Dark Side of Dr Somers

By Tom West

People imagine that the authors imagination is invariably at work, as he is perpetually inventing an illimitable supply of occurrences and episodes as he dreams up narratives, pulling conceptions from thin air. Genuinely, the antithesis is true once the public kens that the obnubilate force of art within brings characters and their lives to the author. And with that, I will leave you to read this dark comedy of action, deception, malefaction, murder, and romance as it all came to me through my imagination from local people, through their thoughts and input, to develop a thoroughly enjoyable reading experience as you venture further into the crisp white pages of ones novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524678852

Tom West

Tom West is the pseudonym for the internationally bestselling author of nine novels. Private Down Under, which he co-wrote with James Patterson under the name Michael White, is the latest in the Private series. Tom West lives in Perth, Australia.

Book preview

Prologue

P eople imagine that the author’s imagination is invariably at work as he is perpetually inventing an illimitable supply of occurrences and episodes as he dreams up narratives, pulling conceptions from thin air. Genuinely, the antithesis is true once the public kens that the obnubilate force of art within brings characters and their lives to the author. And with that, I will leave you to read this dark comedy of action, deception, malefaction, murder, and romance as it all came to me Through my imagination From local people Through their thoughts and input To develop a thoroughly enjoyable Reading experience As you venture further into the Crisp white pages Of One’s novel.

Chapter 1

R emaining firm in the dark shadow veil of the Manor House doorway, dressed in an Unobtrusive gray parcel distribution uniform stood a solitary figure, revealed infrequently by a ray of sunshine breaking through the dense clouds. The Shadow, with long hair, stood under the stone archway porch endeavoring its best to surreptitiously enter the front door of the Manor House. Criminalise Struggling, With a quiet Aggressive, low toned rumbling voice. This shadow speaks Quietly,

This blasted key does not correspond! Getting irritated With every fleeting second. As the key jiggles in the lock

The shadow heedfully aurally perceived punctiliously to the lock tumblers, and auricularly discerning that one or two remained caught, kenned that this key was not working. Utilizing more force, falling upon the key hard with the handle of A heavy screwdriver, making the pins inside that door lock barrel jump. Endeavored again and once more. The Yale lock determinately gave way as the brass pins abruptly lined up. Click! After one last twist of the key, the lock was now this devilish shadow opened with facileness Ingress coerced illicit ingress. No scratches or visual damage to the lock to alert anybody of tampering.

Expeditiously pulling out his iPhone for the crack alarm code number exhibited in his phone’s photograph library in the form of a photo-edited image.

An expeditious glance he studied this image, from an untrained ocular perceived, would seem to be a few coloured dots, not unlike a colour-blind code test. Albeit he had memorized the code forehand, 762*4, double checking the image gave him confidence, kenning that he will barely have one chance at cracking this modern high-tech alarm interface, to thoroughly bypass the biometric perception system in one step, all this will only be possible by kenning the code.

Taking a deep breath, he gave the door a marginal push. Now on the clock as anon, as the door opened, time was ticking. The first thing he did was to roll out a sizable rubber mat on the floor inside the mansion. Expeditiously he rubbed any residue of dactylograms from both sides of the door handles as he silently shut the solid oak door abaft him. First off, he described that the alarm box was not by the ingression as described in the race notes. He pulled on the elasticated leather overshoes and wiggled his fingers into the right-hand latex rubber glove and approached the alarm console with a few expeditious strides down the hallway, decrying that it was not by the ingression as described in the race notes. Expeditiously, flicking open the plastic cover with his forefinger, he optically discerned the key code keypad all lit up. No time to languish as the L.E.D. Commenced to flash on the alarm console, admonishing him that this alarm was about to trip, setting off all the sirens. He punched 762*4 and immediately the alarm console L.E.D lights turn off. That was too proximate for comfort, he celebrated, taking a few deep breaths afore he commenced his work.

Foremost, he returned to the door, and crouching down to his knees, rolling up his rubber matt, ascertaining that he caught any debris, abstracting any chance of leaving identifiable footprints near the ingression. Taking the other glove out of his pocket, he expeditiously pulled it on his left hand. He stood silently, heedfully auricularly discerning for any kineticism afore he perpetuated. He smoothly turned and went down on his haunches moving, on all fours, like a spider, quiet and smooth, ascertaining he didn’t throw up any shadows against the stained glass windows at the cessation of the hallway.

He moved down the corridor, toward the first room on the left, the drawing room. Next, expeditiously, like a marauding spider, he crawled over the highly polished slabs of white marble with his mouth wide open to avail conceal the sound of his heftily ponderous breathing. He entered the drawing-room door and crept onto the carpet balancing on his fingertips and toes. After looking around the corner, scanning the room at the ankle, he assured himself that there was no one in the room. Anon he was standing upright tight against the wall. Feeling all the sinews and muscles in his body, he reposed for a brief moment, concealed in the shadows in the drawing room

Pocket, which he purchased from an antique furniture store last year. He then zipped up the overalls to obviate any fibres from the jacket from falling onto the carpet. The key consummated the first turn, opening the draw lock smoothly. On a stack of papers, he found the document he was probing for concerning the Goya painting. Kneeling down to get hold of the rucksack off his back, he pulled out the counterfeit parchment Document of Authenticity. He abstracted the pristine documents and slid the fictitious unauthentic paper in.Gently does it. Rolling the frangible pristine up meticulously, he slid it into the thin cardboard tube and expeditiously placed it in his rucksack.

Now it was time for the genuine painting. He checked the drawer, ascertaining that everything was in its place. He then made his way over toward the fireplace, punctiliously ascertaining that his footprints didn’t show in the thick wool commix affluent burgundy carpet. That is facile enough, he mentally conceived. After each step, he smoothed the carpet pile as much as he could. His overshoes were designed in his orchestration to avail cover the pattern from the sole of his boots. He moved toward the fireplace now and anon stood right in front of the magnificent Goya painting.

The man in the portrait looked over his shoulder. He wore a military uniform with a gold braid lanyard over his shoulder. That is the ace! Again, he took his rucksack off his back and placed it on the hearth. This is what I am after! This 18th-century painting was astonishingly full of colour. The ocular perceivers of the man seemed to stare down at him, optically canvassing his every move. Eerie. He kneeled down in front of the master, under his cold perforating ocular perceivers glaring down at him from the painting. Opening up his rucksack once more, he prepared for the surgical operation, pulling out a sizable voluminous cardboard tube that would impeccably accommodate the size of the masterpiece.

Next, he vacated the leather contents of the cardboard tube onto the carpet and rolled out a section of pigskin leather. Standing up, he looked around the side of the painting with his little telescope mirror, which he retrieved from his very pigskin leather implement role that his wife gave him last Christmas. Bless her cotton socks, he mentally conceived. With his Mirror and torch, he exhaustively checked for any alarm wires connected to the back of the painting. Nothing there. This invaluable painting was simply hung by a picture wire on the hawk over the picture rail. Gently putting the implements away, he placed his mirror and torch back into the implement roll bag and stood up. With one expeditious sweep of his arm underneath the painting on the wall, he verified that there was not anything he may have missed.

He firmly grasped the cumbersomely hefty picture frame and gently hoisted it off its hook. He could feel his heartbeat as he determinately had the painting in his hands. He gently placed the painting face down on the leather mat and commenced with his scalpel to disunite the senescent brown paper from the frame, taking care not to cut the paper. The Goya was abstracted from its frame after he meticulously abstracted the nails from the back. Anon the painting was free and he set to work meticulously abstracting the top and bottom antique stretch bars from the old canvas. Then he prepared the next wooden stretch frame that he made for this comely painting only last week out of a timeworn wooden wine crate where the old wood was aged opportunely. He then brought out a second cardboard tube and, evacuating the contents, rolled out a freshly painted canvas, painted by Wolfgang only three months ago for his personal commission. Utilising rusty handmade carpet tacks to hold the canvas to its prepared frame, he stretched the canvas like an old drum skin. The pristine was an on superseded with an artistic fake. A great job. Impeccable.

Charlie abstracted the two top stretcher bars from the pristine painting and rolled the canvas up in a soft leather pigskin mat and placed it snugly and safely in the cardboard tube. He packed up everything and then took an expeditious look around the room to ascertain that nothing looked perturbed as if he had never been there. He went down quietly to one’s knees again and crawled, a spider once again, across the highly polished marble floor and toward the alarm code box. He expeditiously and serenely reset the alarm and was an on strolling toward the door and his delusion route. Peering through the spy aperture in the thick door, he ascertained that everything was pellucid. Opening the door smoothly and stepping outside, He abstracted the silicon gloves, with his back towards the road, and stuffed them safely away in his pocket.

Within seconds, after locking the door behind, he placidly ambulated down the driveway in the shadows and toward his mountain bike, which had been snagged in some thick bushes, out of visual perception. Cycling out the garden and out of the gates down the road, he coalesced into the environment like a chameleon, unnoticed. He was gratified with himself and relished the cycle ride additionally. The whole manoeuvre only took 45 minutes. It was five miles to his destination. Within 25 minutes he arrived at his destination, a farmer’s field on the outskirts of the town.

Cycling up to the edge of the road, he picked up the mountain bike to avert any dirt tracks in the soft mud on the approach to the gate. He hoisted the bike over the gate, jumped over and carried it on his shoulder into the field and toward his concealed second getaway Vehicle, which he had left only a few hours ago. He pulled off the camouflage netting punctiliously, folded the mountain bike up, and then slipped it into the back of his microlight aeroplane along with the rucksack. He then commenced to push the aircraft out into the open field and started the engine. It originated with the first turn of the key and within seconds he was advancing into the middle of the field, getting his assist furthermore suddenly, jubilantly, taking off. Up, up and away! A fantastic view offered itself up to him as he took off in the firmament. The empyrean was pellucid as he expedited and climbed toward the heavens to 500 feet. His destination: a favourite golf course in St. Andrews 100 miles away.

The scenery was breath-taking, all the more comely since he kenned that he had gotten his prize in his rucksack, worth approximately 1.5 million. Plus he was right on target time wise. Just in time for securing the alibi, the last few imaginary apertures on the golf course, he mentally conceived as he brought the microlight down in his private and secluded airstrip. The landing went impeccably. As he prepared to get out of the aircraft, Glenn, his good friend, was waiting for him.

Hello, Glenn, he verbalised, throwing a smile and a wave from the cockpit. Glenn came running over to the microlight as a significant partner in crime rolled it to a cessation.

Chapter 2