The Genesis Files

by Gwen Richardson

  “Did you notice anything that looked like criminal activity near their home? Ever see any suspicious looking characters, Mister . . . ?”

  “The name is Harold, sir, Harold Grimley. No, man, they were straight up legit. Church-going folks. John used to do car repairs and maintenance as a sideline business, but his main job was working at the post office.

  “And Sharonda, man, she was good people. Always had a kind word and helping people out when they needed it. Maybe it was a robbery,” he said, making the statement as if it could have been either an assertion or a question.

  “The police are investigating that, but it appears that they were shot by intruders. Someone forced his way into the home, so it could have been a robbery, as you say,” said Lloyd.

  “This is going to make people very scared,” said Harold. “We’ll have to start doing a neighborhood watch and installing burglar bars on the doors and windows. Maybe even traffic cameras at the entrances to the subdivision. I still can’t believe this happened right across the street. It could have been me and mine, man.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your neighbors. If you think of anything, here’s my card,” Lloyd said, as he handed Grimley one of his Ledger business cards.

  Lloyd went to the front door of the Prices’ home, which was wide open, and walked in. The police and forensics team were still there taking blood samples and collecting other evidence.

  The place had been ransacked and blood was splattered all over the walls and floor. Some of the smaller pieces of furniture were turned over and the drawers in the china cabinet were open. The bodies had already been removed, but it was clear that murders had been committed there.

  From the looks of the place, a lot of noise was made when the intruders entered the house. Lloyd thought it was amazing that the two girls had not awakened during the ruckus and come downstairs. The fact that they were sound sleepers probably saved their lives.

  “Sheriff, I’m Lloyd Palmer with the Ledger. What can you tell me so far?”

  “It looks like a gangland style killing, but the neighbors all say the couple was squeaky clean,” said the sheriff. “One of them told me the Prices wouldn’t even accept stolen property. If somebody came by selling something that didn’t seem legit, they would turn them away.”

  “Looks like it could have just been a simple robbery, and the hoodlums shot the Prices so there wouldn’t be any witnesses. It’s a shame, too. From all indications, they seemed to be a very nice couple—church-going and everything.”

  “What time did the murders occur?” asked Lloyd. “Did anybody see anything?”

  “Since they were killed in the middle of the night, at around 1:00 a.m., the neighbors were asleep. The perpetrators entered through the back door. Looks like they picked the lock and came in. We haven’t found anyone in the neighborhood who heard or saw anything.”

  Lloyd had already spoken with one neighbor but needed some corroboration from others. The sheriff’s information was similar to what Mr. Grimley, who lived across the street, had told him. But it was always better to obtain at least two first-hand sources for his news stories, so Lloyd went back outside and decided to canvas the neighborhood some more.

  There were still some residents milling around the cul-de-sac, including Grimley, who was engaged in a conversation with a young man in his twenties. Lloyd walked toward them, stood next to Grimley, and said, “Mr. Grimley, is this one of your neighbors?”

  “Yes,” replied the young man, who appeared to be a little nervous. “Who are you?”

  “This man is a reporter with the Ledger, Carl,” said Grimley. “He’s writing a story about the Price murders.”

  “Oh,” the young man said, as he appeared to relax a bit. “I live a couple of houses over. You see the house over there with the red brick exterior?” he said, as he pointed to a house that was on the opposite side of the street and two houses toward the east.

  “It’s a shame what happened to those people. I heard that someone picked the lock on the back door, and that’s how they got in.”

  Lloyd hesitated a moment because he had been told that by the sheriff on the scene, but as far as he knew the information hadn’t yet been made public. “You say that someone picked the lock on the back door?” asked Lloyd. “How did you know about that?”

  Carl fidgeted as he realized that he may have said too much. “I just heard somebody say that, man. How else would the robbers have gotten into the house?”

  “Well, they could have gotten in through a window or someone could have actually let them in,” said Lloyd. He let Carl digest that for a few seconds before continuing.

  “Can you spell your first and last names for the news report?”

  “I’d rather you not publish my name, man. I don’t want to get involved. The robbers might come back looking for the people who talked,” Carl responded.

  Lloyd scribbled in his notepad concerning Carl’s demeanor and the location of his home. As a reporter, he sometimes uncovered information about a crime that he could then pass on to the authorities. The general public was unaware of how often folks in the news business actually helped law enforcement officials solve crimes.

  Carl definitely had some connection to the murders. It may have been a casual connection, but Carl was associated with the killers in some way. As the old adage goes, the perpetrator always returns to the scene of the crime.

  Lloyd made his way toward the Prices’ home and looked back at the small crowd that still remained. Carl was walking briskly back to his house. Once inside, Lloyd spoke to the sheriff in charge.

  “Sheriff, I didn’t get your name before but I wanted to ask you something.”

  “The name is Logan, Mr. Palmer, Jack Logan. What can I do for you?”

  “Have any details about the crime been released to the press or published anywhere yet?”

  “The only details we’ve released have been the names of the victims and the method in which they were killed. Other than that, we are gathering the forensics data and will be holding a press conference late this afternoon.”

  “I asked because you had mentioned that it looked as though the lock on the back door had been picked by the people who broke in. Have you provided that detail to anyone else?”

  “Actually, no, because we had just made that determination when you arrived.”

  “Then I may have a lead for you. I interviewed a young man outside who knew that the locks on the back door were picked. How would he have known that if he didn’t have something to do with the killings?”

  “Did you get his name or his address?”

  “Well, he wouldn’t give me his last name, but he said his first name is Carl and he lives two doors down the street in the house with the red brick front.”

  “We’ll get right on it,” said the sheriff, as he spoke into the radio that was affixed to his shirt on his left shoulder.

  Lloyd went to his car to type out the story on his laptop and file it with the editor. Going to the scene of yet another gruesome crime had been a downer; he’d felt a bout of depression coming on as soon as he crossed the Prices’ threshold. But helping to solve the crime lifted his spirits a bit. Once he met Charles at the Oasis and had a few drinks, his spirits would be elevated even more.

  311

  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 9

  Lloyd headed to the Oasis Bar and Grill and parked next to Charles’ car, which he spotted as soon as he entered the parking lot. Although it was a Tuesday evening, the parking lot was almost full. He entered the Oasis and saw Charles sitting at the bar, with a beautiful, long-legged woman on each side of him. One was a blonde and the other a brunette. Charles was a magnet for the pretty ones, but, so far, he was a confirmed bachelor.

  “Hi, Charles,” Lloyd said as he approached the bar. He stood beside Charles and smiled at both of the ladies. “What are you drinking?”

  “Tequila on the rocks,” said Charles. “Why not join me?”

 
“Man, the last time I drank some tequila I woke up with a migraine headache the next day, so I’m going to pass,” said Lloyd. “Bartender, can you get me a rum and coke please?”

  “Charles, I’d like to talk to you about something. Do you think we can have a little privacy?” Lloyd whispered in Charles’ ear.

  “Sure, Lloyd,” said Charles and then turned toward the ladies. “Ladies, would you mind waiting for me in that booth over there?” he said, as he pointed across the room. “Lloyd and I need to talk shop for a few minutes, and then I’ll be right over.”

  “Don’t take too long, Charles,” said the brunette, as she put the cherry from her drink into her mouth, bit it slowly, and then put the stem back in the glass. “We’ll be waiting,” she said, as she blew him a kiss.

  She then winked as she and her buddy sauntered toward the booth. It was obvious she was sending Charles a clear signal about what he could expect later that evening.

  Charles watched as they both slowly walked away and then turned his attention to Lloyd. “Those two are super hot. They are no-holds-barred in the bedroom, just like I like ‘em. But I know you’re married and all, so I won’t tempt you with the tantalizing details. Today at the office you seemed as though you wanted to talk about something. What can I do for you, my man?”

  “I’m considering writing a story on my own to submit to Ed. If he doesn’t like it, I may even pitch it to some other publications.

  “My first thought is that he probably won’t think my story idea is appropriate for the Ledger. I know you’ve done some writing for other publications in the past, and I just wanted to know how Ed reacted to that.”

  “Most of the stories I’ve written were not local. They were human interest stories that had more of a national appeal or were based in cities outside Texas. Ed had no problem with it at all. One time he actually gave me the hookup to the editor of a national magazine who he thought might be interested in the story.”

  “See, Lloyd, when a reporter from the Ledger writes a story that receives national recognition, it’s actually good for the paper, even when it’s published somewhere else. It raises the Ledger’s stature and puts us on par with some of the national newspapers that are quoted all the time, like The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal.

  “If you have a story idea, go for it,” said Charles.

  “I don’t have the same relationship with Ed that you do,” replied Lloyd. “He never reprimands you, even when you make mistakes. He just pats you on the back and says, ‘You’ll work it out next time.’ But when I make a mistake, he bites my head off.”

  “Remember that time you reported that one of the city council members was involved in a murder-for-hire scheme. It turned out that she wasn’t involved at all and that your source had some sort of vendetta against her, so he supplied you with false information.

  She threatened to sue the paper for defamation of character and libel. The Ledger had to print a front-page retraction and a full-page apology. Ed gave you a tongue-lashing, but no reprimand or demotion or anything.”

  “Ed barks at you because you are too timid with him, Lloyd. If you stand up to him once in a while, he’ll back off,” said Charles. “You are way too cautious. If you don’t take chances every now and then and push the envelope, you’ll never know what’s possible.”

  Lloyd really liked Charles, and Charles had always watched Lloyd’s back at work. But Charles just didn’t understand that there were two different sets of rules—one for the white boys at work, and one for everyone else. The two of them were operating in parallel universes.

  Charles could use his charm to break the rules without receiving even a slap on the wrist. Lloyd had to toe the company line and could make few mistakes. He felt as though he was always one or two mistakes away from the unemployment line.

  “I do plan to work on the story, but I still haven’t made up my mind about approaching Ed. I might have more success shopping it elsewhere,” Lloyd said.

  “What’s the story about? Anything I can help with or that we can work on together?” asked Charles.

  “I’d rather keep it to myself for now, at least until I work out more of the details. Besides the local guy that I’m working with is very protective of his identity.”

  “Well, whatever you decide to do, I’ve got you covered. You can come to me for help or to bounce off ideas anytime. Let’s toast to your success with your new writing venture. May you win the Pulitzer Prize,” said Charles, as he raised his glass to toast Lloyd’s.

  “To a Pulitzer,” said Lloyd, as their glasses clanked and they each gulped down the contents.

  “If you don’t mind, Lloyd, I don’t want to keep the honeys waiting,” said Charles. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.” He got down off the barstool and looked in the direction of the booth where the blonde and the brunette were sitting.

  “Go ahead, man. No problem. If I were in your shoes, I’d be rushing over there myself.”

  Lloyd ordered another drink from the bartender and nursed it for the next half hour. He wasn’t sure in which direction this story about Hamisi and the Lemba people would take him. But he was going to start working on it tomorrow.

  311

  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 10

  Lloyd decided to go into work early the next day and arrived at the office about eight o’clock. During the drive downtown, he’d given some thought to how he would proceed with his research for the story about the Lemba tribe. He’d do most of his work at home or on his laptop when he was out on assignment. On the office computer, he never knew who might be monitoring his online activity, and he didn’t want to raise any red flags with Ed before he was ready.

  But he wanted to find out more about the professor who had spent two years living with the Lemba people. After arriving at work, Lloyd did an online search for Dr. Joseph Gastalt and found his curriculum vitae and his web site. On Gastalt’s schedule of events, he had posted Houston as a destination within a couple of weeks. It appeared that Professor Gastalt was going to speak at a Rice University symposium on African tribes. Lloyd noted Gastalt’s phone number and planned to call him later that week to schedule a face-to-face interview during the professor’s visit.

  Lloyd’s phone rang and he answered it. “This is Lloyd Palmer.”

  “Hello, Mr. Palmer. This is Sheriff Jack Nolan of the Pasadena Police Department. We met the other day at the Price home.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember you. What can I do for you Sheriff Nolan?”

  “I just called to thank you for your tip the other day. Your information got us several steps closer to solving the crime. The gentleman you referred to us was Carl Jenkins. After we questioned him, he confessed that he knew the men who broke into the house.

  “He appears to have had only indirect involvement with the crime, but he gave us the primary suspects’ names and addresses. We’ve picked them up and brought them in for questioning. It is likely that their fingerprints will match those found at the scene or they left behind some DNA. It might have taken us weeks to solve these murders if you hadn’t helped us.”

  “I’m glad I could be of assistance,” said Lloyd. “The Price family deserves justice—speedy justice at that. Thank you for calling, Sheriff Nolan.”

  Lloyd hung up the phone and called Ed on his extension. Ed picked up on the first ring. “Ed, I’ve got some news about the Price homicide. The Sheriff just called and said they’d picked up the perpetrators. Do you want me to start working on a follow-up story?”

  “Yes, you can file that one this afternoon once you get the details. But I have another story for you to work on as well. This one is breaking news in progress. Would you come into my office right away?”

  Lloyd hung up and walked quickly toward Ed’s office. “What’s it about, Ed?”

  “The police have just started a man hunt in River Oaks and the streets adjacent to it. It seems that one of the residents of the community was wheeling her baby in a stroller when a b
lack male driving a black SUV stopped, jumped out of the car and snatched her baby out of the stroller. She couldn’t give many details about the kidnapper, other than he was dark-skinned, of medium height and with a medium build. But she’s very hysterical, and the baby was only two months old.”

  The River Oaks section of Houston was located in the city’s geographic center and was one of the wealthiest communities in the state of Texas. Its residents had a lot of political and social clout, and few blacks had ever lived there. Even some wealthy athletes and celebrities were turned away when they made inquiries to buy a home. The cost of entry was not only financial, but one needed a certain pedigree to even obtain an appointment with a real estate agent to view homes available for sale.

  “Have the police confirmed that this actually took place, Ed?” asked Lloyd. “It sounds a lot like the case in South Carolina several years back where a woman said a black man snatched her two young boys. That woman couldn’t give any details either, and it turned out to be a hoax. She was covering up the murder of her own children and using a generic black man as a scapegoat.”

  “Well, the woman in South Carolina was considered to be trailer park trash, at best. This woman lives in River Oaks. Her husband is friends with the mayor, and the police department and this newspaper are taking it very seriously.”

  “All I’m saying, Ed, is that I believe the facts should be examined carefully before the Houston police go on some sort of witch hunt. Her description fits nearly half the adult black men in Houston. And, realistically, how far do you think a black man with a two-month-old white baby would get without attracting attention? It just doesn’t fit the normal M.O. of a kidnapper. They are usually white males in their twenties or thirties. It is rare that a black male is involved in a kidnapping for ransom.”

  “That’s enough, Lloyd. The woman’s name is Christina Pauley and I want you to go to her home in the 14000 block of Del Monte Drive. She lives in the largest house on the block, the one with a veranda on the east side of the house and white columns in front. It’s a lovely home. I had cocktails there recently with the Country Club Republicans.”