Much Needed Rain

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Much Needed Rain Page 17

by R. G. Oram


  He melted deep down into the seat, aligning himself with the top open-space of the wheel, enough of a gap for his field glasses to fit through. If a car was about to pass him Lewelyn didn’t have to shrink too far down to hide from a local resident.

  The actor didn’t like mornings, Lewelyn had been staring at a sparkling car with its roof down until noon; Malcolm Harris had given up on the possibility of rain. Lewelyn grabbed his binoculars, taking himself closer to the activity. Malcolm Harris waved to a sun bathing neighbour across the street and got in his convertible. He was alone and reversed out of the driveway.

  Lewelyn put the beaker and other items on the passenger seat, he didn’t start the engine yet, deciding to wait for the high powered car to get some distance. The convertible mechanically neighed past him. Starting the engine, Lewelyn started tailing.

  When possible he kept a few cars behind his person of interest and when practical, changed lanes frequently. Pulling sunglasses over his eyes, Lewelyn hoped it would assist his being inconspicuous. The first stop made was in downtown. Malcolm Harris parked in a main road and went into a recently sold office block. Lewelyn guessed the sale to be recent by the vast amount of lonely space inside. Concrete and glass were its main structural hallmarks. Through the glass Lewelyn could see the man in conversation with someone. This someone wore a suit of the same colour, different patterned tie to the one Harris had worn yesterday and appeared to be showing him the office.

  An academic’s guess, Lewelyn took this to be the future campaign headquarters of the Mayoral front runner Malcolm Harris. Lewelyn made notes of the street name and number – adding the time and date in the notebook’s extra spacing. Hands were shaken and Malcolm left. He got back in the car and drove off.

  Next stop was a restaurant, had its own valet parking service, Lewelyn saw Harris hand the valet a small sheet of green paper. Seeing the place caused Lewelyn’s stomach to churn and shrivel up.

  Although he had taken the opportunity and learned from experience, having packed some sandwiches as a precaution before setting out on this journey, he was now battling an all consuming craving for an actual meal.

  Munching the sandwich, watching the door to the restaurant, looking at every car being brought out front. The place looked busy, waiters bustling up and down, tables and chairs full of people, plates placed or removed from the tables. Malcolm Harris dined solo. He shook some more hands, welcomed selfies and seemed to enjoy the lunch. He paid for the bill, offering no extended conversation with the waiter and waited outside for his car.

  Back on the road, Lewelyn followed the same routine; keeping a few cars behind and, when appropriate, performed safe and convenient lane changes. The actor got onto Interstate 15, passing Ontario and San Bernardino along the way, Lewelyn did the same. Further onwards, Lewelyn next selected the lane with the most cars driving in it and watched Harris’ side doors from a conceivable distance. The actor looked to be heading for the outskirts of LA, where signs that advertised land for sale seemed to be in limitless supply.

  Leaving the interstate, not intending to reach Las Vegas, roads got narrower, and paler from a limitless sun, the number of lanes diminished, tall commercial billboards sprouted out from everywhere, and Lewelyn’s presence was becoming more transitional. There were still a few cars hiding him. The question was for how long? With countless optional turns, you wondered when the convertible and SUV would get their alone time.

  The day seemed timeless as the sky did not change colour and the rock faces above them all remained static and infinitely miserable as they bore their parched skin and imperfect features. Now only one car drove between Lewelyn and Harris. Taking off his shades and putting a beanie hat on, the pursuer, Lewelyn, obscured the hair on his head. The main mirror that watched the vehicle’s rear was empty, he decided to press the brake down gently, giving more space to himself.

  Seeing through the middle car’s back window, all the way to the front, Harris’ right turn signal flashed. Lewelyn copied this decision. The critical alone time arrived.

  Lewelyn some metres away, Harris driving into a housing complex where each house mirrored the other, a taller lawn or garden figure caused minor imperfections to the homogenous homes.

  The body language expert knew he couldn’t keep following Harris straight through here; both cars moving at a slow pace in a speed restricted neighbourhood, Lewelyn couldn’t get any slower without going to a maimed crawling pace. The issue was, he didn’t know when Harris would stop. If he saw him, then the actor would forget his reason for coming here and leave.

  Lewelyn’s rational battled with the needs and wants of the situation. He thought, I can’t keep assuming he’s not going to get suspicious.

  Choosing one of many empty driveways Lewelyn drove in. Harris continued on, blissfully unaware of his tail. Lewelyn prayed the muscle car would not disappear around the corner. Then in answer, it stopped next to one of the houses. With a limited line of sight he grabbed the field glasses, but even they had limits. Lewelyn was just able to see the sand coated car. Licence plate letters and numbers looked almost as if they were materialising as he struggled to focus on the distant object at the limit of his range.

  On the left hand side of the convertible, he thought he could perceive the back of someone’s head. Malcolm Harris was still in the car. The head moved over to the right side, sliding across to the front passenger’s seat – but he was unable to see what the man was doing. Then Harris got out and walked briskly up to the house’s emerald door. It opened at his arrival in the outer alcove. Lewelyn couldn’t see who had answered it. Harris went inside.

  Great, Lewelyn thought.

  He couldn’t tell how long Harris would be and Lewelyn was risking it being here. Scanning the windows of the driveway’s owner, hopefully no one was home. If there was somebody home and they came out he’d have to come up with one hell of an explanation as to why he was in their driveway and why they shouldn’t call the cops. There was the possibility of moving to a closer driveway, that had its own risks too, someone being home or when Harris came out he might notice the SUV had moved.

  Staying where he was seemed to be the best option. Minutes went by, followed by ten minutes, another ten, another, another…

  The sports car and door to the house remained unmoving. In the corner of his eye Lewelyn saw a figure coming. A woman in her sixties (judging by her hair and slow walk) approaching the rear of the vehicle. Lewelyn casually slipped the binoculars out of sight under the seat and got his phone out. The hat came off, letting air out of his head. He exited the car to greet her.

  ‘Can I help you, young man?’ the woman dutifully asked.

  Say something that makes sense, Lewelyn thoughts screamed out.

  ‘Sorry I don’t mean to intrude. I’m just a little lost. I’m trying to find out where my brother lives. Must have taken a wrong turn. Been trying to call him,’ Lewelyn showed her his phone. ‘But he’s probably driving right now. I’m waiting for him to call me back.’

  The lady’s inquisitive eyes assessed their target. Lewelyn began to breathe normally when her features slackened.

  ‘Oh that’s fine. Truth be told, when I saw you drive up I thought you were a salesman. I was about to tell you I’m not interested until I saw what you were wearing.’

  ‘Yeah I certainly look the part don’t I?’ Lewelyn joked.

  The woman politely chuckled, ‘Anyway I’d better get back inside. It’s a little cold out here. Hope you find your way.’

  ‘Thanks and I appreciate the courtesy.’

  She was already moving, arms rubbing each other, returning to the comfort of her snugly insulated home.

  Back in the suv, hoping he hadn’t missed anything, laser-eying the house. Malcolm Harris had had enough time to drive off in those few minutes when Lewelyn had been engaged with that generous old lady. Lewelyn couldn’t go for the binoculars now, because if
by chance the woman should peek an inquisitive look at him through the curtains with the binoculars in his hand, the ‘lost’ story would go straight out the window.

  Despite straining his eyes, all Lewelyn could achieve was a very limited view of the house; with a host of other objects obstructing, it was not possible to see Harris’s car clearly. Worse than reading paperwork he mused; at least with paper documents you could see what you were looking at while your eyes crisp dried.

  A tiny movement occurred in the vicinity of the ever so distant house, movement of what kind Lewelyn could not tell. Was Harris leaving? Lewelyn had to make a judgement call, to stay or leave. Staying had its risks, so did leaving.

  Staying increased the likelihood of his lie being found out and leaving, what if Malcolm Harris is still inside and he drives past? He couldn’t come back here without being noticed and this place offered him the best cover. He couldn’t return to it after leaving it.

  He looked at the house in front of him, at their windows, she didn’t seem to be looking. Quickly he snatched the field glasses from under the seat, like in a standoff.

  View improved, directing his attention to the pristine reflecting convertible, still there but there was the outline of a head in the driver’s seat. Harris had returned and was beginning to reverse out, Lewelyn followed suit.

  With natural well-mannered instincts Lewelyn waved to the obliging elderly woman’s windows, unsure if there was a response from the other side of the curtains.

  Nothing; little else occurred after leaving the housing area. The driver of the convertible was definitely Harris; the blonde hair propelled back with the car’s high speed. Along the way, Lewelyn gave the occasional driver a flash from his lights to let them out. Malcolm Harris drove straight. It didn’t look like he suspected anything – one hand on the wheel, the other casually resting on the arm rest.

  Once back to the mountain hills of Mulholland Drive, Lewelyn let the open-roofed vehicle with its new desert colour drift away, disappearing from his sight. Stopping where he had this morning, Lewelyn rested his back on the inclined car seat, unfastened the seatbelt and took sips from the beaker. He still had twenty-four hours and the rest of this day to go.

  Today provided him with three new questions.

  Who lived at that house?

  What was so important there that a phone call would not suffice?

  Why so remote?

  Chapter 33

  The world appeared to be at a standstill. As the hours drifted by in Mulholland, everything became a familiar picture. Watching from his vehicle David Lewelyn felt like he was staring at a photograph. While observing, he pondered over the day’s results, more specifically, the house in that secluded neighbourhood.

  Looking at his current perspective and hypothesising about the mysterious house’s vocation made a nice diversion from the negatives of it. He needed to keep watch on Malcolm Harris and even a missed second could have consequences. Seeing the other houses in the street with most of their lights off, the odd one had some light on upstairs. Most were asleep or nearing it, yet Malcolm Harris’s didn’t show any nocturnal habits.

  He’s asleep. What are you going to get from watching what was fundamentally an empty house? He asked himself.

  Turning the key in the ignition slot, doing it slowly, waiting for potentially constructive arguments – none came. Spinning the wheel to its full range of movement, he slipped back on the road.

  Despite internalising the route earlier, Lewelyn kept at a modest speed. Night had now closed in and in the rural area it was pitch black. The only light came from the Jeep’s dimly yellow illuminating eyes. No light in the sky to spot the way for him, made the return journey transform into an unfamiliar road. If he missed the turning, the time which elapsed before he knew of the mistake would offer more opportunity for Malcolm Harris to escape surveillance.

  Lewelyn slowed the car down. To his left he saw a fence that was familiar to him when he had to stop as Harris had turned off on the outbound journey. If his memory was accurate then the turning would be at the end of this fence. And he was right, as a road sign loomed up, indicating turnings of left, right or straight ahead. Completing the necessary manoeuvres, he came upon the row of houses.

  More cars parked in the driveway now, some high volume TV sounds blared through the curtained windows. Focusing on the home further ahead, the driveway still empty, light bursting through an un-curtained window – whoever lived there was inside and awake. He coasted on a few more yards to a gentle stop, then turned off the car’s lights, just before parking in the driveway.

  Lewelyn felt under the driver’s seat, checking it was still there, more of a pacifying behaviour to calm his nerves. He got out and went to the front door. Listening to noises, a host of them intruding upon the still night air. Lewelyn heard someone laughing. A bizarre kind of sound, almost like a braying donkey. Focusing on each sound in turn, he guessed a TV was on and one person watched, because every time a laugh erupted, the other voices continued without interruption. But he had to be careful. There was a chance the number of persons inside could be more than one, if the others just didn’t enjoy the same humour triggers as the laugher.

  Knocking the front door loudly to counteract the rib-tickling TV pictures inside, Lewelyn’s fist shaking the very structure of the door.

  The TV entertainment and sounds of laughter stopped abruptly. Single footsteps proceeded steadily to the door, reinforcing the correctness of Lewelyn’s guess. A light came on in front of Lewelyn, creating a long shadow to his rear. Locks turned with well lubricated ease and the door opened slowly. Nothing could have prepared Lewelyn for what he met at the door. The surprise visibly stiffened his body as his mental processes suspended momentarily.

  Lewelyn’s reaction was caused directly by the man who had answered the door, a man Lewelyn had seen before – this week in RHD. A wrinkleless, smooth skinned face, hair standing up, black sleepless eye shadow, shifting his feet carelessly in a pair of flip flops and wearing clothing similar to that at the interview: casual, and apparently uncaring. The man slouched in the doorway, who had generated a rheumatic reaction in Lewelyn was indeed, Jerome Harris.

  Chapter 34

  ‘Can I help you with something?’ the man facing Lewelyn asked cautiously.

  Lewelyn quickly recovered from the flash of shock.

  ‘Move!’ he shouted, grabbing the printed sunglasses on the shirt’s chest area and using his momentum to push the man inside. Lewelyn let go, causing Jerome Harris to fall backwards, sprawling onto his back. Shutting the door and returning his attention to the man, Lewelyn dragged him upright again and forced him into the nearest room.

  ‘What the hell!’ Harris gasped in a deep incredulous voice.

  Planting the man firmly in one steel framed chair, Lewelyn slid another across the room, cutting through waves of video game cases, making a sound emanate from the castors of the moving furniture a little like a bird tweeting, mixed with fingernails screeching on a chalkboard. Little space separated the men. Four eyes met. Jerome Harris as if in a small corner and David Lewelyn blocking any escape.

  ‘Are you alone?’ Lewelyn asked. The answer provided grim silence in the absence of a speaking response.

  ‘Is there anybody else in the house?’ Lewelyn questioned again in a more authoritative voice, hoping the simplicity of it would make it easier for the receiver to understand and allowing him to retain the advantage of surprise and superiority.

  ‘No,’ the terrified homeowner said.

  Lewelyn could see the man was terrified, now avoiding any eye contact and sinking deep within the chair to get as far away as he could. He clearly had not expected this. Lewelyn on the other hand, was painfully aware of what he’d just done. Restraining and coercing a man against his will, he fulfilled the law’s clear requirements of kidnapping. How many years could he get for this?

  He coul
dn’t leave now, he had crossed his Rubicon and leaving wouldn’t change it. All J Harris would have to do is call 911, give them his name and address and assist a uniform to make a composite drawing of perpetrator Lewelyn’s face.

  ‘What do you want?’ the cornered man struggled to say, in almost a strangled tone.

  Lewelyn’s mind racing, deciding what was the best course of action necessary to stay in control, after already jeopardising his future career.

  ‘I guess I’ll ask the one question that’s been bothering me recently. How did you beat the DNA test, Jerome?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I hate repeating myself.’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Why?’ Lewelyn could feel flushes of hot blood under his skin.

  ‘Cause I can’t.’

  ‘All right, if you can’t answer that then answer this. Why did you kill her?’

  He shrugged, ‘Because I wanted to.’

  ‘What?’ Emotions began affecting Lewelyn’s vocal chords. The dark blood poisoning him. There was something sinister in his tone. Jerking Harris Junior upright from the chair; the air forced through the narrow gaps of Lewelyn’s closed teeth began to sound like a growl.

  ‘Like I said I just wanted to,’ was the matter of fact reply once again.

  ‘That’s your excuse?’ Lewelyn’s face tightened and white layers of teeth forced themselves out from behind his tightly pursed lips.

  ‘What other excuse do I need?’ he replied in a strangely neutral tone.

  Blood rushed through his veins. Lewelyn’s body crackled with tension as he reached for the T shirt again and propelled Harris against the wall with a resounding thud which caused flakes of dried plaster to snow from the ceiling. Their faces were now pressed together, beyond the comfort zone distance.

  ‘Don’t lie to me Jerome. I know the difference between a truth and a lie. The hardest thing for liars to do is to keep a straight face. They always forget the golden rule of lying – believe everything you say. To make a lie seem real you have to convince yourself of its plausibility even if it’s not true. And you are not a good seller.’

 

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