From Pharaoh's Hand

by Cynthia Green

  “Hey Callie, give me an order o’ catfish and fries to go would ya.”

  “You got it, Cat.”

  “Got to keep her strength up. She’s a eatin’ for two now.” He winked at Poke.

  The investigators had finished their meal, left a generous tip, and were heading out the door. Catfish looked toward the door as it shut behind them. So the investigation was back open. He would have to be on the lookout for anyone snooping into his business. Poke was about the only one who ever visited, and he had been careful to meet him down riverside, claiming Inetha had to be kept from the secret of the marijuana trading. Yep, it was getting a bit too close to home for comfort. And now his pride had caused him to boast of the baby. He probably should have kept that to himself as well, but he would explain that away in due time. He could always say Inetha left him with the baby, and he found him a pretty nursemaid and housekeeper to tend him. He would deal with that later. He paid for the fish, grabbed a toothpick, and waved off Poke.

  “We playin’ poker later this week?”

  “We always do. We been missin’ ya. Figured you done got too high and mighty with the high rollers to hang with us.”

  “Nah, just busy gettin ready for plantin’. Need me a tractor instead o’ that old tiller.”

  “I hear ya. We’ll be lookin’ for ya then.”

  Catfish had just left the Dinner Bell and headed back toward home. He was thinking about the investigators and the search of the river. He would do whatever it took to keep Liza hid. He could not go to prison for kidnapping, or worse yet, murder. He was already in over his head, not to mention the rings he’d stolen from Frankie. He should never have taken them. Frankie should never have called him white trash either. Maybe he should try to fence the stolen artifacts himself. But he figured as soon as he did, Ace, whoever he was, would come out of the woodwork wanting his property. Ace had no way of finding him, he knew. But that would be just his luck. He glanced down at the golden ring on his finger. He wondered what it was worth. He wondered how one went about fencing ancient artifacts.

  His eyes were diverted from the road. The sun was glinting off the gold into his eyes. Suddenly something very large and heavy hit the windshield with such force that it cracked all the way across. Catfish was startled and jerked the wheel. The truck fishtailed, hit some loose gravel, and began spinning out of control. Catfish caught the light of the water glancing off the river below. The truck was perilously close to the edge of the road and about to go over the ravine and crash into the green waters of the Buffalo. His heart was pounding in his throat. He yanked the wheel in the opposite direction, the truck hitting an outcrop of limestone on the left side of the road. The truck rattled as it was scraped by the rock. It swerved and headed back toward the river. He corrected the wheel and fishtailed again. Finally, Catfish managed to get control of the wheel and bring the truck to a stop on a wide flat area just past the river.

  His hands were sweaty and shaking as he rolled to a stop. His mouth was dry as he cursed the luck that nearly took his life. What was that huge bird that had hit his windshield? He looked in his rearview mirror, but could see nothing lying in the road. He ran his hand through his hair. Whatever it was had come pretty near killing him. The bags of groceries had hit the floorboard. Cans of potted meat and chili were rolling around. He was amazed to see that the Styrofoam container that held Liza’s lunch was still sitting on the seat beside him. He reached for his to-go cup of iced tea and took long drags on the straw. At least the truck would still run. Good Old Faithful. Maybe he would forget about the Navigator after all. Was this was nature’s way of quelling the greed that had begun taking hold of him? He would have to find a way to get rid of the rings. The heat was getting too intense. He had enough to worry about with a baby on the way. There was a crop to get planted. This would be his last and biggest crop. Of course he would have to find a new buyer. But he was certain that was only a small formality. There were plenty of buyers in the big city. Once he took care of that little matter life would be good again. Just him and Liza and P.J., living the royal life in the royal kingdom. There would be nothing holding him back from the good life then.

  Catfish wiped the sweat from his brow and managed to calm his racing heart. He flipped the radio on. That would calm his nerves a bit. He put the truck in gear and carefully pulled back out onto the road. A radio station out of Nashville broadcast the story. A body had been found by the divers at Decaturville, along with a pair of sunglasses and one of her flip-flops. The name of the victim had not been released pending the results of DNA testing, but it could possibly be a 17-year-old runaway that disappeared last January from her home in Jackson, Tennessee. The girl was believed to be pregnant. Foul play was suspected. A body? They found a body?

  Catfish turned off the radio. He peered out the dirty, cracked windshield and across the yard. He was not sure who the divers had discovered in the river, but he was certain it was not Liza Beth. She was reaching into a nearby basket for a pair of his overalls. Her long, blonde hair had been crudely cut into a bob, and she had a purple bruise under her left eye. She should not have sassed him. A woman should know her place in the home.

  Chapter 11

  Words of Hope

  “Come let us deal wisely with them...”

  Without sufficient physical evidence linking Chris to Beth’s disappearance, the police had nothing to hold him on, so after extensive questioning with him and his legal counsel and his parents, the police let Chris walk free with the condition that he not leave town. Beth’s parents were furious with the latest developments, certain that Chris had knowledge of their daughter’s whereabouts. Beth’s father was waiting outside the jail as Chris and his parents exited the station.

  “What did you do to her? Where is she...what did you do with my daughter....” His face was purple, his hand doubled into a fist as he charged toward them.

  Chris’s father rushed to guard his son from any blows that Mr. Merriweather might inflict.

  “Hold it John! I know you’re upset.”

  “Upset! Upset...how would you feel if it were your daughter, Bob? Where is Beth, Chris...where is she?”

  “I...uh...I...I’m sorry. I had nothing to do with this...”

  “Please, just leave us alone. Let us go home. The publicity of this is ruining my son’s life. Just let us go home.” Chris’s mother pleaded.

  “Ruining your life? What about my life, my family’s lives, my daughter’s life? What about that, huh?”

  “John, please. We loved Beth. Chris loved Beth. Please...”

  By this time an on-duty policeman who had been watching made his way to the group and pulled John aside.

  “Mr. Merriweather, we can’t hold him. There’s no evidence. Just please, let them by. Come inside, and we will discuss the next step of the investigation.”

  “The next step? Where do we go from here? He’s guilty. I know he is.”

  “Now, you know that the accused is innocent until proven guilty. Besides, there may be something, someone we’ve overlooked. Come inside, and we’ll talk.”

  Reluctantly, John followed the detective back inside the police station. His steps were weary. All he wanted at this moment was justice for his daughter. He had come to terms with the fact that she was probably dead, as well as their grandchild. But he wanted her found. He wanted closure. He owed it to Elizabeth. As her father, he owed her the decency of a final resting place. He would not rest until Beth was brought home.

  “What about the reporter that spread that garbage about our daughter’s body being found?”

  “Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do to prosecute him. He was overeager. His facts were false. But it’s a matter for the civil courts. Your lawyer can advise you how to proceed with that. If it were me, I’d sue for every penny I could get. But even at that, I’m sure your daughter’s life is worth far more to you. I just wish we had more to go on.”

  “My wife was hysterical when she heard that report. The menta
l anguish it caused was devastating.”

  “The media does tend to go overboard. Wish there was more we could do to protect you guys from it. I suggest you try to keep your family out of the limelight as best you can for a few weeks. They will move on to something else before long.”

  “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the coverage and the attention brought to the case, but false reporting is inexcusable.”

  “I agree totally. Have a seat. You want some coffee, soda?”

  “Coffee’s fine.”

  “Now, as you know, the river search came up empty handed as far as a body goes. No body, no evidence to hold Chris on. On the other hand, no body means that we cannot prove she’s dead, which means there is hope that she may well still be alive.”

  “Alive? You really think there is hope of that? Wouldn’t we have some new leads by now? Doesn’t the backpack indicate that she drowned in the river?”

  “Initially, it would seem that way. But what if someone just wanted it to appear that she drowned. What if Beth wanted it to appear that way?”

  “Why would she do that? Why would she cause her mother and me such heartache? She is bound to know how hurt we are. No, I don’t think she would hurt us that way.”

  “You don’t think the shame of the pregnancy would cause her to run away and fake her death?”

  “I would hope that she knows we love her enough to forgive anything bad she had done. She wouldn’t be the first girl to have gotten in trouble.”

  “No, she wouldn’t. But she was such a good student. Such a popular student. She probably felt all her dreams and hopes were shattered. It’s not uncommon for pregnant teens to become runaways. It is uncommon for them not to turn up after all this time. A lot of times they show up at the hospital when it’s time for the baby to be born. There’s still that hope.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. But where could she be hiding? How is she living? What about medical care for her and the baby?”

  “We are still checking all the states’ medical and obstetrical clinics, but it is a slow process. So far we’ve turned up nothing. Since the initial search was concentrated in Jackson and Memphis, and the backpack was found in the Tennessee River, the search has now shifted gears to include Middle Tennessee. The TBI has been called in to help with the interviews and the search in those counties east of here. The terrain is extremely rural. There’s any number of hiding places. And just to let you know, we aren’t necessarily looking for a body.”

  “That is encouraging, but after all these months, I’m afraid to get my hopes up, you understand.”

  “I understand, totally.”

  “I take it you did not get any new information from Chris.”

  “No. If Chris is involved, he is very clever. But if he is, we will catch him eventually.”

  “You can’t arrest him for statutory rape or something like that?”

  “With Beth almost 18, it is unlikely that charge would stick. There is no proof that sexual congress actually took place without semen samples or other DNA.”

  “What about the pregnancy test?”

  “It proves that Beth was or is pregnant. The urine sample proved that it is Beth’s DNA. It does not indicate paternity. There’s no way to determine that without samples from Beth and the baby.”

  “I see. So, without Beth, there’s no way Chris can be held?”

  “No. Sometimes in cases like this, we arrest the suspect on other charges so that we can hold them until we get further evidence for a murder case. For instance, if Chris was in possession of something of value of Beth’s, then we could charge him with theft and hold him for two or three days. But then, we would most likely have to release him until his day in court unless further evidence turned up, or Chris caved under questioning.”

  “What about that case out in California? They arrested him, didn’t they?”

  “If you recall, he was a free man until the bodies washed ashore. The police followed him, traced his calls, and hassled him, but until the bodies turned up, he was free to come and go as he pleased. But the tapes of his phone calls is what eventually got him convicted. And don’t think we aren’t watching Chris very closely. He is very much a person of interest in this case, Mr.Merriweather.”

  “If I could just have five minutes alone with him, I could crack him. I know I could...”

  “Please, John, please leave the detective work to the professionals. You could do more harm than good. And then we might never find your daughter.”

  “I guess you’re right...it’s ...just so...hard.” John buried his face in his hands and cried.

  The investigator put a hand on John’s shoulder and tried to comfort him.

  “We’re doing all we can. Now go home to your wife. We will call you if there are any new developments. And I would advise against any contact with the media.”

  “Thank you for all your help.”

  “You bet. We’ll call you.”

  John left the police station encouraged by the investigator’s words of hope. Could it be possible that Elizabeth was just a runaway, scared to face her parents and the consequences of her choices? The pregnancy complicated things, but it wasn’t something John and his wife would shun Beth for; she had to know that. They would do everything in their power to support her if she would just come home. It wasn’t the end of the world. If she were alive, someone somewhere had to know of her whereabouts. She would have to have food and lodging. Money talks. He and Carolyn would up the reward. If Beth was out there, they would find her. If she were dead, then God help the person who was responsible.

  Seventy-five miles away their daughter was sitting at a rickety metal dinette eating greasy, cold catfish and trembling at the thought of all she had discovered. Catfish had returned in a foul mood and muttered something about wrecking the truck after a buzzard hit the windshield. She knew she shouldn’t hate, but she found herself wishing that Catfish had actually been killed in the wreck, instead of surviving and making her life this living hell. Catfish sat over in the dirty recliner and sharpened his knife, stopping only to swig warm beer from the can and make crude belching noises. Yes, she would have given anything at that moment if the buzzard that hit his truck were here to peck out his eyes. And then in shame, she repented. She knew the wilderness was beginning to turn her into a wild beast no better than her captor.

  Chapter 12

  Learnin’ the Ropes

  May 2006

  Catfish thought she had turned out to be a fair-to-middlin’ housewife. She took to gardening right well. They had planted corn, beans, potatoes, peas, and tomatoes. She hadn’t liked hoeing much, hadn’t liked the blisters on her pretty white hands. But once he had smacked her for whining she had toughened up considerably. The Jones’s were from strong stock. The mother of his boy had better learn to buck up. He had rigged a siphon system from the fifty gallon drum to water the garden, but the rain had been scarce, so he and Liza had to haul five gallon buckets of water from the river to fill the drum. Once the vegetables came in, Liza would get a crash course on canning and cooking. All in due time.

  “Liza, now that the weather’s warmin’ up, it’s time you learned the art of fishin’. Get yer shoes on. We goin’ down to the river.”

  Liza knew better than to smart off to him, although the last thing she wanted to do was handle all those slimy fish. Catfish’s gruff voice snapped her back to reality.

  “Get your tail in gear! We got work to do.”

  They drove the old truck over the bumpy terrain down to the water’s edge. Catfish had placed two large coolers on the back of the truck, one to hold his beer and soda, and the other to hold the fish they would catch. He also threw a large net over the side of the truck, but no fishing poles or tackle.

  “Ready to earn yer keep? I bet a city girl like you never been fishin’.”

  “We used to go up to Paris Landing some weekends.”

  She had fond memories of fishing trips to Paris Landing with her mom and dad. But thi
s was different. Her daddy would fish off the boat while she swam or sunbathed with her feet propped on the boat rail. Her mom had always packed a cooler of sandwiches and cold drinks to enjoy. Those days were long gone now.

  “Well, I bet ya never fished this way.” Catfish pulled the heavy net out from the back of the truck.

  “Ever fished with a net before?”

  “Can’t say as I have,” she replied disinterested.

  “Gotta know where to cast. That’s the key.”

  Beth wondered if this method really worked, but marveled as Catfish swung the net up and out into a high arc over the water. The net seemed to hang momentarily in mid-air, and then float gracefully down into the pungent water and disappear. Then Catfish popped open a beer and sat down on the riverbank to wait.

  An hour later, Catfish got to his feet and made his way over to the net. He carefully pulled up the tethered edge and began pulling the net toward him with steady, skilled tugs. Once the net made it to land, he stuck his hand down among the fish to survey his catch.

  “A couple of good sized cat, three or four bream, and a couple of yellow perch. Not a bad start. Bring me the cooler.” Beth grabbed the cooler from the tailgate of the truck and set it in front of him. He dumped the fish over into it, and carried it back to the river and cast again. He popped another beer and returned to his spot in the shade.

  “Gonna have some good eatin’ tonight,” he said between sips.

  “I don’t know how to cook fish,” Beth replied dryly.

  “High time you learned how to, and how to clean ‘em too.”

  Beth closed the lid on the cooler and sat down on it. Her body was beginning to get cumbersome to her. She was thinking about the unpleasant task of cleaning the fish when something brushing against her leg startled her. Remembering the rattlesnake encounter, Beth jumped to her feet with a squeal.

  “What is it, girl?” Catfish asked.

  “Oh, you scared me Rascal,” Beth said to the kitten as she bent to scoop up the orange kitty.