Much Needed Rain

by R. G. Oram

  ‘It’s all right. At least you didn’t lock me up and throw the key away. Then I might have been pissed,’ Lewelyn replied to Walter’s formally prepared explanation. He was drained of energy. After Baker had left the interview room, hours passed before Forsythe had emerged – it got to a point where Lewelyn stopped bothering to look at the disappearing morning and how late the afternoon was getting.

  ‘What happens now?’ Lewelyn asked.

  ‘We ask you a few more questions. Here though, and if you wish to have an attorney present then I’m more than happy to wait for yours to arrive.’

  Lewelyn didn’t even spend a second to consider it.

  ‘I’m okay on my own. Not under arrest anymore so ask away.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Walter’s eyes and mouth extended, ‘well truth be told I’m very curious why you didn’t ask for an attorney earlier. Why didn’t you take that opportunity when you were read your rights?’

  ‘Because of what it would say about me. I’d be more or less telling everyone I’m guilty and I wanted to prove I wasn’t, freely, without any interference. I probably sound very naïve when I say this, but I had the truth on my side – and DNA.’

  David saw Walters’ mouth partially open to reveal his upper teeth. The man nodded to acknowledge Lewelyn’s presumption that his DNA did not match the sample from the apartment.

  ‘I can’t really argue with that. After all it’s the truth that we all want.’

  Lewelyn produced an awkward smile.

  ‘Mind if I jump in, Lieutenant?’ Forsythe interjected.

  ‘By all means.’

  Lewelyn abruptly spoke instead of Forsythe, ‘I was wondering, before we start with the questions again, if I could assist.’

  Empty silence, Lewelyn could see nobody expected that. He wondered what Baker’s composure was like now. The Lt addressed it first.

  ‘Well you are assisting, by answering our questions.’

  Lewelyn replied, ‘I mean actually being involved with the investigation.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Walters’, showing a mouth full of white teeth.

  ‘I feel it’s my responsibility as an employer of the victim to help in the best way I can.’ He noticed his referral of Hannah as a victim. ‘I know a lot about her history. She was very open with me. And, I have lots of experience working with law enforcement.’

  ‘What kind of experience?’ This question was fired by Forsythe.

  ‘On occasion I’ve worked with the FBI on some of their very ‘delicate’ cases.’

  ‘What kind of cases have you worked on?’ the Lieutenant queried.

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say. The work I do with them is confidential.’

  ‘And what if I gave them a call,’ Walters picked up the receiver of his office phone, ‘what would they tell me if I used your name?’

  ‘They’d most likely say, “Mr Lewelyn is hired by the FBI as a consultant, he advises on some ongoing investigations.” Won’t give the details of what I’ve done with them, but they’ll admit I occasionally consult for them,’ Lewelyn added something more to, perhaps clarify the significance, ‘But what I can tell you is the reason they ask for my help is germane to my specially trained knowledge of nonverbal communication.’

  The receiver still in hand, Walters held the end of the phone as if it would provide him with an answer. He returned it to its usual resting position.

  ‘I don’t know. Would you be okay with this Tom?’

  Forsythe lightly shrugged his shoulders, ‘If he can help us move forward, sure. This case is definitely not your typical smoking gun. It would make things easier if we had someone who knew the victim and could tell us more about her. The distant aunt’s phone is still ringing, with no answer. But I don’t think she’s worth considering as a suspect because she’s been out of the country for some time. Her parents as you know aren’t an option. The only thing I will say is I can’t be responsible for what happens to him out there. He’s got to accept that something could happen to him.’

  Walter’s slowly shook his head up and down, ‘There will be risks, if you agree to come on board Mr Lewelyn. Are you willing to accept that the city cannot be liable for any injuries you will most likely sustain?’

  Lewelyn liked the lieutenant’s use of the words ‘most likely,’ it was a final attempt to try and convince him not to agree.

  ‘Fine by me,’ he said.

  ‘All right. Good. I just have to make a few calls to tell everyone what’s going on.’

  ‘Are you nuts?!’ The exasperated question came from the back of the room. This had been the first time Mark Baker had said anything since Lewelyn came in. It was interesting as well that the Lt had not asked for Baker’s opinion at all during the entirety of the conversation.

  Baker marched to the lieutenant’s desk, ‘You’re seriously letting this guy get involved?’

  For the first time Walters rose from his chair, his dominating height rose above everyone.

  ‘Yes I am detective. Do you have a problem with my decision?’

  Lewelyn suppressed a grin when he saw Baker’s eyes bulging out and the fleshy cheeks flushed red, ‘Yes I do,’ Baker spat out. ‘I don’t want this guy here. I don’t trust him. He stinks of guilt. You need to put the cuffs back on him.’

  The body language expert in Lewelyn was tempted to say something, then decided not to – he didn’t think it would amount to anything. Walters spoke.

  ‘Detective, I know it is difficult to accept outside help. I understand why you all prefer to work with people you know rather than complete strangers. All of you are under constant pressure when working a case. When somebody interferes you feel it disrupts the flow and puts more pressure on you. But sometimes the additional person can be beneficial, especially if this person has had experience working with law enforcement.’ Glaring at Baker, he continued, ‘You have worked with the FBI before, this is no different in the sense that you will be working with someone who understands how law enforcement personnel operate. Now take heed at what I have just said and consider what you are about to say next.’

  Baker’s face started to twitch uncontrollably, each muscle in the face appeared to be moving; it looked as if something beneath was trying to force itself out.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ Mark Baker said before he stormed out of the office, purposely leaving the door open.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Come on,’ he growled. The skin of Mark Baker’s thumb ferociously fought against the stubborn metallic rotator. He kept trying to get some fire out of his inert lighter. The only fire that he seemed to be able to create was the one that rose inside his red thumb.

  ‘Need some help?’ someone asked. He held his own lighter out to Baker.

  ‘Sure,’ Baker nearly snatching the object from the person’s hand.

  Pungent smoke began to billow from the burning tobacco and paper.

  ‘Thanks,’ handing the lighter back to the fresh-faced young man. Detective Baker sat and smoked on a bench near LAPD Headquarters, his back to the building. Wanting time to himself, he didn’t go to his usual spot to smoke – intent on not having to talk to anybody who wore a badge.

  The sun spilled out, its rays weren’t as powerful as they had been this morning but they did their job of keeping him warm.

  ‘Mind if I sit here?’ coming from the generous passer-by.

  ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.

  The young man shook his head, ‘No sir. I don’t think so anyway. I’m a cadet with the LAPD. Got an appointment upstairs and I’m a little early so I figured I’d sit and wait until then.’

  Baker observed the man’s face. Using the term young man was an understatement. Blue jeans, hooded jacket, red and green sneakers.

  ‘It’s a free country.’

  The cadet sat himself down.

  ‘So you want to be a cop,’ Baker said
contemptuously.

  ‘More than anything.’

  ‘Have any idea what kind of cop you wanna be?’

  The young man did not hesitate to answer, ‘Narcotics maybe, after I finish patrol of course.’

  After hearing this Mark inhaled a cloud of smoke, then blew a lung full out.

  ‘Good luck with that, kid.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean life isn’t like the movies, kid. Right and wrong doesn’t matter. It’s all bullshit. They tell you you’re helping people but you’re not. The only people you help are assholes who sit behind a desk, that don’t know nothing about what real police work is like.’

  ‘Right,’ the cadet looked quizzical. This was something he had not expected to hear.

  ‘Let me tell you something kid, might even save you from a miserable living. I’m working a case, murdered woman. We find a suspect, bring him in for questioning. Turns out this suspect was the last person to see her alive. He’s also her boss. Guys upstairs don’t think he’s the killer. All that’s based on is a negative DNA test and cab receipts and his phone. Like any of that matters. I still think he’s the one. Instinct, that’s what matters. You’re never wrong going with your instincts. Been doing this job a long time and I know when to listen to my gut, than listen to technology,’ he paused to suck in some more smoke, then blew it all out. ‘Now they’ve let him go and letting him work the case with us. Consulting as my prick lieutenant called it. What an idiot.’

  ‘What’s the guy’s name?’

  ‘Who the lieutenant?’

  ‘No this consultant?’

  ‘David Lewelyn.’

  ‘And what does he do?’

  ‘He’s one of those lying experts, the guys who think they know when someone is telling a lie or telling the truth by just looking at them. Garbage if you ask me.’

  Baker went to draw more from his cigarette, when all he saw was the golden end. He didn’t know he had been talking that long.

  ‘Well it was nice talking to you, dee – tect – ive, I’ll see you around,’ the young man said guardedly before he got up and strode away.

  Baker watched the guy leave. He didn’t like the way he’d said ‘detective.’ The young man’s image shrinking, surprisingly he wasn’t going into headquarters; instead he went in the other direction. Then he crossed the road and went down Main Street.

  Providing little interest to Baker he turned his attention to his watch.

  ‘I’m going to lunch,’ he decided.

  Over an hour and a half later Baker returned to the ever so familiar offices of RHD. During lunch he had contemplated why he had joined the LAPD. The main thing that induced him to join was a life of non-stop action. As a kid he used to watch a lot of cop shows on TV. Watching them break down doors, chasing suspects on foot and in vehicles – showing people who was the boss if a law was broken and ensuring punishment was dished out to those who broke the rules.

  But he hadn’t considered the amount of bureaucracy involved. Funny really. He’d once read somewhere that the B word actually meant order and system, two important elements in good detective work. But now, following his stint as a beat cop, he had become a detective who spent more time staring at paperwork than knocking on doors and pursuing suspects. He regretted swapping the uniform for a suit.

  Back in RHD he knew he had to apologise to Joe, even if he didn’t mean it – giving him the bullshit formal apology. He couldn’t risk getting kicked off the case. Strangely, it seemed a lot quieter now than it had been this morning. Phones were still ringing but nobody was speaking. Baker would have paid attention to it, if he had cared.

  He entered the lieutenant’s office and was greeted with abject fury, smouldering on the commanding officer’s face.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Walters asked but with the additional tone of demand behind the question.

  ‘I’ve been on my lunch break, lieutenant, came in here to apologise about my conduct earlier. It was unprofessional and I assure you it will not happen again.’

  ‘Why is your phone off?’

  ‘I like to eat in privacy. Gives me space, helps me relax,’

  Lt Walters grabbed the computer screen on his desk and turned it around so that Mark Baker could see it.

  ‘Care to explain this?’

  Baker stared at the screen in front of him. It was an online blog titled:

  LAPD recruit Body Language Expert to advise on murder investigation

  Baker looked at his lieutenant after only reading the title.

  ‘Big deal, Joe. This was bound to happen. People always find out what’s going on here.’

  ‘Read the entire story,’ Joe Walter’s said grimly.

  Baker complied.

  The story was basic. Not well written, full of syntax errors. His mind slowly processed the words of the article. Having the basic facts, police consult expert to assist on the murder of Hannah Lewis. Clearly, they hadn’t made the employer-employee relationship connection yet – they eventually would. Grabbing Baker’s attention was the name of David Lewelyn and the writer’s source: Detective Mark Baker.

  Immediately he understood his lieutenant’s outraged expression.

  The man – kid, Baker had been sitting with outside on the bench must have been a reporter. He had been recording their conversation and put it on the internet.

  ‘SHIT!’ Baker shouted.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Walters concurred, bringing the screen back to its usual position. He then sat down. ‘I don’t need to tell you how much trouble you are in, Mark. The Captain is literally breathing down my neck, wants me to take away your badge, permanently.’

  Baker felt his heart momentarily stop.

  ‘Thankfully I convinced him that you are a good detective with a good record of closing cases and that a temporary suspension would be a more appropriate punishment, to let you reflect on what you have done.’

  Baker began breathing easier again.

  ‘Give me your gun and badge, Mark.’

  Hesitant at first to respond to the request, almost believing it to be a well-planned joke, the realism of his suspension became apparent when the Lt opened a desk drawer and reached out his hand. Baker reluctantly handed them to him. Shocked, he tried to accept what had just happened. Walters slammed his desk drawer shut.

  ‘I don’t know how long the suspension will last. It’s not up to me. PSB will probably give you a call, so make sure your phone is on.’

  PSB, Baker knew to be the new name of Internal Affairs, the LAPD’s Professional Standards Bureau.

  ‘You can leave.’

  Baker left the office. He looked around RHD. Nobody lifted their head, everyone working hard to conveniently ignore him. Then he saw Lewelyn leaning on a wall, as if he was waiting for somebody. Baker sped towards him.

  He saw the body language expert step away from the wall, turning to face Baker, ready for a fight – the now suspended detective was ready as well. He brought his arm up and grabbed Lewelyn’s hand in a handshake vice; everybody around would think they were shaking hands

  ‘You cocksucker. You think I don’t know what you are. You might have the rest of them convinced but not me. I’m not that easy. I know what you are. Scumbags have a particular scent to them.’

  ‘Get off me,’ Lewelyn said in a casual tone.

  Both men faced each other, neither letting the one intimidate the other. Baker watched Lewelyn’s resolute face for any sign of discomfort, anticipating him to commence to whimper any time now. Some men would wince with pain and howl as their own knuckles were being crunched and squeezed together. Lewelyn was obstinate, letting the pain go on. He tried to use his free arm to push the man away.

  ‘No, you’re going to stay here a little longer,’ responded Baker. ‘I want to show everyone how weak and pathetic you really are. Why y
ou go for the smaller ones.’

  Baker used his free hand to reach into one of Lewelyn’s inside jacket pockets; going for the one that weighed down the most. With no vision and depending solely on touch he carefully moved his fingers around to feel for the items he required.

  Got it; but he remained impassive, to conceal his triumph.

  ‘You like it don’t you?’ snarled Baker. ‘You like to see them squirm? You love to kill?’

  Gently he slid the objects out of Lewelyn’s pocket.

  ‘Hate to disagree with you,’ Lewelyn said matter-of-factly. Baker noted the hint of anger in the man’s tone. The use of the affirmed sarcasm was a polite warning.

  He let himself lean backwards, giving Lewelyn enough space to stop hugging the wall. He considered pushing Lewelyn against the wall but thought it better of it. Baker turned and walked away instead. Silence prevailed in RHD, nobody afraid to let Baker know he was being watched. He didn’t bother to turn around and gawk and tell them to mind their own business. He wasn’t going to turn his head and make the pointless eye contact that most people would do in that situation, to try and explain his actions when everyone else had already formed their own opinions. Refusing to give them the satisfaction, he ignored his desk and left.

  Chapter 9

  Told to come in early tomorrow, but before then he needed to read the entire case file of the Hannah Miller murder, including her employee file which had been brought here when he was still being questioned. Lewelyn would have taken it home with him but was told it was against department policy. Discouraged to ask if he could make copies for late-night reading material, he had found it difficult to read, something like invading somebody’s privacy and spying on them.

  At first Lewelyn thought he would finish it all in an hour; that theory went out the metaphorical window when the clock in RHD displayed 9 and 20. There weren’t many people left; most of the detectives had gone. Not noticing their departure due to his current task, they had simply seemed to vanish individually every time he lifted his head.