Head Shot, the twelfth novel in the Bob Skinner series, may come to be seen as the beginning of a new and not altogether tranquil chapter in the life of the principal character and of those around him. Coming after the resolution of an informal trilogy built around the lives of Neil McIlhenney and Andy Martin, the two strongest supporting characters, the book focuses directly on DCC Skinner himself, on his Sarah his wife, and on two other members of the team, Mario McGuire and Maggie Rose. As usual there are several interwoven story lines. In Edinburgh, Rose is involved in an investigation which looks like an ingenious life insurance scam, while McGuire finds business interests and police duties creating potential conflict. While these events unwind, Skinner himself is in America at the scene of the sudden and brutal deaths of his parents-in-law, representing his wife, and, of course, involving himself in the investigation of their deaths, which sets him, and an FBI friend, on a very complicated journey into the past.
The marketeers and publicists seem to have established 'noir' as the buzz word in my genre, but to me it's the most natural description there can be. It's all-embracing. All crime is dark; even a simple burglary disrupts the lives of its victims, shakes their self-confidence and leaves them with a feeling that a form of violence by proxy has been committed against them. If the crimes which my men and women investigate are to be real to the reader, then the feelings and the reactions of the victims and survivors are of paramount importance, and I always try to explore these to the full. That's a principle I adopted unconsciously at first, but as the Skinner series has developed it's defined itself in my mind.
I'm often asked about influences, but I'm honestly not aware that I've ever had any. In fact, for some years I made a point of not reading crime fiction to ensure that I did not absorb or assimilate other people's good or bad habits. Now I feel that my own style is sufficiently established for me to take the odd risk. When I do my tastes are contemporary. Looking at my bookcase right now, I can see the work of Ian Rankin, Val McDermid, Kathy Reichs, James Ellroy, Michael Connelly and Robert Crais, plus a couple of quirky players, Carl Hiaasen and Kinky Friedman, both of whom would fit as easily into a bookstore's humour section as its crime shelves. I tend not to venture off-genre too much, but when I do come out into the light, like everyone else in the multiverse, I turn to Terry Pratchett, sparing some time for the equally talented but under appreciated Robert Rankin. I also relax with movies and music, but they don't inform my work. If Bob Skinner had favourite performers they'd probably be Van Morrison, Stacey Kent, Tom Waits, Bruce Springsteen, Steely Dan and Counting Crows, but he's too serious a guy to dwell on them, so they don't figure in his stories.
I don't have conventional religious beliefs, but if I did, I'd probably say that crime writers are a bit like God; we all move in mysterious ways, our wonders to perform. We all have our own styles and our own working methods. Mine involves going to a warm place, locking myself away for a few hours. I work Spanish routine -- morning, siesta, evening -- business-style with room for a social life, switching on my PC and seeing what appears on the screen. Sometimes a location will pop up first, sometimes a clearly defined plot line, sometimes no more than a word or two. In the extreme case of my scheduled December publication, Poisoned Cherries, the sixth in my Oz Blackstone series, I wrote the title first and made the book fit around it. Once I'm under way, the journey picks up pace. Things may change along the way. When I started Head Shot for example, I had Bob Skinner on a plane on his way to a drugs conference in Kuala Lumpur, until I realised that I had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. At that point I killed his in-laws and diverted him to New York.
The only thing I try to avoid like the plague is formula. I've seen violence described as a vexed issue, but I've never understood why it should be so. As a crime writer I help feed a voracious market, and, in my experience, mature readers understand that every crime involves violence, be it physical or psychological, so they will deal with it when it arises necessarily in a story. It's the same with sex; it's a part of life, so where it occurs naturally in a story, go for it. When it comes to taboos in general, I have a simple philosophy. There are three things that I believe should never be discussed in pubs: sex, violence and politics. But they have to find an outlet somewhere, so why not in my books?
Over the last few months I've been trying to think of a crime series where location is not important. I've failed, but I still don't know why this should be. Where the lead characters are police officers, there has to be a structure, a base, even if it's fictional, like the 87th Precinct. But what about a private eye series, why shouldn't they be peripatetic? No good reason, but they ain't. My own alternative detective Oz Blackstone set out to break that mould, but he hasn't managed it. As his peculiar career has developed, even he is finding himself tied down to two basic locations, Spain and Central Scotland. Taking Skinner to the USA in Head Shot was an adventure, but not one that can be sustained. And even if it could, I don't think I'd want to do that. The Skinner books are based in Edinburgh because it's my favourite city; I've spent most of my adult life in and around it, and it retains top spot in my affections even against the compelling charms of Barcelona, the mugging capital of Europe. Edinburgh's secret is that it has so many places that can exude dark or light depending on how you look at them; I don't know any other place that can do that.
I've been a few things in my life, but the job I have right now is far and away the most privileged of them all. Since I wrote 'The End' -- the two magic words -- after my first completed novel thirteen years ago, I've had nothing but unabashed working enjoyment. There isn't a single part of it that I don't enjoy. I have an author-friendly publisher. I don't mind the marketing side of it, the treadmill of promotion. I've been lucky enough to work with four of the best editors in the business: Peter Lavery, who bought the first Skinners, Bill Massey, now transplanted to New York, Marion Donaldson, ascending the Headline ladder, and Martin Fletcher, the new guy on the block. To my mind, there's one thing that all writers should realise. The job of an editor is to make you better. If you can't handle that, then find a new occupation. Most recently, my working life has been brightened by the birth of a new agency relationship. After several years with Felicity Bryan, who has my undying gratitude, I moved this year into the camp of the Bell-Lomax Agency, where Eddie and Pat have given me a fresh slant on what I do.
But just what do I do? If that seems like a daft question, I promise it makes sense to me. I tried for years to work out why people buy my books, and what the particular lure of Skinner's people might be. Again, location is important. There's no point in even trying to count the number of people who've said to me that they read me because they like to recognise places they know. It used to irk me, but now I value it, because it's the hook that brings them into the series. But what keeps them coming back? Edinburgh's not that big a place. The answer, which is rather obvious once you've got it, came to me one night as I watched Eastenders; Skinner is soap opera, pure and simple. It has a big cast, one that is continually refreshed, and the depth of the series allows the reader to become involved with the players on a personal as well as a professional level. With two exceptions, all the main characters now have pretty well developed curricula vitae and their share or personal strengths and weaknesses. Funnily enough, the two whose life stories are least developed are Skinner himself and Sarah, his wife, but that will be remedied very soon.
With my next two books delivered, I've had time to draw breath and go back to my desk-top. There I've taken a look at one of my pre-Skinner efforts, a story that's been lying around for fifteen years. It's moved from the 'pending' to the 'active' tray, and is on its way to completion. Hopefully it will be the next challenge for Eddie and Pat. At the time of writing I'm just about to board the treadmill with the launch of Head Shot, that should keep me busy for a while, until I have to turn my attention of the publication of Poisoned Cherries, the sixth Oz Blackstone story. My second series began life as a cross between a challenge to myself and a bit of light relief. It's come a way since then, and, although it's still overshadowed by Skinner, it's gaining authority, and the reader feedback is certainly growing.
Got to go now. Something called The Father-in-Law from Hell is demanding my attention.
Titles
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