Charles closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to decide what to do. He knew he should follow the normal protocol, contact the authorities, and wait for them to uncover the evidence. And he thought Lloyd was way too paranoid.
But he admitted that he was clueless about what it felt like to be a black man in America. To him, Lloyd was no different than his other friends. Other than their contrasting tastes in music and food, they shared a lot of the same interests and always got along. He counted Lloyd among his closest friends and rarely even thought about the fact that he was black.
But Charles knew his attitudes were not shared by everyone. He had been at more than one party where no black people were present, and someone told a “black joke” that made everyone within earshot double over with laughter.
Today, Charles saw his friend come alive as a journalist. Lloyd was usually very cautious and laid back, but working on this story had imbued him with an energy and determination Charles hadn’t seen before. He owed it to him to take things one step further.
And, besides, there could be an upside professionally. If Lloyd’s suspicions were correct, he’d share the byline on the city’s biggest news story of the decade.
“Okay, Lloyd, let’s go,” Charles said, as they headed across the lawn to what looked like a cluster of crepe myrtle trees. They both sensed that a life altering future might lie before them.
311
Gwen Richardson
CHAPTER 19
Eight crepe myrtle trees stood clustered together in groups of two each. A wooden bench graced each side of the mini park and a variety of colorful seasonal flowers were planted there as well. The soft chirping of birds and a gentle breeze blowing from the north contrasted with the sense of doom Lloyd and Charles felt as they cautiously approached the area and looked around.
“I’m no detective, Lloyd, so what do you think we should be looking for?” asked Charles.
“Well, if Mrs. Pauley buried her baby in the earth beneath these trees, there should be some soil that looks as though it has recently been displaced. It would look different than the soil around it. That’s what we should be looking for.”
They examined the area closest to them, careful to keep their feet on the grass and not breach the flower bed itself, but they saw nothing unusual.
“You go that way,” said Lloyd, as he pointed Charles to the right while he walked to the left himself. “She would probably have done it in the area behind the trees so it wouldn’t be so obvious. Afterwards, if there was a hard rain, the soil would settle and there would be no signs whatsoever that anyone had been digging here.”
Lloyd mentally divided the area into four quadrants, focusing first on the area beneath the park bench, then the front of the tree closest to him, then the left and, finally, the right. He was looking for anything that seemed out of place.
“Do you see anything, Charles?”
“No. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for. This could be a complete waste of time, you know.”
“If you really thought that, you wouldn’t be here,” said Lloyd, as he continued to scan his side of the mini-park and then noticed four smooth, flat stones beneath the trees that did not have a companion set on the other side. He looked back and forth, matching items on both sides. Yes, there was a park bench here, and there. There were the same number of trees planted an equal distance apart, and each of the flower clusters had nearly the identical number of flowers and were an equal distance apart.
The stones did not belong in that formation. This could be the place.
“Charles, come here and take a look at these stones.”
Charles walked toward Lloyd and noticed the stones as well. Lloyd took a deep breath. “I think this is it, Charles. I think this is where Mrs. Pauley buried her baby. Let’s move the stones and see if something is down there.”
“Lloyd, we could completely contaminate the crime scene. What if there are fingerprints on the stones? Shouldn’t we call the police now and wait?”
Lloyd thought a minute. Charles could be right about the fingerprints. “There’s no way that I’m turning back now, Charles. But you’re right about the fingerprints. I think I have some tissues in my brief bag, and I’ll use those to make sure I don’t smear any prints that are already there.”
Lloyd took his bag off his shoulder and pulled out his travel-sized package of tissues. Stephanie had loaded up his bag with the tissues and other things she thought he might need: a package of Advil, lotion, band-aids, hand sanitizer. Lloyd had thought she was being too much of a mother hen, but now he was grateful for her attention to detail.
“Okay, here goes,” said Lloyd, as he carefully stepped toward the trees and knelt down on the grassy area beneath. He used the tissue to remove the stones one by one.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cash clamped with a money clip. The money clip would make a good digging tool. He began to dig, meticulously removing about a tablespoon of dark mulch each time until he arrived at the soil below.
Lloyd used the same technique as he removed soil bit by bit. His heart was pounding fast—he really did not want to uncover what he thought could be a few inches below him.
“Do you see anything yet?” whispered Charles.
“Not yet, but I need you to be quiet. I’m trying to concentrate, and I don’t want to disturb more of the area than necessary.”
Lloyd continued the painstaking task of the dreaded exhumation as beads of sweat began to form on his brow. Then, as he removed another clump of soil, he saw a piece of light blue flannel, what could have been part of a baby blanket.
“Oh my God, Charles, I think I found him,” he said, as Charles moved closer to him and kneeled down beside him. Lloyd stopped digging, almost afraid to continue.
“You’ve got to keep going, Lloyd. We’ve got to be sure.”
Lloyd removed more dirt, and the flannel blanket was now in plain view. When he removed the next clump of dirt, he uncovered a small, pale baby’s hand. Lloyd could go no further and he jumped up, ran toward the adjacent shrubs and retched until his morning breakfast and anything else that his stomach contained was completely expelled. They had found him. They had found little Hunter Pauley.
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Gwen Richardson
CHAPTER 20
For a few moments, Lloyd and Charles were both stunned, paralyzed where they stood and unable to move or think. They were trying to wrap their minds around what had just happened and forget that there was a small corpse buried just inches away. The gravity of their discovery was starting to sink in. Gradually, they shook themselves out of their stupor, breathed deeply and looked at each other.
Lloyd, still a bit queasy, said, “Charles. We need to call Ed and then call the police.”
Ed insisted on being the first one notified of a major breaking story and would give them instructions on how to proceed. He’d also assign a photographer to come out and chronicle images of the crime scene and, once the police arrived, Mrs. Pauley’s arrest. Lloyd wasn’t sure which one of them should make the phone call.
“Charles, maybe you should call Ed. He probably won’t believe what I tell him, and we need to get the police out here immediately.”
“Lloyd, this is your story. You uncovered it and you should take the full credit. Besides,” he said jokingly, “Ed will probably flip his lid when you break the news to him, and I’d like to be a fly on the wall to see his reaction. Now is as good a time as any for you to confront him. It’s long overdue.”
Lloyd still had reservations. “Okay, man, here goes,” he said, as he pressed the touch screen on his cell phone and placed the call. When Ed answered, Lloyd hesitated at first, then found his voice.
“Ed, this is Lloyd. Charles and I just found some evidence that solves the Pauley kidnapping. The Ledger will have an exclusive on this one.”
“That’s great. So the cops found the guy who did it, huh? Did he still have the kid with him?”
“No,
that’s just it, Ed. There was no guy. Mrs. Pauley faked the whole thing. She killed her baby and buried him in a park not far from their home.”
“That makes no sense at all, Lloyd. After ten years with the Ledger you still haven’t learned not to believe every cock-in-bull story somebody tells you? One of the other reporters told me your best friend got locked up last night for the kidnapping and was later released. Is this some sort of vendetta to get back at the police?”
Listening to Ed’s diatribe, Lloyd first rolled his eyes. Then he was fuming. “Listen, Ed. Charles and I found the baby’s body. We wanted to call you first before we called the police. Do you want to send out a photographer or not?”
There was silence on the phone. Ed was speechless, a rarity indeed. But his temporary silence quickly subsided. “Let me speak with Charles.”
“Sure, Ed.” Lloyd handed Charles the phone. “He wants to speak with you.”
Charles took the phone. “Ed, you are wasting precious time. “If you want the Ledger to get credit for breaking this story, you need to act now.”
“Is Lloyd telling the truth? You two found the Pauley baby’s body?”
“Of course he’s telling the truth, Ed. You need to get our best people on this one. I think you should send Patty and Jerry out here, if they are available. They are our two best photographers.”
Ed collected himself. “Okay, wait ten minutes and then call the police. I want to make sure Patty and Jerry are at least on their way before the cops get there. And the TV stations listen to the police scanners, so we want to get all of our preliminary work done before they get the camera trucks out there.”
Then Ed went into overdrive. “Stay right where you are; protect the crime scene. We don’t want any busy bodies wandering around, and we can’t forget the possibility of stray animals passing by. We have to work all of the angles. Charles, have you interviewed any of the neighbors?”
“Yes, we interviewed Mrs. Girard who lives close by. She hinted that Mrs. Pauley may be suffering from post-partum depression. She also thought there might be a gambling problem. Mrs. Girard mentioned something about gambling web sites Mrs. Pauley frequently visited.”
“Okay, Charles. I know a computer hacker who may be able to get into Mrs. Pauley’s computer before the cops get there and copy it. He can download her online activity and we can sift through it here. Good work.”
Charles responded, “Ed, the credit really belongs to Lloyd . . .” But Ed had already hung up the phone.
“Well, what did he say?” asked Lloyd.
“He wants us to wait here for ten minutes before calling the police. He’s getting our best people on it and Patty and Jerry should be here soon.”
“How did he sound?”
“Once he realized we were telling the truth, he was back to his old self. You know, Ed lives for days like this when the Ledger can break a major story. It just worked out completely different than he thought, but selling newspapers is what gets his juices flowing.”
“What did he say about the gambling angle?”
“He says he knows a computer hacker who should be able to get into Mrs. Pauley’s computer before the police arrive and download her online activity. People don’t realize how easy it is for a good computer hacker to get into their computer hard drives remotely.”
“Well, I don’t mind waiting here for a few minutes. I’d actually like to sit down for a few minutes and collect my thoughts. Let’s sit on this bench,” Lloyd said, as he pointed to one of the wooden benches and walked over to it. Charles followed.
“We can also watch the street from here and make sure Mrs. Pauley doesn’t leave her home. But I don’t ever want to look at Hunter Pauley’s body again.”
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Gwen Richardson
CHAPTER 21
Two police cars arrived at the mini park within a few minutes after Lloyd and Charles called. There were still police officers stationed at the Pauley home, who had set up recording equipment in the event the kidnappers called to demand a ransom payment in exchange for Hunter. No one had called and now the reason was clear: The kidnappers didn’t exist.
Lloyd gave the police officers Jose’s account of what happened, honoring the gardener’s request that his identity remain a secret. The officers were skeptical at first, and they weren’t particularly happy about the crime scene being disturbed. But once Hunter Pauley’s body was uncovered and his remains transferred to the awaiting coroner’s station wagon, they went to the Pauley residence and took Mrs. Pauley in for questioning.
The damage Mrs. Pauley caused, however, extended well beyond the death of her two-month-old son. Not only had she killed her own baby, but she had shattered the usually harmonious relationship between the city government and the black community.
Lloyd and Charles headed back to the office to file their story for the Ledger’s afternoon online edition. When they arrived, they went to Ed’s office to brief him about the morning’s developments. Ed was on the phone wrapping
up a call when they walked in, and he hung up shortly after they sat down in the two chairs facing his desk.
“Hi guys. That was my computer expert on the phone. He’s already hacked into Mrs. Pauley’s home computer. And you won’t believe what he found!”
Ed didn’t wait for them to respond and kept going. “Mrs. Pauley regularly visited several online gambling sites and owed nearly a million dollars in gambling debts. That might have something to do with why she faked the kidnapping, but we’ll see once the police uncover more evidence.”
“Charles, I want to congratulate you on a job well done,” Ed continued, assuming that Charles had been the one who broke the story. “We’ve got media from all over the country calling the Ledger for details. CNN and MSNBC both want you to appear on the network this evening as the lead reporter. I’ve already told them you would do it.”
Lloyd and Charles looked at each other and then back at Ed. Charles spoke first, “Uh, Ed. You’ve got the whole thing backwards.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ed.
“It was Lloyd who broke this story. He interviewed Mrs. Pauley yesterday and was suspicious about her responses to his questions. I was extremely skeptical when he told me about it and thought he was being paranoid, but I
reluctantly agreed to go along with him this morning to investigate further. If it wasn’t for Lloyd, both this newspaper and the police would still be chasing their tails looking for a phantom kidnapper.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t believe it,” Ed replied incredulously, speaking directly to Charles as if Lloyd were invisible.
“Believe it,” said Charles. “I am not going to help you take this accomplishment away from him. He deserves a medal for what he’s done and, quite frankly, you owe him an apology.”
Ed looked at Charles, then at Lloyd. His entire demeanor had changed from recalcitrant to amenable. “Well, Lloyd, is this true?”
“Yes, it is Ed. I mentioned to you yesterday that I thought the whole Pauley thing was a hoax, but you refused to listen. Now, besides preparing the reports for this afternoon’s paper, we’ve got a much more serious problem on our hands.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ed.
“The black community has been under siege since this whole kidnapping fiasco started. Once the word spreads that the whole thing was one big con, the people are going to be outraged. Because of the Ledger’s complicit role in this, there will probably be pickets and protests for weeks. The circulation boost the paper gains from reporting the story will likely be offset by the subscription cancellations from your black readers.”
From the expression on Ed’s face, it was obvious he had focused solely on the Ledger’s national exposure for breaking the story and hadn’t thought about community reaction at all. This could be a colossal problem for the newspaper and for the political establishment. “You could be right, Lloyd. What should we do?”
“So now you’re asking for my advice? That’s a fir
st.”
“The sarcasm isn’t necessary. I’ll admit that perhaps I should have listened and been a little more objective about the Pauley kidnapping. But you always walk around here with such a chip on your shoulder, I just thought it was more of the same racial sensitivity I see from you all the time.”
Lloyd was boiling inside now, about to explode. “You’re going to sit there and accuse me of racial sensitivity?”
“After the rush to judgment from you and the entire police force who would rather believe a black man—any black man—was guilty than scrutinize the obvious flaws in Mrs. Pauley’s story? Then you assumed Charles broke the story when he wouldn’t have even known about it if I hadn’t called him this morning.”
Charles contemplated interjecting into the conversation to try and lower the emotional volume, but decided against it. If Lloyd needed him to get involved, he would let him know.
While Lloyd unleashed his anger, Ed’s mind was racing, as he thought about a strategy to deal with the black community. He had to figure out a way to persuade Lloyd to cooperate with the paper’s efforts to salvage its reputation. Ed realized he needed Lloyd as the spokesperson to report the story. This bitter pill would go down a lot easier in the black community if a black reporter delivered the news.
“Slow down, Lloyd. I admit I made a mistake, okay? I’d like you to do the interviews with CNN and MSNBC, but I don’t have a clue how to handle the folks in the Third and Fifth Wards. What would you recommend we do?”
Lloyd wasn’t expecting Ed to concede so easily, but there was no way he was going to publicly take the flack for the Ledger’s blunder. If he did, he might as well leave town for good.
He would be like Christopher Darden, the black prosecutor who tried to convict O. J. Simpson—a traitor, despised by the black community for the next twenty years. But he could use this as an opportunity to force the Ledger to stop treating its black citizens as one-dimensional beings in its news reports, seen only through the prism of dysfunction or acrimony.
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