The Genesis Files

by Gwen Richardson

  The Ledger was fully engaged in the news coverage, updating the web site every two hours with new photos and community reaction. The police artist’s rendition of the kidnapper was published in the paper and all citizens were encouraged to report anyone looking like the suspect to the authorities. The problem was that the sketch looked more like a cartoon character than a real person—it could be everybody or nobody.

  Lloyd had filed the last installment of his story before coming home and would start again early in the morning. But he hadn’t seen any news reports questioning the veracity of Mrs. Pauley’s tall tale. She was rich and powerful, and her pronouncements were taken at face value.

  Residents in Houston’s predominantly black neighborhoods felt as though they were under siege. Nearly every black SUV with a black male driver was being stopped and searched, and the arrest rate was well above the norm. So far, no credible leads had been uncovered.

  Earlier that day, the mayor held a press conference and pleaded with the citizens to remain calm. And the search was not confined to the Houston city limits, but extended to neighboring suburbs, like Conroe, Humble, The Woodlands, Tomball, Alief, Katy and even Sugar Land. Although dozens of men had been detained, no one had yet been charged with the crime. It seemed that the baby and the perpetrator had simply vanished into thin air.

  Lloyd’s cell phone rang and he looked at the caller ID. It was Shirley Singleton.

  “Hey, Shirley. How are y’all doing over there?”

  “Lloyd, I need your help. Ron has been arrested.”

  Lloyd was stunned. “Shirley, you can’t be serious. Arrested for what? Don’t tell me he’s been caught up in this kidnapping mess?

  Shirley was in tears. “Lloyd, I can’t believe this is happening. Ron is one of the most honorable men I know, but the police claim he was resisting arrest. He wanted me to know that he is okay, and he asked me to call you. Lloyd, he wants you to post his bond and pick him up downtown. He didn’t want me to come down to the city jail and deal with the hassle of getting him out. Can you take care of this for me?”

  “Of course I will, Shirley. Don’t you worry. I’ll go pick him up, and Ron will be home in no time.”

  Lloyd hung up the phone and went into the kitchen. He felt even more powerless with his best friend behind bars. Stephanie was in there cleaning up the after dinner mess.

  “Steph, Shirley just called. Ron’s been arrested, and I’m on my way downtown to post his bond.”

  Stephanie was removing a plate from the table, but stopped and stood rock still. “Oh, no. I cannot believe this is happening. This whole thing is surreal. It’s like something out of a movie, except it is really happening right here in Houston, one of the largest cities in the nation. How’s Shirley holding up?”

  “She’s upset about this, which is to be expected. Ron asked me to go pick him up. He prefers that Shirley wait at home for him.”

  “I think Bria and I should go over to the house and wait with her, don’t you?”

  “That would be a good idea. Once Ron is home, we’ll come back here together.”

  Stephanie went upstairs to get Bria, and they all prepared to leave the house. They got to the front door,

  and Stephanie grabbed her keys from the key rack on the wall. “Everything will be okay, you’ll see,” said Lloyd, as he embraced them both.

  Stephanie and Bria got into Stephanie’s car and headed toward Shirley’s house, while Lloyd took the route to the city jail. Lloyd was nearly downtown when his cell phone rang. The caller ID showed his parents’ phone number.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Lloyd, what is going on in Houston?” his mother asked in a disturbed tone. “Your daddy and I have been watching the news here in Navasota, and it seems like all hell has broken loose.”

  “It has, Mama. This nonsense has everybody acting completely crazy. Mama, Ron was arrested.”

  “You have got to be kidding? Straight-laced Ron, who has never even had a ticket for jaywalking? How could anybody think that he had anything to do with the kidnapping?”

  “That’s just it, Mama. People aren’t thinking; they are reacting emotionally. I think the police have arrested every black man in the city who owns a black SUV. It’s going to take a while for the city to heal after all this is over.”

  “Are you one of the reporters on the story, Lloyd?”

  “I’m actually the main reporter, Mama. I went to interview the woman whose baby was kidnapped, and she simply is not believable. But the police have accepted her story—hook, line and sinker. They are taking her description—if you can call it that—and are using the limited details she gave to try to catch the perpetrator. You should see the artist’s sketch of the so-called kidnapper. It looks more like a cartoon character than an actual person.”

  “Lloyd, if you believe what she’s saying is not true, you owe it to your newspaper and the citizens of Houston to uncover the truth. You know, the Bible says, ‘The truth shall set you free.’ If you find out the truth, the people of Houston will be set free from all this nonsense.”

  Whenever Lloyd’s mother quoted scripture, he knew she was not in the mood to be challenged. “Right now, Mama, all I have is a hunch. I’ll need a lot more than that to write something that my editor would even consider putting in the Ledger, let alone confront the police with my suspicions.”

  “You know I always say you should follow your first mind. That’s what a hunch is, baby—your first mind. Lloyd, you didn’t make it this far to walk away when you know a wrong has been done. I didn’t raise you that way.”

  As always, she had worn him down, but he knew she was right. “Okay, Mama. Tomorrow morning I’ll get started looking at this incident with a more critical eye. I’m sure Mrs. Pauley left some clues behind. People who believe they have committed the perfect crime usually get caught because they leave loose ends somewhere.”

  Lloyd had arrived at the downtown detention facility. “I’m pulling into the city jail parking lot now, Mama, so I’ll call you later.”

  “Tell Ron we are praying for him.”

  “I will, Mama.”

  311

  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 14

  Lloyd arrived at the city jail’s intake area and showed his media credentials. With his media pass, he could get into a lot of places without being asked questions and the city jail was one of them.

  “I’m Lloyd Palmer and I’m here to find out about the charges against Ron Singleton and the amount of his bond,” Lloyd said to the policewoman at the intake desk. He knew that if bail was necessary, there were dozens of bail bondsmen’s offices within a few blocks of the downtown lockup.

  The policewoman checked the computer for the status of Ron’s arrest. “Mr. Palmer, it appears that the charges against Mr. Singleton have been dropped, so he is free to go home. His alibi checked out, and the arresting officers decided not to pursue the resisting arrest charges. He’s being processed now for release and should be out within the next thirty minutes. You can wait for him on that bench over there,” she said, as she pointed to a wooden bench a few feet away.

  “Thank you, officer. I’ll wait.”

  Lloyd sat on the bench and immediately phoned Shirley, who answered on the first ring.

  “Lloyd, are you there yet? Have you seen Ron?”

  “Shirley, the charges against Ron have been dropped, and they’re processing him for release right now. He should be home with you within an hour.”

  “Thank God, Lloyd. I was so worried about him. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you for doing this.”

  “Ron would do the same thing for me if the situations were reversed. I’m just glad he didn’t have to stay here any longer than necessary. Tell Steph and Bria we both should be there soon.”

  “They’re standing here next to me, and I’ll be sure to tell them. See you soon.”

  Lloyd sat on the bench watching the steady stream of people inquiring about their family members or friends who had be
en arrested. The vast majority of them were black, and Lloyd wondered how many had been locked up because they drove the type of vehicle the police had been looking for. He felt guilty that he had played a role in the madness, however small his role may have been. Starting tomorrow morning, he was going to take matters into his own hands, no matter what Ed said.

  The double doors at the end of the hallway opened and Ron walked through them in Lloyd’s direction. Lloyd stood up to meet him and, as Ron approached him, Lloyd spread his arms to give him a hug.

  “Glad to see you in one piece, man.”

  “It’s good to be out, Lloyd. I never want to spend even five minutes behind bars again. I was getting claustrophobic in there. But the holding cell is full of brothas, some of whom were well dressed. I even saw another City of Houston employee from the Purchasing Department.”

  Lloyd and Ron began walking toward the exit. “If the cops don’t solve this crime soon, there is going to be some sort of civil unrest. People are going to start taking matters into their own hands. There’s only so much of this the community can take. Have they gotten any closer to finding the guy who kidnapped the Pauley baby?”

  “That’s just it, Ron. I think the whole thing is a fabrication, and I plan to prove it. I don’t know what Mrs. Pauley’s motivation is, but either she’s hiding something, she has some type of mental disorder, or both. Black men just don’t kidnap white babies. A purse snatching or carjacking, yes; a kidnapping, no way.”

  “If that’s true, Lloyd, I’m not sure what’s going to happen once the truth comes out. There’ll be hell to pay.”

  311

  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 15

  Once Lloyd had taken Ron home, he and Stephanie went home and went to bed. But Lloyd tossed and turned for several hours. His mind was still racing trying to figure out how he was going to approach peeling the layers away from Mrs. Pauley’s story. He couldn’t just go traipsing around the ritzy River Oaks community, door to door, and expect for the residents to open their doors to him. After all, a black man was suspected of committing a serious crime in their neighborhood. Their natural skepticism of any unfamiliar black male had now morphed into downright terror.

  But he knew that someone in the neighborhood must have seen something. There had to be a way to get to the bottom of what really happened.

  Then Lloyd had an idea. Maybe he could ask Charles to help him with some of the reporting. Lloyd didn’t have any problem sharing the byline or the limelight once the crime was solved. With Charles’ blonde good looks, he had front-door access to places Lloyd could not enter, even from the rear.

  Lloyd also trusted Charles not to try to steal the story from him and call it his own. That had happened to Lloyd a couple of times, both at the Ledger and at other newspapers, until he found out that the competitive nature of most reporters meant that they couldn’t be trusted. They’d stab

  their fellow reporters in the back and then consider it all part of the game. First thing in the morning, before he went into the office, Lloyd planned to call Charles’ cell phone and map out a game plan.

  After a night of restless sleep, Lloyd got up early the next morning, had a cup of coffee, and ate a quick breakfast. He waited until seven thirty, when he thought Charles would be awake, and called him on his cell phone.

  “Hi, Lloyd,” said Charles, sounding a bit groggy. “Why are you calling me so early? Is something wrong?”

  “Charles, I’m calling about the River Oaks kidnapping story. The black community is up in arms about the police crackdown, and it won’t be long before the anger reaches a boiling point. My best friend, Ron, was arrested last night, essentially because he was a black man driving a black SUV. This has gotten way out of control, and somebody needs to do something. I have reason to believe that Mrs. Pauley is making the whole thing up.”

  Charles had been sleepy up to that point, but after he heard Lloyd’s accusation against Mrs. Pauley, he was wide awake. “Lloyd, I know you’re upset, and I agree that the police are being overly aggressive. But why would Mrs. Pauley fabricate this? What would she have to gain?”

  “I don’t know, but I interviewed her yesterday, and there are a lot of inconsistencies with her account of what occurred.”

  “She’s under a lot of stress. After all, her only child has been kidnapped. People under pressure will often misremember a detail or two. These things are usually cleared up as the police continue their investigation.”

  “That’s just it, Charles, the police are not doing a very thorough job. They are basically taking Mrs. Pauley’s word for everything that happened and are focusing their attention on capturing the perpetrator, rather than investigating the crime. I’m telling you that there’s something fishy going on and I plan to get to the bottom of it. But I need your help.”

  “What do you want me to do, Lloyd?”

  “I want to go to River Oaks and interview some of the neighbors. Maybe somebody saw something that will either confirm or cast doubt on Mrs. Pauley’s story. But I need you to go with me to do the door knocking. You know how frightened some white people—especially women—can be when it comes to black men. Even with my media credentials, some of them simply will not open their front doors or drop their guard in my presence.”

  Charles frequently thought that Lloyd was overly paranoid when it came to dealings with white people. But he did want to be supportive. “I think you’re way off base, Lloyd. But I agree that it’s important to get this crime solved as soon as possible, so if you think a neighborhood canvas would help, then I’m in. I’m not sure the city can take much

  more of this stress without serious racial repercussions. We don’t want a replay of the Los Angeles riots here in Houston.”

  Lloyd was relieved. “How soon can you be ready? I think it’s best if we ride over there together.”

  “I’ll be ready in thirty minutes,” said Charles, as he got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom.

  311

  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 16

  Lloyd arrived at Charles’ apartment within a few minutes and decided to park at the curbside and wait, rather than go inside. He called Charles’ cell phone and when Charles answered said, “Hey man, I’m parked outside in front of your building. Are you ready?”

  “I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”

  A few minutes later, Charles exited the building and got into Lloyd’s car. “Okay, Lloyd, what’s the game plan?”

  Lloyd pulled the car away from the curb and headed in the direction of River Oaks. “I thought maybe you could interview some of the residents in close proximity to the Pauley home. They will be a lot more receptive to you asking them questions than they would if I was there.”

  “I don’t think that’s true, Lloyd. I think you’re a bit too sensitive. You’re a handsome, likeable guy and they won’t tell me any more than they’d tell you.”

  Lloyd knew that Charles could be incredibly naïve, especially when racial matters were concerned. Charles believed everybody was like him—accepting people at face value without focusing on their ethnicity. But years of experienced had taught Lloyd that, when in doubt, most people subconsciously relied on racial stereotypes in the first few seconds of meeting people for the first time. For a lot of white people, that meant an abundance of caution was used when black men were in the vicinity.

  “Trust me, Charles. If I had weeks to spend time with them and let them get to know me, I’m sure they would probably agree with you. But we don’t have weeks or even days. This city is on edge and the tension is palpable. The first impression the folks in River Oaks will have of me will be that I’m someone to be feared, not trusted.”

  “I see how the women clutch their purses when I get into the elevator at work,” Lloyd continued. “I’d probably have trouble catching a cab too, if Houston was a city where its residents used cab services. When I go out of town to New York or D.C., though, the cabs pass me by and pick up the next passenge
r a block past me, unless, of course, he happens to be a black man too.”

  “Okay, if you say so. What are you going to be doing while I’m going door to door hobnobbing with the wealthy socialites?” Charles asked sarcastically.

  “I thought I’d talk to some of the groundskeepers who work outdoors. You know, the landscapers and even the folks who pick up the garbage. The hired help sometimes see things they don’t mention, and they are usually invisible to those living the lifestyles of the rich and famous. They are very hesitant about going to the authorities, especially if they are challenging someone who is influential.”

  “I still think you’re way off base, Lloyd. We should leave the detective work to the cops. But we both know reporters who’ve solved more than a crime or two, so I’m going mostly to support you in case you uncover something.”

  “I do appreciate you doing this for me, Charles, and I think you might be surprised at the results. Hey, we could become a famous two-man journalism team, like Woodward and Bernstein during the Watergate investigation,” said Lloyd, only half jokingly.

  Charles was still skeptical. “Let’s see what happens before you break your arm patting yourself on the back,” he replied as they approached one of the main streets leading into River Oaks. Since most of the homes were located on plots of an acre or more, the houses were far apart and there were only two or three on each side of the street per block. Lloyd and Charles thought their best bet was to speak to the neighbors in proximity to the Pauley home. When they turned onto Del Monte Drive, the street where the Pauleys lived, Lloyd pointed to the colonial style home directly across the street from their residence.

  “Start with that one, Charles, and I’ll walk around the block to see if any of the landscapers are outside.”

  Lloyd parked and they both exited the car, with Charles walking toward the house and Lloyd setting off on foot, thankful that it was springtime. The sweltering, humid Houston summers would have prohibited him from making his rounds in the neighborhood without breaking out into an almost immediate and continuous sweat.