I crouch down and strike a match, careful to keep it from the view of the window, and I make sure I’m not stepping in a blood puddle. The tiny flame shines on the face, on the spectacles, adding life where there ain’t none.
........Suddenly I’m back in a dark room, strapped into a chair, my arms stretched out, my legs apart, my head and throat strapped down.
........I blink away the memory.
........It comes back.
........A man steps into the light of a buzzing lamp. The light is behind him. He’s a black shadow with a yellow halo. I can’t quite see him. Additional light is set up for him. I catch a gleam of glasses; they turn his eyes into brilliant white discs. He’s got a moustache, a square little moustache, right under his nose, half the width of his mouth. He’s signalling to someone beside him. Hands grip my jaw. I try to crunch my l-pill, but they catch me and pry open my mouth, scooping inside with dirty fingers. I cough and I swallow it instead. It won’t work if I can’t crush it and release the poison! Down it goes - my only escape from what’s coming next. Fingers and a metal shim part my clenched teeth.
........I do know this face.
........No matter how hard I try to shake it off, I can’t. It’s him! It’s him!
........My legs are quivering, and if I stick around much longer, I’ll be jogging on the spot.
........Over and over, I hear myself screaming - It’s him! It’s him!
........I hightail it out of there, down the stairs, toward the back step and out through the door, and I collide shoulder to shoulder with a man in uniform.
........I don’t stick around to introduce myself. Three steps behind me, I hear “Stop!” and I know the cock of a gun is next. I launch myself into open air.

What possesses a man to become a private eye, if he can’t talk? And what makes him think he can turn the tide of the war, if he hasn’t got a tongue?

Mummer’s the Word is the first in a groundbreaking new mystery series that redefines the private eye and the super spy.
........Life is bad enough for private eye John “Mummer” Stillman. Twenty-two years old and already a veteran, Mummer is sent back to Canada in 1944 with an empty mouth and belly full of secrets. Even if he still had his tongue, he could never tell anyone about his Camp X Training or his secret missions with the British SOE in France and Belgium. And without a tongue, how can he expect to do business? How can he tell the love of his life how he feels, especially when it’s already too late? Everything is crumbling apart. Then in one night, the scraps of his young life come unra-velled when he’s framed for treason, and for the murder of a man he’d never thought he’d see again: the Nazi doctor who ripped out his tongue.
“You have a wonderful voice and nothing to say.”
........This is what my English Narrative Professor Garson said, in response to what I thought had been a brilliant piece of narrative. Those few and simple words forever changed the way I wrote - and why. Little did Prof Garson know that her words would propel me into so many new adventures.
........To write better crime fiction, I studied criminology and the human mind, graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology. To support myself through school and to further feed my craving for things to say, I worked security in the forensics department of a local mental health facility, and then joined the Canadian Armed Forces, Reserves, Infantry.
........And then, a few years ago, while working in a call centre, I discovered it was getting harder and harder to talk. Because of an untended injury, the tissues in the joint of my jaw were seizing together with scar tissue, making it impossible to open my mouth. I adapted to silence. Surgery eventually corrected the problem, but what lingered was that frustration of being unable to keep up in a conversation, or to shoot out those fantastic one-liners that kept popping into my head. A few years later, I moved to Montreal in order to learn French. Within a handful of months, I realized I could understand every word, but I just couldn’t reply. Once again, I seethed with frustration.
........All those ingredients - psychology, criminology, the military, being healthy and sound of mind but unable to express myself - all were set to a low boil in my mind until one night, while trying to sleep, suddenly the idea came to me: a private eye who has no tongue. One thing led to another, and Mummer was born.