Post by Liessel on Mar 1, 2024 11:10:59 GMT -5
“You’re -- sure? In, right out of thin air?” Jacob Williams sat back in his chair, the creak of leather and wood softly sounding into the office that surrounded him. He was looking up at a young constable, a man no older then thirty who still carried the fresh face of his youth like he’d kept it hidden in his back pocket.
He watched the young officer nod, and then sat forward to snuff out the cigarette he’d just lit.
“That’s what the report said, sir, that they came in out of nowhere. Not there one moment, and then the next,” The young officer threw his hands up into the air and gave a small shrug as he watched Inspector Williams rise from his chair, already rolling his shirtsleeves down before turning to grab for his coat.
Williams spared a moment to turn and fetch a file from one of the numerous cabinets that lined his office. There were so many, but he knew exactly which one he needed. It took him only a few spare seconds to rifle through his system of copied reports to find what he was looking for. The folder he pulled out belonged to a case that had gone cold just as soon as it had entered his office.
Isabell Wickham read the name on the top corner of the folder. She had disappeared early in February leaving in her wake a few concerned neighbors. A quiet woman, as she was described, who stuck to herself and showed very little interest in bothering her neighbors.
If she was so sweet, so innocent, what then would cause someone to break into her home and dismantle it the way hers had been? And why would he get orders from higher up to let this one go?
It wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to disappear, or for burglars to break in and tear a place up in search of something. It was the other things that had caught Inspector Williams and caused him to keep a copy of this particular case on file in his office where he could reach it. Things like the fact that whoever was said to have done this to the poor woman had come, and then gone into thin air. It was the description of the man he had gotten after scouring the nieghborhood for someone who might have seen something.
He’d been forced to let it go from an official standpoint, but the details had stuck with him and every so often over the past few months he had pulled the file out to study it just incase he had missed something in the times he’d studied it before.
File in hand, Jacob turned and gave the younger officer a nod of his head, “Show me where he is.”
“Holding cells, sir, they weren’t entirely sure what to do with him.” The younger man answered, turning and starting his way out of the office with Jacob close on his heels.
“No one’s questioned him? Has he, at least, been booked?” Jacob could feel his frown growing, as well as the itch for another cigarette. He hadn’t had nearly enough time with his last one.
“Booked: yes, questioned: no.” Ahead of Jacob, the officer shook his head and glanced back over his shoulder.
“Well, why not?” Jacob demanded, feeling his frown grow into a scowl.
“We can’t talk to him, Sir. He doesn’t speak english. We have him in the books under John Doe.”
Impatience won as he followed along, his fingers tapping tightly against the folder he carried, “Fine. I want the room cleared when I go in there, but for two men at the door.”
“Aye, sir,” Was the answer from the young officer, and then came silence as he led Jacob Williams through the building toward the holding cells.
Jacob waited outside while others within were shifted about, placed into different cells to get Williams the clear room he had demanded. When he went in it was just him, two guards by the door, and a man wearing a suit of armor that looked like it belonged best in a stage production of ancient roman life. Inspector Williams felt his eyes narrow at the sight, watching the Roman man as the Roman man watched him.
It was all there. From the tattoo above the left eye, to the manner of dress. The height was wrong, the build was wrong, but those details could have been fuzzied by any number of things.
The Surveyor stood when Williams entered, and for a long and careful moment it was silence that took over the holding cell. Williams was smaller than he was, his strange suit doing very little to hide the lack of true muscle. He’d have smirked if his head wasn’t killing him so much. He wavered, then sunk back down to the bench he had been sitting on, watching while Williams opened the file he carried.
A small piece of paper was drawn out, an image that had been hand-drawn, sketched months ago when the trail was still fresh, and orders hadn’t existed to quiet the case.
There was a row of bars between him and the man in the odd Roman dress. Williams knew well enough to stand back as far as he could from those bars, but just this once he allowed himself to get closer. The image was held out, and he stated slowly, “Do you know this woman?”
The Surveyor titled his head, trying to fight off the blurriness of vision that threatened to encroach from the corners of his eyes as a small slip of something was brought free from the thing that Williams held.
The moment he saw the image his aching head was forgotten about. He was up, rushing for the bars with a hand shooting out through them toward Williams who took a quick and reflexive step back, his arm snapping back toward him in the process.
The Surveyor hadn’t understood a single thing that Williams had said, but he knew the image. He knew it well, and the words that came from him filled the little holding area with the boom of his deep voice, “Where is she!?”
It was a strange language that Jacob and guards heard rip through the holding cell. But he didn’t need words for this confirmation. His answer was in the way the strangely dressed man reached, trying to pry the bars with one hand while struggling to stretch his other arm further through them as if it would help him close the distance.
The image was slipped away, and Jacob turned toward the door. He was out of it in moments while that strange language boomed again from behind: ”Where is she?!
It was back to his office Inspector Williams would go. The orders given that under no circumstances was this John Doe to be released. He had to make a few calls. He needed to talk to someone higher up, and a drink. Cigarettes weren’t going to make this one any better.
He watched the young officer nod, and then sat forward to snuff out the cigarette he’d just lit.
“That’s what the report said, sir, that they came in out of nowhere. Not there one moment, and then the next,” The young officer threw his hands up into the air and gave a small shrug as he watched Inspector Williams rise from his chair, already rolling his shirtsleeves down before turning to grab for his coat.
Williams spared a moment to turn and fetch a file from one of the numerous cabinets that lined his office. There were so many, but he knew exactly which one he needed. It took him only a few spare seconds to rifle through his system of copied reports to find what he was looking for. The folder he pulled out belonged to a case that had gone cold just as soon as it had entered his office.
Isabell Wickham read the name on the top corner of the folder. She had disappeared early in February leaving in her wake a few concerned neighbors. A quiet woman, as she was described, who stuck to herself and showed very little interest in bothering her neighbors.
If she was so sweet, so innocent, what then would cause someone to break into her home and dismantle it the way hers had been? And why would he get orders from higher up to let this one go?
It wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to disappear, or for burglars to break in and tear a place up in search of something. It was the other things that had caught Inspector Williams and caused him to keep a copy of this particular case on file in his office where he could reach it. Things like the fact that whoever was said to have done this to the poor woman had come, and then gone into thin air. It was the description of the man he had gotten after scouring the nieghborhood for someone who might have seen something.
He’d been forced to let it go from an official standpoint, but the details had stuck with him and every so often over the past few months he had pulled the file out to study it just incase he had missed something in the times he’d studied it before.
File in hand, Jacob turned and gave the younger officer a nod of his head, “Show me where he is.”
“Holding cells, sir, they weren’t entirely sure what to do with him.” The younger man answered, turning and starting his way out of the office with Jacob close on his heels.
“No one’s questioned him? Has he, at least, been booked?” Jacob could feel his frown growing, as well as the itch for another cigarette. He hadn’t had nearly enough time with his last one.
“Booked: yes, questioned: no.” Ahead of Jacob, the officer shook his head and glanced back over his shoulder.
“Well, why not?” Jacob demanded, feeling his frown grow into a scowl.
“We can’t talk to him, Sir. He doesn’t speak english. We have him in the books under John Doe.”
Impatience won as he followed along, his fingers tapping tightly against the folder he carried, “Fine. I want the room cleared when I go in there, but for two men at the door.”
“Aye, sir,” Was the answer from the young officer, and then came silence as he led Jacob Williams through the building toward the holding cells.
Jacob waited outside while others within were shifted about, placed into different cells to get Williams the clear room he had demanded. When he went in it was just him, two guards by the door, and a man wearing a suit of armor that looked like it belonged best in a stage production of ancient roman life. Inspector Williams felt his eyes narrow at the sight, watching the Roman man as the Roman man watched him.
It was all there. From the tattoo above the left eye, to the manner of dress. The height was wrong, the build was wrong, but those details could have been fuzzied by any number of things.
The Surveyor stood when Williams entered, and for a long and careful moment it was silence that took over the holding cell. Williams was smaller than he was, his strange suit doing very little to hide the lack of true muscle. He’d have smirked if his head wasn’t killing him so much. He wavered, then sunk back down to the bench he had been sitting on, watching while Williams opened the file he carried.
A small piece of paper was drawn out, an image that had been hand-drawn, sketched months ago when the trail was still fresh, and orders hadn’t existed to quiet the case.
There was a row of bars between him and the man in the odd Roman dress. Williams knew well enough to stand back as far as he could from those bars, but just this once he allowed himself to get closer. The image was held out, and he stated slowly, “Do you know this woman?”
The Surveyor titled his head, trying to fight off the blurriness of vision that threatened to encroach from the corners of his eyes as a small slip of something was brought free from the thing that Williams held.
The moment he saw the image his aching head was forgotten about. He was up, rushing for the bars with a hand shooting out through them toward Williams who took a quick and reflexive step back, his arm snapping back toward him in the process.
The Surveyor hadn’t understood a single thing that Williams had said, but he knew the image. He knew it well, and the words that came from him filled the little holding area with the boom of his deep voice, “Where is she!?”
It was a strange language that Jacob and guards heard rip through the holding cell. But he didn’t need words for this confirmation. His answer was in the way the strangely dressed man reached, trying to pry the bars with one hand while struggling to stretch his other arm further through them as if it would help him close the distance.
The image was slipped away, and Jacob turned toward the door. He was out of it in moments while that strange language boomed again from behind: ”Where is she?!
It was back to his office Inspector Williams would go. The orders given that under no circumstances was this John Doe to be released. He had to make a few calls. He needed to talk to someone higher up, and a drink. Cigarettes weren’t going to make this one any better.