Malice in London (21 page)
When he had finished the call, he rushed over to Jill. He knelt down beside her, put down the pistol, and ripped the tape from her face.
“Ouch!” she said.
“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.
She nodded vigorously, her eyes frightened. “Is he …?”
He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. He knows the game’s over. I expect he’s a mile away by now. In a few
minutes, the place will be swarming with police.” He stood up. “Here,” he said, bending over to grasp the back of the chair with both hands, “let’s get you the right way up so I can untie you.” He manhandled the chair into an upright position, then, breathing heavily, leaned on it for a few seconds to support himself. Jill looked at him, concern in her eyes. “Are
you
all right?”
He nodded. “Just a knock on the head, that’s all. I’ll be fine. Let’s get your hands untied.” He was working away at the knots, trying to will his head to stop pounding, when he felt Jill stiffen.
“What’s that?” she whispered.
He froze. He could hear the faint, unmistakable click of a key turning in a lock. Before he could react, the door burst open and there stood Atherton, eyes wild and white shirt stained with blood, brandishing a gleaming sword.
Powell had no time to think things through. He just knew that he had to draw Atherton away from Jill. He lunged for the French windows, taking it on faith that they must lead somewhere and trying not to think about the drop to the pavement below. Fortunately, the windows were unlocked. As he burst through, he found himself on one of the iron walkways that spanned Shad Thames. He could hear Atherton close behind him, and he could only hope that there was a way out at the other end.
He was about halfway across when he felt a sudden searing pain in his right thigh. He crumpled to his knees, nearly fainting as the sword was wrenched from Atherton’s grasp. Eyes streaming with tears, he reached around and pulled out the blade, cutting his hand in the
process. It clattered to the iron grating as his pursuer was upon him.
He had no idea where he found the strength, but with a last frantic effort, he managed to roll over on top, grasping Atherton’s hair with his injured hand, fingers slippery with blood. He pulled Atherton’s head up, then smashed it down on the grating. He wasn’t able to apply much force, so, with ghastly determination, he had to do it again and again. He didn’t stop until Atherton’s body went limp beneath him.
He felt for the handle of the sword and pushed it over the edge. A second later, it landed with a metallic clanging on the cobbles below. He struggled to get to his knees, gasping for breath, and called out to Jill in a hoarse voice to let her know that he was all right. Then, grasping the low railing with both hands, he pulled himself to his feet, grunting with the pain. Supporting his weight on the railing, he hobbled slowly back to Atherton’s study.
Powell’s recollection of the next few days in hospital tended to be episodic—that is, he remembered certain moments with vivid clarity, while much of it remained a blur. They said he’d lost a lot of blood, and he supposed they were giving him something for the pain, which might explain his memory lapses. He was, however, constantly aware of the backdrop of antiseptic smells, starched nurses, and prodding doctors.
He remembered Jill’s visit the next morning on the way to Heathrow, her pale face anxious, feeling guilty about leaving. He told her that he was the one who was responsible for nearly getting them both killed. If only he’d twigged a little sooner. He could still see her smile. “Well, you got there in the end,” she said. She was looking forward to settling down to a quiet life at university in Toronto, and she promised she would write. The next minute she was gone … or perhaps he had drifted off. Then Black and Evans bending over him, offering authoritative medical opinions and chiding him
for lying about in bed while crime ran rampant. And a potted plant from his colleagues, which he would undoubtedly manage to kill, and a treacly get well card.
He couldn’t remember which day it was that he awoke to find Marion sitting beside his bed, holding his hand. At first he thought he must be dreaming. “I came as quickly as I could.” He smiled and squeezed her hand. “You’re getting too old for this,” she said. Didn’t I tell you it’s a dog’s life? At some point, he became aware that it was Marion who had tried to reach him at Atherton’s that night just because she wanted to talk. Thanks, old girl, I’ll tell you about it someday. He looked into her eyes, seeing the depth of her concern. “Have you been home yet, love?” She nodded, and he suddenly felt apprehensive.
“I can explain about the garden,” he said.
A CONVERSATION WITH
GRAHAM THOMAS
Q: Graham, who (or what) was the inspiration for your series hero, Detective-Chief Superintendent Erskine Powell of New Scotland Yard?
A: Powell is undoubtedly an amalgam of various influences and experiences, both literary and personal. It became apparent when I started writing
Malice in the Highlands
, the first book in the series, that he already existed somewhere in my creative unconscious. The experience is rather like writing about someone I know intimately, as opposed to consciously constructing a fictional character.
Q: Let’s talk briefly about your pre-Powell life. Would you give us a thumbnail biography of yourself?
A: From the moment I picked up a copy of J. P. Donleavy’s
The Ginger Man
as an impressionable youth, I knew I wanted to be a writer. I majored in English literature at university, then switched to biology when I realized that I might have to get a job someday. For the past twenty-five years, I’ve worked as a professional biologist in the field of fisheries management.
Q: When you introduced Erskine Powell in
Malice in the Highlands,
did you envision a series? Or was Highlands originally a stand-alone novel?
A: I always envisioned a series. There are the practical considerations, of course, but from a creative point of
view, much of the enjoyment I derive from writing mysteries is the opportunity to continually develop and reveal my hero’s character, to test him in new situations. You can’t do this in a one-off novel. Also, I think most mystery readers appreciate continuity. It’s like cheering on the home team—although every game is different, the star player never lets you down.
Q: Clearly you are not (and never have been, have you?) a Scotland Yard detective; but that aside, how much of Erskine Powell is based on your own experience? Or to ask another way: In what ways is your protagonist similar to—and completely unlike—his creator?
A: Short of signing up for a course of psychoanalysis, I’m not sure how I should answer that! Powell is better-educated, better-looking, and more intuitive than I am. However, like his creator, he is, beneath a somewhat cynical veneer, a romantic at heart. More revealing, perhaps, is the fact that we’re both addicted to curry.
Q: What about background research—how vital is that for you?
A: Getting the details right is very important to me. Put it down to my scientific training. Having said that, I am willing to sacrifice verisimilitude, where necessary, to further the story. An example: In my books, Powell is a member of the Yard’s Murder Squad, an organization which no longer exists. At one time, senior Scotland Yard detectives were called in by local police forces to investigate difficult or high-profile murder cases, but
this is no longer the case. It is, nonetheless, a useful fictional device which enables me to set my stories in a variety of interesting and atmospheric locales such as the Scottish Highlands, the north coast of Cornwall, and the North York Moors. I typically spend more time doing background research for a book and thinking about the story in a fairly unstructured way than actually writing.
Q: Your novels unfold in actual locales, although you sometimes invent town names. What advantages and disadvantages have you discovered with this approach?
A: A vivid sense of place and setting is (I hope) a key element of my novels. In order to strike a balance between realism and literary license, I generally set my stories in a fictional village, which I locate—using plausible, but not overly precise, geographic reference points—near a real town. For example,
Malice in Cornwall
features the imaginary village of Penrick near St. Ives. Similarly,
Malice on the Moors
is set in and around the fictional hamlet of Brackendale, near the town of Kirkbymoorside in North Yorkshire. This approach enables me to realistically describe an actual locale yet allows me to take liberties for plot purposes. And I don’t have to worry about somebody who was born and raised in my village taking me to task for getting some detail wrong. The disadvantage? The risk of not pulling if off.
Q: You chose a pseudonym for your novels. What was the thinking behind that?
A: Being a writer with a day job, I basically have a split
personality. A pseudonym seemed the logical expression of this. And it has the added advantage of insulating one from excessive public adulation or derision. (I like to hedge my bets!)
Q: What’s the game plan for you—and Erskine Powell—after
Malice in London?
A: Erskine and I have a number of ideas, including a story set in America. But the truth is, he and I never know where the next murder most foul will take us.
If you enjoyed
this Erskine Powell mystery
,
don’t miss his earlier adventures!
THE HIGHLANDS
On holiday from his job as Detective-Chief Superintendent of New Scotland Yard, Erskine Powell embarks on a salmon-fishing competition in the Scottish Highlands. But when a cold-blooded murderer surfaces in the castle-dotted countryside along the picturesque River Spey, the quiet anglers’ paradise becomes just as deadly as the mean streets of London.
MALICE IN
THE HIGHLANDS
by
GRAHAM THOMAS
Published by Ivy Books.
Available at your local bookstore.
CORNWALL
On the north coast of Cornwall, residents in the quaint seaside town of Penrick report an eerie, glowing apparition that rides the surf at night. Detective-Chief Superintendent Powell soon learns that a murdered teenager’s body had washed up on Penrick Sands—precisely where the apparition now appears—thirty years ago. In his investigation, Powell faces two strangely intertwined puzzles and a double-edged sword of menace.
MALICE IN CORNWALL
by
GRAHAM THOMAS
Published by Ivy Books.
Available at your local bookstore.
MOORS
On a remote, fog-enshrouded estate in the North York Moors, a murderer lays a cunning trap for greedy landowner Dickie Dinsdale. Easily a dozen residents of Blackamoor would derive pleasure from Dinsdale’s slow, painful death. But, Detective-Chief Superintendent Erskine Powell asks himself, which of them is bold enough to do the deed? Suspects are as thick as grouse in summer, and bringing down a killer on the wing is very tricky—even for a pro like Erskine Powell.
MALICE ON THE MOORS
by
GRAHAM THOMAS
Published by Ivy Books.
Available at your local bookstore.
