My goal was to have an ordinary man solving murders by instinct, intellect, and creativity.
Someone like my favourite TV cop, Columbo.
So why did he turn out like Rambo?
Imagine a sleuth kicking in the doors of a village tearoom and hauling a suspect away from his cream tea.
Okay, he wasn’t that extreme, but my sleuth needed to look after himself, especially when confronting the bad guys. A former career in the army felt like a solid choice. Fit, healthy, disciplined and courageous.
But somewhere between the notebook and the computer, I lost my way.
It’s always a risk when your characters evolve with the story.
Despondent and not sure how to rein in my sleuth, I reviewed my notes and chapters, searching for opportunities to tone him down. But with this image of his former life as a paratrooper in my head, I struggled.
If I made him a college professor and gave him a black belt in karate, he could fight off attackers while delivering a lecture in criminal psychology.
Then one morning, during a food hygiene inspection in an old, cramped kitchen, I solved a tricky problem that could have led to contamination and food poisoning.
“You’ve saved my bacon,” the delighted chef said. “Do you investigate many difficult cases in your job?”
While I drove across my district, I pondered the idea of murder. It seemed strangely at odds with the peaceful, almost idyllic setting of a South Downs village.
Where could I hide a body?
Among the brambles in a small wooded copse? Or somewhere more difficult to find, like a hidden tunnel in the chalk, once used by smugglers?
The chef’s words struck me like a hammer blow. I almost veered off the road.
I sat in my car, staring at the peaceful hills, wondering whether someone like me would make a good sleuth.
I couldn’t remember coming across a sleuth who was an environmental health officer.
Let’s be honest, you wouldn’t pop down to your local town hall to report a murder to environmental health.
But I’d investigated fatal work accidents and complex food poisoning outbreaks. I spotted things people often missed or overlooked.
Whether they were complainants or suspects being interviewed under caution, I learned to observe them and look for clues that they were hiding something. Bullies, frauds, and aggressive people were all part of the job.
But best of all, I’d learned to work with people, to help them improve. I listened to them, understanding their troubles and frustrations, treating them fairly while upholding standards.
Sometimes they thought of me as a friend, revealing details about other businesses.
Perhaps I already had the qualities a good sleuth needed.
Perhaps I’d spent my life being the person I was looking for.