Throughout my screenwriting career I often thought, wistfully, about the notion of writing a novel. Partly to see if I was capable of creating prose in that form, but also because I felt it might in some way make me a ‘grown-up’ writer. ‘Author’ has so much more gravitas than simple ‘screenwriter’ doesn’t it? Well I thought so. So, what to write? Well, detective fiction seemed a natural choice for me. Many years ago I’d worked on a series of Maigret for Granada TV which went on to be the one starring Michael Gambon. I was no longer involved at that point (creative differences don’cha know). But it gave me a great schooling in the writing of Simenon. I went on to direct Jeremy Brett in Granada’s Sherlock Holmes. His dedication and loyalty to the character was hugely influential on me.

By the time it finally came to facing the first blank page of my non-existent novel I had decided to combine an interest I had in autism with my interest in detective fiction. I was particularly interested in autism in the workplace and people’s reaction to it, which wasn’t always positive. And so George Cross came into being. As I said in my last piece for The Fix, he fits into a tradition of the detective on the spectrum. George has Autism Spectrum Condition (formerly known as Asperger’s Syndrome). In George’s case this makes him quite literal at times. He has trouble reading people’s emotions innately. He has taught himself about behavioural signs and facial expressions almost like a second language. His responses are therefore considered and learned. 

Part of his condition means that he is obsessed that things have to be done correctly. Procedure has to be followed. But that also means George has no instincts about cases and suspects. No gut feelings. He can and will only follow evidence. This can have a downside for me. As an author it means I have to make sure I abide by George’s rules, which can be quite frustrating. No handy short cuts. How do I further the plot when my lead character has no instincts? This is where his partner Ottey occasionally comes into play. But actually I feel this stricture on my process is essentially a benefit to both the books and therefore the reader. It makes the investigations more rigorous. George’s way of working is partly why his conviction rate is so high. The need for things to be just so, to be correct, means in turn that he has a passion for justice and the pursuit of it. The right thing has to be done. The right person has to be held accountable.

In The Teacher (book six of the series) an old man is found dead at the bottom of the stairs in his country cottage. An accident? The stab wound to his chest would suggest otherwise. A DI, new to the department and keen to make his mark, quickly hones in on the neighbours who had been in a bitter dispute with the old man, which had ended up in court, where they lost. But George discovers the old man’s behaviour had changed in the weeks leading up to his death. He didn’t visit the village pub for his nightly pint nor go to church where he was a regular. A couple of villagers who checked up on him were convinced that there was someone else in the house with him, particularly as the old man wouldn’t let them in. This immediately interests Cross. Changes in routine and patterns of behaviour always intrigue him. There has to be a reason for them and in his experience, they often have a bearing on the truth.

Is it a simple case of a neighbourly dispute? Or has his past as a headmaster, with quite the reputation for being a fearsome disciplinarian, got something to do with his murder? 

Has someone come back to teach him a lesson?