The Genesis Files

by Gwen Richardson

311

  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 27

  Lloyd got home shortly after 7:00 p.m., weary as a result of his long day. He had done back-to-back interviews from coast to coast with television, radio, print and electronic media. Clearly, Lloyd was experiencing his fifteen minutes of fame, as the name “Lloyd Palmer” was generating a palpable buzz on all the airwaves. Pretty soon, he’d probably need an agent, a publicist and an assistant, and the paparazzi would be gathering on his front lawn.

  When he opened the door and walked into the foyer, he saw Stephanie in the den grading papers, something she did most evenings after dinner.

  “Hi, Hon,” she said. “You’re late getting home again. I saw your interview on FOX News and you looked great.”

  “Yeah, the Pauley kidnapping story definitely has legs. It was an interesting enough topic to be included in another news cycle. But I’m beat. After I eat, I’d like to take a hot shower and go to bed.”

  “I saved a dinner plate for you in the kitchen. I can heat it up for you, if you like.”

  “No, go ahead and finish grading your papers. I’ll do it myself.”

  Lloyd went to the kitchen and put his plate in the microwave. While his food was heating up, he remembered Hamisi’s instructions for him to read the passages from Genesis. He had written down the scripture references on his notepad, and he pulled it out of the left breast pocket of his shirt.

  “Stephanie, where do we keep our Bibles?” he yelled from the kitchen.

  “In here, on the bookshelf. Why in the world are you asking me about the Bibles? I’m trying to remember the last time I saw you reading one, and I can’t.”

  “There’s something that Hamisi wanted me to look up in the book of Genesis.”

  “Wow, after knowing Hamisi for only a few weeks, he has gotten you to do something I’ve been trying to get you to do for years,” replied Stephanie, as she laughed. “I’m impressed.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny. I’ll look it up after I eat.”

  After dinner, Lloyd went to the den, found the Bible on the second shelf and carried it with him to his office. “I’ll be in here a while,” he told Stephanie, “so if you need something let me know.”

  “It’s going to take me another hour to finish grading these papers, then I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late, hon.”

  “I won’t. I just want to get this done while it’s on my mind.”

  Lloyd sat down at his desk and opened the Bible to its first book. He was familiar with some of the commonly repeated phrases about the creation story such as “in the beginning” and “let there be light,” but had never sat down and read Bible passages himself. For most of his life, he had thought that the Bible was just an ancient book of religious tales, nothing more.

  Stephanie had tried to get him to attend weekly Bible study services with her, with little success. When he did attend, it was mostly out of obligation, in an effort to keep her reasonably happy about his participation. Even when he was in Sunday services, his mind often drifted elsewhere. All of the death and destruction he had seen during his twenty years as a reporter had led him to question God’s purpose.

  But meeting Hamisi had made him more aware—and more curious—about the link between the primeval past and the contemporary present. Hamisi said the Lemba’s oral records went back at least one hundred generations, which would put the date at about two thousand years ago, shortly after the birth of Christ.

  He turned to the second chapter of Genesis and began reading at verse ten. “A river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became into four heads.” He then read the thirteenth verse, as Hamisi had instructed. “And the name of the second river is Gihon: the same is it that compasseth the whole land of Ethiopia.”

  The verse identified the location of the garden of Eden at least partially within the nation of Ethiopia, on the African continent. “Can this be true?” Lloyd said aloud, to no one but himself. If so, he thought, why had he not heard about it before?

  Lloyd decided to go online to do some research about Ethiopia. He found a map of the world during Biblical times, and the location of Ethiopia was roughly the same then as it is now. Apparently, the Biblical account had been validated by science, Lloyd found, since Ethiopia is also one of the oldest sites of human existence known to archaeologists.

  As Lloyd continued to surf the Internet, he came across a reference to Flora Shaw Lugard, also known as “Lady Lugard,” who wrote A Tropical Dependency, the first general survey of African people in world history. Lady Lugard described the ancient Ethiopians as “the tallest, most beautiful and long-lived of the human races.”

  Lloyd viewed image after image of peoples who were native to the east African country. The indigenous people to the area had, and still have, very dark skin. For all Lloyd knew, the ancient Ethiopians may have been his ancestors’ cousins, a possibility which both fascinated and empowered him.

  For the first time, Lloyd felt connected to the very origins of man. He felt powerful, as though nothing, no force on earth, could stand in his way ever again. Yes, he was a husband, a father, a reporter; but that night he became much more. He became a man on a mission—the exact nature of which he was sure would become clear to him soon. His friend Hamisi would help him find his way to it.

  311

  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 28

  The next day at work went smoothly for Lloyd. He was still receiving interview requests, but the intensity had waned a bit. Ed hadn’t given him a news assignment since he’d arrived at 9:00 a.m., but Lloyd figured Ed wanted to keep him available to speak to the media.

  Audrey, the office vixen, had volunteered to help field some of the calls, but Lloyd didn’t want her directly involved with his business. Knowing her, she’d spread rumors that the two of them got together after work to discuss story ideas, and that he confided in her about his sources. Besides, Charles could take care of any calls that Lloyd couldn’t handle.

  Time magazine had called to confirm the cover story, and a photographer was coming to the Ledger tomorrow to take his picture. It was amazing what a difference a few days could make.

  Two weeks ago, he was feeling sorry for himself, thinking that his career had dead-ended. Now he felt like the sky was the limit and that his reporting could actually make a difference.

  He had selected journalism as a career to become a good newsman and potentially a hero to his community. He wanted to cast himself in the mold of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein—the two Washington Post reporters who had

  broken the Watergate case and unraveled Richard Nixon’s presidency. Mostly, he wanted to make his parents proud; they’d sacrificed everything so he could get his college education.

  He had some free time, so he decided to Google the Lemba tribe again to see what he could find. He sifted through the listings he had not accessed previously to see which ones were relevant. It wasn’t that the Lembas were a secret society because there were dozens of maps, research papers and photographs of Lemba tribesmen online. But knowledge of their existence seemed to be limited to the arenas of genetic science and anthropology. It was as though they were hidden in plain sight. Lloyd’s story would bring them out of the shadows of obscurity.

  Lloyd checked the notes he had made previously and came across the name of the professor who was giving a lecture at Rice University in a few days. He felt that now would be a good time to make contact.

  Dr. Gastalt was a professor at the University of Chicago’s School of Genetic Science and had written a thesis on some of the less populous African tribes, including the Lemba. Gastalt had actually lived among the Lemba people for a few months ten years ago. Meeting with the professor could uncover more details.

  Lloyd found Gastalt’s office phone number and decided to call him. He hoped the professor kept regular office hours. The phone rang twice, and the professor answered.

  “Hello, Gastalt here.”

  “Dr. Gastalt,
my name is Lloyd Palmer, and I’m a reporter for the Houston Ledger. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Mr. Palmer. How can I help you?” The professor sounded impatient.

  “I understand you’ll be at Rice University next week, and I’m writing an extensive article about the Lemba tribe. I was wondering if I could meet with you while you’re in town to add to my research and get some insights from you.”

  “Well, well, well,” Gastalt replied, as his tone changed from one of impatience to one of intrigue. “That’s interesting. I rarely receive inquiries about the Lemba. People either don’t know or don’t care to know about them. They’re an enigmatic group to the majority of the Earth’s population.”

  “I am quite interested, sir, and have actually met a member of the tribe here in town,” said Lloyd, relieved that the professor was willing to talk.

  “I find that hard to believe. The Lemba rarely leave the African continent and, when they do, they seldom reveal their identity.”

  Lloyd pressed forward. “I did meet one of the Lemba griots, in the flesh, and I think this story would be of interest to our readers. So may I meet you during your stay here in Houston?”

  “I’ll only be there for a couple of days, but I think I can fit you into my schedule. How much of my time will you need?”

  “An hour or two should do it.”

  “I’ll give you my cell phone number, which is (773) 555-4793. I arrive on Tuesday and will be there until Thursday evening. Let’s plan to meet on Wednesday for dinner.”

  Lloyd entered the phone number into his cell phone. “Thank you very much, Professor Gastalt. I look forward to meeting you. Goodbye.”

  Lloyd hung up the phone and was encouraged by the way everything seemed to be coming together. The background information he received from Hamisi, his Internet research, and his interview with Gastalt would be more than enough to form the foundation of his article. An on-the-record interview with an actual member of the Lembas would bring the tribe to life for the readers, whether the article appeared in the Ledger or elsewhere.

  His desk phone rang and he answered. “Lloyd Palmer here.”

  “I hate to pull you away from your celebrity activities,” said Ed, his words laced with sarcasm, “but I have an assignment for you. Come to my office and I’ll brief you on the details.”

  “I’ll be right there, Ed.”

  Lloyd had decided that he’d be cooperative with Ed until he weighed his options. No need to rock the boat now when his star power had risen in the industry. Potential employers would be watching to see how he handled his new-found fame.

  If he displayed signs of having an out-of-control ego or being difficult to work with, it could go against him. He had to bide his time until he determined his next move.

  Lloyd went to Ed’s office and sat in the chair facing the editor’s desk. “What’s up, Ed?”

  “This one is really ugly, Lloyd. Some crimes are almost unimaginable, but the crazier the crime, the more details our readers demand and the more papers we sell.”

  Lloyd had worked with Ed long enough to know that if he was exhibiting any signs of having a conscience, then something horrendous must have happened. “What is it, Ed?”

  “A young woman was killed by her boyfriend, who cut up her body and then barbecued the parts on a grill. He then put the remains in garbage bags and dumped the bags in a landfill. The police took him in for questioning and are trying to get a confession out of him.”

  Lloyd was stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding. Was he high on drugs or just plain crazy?”

  “Apparently, he was of a sound enough mind to calculate a way to avoid detection. He seems to be fairly normal mentally, according to the police.”

  Lloyd still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Who was the victim?”

  “You remember, Keisha Smith, the freshman at Texas Southern University who’s been missing for the past week?”

  “Yeah. I saw her mother on the news asking the authorities to help find her daughter. She seemed pretty shaken up.”

  “Well, evidently, the young lady was living with this guy who was much older than she was, and the guy had a nasty jealous streak. The cops aren’t sure exactly what happened, but they think he went into a jealous rage and killed her with his bare hands.

  “Cutting up the body was his way of hiding the evidence; but then he figured the body could be identified through DNA, and the cops would put two and two together. So he put the parts on the grill to destroy the evidence.”

  “That’s just plain gruesome,” responded Lloyd, with a look of incredulity. “There are some sick people in this world.”

  “The funny thing is . . . well, I guess it’s not so funny, but ‘macabre’ would be a better word. Anyway, some of the neighbors smelled the barbecuing, and it didn’t smell like the usual steaks, ribs or hot dogs.

  “They called the fire department to report the fumes because they thought the foul odor could be toxic or life threatening. The fire trucks came but, by then, the killer had doused the flames, and the firefighters couldn’t find the source of the fumes.”

  “It sounds like they already have a lot of facts, Ed. They’ve caught the guy who did it. What would you like me to do?”

  “Go to the county jail and see if you can get an interview with the suspect.”

  “Ed, that’s not likely to happen. His attorney won’t let me anywhere near him. Anything that the suspect tells me, and is subsequently reported in the paper, could be used against him in court.”

  “Maybe you could use your new-found celebrity status to gain access to him,” Ed said, only half jokingly.

  “I think it’s a complete waste of time, Ed. But if you insist, I’ll go.”

  “Yes, I insist. You can’t spend all day here waiting around for Oprah or Rolling Stone magazine to call you. Besides, you might get lucky.”

  “I’m not sitting around waiting for phone calls, Ed. The calls are coming in with no effort or interference from me. It’s good for the paper to get this type of positive exposure. I would think you’d be happy about it.”

  “It does help the paper. I just don’t want you to forget that your job here is as a reporter, not head of the PR department,” Ed responded with contempt.

  “I’m well aware of my job title and description, Ed. But in light of what’s happened, I may be weighing other options.”

  “Is that some sort of threat, Lloyd?”

  “No, sir. Not a threat, more of a recommendation that you acknowledge that things may have changed at the Ledger as far as I and my position are concerned.”

  Ed’s face reddened with smoldering anger. “As long as you work for me as a reporter in my department, that’s a linear relationship that always has me on top and you on the bottom. Is that clear enough for you?”

  “As a bell, sir,” Lloyd responded as he sat upright in his chair, knowing he had gotten under Ed’s skin but trying to contain the smirk he wanted to let loose on his face.

  “Now, go to the county jail and try to get an interview with the murderer. His name is Earl Allen Griffin.”

  “Okay, Ed. As you said, I might get lucky.”

  311

  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 29

  When Lloyd arrived at the Harris County Jail he parked his car, turned off the ignition and sat in it for awhile. There was no way that Griffin’s attorney would let him conduct an interview for publication. It was likely that Griffin would either plea bargain to avoid the death penalty or would enter a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity if the case were to go to trial. Any admission of guilt in a news article would clearly not be in Griffin’s best interest. Lloyd had to come up with a strategy to convince the attorney that telling Griffin’s side of the story would be helpful—even financially beneficial.

  Lloyd had mixed feelings about even being there. He considered Griffin to be a monster, a self-centered sociopath who, after killing his lover in a fit of rage, committed an act denying th
e victim’s family the comfort of closure after the death of their loved one. Cutting up Keisha Smith’s body and burning the parts elicited the worst kind of human depravity, and conjured up images and pain that no mother should have to endure. Since the details of the murder had been released, Keisha’s mother had been prescribed a mild sedative, was on bed rest, and was under a doctor’s care.

  Lloyd was conflicted: On the one hand he didn’t think a sociopath like Griffin deserved to be elevated in the media. On the other hand, as a journalist, he knew that obtaining an interview of this caliber was the stuff about which reporters had wet dreams. There was no downside, professionally, to conducting a one-on-one with Griffin. None whatsoever.

  Then Lloyd had an idea. If he could guarantee Griffin’s attorney that the contents of the interview would not be published until after the verdict had been rendered, then he might get Griffin’s approval. Lloyd doubted that Griffin would be found not guilty; the evidence against him was too damning. But the constitutional protections against double jeopardy meant that Griffin could not be tried twice for the same crime. So an admission of guilt after the verdict would incur no legal consequences.

  Lloyd planned to leave his cell phone and other valuables in the car, since visitors weren’t allowed to bring items into the jail. He popped the trunk of his car so he could put his brief bag and cell phone inside. As he took his cell phone out of his pocket, he received a text message: Remember that truth must be protected at all costs. – Hamisi

  Lloyd had become accustomed to Hamisi’s words of wisdom, but they always seemed to be delivered at random times. Yet Lloyd had learned that Hamisi’s witticisms were

  often prescient: within hours or days after making his statements, a situation occurred confirming the essence of Hamisi’s words.

  After putting everything in his trunk and with a credible plan in mind, Lloyd exited his car and walked toward the main building of the prison facility. There were a dozen or so people in line, most of them black, waiting to go through the metal detectors so they could visit loved ones who were incarcerated.