More Than A Thousand Words

More Than A Thousand Words

Ann Somerville

This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

More Than A Thousand Words© 2016 by Ann Somerville

Cover images copyright goodluz and Scott Griessel with additional manipulation by the author

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For more information please visit my website at http://annsomerville.net

Smashwords Edition 1, April 2016

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Published by Ann Somerville

Chapter 1

Come on, you bastard, Steve muttered to himself. Threading his way through the Saturday crowds at Camden Market wasn’t half as difficult as tracking a quarry he couldn’t see and didn’t know what it looked like. All he had was Martha’s signal tracking, and all that gave him was a location to within a hundred metres. Robert?

Nothing.

Elsa?

Nothing, Steve.

Bugger. Steve pushed on, irritated by the mass, the stupidity, the sheer obliviousness of the people around him.

A yell, ahead and to his right. You bastard! You evil fucking monster!

Steve shoved his way through the throng without apology. Robert?

On it.

Steve reached the place he thought the sound came from. Do you see him?

I just....fuck, lost him again. A bloke, heading away from the guy who yelled. Can you see him? That guy?

Steve turned around. All he saw out of the ordinary was the back of a long-haired woman, kneeling on the ground, apparently on the verge of fainting. A couple of tourists were staring at her in concern. What happened? Who yelled? Ma’am?

The ‘woman’ looked up with dazed, horrified eyes. He cut it off. He cut off the baby’s toe. The voice was nothing more than a whisper, but the owner was definitely a man, now Steve looked closer. A man with long dark hair and eyeliner, wearing a long skirt, but definitely masculine.

Do you need a hand?

The man accepted Steve’s help, though he swayed. Did you see him? the stranger asked. You have to find him.

Who?

The man looked at Steve and shook his hand off. Who are you?

Robert arrived and looked at Steve with the skirt-wearing man. Get anything?

This guy says he saw...what did you see?

"Who are you?"

Steve McCallum, and this is my colleague, Robert O’Reilly. You saw someone with a toe in their pocket?

No...I saw that he’d cut it off. The man stepped away a little and regarded them with suspicion. He went that way.

That’s the one I chased, Robert murmured to Steve. To the man, he asked, What did he look like?

No, wait. What do you mean, Steve asked, you saw him cut it off?

I saw...I can see what people have done in the last few hours.

Steve made a disgusted noise. Waste of bloody time, he said to Robert, before walking off. Martha?

New location. Looks like he, or the mobile, has stopped moving. Two hundred metres north. Keep walking.

Ignoring the hysteric in the skirt, Steve and Robert obeyed Martha’s directions. They came to a relatively open space in the crowd, but saw no one. Bins, Robert said.

They both donned latex gloves, and after a brief but disgusting search, Steve found it. He’s ditched the phone.

Fuck, Martha said, speaking for them all. I guess it’s return to base for now.

Yeah. Thanks, Martha.

Steve bagged the phone anyway, because they could still run DNA and fingerprint analyses. Robert looked at Steve. That bloke who ran, ran this way. So that git in the skirt might have seen him anyway.

Or he was off with the fairies. Get his name and contact number, and return to base. Tell Elsa to do the same. I’ll take this over for checking.

Right-o.

Steve trudged back to Camden Town tube. He’d thought it had been a stroke of luck that the signal of the prepaid phone used to make the ransom demand had been picked up again, but now it looked as if the kidnappers were playing a game with them—or were just that arrogant.

Steve, the family just had a delivery. A toe and threats of more to come if they don’t hurry up and pay. The kidnappers didn’t buy the stalling.

Steve stopped dead in his tracks. When?

Twenty minutes ago.

I need to talk to someone, Martha. I’ll report back soon. He called Robert. Did you get a name?

Luce Sherwood. He’s an artist.

What’s his number?

He wouldn’t give me one.

Fuck. Never mind. Thanks.

Steve looked up 'Luce Sherwood' on his phone. He had a workshop and gallery right here in Camden Town. Looked liked Steve would have to pay him a visit.

~~~~~~~~

Still feeling ill with shock, Luce made it back to the shop. Chun jumped up from the desk as soon as she saw him, her innocent, boring activities of the morning visible like a tail behind her and easily ignored. Luce! You look awful. Are you sick?

She herded him over to her chair and Luce flopped into it, resting his head on the desk. God, his head hurt. Give me a minute, darling?

Sure. How about some tea?

Please.

He couldn’t get the images out of his mind. Damn his fucking memory. At least he didn’t hear audio, so he didn’t have to hear the baby’s screams, but seeing the blood, the hands on the child, was more than enough.

Time passed. Fortunately most of his customers came during the week, though there was always the tourist trade picking up the affordable souvenirs and prints. Luce hoped no one would come in and see him in this state.

Chun, I’m going to the workshop.

All right, I’ll bring the tea there. Give me a second.

Luce stood, feeling a little more steady, and went to close the gallery’s door, but a tall figure got in his way. Mr Sherwood?

Mr McCallum. I’m not feeling up to a conversation at the moment.

I’m sorry, but it’s important. The bastard stepped in and actually shut and locked the door behind him.

We’re open for business. Please get out of my way. In fact, just get out full stop.

Luce could meet him eye for eye, and used his best glare, but McCallum didn’t show the slightest inclination to move. Please? A child’s life is at stake.

Luce moved away, rested his hand on his desk for support, not coincidentally near the police alarm. He would press it if this guy didn’t leave. You have one minute.

All right. I work for a company that provides security for private individuals. Wealthy people, people who need complete discretion. Approximately forty hours ago a baby boy was abducted and the nanny badly hurt. The family contacted us to help find the child since they’d been told not to call the police, although we’re working with the Met on this. A ransom demand came in from a phone whose signal we picked up again this morning and which my colleague and I were tracking this morning. After we spoke to you, my office advised that a baby’s toe and another ransom demand had been delivered to the family twenty minutes before. He glanced at his watch. Forty seconds. I need your help to find that man.

Luce sighed. Come out back, but unlock the door. Chun?

She came out to the shop. Oh, good morning, sir.

Luce waved Chun's politeness away. No need, he’s not a customer. This way, McCallum. Mind the shop, please? he added to Chun.

He took McCallum to the workshop, and went to his worktable where Chun had left the tea for him. He took a long slurp, regarding his visitor over the top of the mug. What can I do?

How well did you see him? Could you describe him?

I can draw him if you like.

Time’s of the essence, Mr Sherwood.

Luce ignored him. He pulled over a sketch pad, selected a 2B pencil, and began to draw. He was shorter than you or me, with light brown, almost blonde short hair. Blue eyes, tanned skin. Black jeans, long sleeved green polo shirt. He was wearing a gold ring, chunky, square thing, on his right hand index finger. He finished the sketch. Will that do? He looked up and found McCallum gaping at him. What?

How long did you see him for?

Three, four seconds. Long enough. I have excellent recall. Unfortunately.

And the other thing. You have a Talent?

Luce frowned. Yes. I thought that much was obvious.

But you’re not registered with the police.

"No. Apparently it’s not a useful Talent. Which is fine since I don’t want to work for the police or for a private security firm either. Being a ‘waste of bloody time’ is handy."

The man actually flushed a little. I owe you an apology.

Luce dismissed it with a flick of his hand. He just wanted this guy gone from his shop and his life. Was there anything else?

What did you see? With your talent, I mean.

The baby—

Not the baby. How many people were with this guy? He tapped the sketch. Do you see an address? Surroundings? Anything?

Wait. The headache was back in force. Luce took another sip of tea while he tried to think past the pain. Three men. In a house, several rooms. The child is upstairs. The street is all terraces, posh white ones, you know the kind. Number fifteen in gold over the door.

Let me send this sketch and that information to my boss?

Luce nodded and drank his tea while McCallum took a photo of his sketch and wrote an email. Luce hoped what he had given them would be enough to catch that evil creep, but the idea of this being handled by someone other than the police gave him pause. Not that he was a fan of the filth, but at least they answered to someone.

McCallum finished. Was there anything else? Could you draw the people he was with?

Yes, I think so. He quickly sketched the others and gave McCallum a description of each as he could see them in his mind’s eye. They’re using a car, a red VW Polo. He wrote down the registration number. I think that’s all but I could ring you if there’s anything else that comes to mind.

That’s bloody brilliant, thank you. McCallum opened his wallet and pulled out a business card for himself at a company called Titan House. There you go. Would you mind giving me your mobile’s number?

Don’t carry one, sorry. You can reach me through the gallery. Number’s on the window

But what if it’s closed?

Then I don’t want to be disturbed, Mr McCallum. Anything else?

No. Thanks again.

Luce rose to lead him out. Let me know if you catch him.

Will do.

Luce closed the workshop door behind the man, then rubbed his forehead. He needed more tea. Maybe with some of the hard stuff in it this time.

~~~~~~~~

As Steve headed to the Tube station again, his phone rang. Hi, boss.

Steve, we got the sketch and information. How sure are you that this Sherwood isn’t setting you up?

I saw him after he saw our bloke. Seemed genuine.

Luce Sherwood has been an actor, amongst other things. His perfect recall is a little too convenient.

Can’t hurt to follow it up, Maria.

No, but I don’t want to throw all our resources at a wild goose chase. Are you bringing the mobile phone in?

On my way.

Then I’ll talk to you here. Come straight to my office after you drop off the phone.

Fuck. His elation