by R. G. Oram
‘Where are you from?’ Forsythe had finished chewing and swallowed.
‘Philly,’ Lewelyn answered, suspecting Tom already knew that.
‘How long did you live there?’
‘Twenty years.’
‘Long time. Nice where you lived?’
‘Yeah, especially if you know the right places.’
‘What made you leave?’
Lewelyn thought of a way not to say anything. He couldn’t keep being silent, Forsythe waited for a reply that he would have.
‘Got tired of seeing the same thing all the time, really wanted to do my own thing, not work for my dad for the rest of my life. Had to be my own boss and make my own decisions. So I moved to San Francisco and studied there. Picked up my psychology degree. Then straight after graduation I started DL Nonverbal. The rest is a history you probably know. Eventually opened an office here, no secretary at the time. Took me a while at first to prove that I wasn’t some guy who just read a book on nonverbal communication and thought himself an expert at it. When I got busier, I found myself flying over the country a lot and as the bills kept cropping up and me having little time in the office, I decided to hire someone, Hannah, who could manage the business when I was away. Saved me a lot of angry letters. Now I spend more time with my clients than at the office, but I’m not complaining about that, it’s a good sign.’
‘How was your family with you going away?’ Forsythe played with his gums to chew off loose meat chunks.
‘Hmm… Yeah… Um… okay with it you know? Shocked at first. Took a while for them to accept it. My brother and mother didn’t really believe it until about the week before I was leaving. Dad, not too happy. Not sure if he was more mad at losing an employee or a son.’
‘What does your dad do for a living?’
‘Runs his own real estate firm. I imagine my brother works for him now. And mom stays at home… keeps the house in order,’ the hesitated responses to the questions of his family reminded Lewelyn how long it had been since he had last spoken to them – over ten years.
The computer finished its process diverting Lewelyn’s senses. The new page had a white background and at its centre was a grey box with the words:
Photo not on file
‘He’s not in the system,’ Forsythe explained.
A surprised Lewelyn asked, ‘Sorry?’
‘Has no record. This is their first crime.’
‘Their first crime,’ Lewelyn let the words spread out, letting them float away in the free air.
‘Since he’s not in the system, it’ll be like trying to pin a picture to every non-criminal in Los Angeles if not the whole country. This system can’t help us.’ Forsythe explained.
‘You’re kidding?’
‘I’m not.’
The back of Lewelyn’s desk chair creaked when he leaned heavily back on it. He put his hands to the back of his head and pressed, attempting to push the pathological stressors out of his head.
Whoever the hooded figure was, they had a clean record. When arrested you were ‘processed,’ this entails you getting your photo taken and DNA extracted. The hooded man was anonymous, a face without a name.
Lewelyn then noticed Forsythe do something on the computer.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Thinking fourth dimensional.’
He wasn’t sure what Forsythe meant by this, so he sluggishly edged forward. Forsythe was on an internet search engine and he clicked on the image search option. Searching the internet by image!
‘You can teach old dogs new tricks but we just don’t want to.’
The photo of the anonymous man was being analysed. It took moderately longer than the conventional internet search – instead of typing in a word and clicking the search box it was extract the image, then place it into the digital record engine.
The search stopped, the computer was on an images page, giving Forsythe and Lewelyn hundreds of potential images of the hooded figure. Some were pictures of animation characters, with big bowls of eyes and pencil lines for mouths. The images which did depict their unknown subject were him without a hood: a white male, late teens, mild tan and shiny blonde hair.
‘Let’s see if we found him,’ Forsythe said.
Each image gave a different outlook of the man but none seemed to have an older version of him. Another peculiarity, most images were grouped, not individualised. The grouped images contained three subjects: two males and one female.
‘I think I’ve seen that guy before,’ Forsythe revealed. He pointed to the other male in one of the images; the other man being much older than their suspect. Judging by the age difference, he was most likely the father. The woman looked young but her real age was overtaking the cosmetic work she’d had done. Even with age though, her eye-drawing features were still attractive.
In most group images, the trio had evening wear, the men in tuxedos and the woman wore a loose falling dress.
‘Where do you think you saw this guy?’
‘Not sure. I could be wrong but whenever I look at him, the White House always jumps into my head.’
‘The White House? As in Washington DC?’
‘Don’t ask me why.’
Is he a politician? Lewelyn considered.
Scrolling down the computer page an independent image stole Lewelyn’s attention.
‘Go to that,’ he used his index finger to direct Forsythe.
The image Lewelyn noticed was a newspaper article with the title: ‘Star Gazer couple Malcolm Harris and Joan Harris finalize divorce.’ There was a link alongside it allowing the viewer to go its source. They entered a news website, one of those extra-access magazines.
The web page had at the top a picture of the older man and opposite him, the woman. The photos had a jagged line pillared between each other, emphasising the permanent separation.
Actor Malcolm Harris, who has made over 200 TV and movie appearances, divorces former wife and actress Joan Harris. There had been no rumours of the couple having any marital problems. Married in 1992, after meeting on the set of the TV show, Star Gazer. In 1996 the couple welcomed a new member to their family, a baby boy who they named Jerome. Sole custody of their son, Jerome Harris, 16, was given to Malcolm Harris. It is said that Joan did not contest for custody of her son, which makes the public wonder if the demands of motherhood were too much for Joan. How will this end to the marriage affect their son? And how will this impact on the production of Malcolm Harris’s new movie, Forevermore?
A photo was placed next to the paragraph that mentioned sixteen year old Jerome Harris – it was the younger version of the hooded figure outside Hannah Lewis’s apartment.
Chapter 23
They needed to bring Jerome Harris in.
Forsythe thought it best to do the interview tomorrow morning. The reason being that suspects are more awake at the start of the day, in the dusky afternoon they’re tired and not very interested; tending to follow the cycle of the sun.
To reach Jerome Harris they first had to contact Malcolm Harris and it wasn’t that simple. In order to speak to the actor, you first had to contact his agent and you had to find that number to start with.
Eventually, they sourced the agent’s number. Lewelyn listened in on the conversation. There was a momentary pause when Forsythe introduced himself, using detective and his name after. Malcolm Harris’s agent cooperated, gave the cell number and hung up rapidly. Forsythe told Lewelyn it was likely that Harris’s agent would warn his client. When Forsythe tried to call, an electronic voice told him the line was busy.
A few minutes passed and Forsythe called again. This time it rang, Lewelyn knew this because Forsythe poked his thumb upwards.
Lewelyn thought he heard a faint ‘Hello’ in the phone.
‘Hello Mr Harris. This is Detective Thomas Forsythe of the LAPD. Sorry to bothe
r you at this hour. But I was wondering if I could speak to your son, Jerome?’
Lewelyn couldn’t hear the response to Forsythe’s request.
‘We would like him to answer some questions concerning a current and ongoing investigation we have,’ Forsythe listened intently to the phone. ‘He’s not there. Okay, would it be convenient if I came over there tomorrow and speak with him? I’m assuming he still lives with you.’
He nodded his head a few times while listening to Malcolm Harris on the other line. Lewelyn noticed Forsythe’s eyebrows suddenly arch together – a zigzag wrinkle filled in between them.
‘Sure, even better. Thank you for your time… And a good evening to you too.’
Forsythe didn’t return the receiver to its resting place, he held it for a time in his hand as if he was pondering something and other calls weren’t important. When he did return the receiver to the phone Lewelyn witnessed the man rubbing his cheeks.
‘What did he say?’ Lewelyn couldn’t face the silence any longer.
Comforting his shaved chin hairs with a brush of his hand Forsythe replied, ‘Very easy going, didn’t offer any resistance. More than happy to cooperate. Though I don’t think he was telling the truth about Jerome not being there.’
‘But I don’t understand, why do you have that look of scepticism?’
‘Because when I offered to go up there to interview Jerome, at his place, he declined. Told me it would be better if I did it here instead of his own home,’ now the detective’s other hand was closed around the fisted one to stabilize his heavy chin.
Lewelyn understood the rationale in Forsythe’s troubled mind. Given the choice of where to be interviewed (you rarely had one), the interviewee would always go for a place they felt secure in, somewhere that allowed them to feel relaxed and confident – their own favoured surroundings. The last place someone would want to be interviewed is at a police station and this is where it seemed, Jerome Harris elected to have his.
Chapter 24
Morning came. Impatiently waiting, Thomas Forsythe and David Lewelyn prepared for the upcoming interview, finding any more they could on the Harris family. Without surprise there was more about Malcolm Harris.
He was a supporting actor; B actor. His usual roles were the short kind where he got ten minutes of air time at the most in a TV episode, and sometimes a little more in a movie. The types of characters he played were leaders, like a president, general or CEO – someone who stood next to the hero and gave them marching orders.
Joan Harris didn’t act as much as her former husband, after their marriage she seemed to appear less and less. She devoted herself to marketing skin care and fragrances. After the divorce she didn’t appear in anything.
Jerome had not followed the profession of his parents. He’s nineteen now, no mention of him being employed or in college. The limited pictures of him implied he stayed away from the media, only picture of him was the photo Lewelyn and Forsythe had found of him attending some premiere with his mom and dad.
The unknown disturbed Lewelyn and Forsythe. Why were they meeting Jerome Harris here, in RHD? Why in a building where every employee usually carried a gun and steel cuffs on their belts? He knew they should be happy with interviewing the suspect in preferred ground.
But why here?
Those three words had kept Lewelyn’s mind working for most of the night. Sitting in his favourite leather sofa, allowing the other sleepless nights pile up and give him more grief. The buzzing of the phone lying on Forsythe’s desk stung Lewelyn to life. Forsythe picked it up and listened intently to the caller.
‘Yeah bring him up.’ It went back down. ‘He’s here and his attorney is with him. No surprise really. I can take the two of them.’
‘OK,’ Lewelyn grunted.
In the observation room, Lewelyn awaited Jerome Harris. Having seen a frozen image of him, he was eager to see the thawed, animated version. It was a different room this time; the one he had occupied earlier in the week was in use. From an experienced perspective this room looked all but the same as the other one, the only difference was its location and the ruffled carpets rising and shaping away from the walls.
The door opened, Forsythe holding it open for a young man and another older one in a tight suit. Then, purposely as he did with Lewelyn, allowing himself to be the last one to enter the room.
The suit wore a tailored to fit attire, no doubt expensive. Hair not too long, not too short, highlighting the man’s presumptive preciseness. Clean shaven, giving the surface a smooth terrain.
The flat face, Jerome Harris, didn’t appreciate his legal advisor’s conservative look. Dressed casually and fashionable in jeans and a sweatshirt. Flip flops on his feet. Hair standing up, it shined from the various hair products applied to it. He looked chunkier now than he did in his photos.
‘Before we start I was hoping we could take a DNA sample.’
‘Why would you need that detective, is my client under arrest?’ the attorney asked.
‘No, your client is a person of interest in the investigation.’
‘But why do you require a sample of his DNA?’
‘So we can eliminate him from our list of people who were perchance in the vicinity of a crime that occurred.’
‘What crime?’
‘Murder.’
The attorney pretended to remain still, only forgetting to breathe for a few seconds.
‘Well, that is very considerate of the police department to give my client the opportunity to certify his innocence. However, it is only if my client is willing to do so.’
Both men looked at Jerome, the young man nodded silently.
The conversation remained silent for a time. Someone came in to take Jerome’s DNA; a swab rubbed the jelly of his mouth, others areas too, which Lewelyn didn’t have to see to know where.
After the DNA was taken Forsythe began small talking the two men. He discussed the weather, politics, traffic, even local attractions which all the men in the room already knew of. Forsythe had told Lewelyn before going into the interview room that the DNA was all they had to pin Jerome to the murder. The young man’s appearance in the camera footage was not enough, as anyone could argue it as circumstantial. He’d asked the forensic lab to put Jerome’s sample at the front of the queue, letting them know that their suspect was a high profiled individual and RHD required prompt results. The lab located at California State University usually took a few hours to process and test the DNA, Forsythe had told Lewelyn.
Lewelyn, amazed at how much trivial knowledge Forsythe had stored. The body language expert had learned one interesting fact of a certain Hollywood star had been banned from a casino for counting cards. When checking his phone for messages his eyebrows raised at the time display – realising that the detective had spent over an hour talking without interruption.
Jerome Harris’s lawyer looking to be exhausted from the information overload, rubbed his eyes, then gently clapped his hands together to stop Forsythe’s relaying of information.
‘Detective, may I ask why my client is here? Could you provide us with the specifics of the crime in question?’ the legal advocate intentionally neglecting to use the word ‘murder’ in his query.
‘Why was your client in Santa Rosalia last Friday night?’ Forsythe put two pictures of Harris in the symbolic black hood outside the apartments – the smile still there.
The attorney gave a second’s look at the picture, not apparently, amused at being left unanswered, while Jerome did not stir.
‘My client was looking for an apartment. He is planning to induct himself into one of the colleges nearby.’
From the observation room, Lewelyn saw no anxiety register on either of the two men seated next to each other.
‘That’s interesting because when your client was looking at this particular apartment complex a murder was committed, moments
after he’s seen visiting it,’ Forsythe tapped his finger on the picture which showed Jerome facing the opposite direction to the apartment.
‘Well that is a great tragedy detective, but my client had nothing to do with it. What you see there is like you implied, pure coincidence.’ The lawyer remained outwardly calm, but from behind the mirror, Lewelyn noticed Jerome’s eyebrows had risen slightly.
‘What were you doing there Jerome?’ Forsythe asked brusquely, with a glaringly sharp expression focused directly at Jerome Harris.
‘Like I said just now, Detective Forsythe, my client was –’
‘Was I talking to you?’ Forsythe growled at the legal counsel. ‘Why were you there Jerome?’
The young man was slumped inertly in his chair, showing little care for his situation, letting his lawyer take care of it.
Forsythe wasn’t getting an answer. He then grabbed another picture out of the file, violently slamming it on the table. The picture of Hannah Miller’s face bagged and bound.
‘Do you recognise this Jerome?’
This woke the actor’s son. Eyebrows fully raised, closing in on each other. Upper eye lids raised. Sharp wrinkles etched boldly on the forehead. Lower eye lids tensed. The eyes themselves nearly bulging out.
Fear and Surprise
Interesting, Lewelyn thought.
It was possible that Jerome feared seeing the body again – some murderers couldn’t face seeing their victims again, being a form of guilt. The interesting part was the surprise. Why would he be so stunned and perplexed by it?
‘Put that away detective. I will not look at this anymore!’ the attorney’s artificial aristocratic tone bellowed.
‘Sorry I must have picked up the wrong photo,’ Forsythe lifted the picture and put it back in the file. Jerome Harris still had the two emotions etched deeply on his face.
‘So tell me, Jerome, did you see anything you liked when you were there? You did stay there a while.’ Forsythe tapped the picture of Jerome Harris leaving the apartment an hour or so after his visit. Caught on picture: mouth gape open, protruding tongue clearly visible, teeth apparently chattering. ‘By the way, where’s the real estate agent? Because I didn’t see anyone in the footage and I called the landlord about any apartments which were free to rent there and he told me he didn’t have any spaces available.’
