At the beginning of your third novel, If We Were Guilty, you say, ‘Paul Durston says that the biggest hindrance to writing crime fiction is thirty years’ service with The Metropolitan Police.’ How can that possibly be?

It’s like I know too much. When first on scene at some of these nasty incidents, all you can do is your best to bring some order to the chaos. That’s where the procedures come in. You follow them and things start to work themselves out. But I’m not sure that reading through procedure after procedure is really what crime fiction readers want. They want story. They want tension and suspense. Getting the detail right works against all that. So I have to work hard at deciding what detail to focus on and what to leave in the background whilst, at the same time, maintaining an authentic police setting.

Does it annoy you when other crime fiction authors get the procedures wrong?

Not really. When I was a junior PC, I was forever being bollocked by my sergeants for getting the procedures wrong. Now, as a crime fiction writer, I can get the procedures wrong without having to suffer the intense humiliation that comes with some crusty ol’ skipper taking time out from picking his arse to give me a bollocking.

What does annoy me is when authors get the culture wrong. For example, if I see uniform officers portrayed as a bunch of clueless bumbling numpties but, hey, it’s okay, here comes a detective riding in on a white horse so everything’s gonna be alright, the book gets WPB’d.

WPB?

Waste Paper Basket.

Were you a detective?

No. I was uniform – emergency response. I never got to do all the exciting stuff that detectives do – like sifting through reams of statements searching for inconsistencies, preparing case papers, maintaining inventories of court exhibits, interviewing suspects for hours when their response to every question is, “No comment.” No, I had to do all the boring stuff – you know, jumping in and out of fast cars, 999 calls, first on scene, radios, roger-dodger, kicking doors in, chasing suspects, “You’re nicked, get in the ‘kin van.” Yeah, I had to do all the boring stuff.

Why are detectives so revered in crime fiction?

Because crime fiction revolves round a serious crime or a series of serious crimes. Detectives have the investigative training and experience for that. If it were traffic fiction, the protagonist would be a traffic cop – heaven forbid. “We’ll come to the dead body in the boot in a minute. Now, what about this defective brake light?”

You don’t like traffic cops?

The most difficult, taxing, traumatic incidents at which I’ve been first on scene were Road Traffic Accidents. I’m showing my age there. They’re called Collisions now. Serious ones – absolute nightmare. When the traffic cops turns up, kick down the stands of their motorbikes and take off their gloves – everything’s suddenly alright.

There’s nothing but respect between the different police disciplines. Of course, there’s the banter and the rib-tickling but each of us gives as good as we get.

Moving onto Charlie Quinlan, will she become a detective?

No. Investigations are not her scene. A long drawn out investigation would drive her nuts. I’m thinking she might specialise – maybe a dog handler. Trouble is, not only do I know nothing about the specialism of dog handling but I’m also allergic to dogs – they make me sneeze. I do think Floella would benefit from having a close relationship with a dog – help her come out of herself – maybe grow up.

Floella? One of Charlie’s alters?

Sort of. Must remember that Charlie’s an alter too. There are five of them – the quins. Floella’s the stroppy teenager. I think developing a relationship with a dog would help settle her down.

Tell us about the other… quins.

There’s Charlie who you see most of the time. She’s the cop – what we’d call a thief-taker. Then there’s Lottie who talks like Lady Catherine de Bourgh from Pride and Prejudice. Floella who I’ve just mentioned. Then Jemima who’s more concerned about those around her than she is about herself. Finally there’s Gillian who’s a simpering ninny.

This condition, DID, how did you come up with your way of portraying it?

Dissociative Identity Disorder (used to be called Multiple Personality Disorder). I’m not going to get into a dispute over the different ways other writers, TV/Film producers, documentaries have tackled it. Suffice it to say, I wanted a way which I could understand and relate to and so I chose the theatre setting. The alter who’s on the spot has control of the body or is in charge if you will. Back from the spot are different levels of awareness – on the stage alters will have input from all the senses but unable to take any action. In the wings, alters know what’s going on but it’s all hazy and blurred. In the dressing rooms, no idea what’s going on at all.

I’m not sure my psychiatrist agrees with my… sorry, let me rephrase that. I’m not sure my friend who is a psychiatrist, agrees with my portrayal but he does say that those in the psychiatric / psychological world are at odds over this condition, half supporting, half critical.

I’m not trying to change the world. I’ve just written a story in a way which I hope readers will find entertaining and enjoyable.

Tell us about Charlie’s colleagues.

Charlie’s best mate is Kathy Bond who’s older and taught Charlie the three rules for managing the male-dominated environment of policing. Then there’s Lavender with his garlic breath and flowery language who’s forever telling stories starting with, “You won’t friggin’ believe this…” while all his listeners are thinking… he’s right! Then there’s Charlie’s sergeant, Mary Cantrell, who despite being less than five foot, looks down on everyone. There’s Iffy, who starts everything he says with the word if. (There was a PC I know whose nickname was Yeah but.) And, of course, Wade, the college boy, who Charlie loved to hate but now hates to love.

You won’t have to go far in any police station to meet all those characters.

What are Kathy Bond’s three rules?

If I said that, your bleeper would break.