not necessarily hers.” Not true. “Scott Upham (Sara’s co-conspirator) will not further test the hair and will not let me see it to do a DNA test.” Not true.
He told his sons that “your mother had a date with a policeman (Finch who later investigated her homocide [sic]). This is the same police officer who interviewed each of you days after her death, and totally destroyed my life and work career by his actions and statements.” This was also untrue—but the “affair with Jerry Finch” story would become one of Brad’s favorite red herrings in his upcoming trial.
Brad wrote to his sons that their dead mother was a cocaine user, that his attorneys were not permitted to look at bloody handprints in the van, that the crime scene had been deliberately contaminated by Jerry Finch, and that all manner of evidence had been deliberately destroyed—again by Jerry Finch. He discussed his own sexual liaisons quite openly, and accused Sara once again of being a bisexual. That his intended audience was aged thirteen, eleven, and nine didn’t cause him to hold anything back.
“We have reason to believe you boys have been ‘tampered with’ too,” he wrote. “Either drugs or hypnosis. We think Sara and Upham have tried memory alteration or implantation techniques. . . . We think Sara/Upham are using ‘memory therapy’ wherein they, through a hypnotist, are planting by suggestion new memories into your minds. Sara will punish me, hurt me, cause me to be found guilty of a crime I had nothing to do with. She wants to inflict great hurt and harm upon your dad in retaliation for my having an affair with Lynn. . . . We have some leads she is paying off people. Jack is involved. AND THERE’S MORE!!”
Dr. Ron Turco had described Brad as being a prime example of “malignant narcissism,” and his messages to his sons seemed to verify that diagnosis. He had always treated them as his possessions and he needed them now to be his alibi witnesses for his movements on the night their mother was murdered. He had finally accepted the fact that whether he wanted to or not, he was going to trial.
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Brad vacillated between wanting a speedy trial and doing whatever he could to delay it. He was frustrated by his belief that Tim Lyons was not giving him enough time for conferences. He didn’t like the Washington County jail and demanded to be moved to another facility. He told Judge Bonebrake that prisoners were hiding cigarettes and matches in the jail ceiling and creating a fire hazard. He feared for his life and asked to be moved to safer quarters. He did not approve of the alternate jails that were suggested, however, and he remained in the Washington County jail.
His betrayal of his fellow prisoners did not go un
noticed. The lowest creature in any penal institution is a “snitch,” and Brad was a constant snitch. In grade school, he would have been called a “tattletale.” In jail or prison, the revenge against a snitch may not come swiftly—but it always comes.
William Berrigan was the commander of the Washington County jail and Brad was not one of his favorite prisoners. During Brad’s eighteen-month stay, he would be disciplined eleven times and spend six months in lock-down in a six-by-nine-foot cell. He wrote to the FBI and asked for an investigation of the jail because he felt his civil rights were being violated.
At his July 5 omnibus hearing, Brad was represented by Tim Lyons and Kevin Hunt. This time he was dressed in the traditional faded orange pajamalike jail uniform. His hands were cuffed; his legs were shackled. His complexion had taken on the yellowish jail pallor that all long-time prisoners have, but his shoulders and biceps were “buffed”—he had obviously been working out in his cell. He carried his omnipresent box of files, and his confidence had not diminished at all. This was to be the only time when Tim Lyons could truly act as Brad’s attorney, and his expertise was apparent. Since so much of the evidence was circumstantial, it was quite possible that Lyons could win an acquittal, but Brad treated him as he had all his other attorneys. He had to be in charge, and he leaned against Lyons constantly, mouthing directions. He pushed notes across the polished defense table, tapping his finger to get Lyons’ attention. Lyons often pulled away from his client.