Lorraine Mace: Digging Deeper with Michelle Kidd

Digging Deeper into The Fifteen by Michelle Kidd

The Fifteen is the third book in my Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh crime series. The first (The Phoenix Project) was published in 2018, with the second (Seven Days) following on in January 2020. The Fifteen was written mostly during Lockdown and was published in August 2020.

The books are set in the UK with the main character, Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh, part of the London Metropolitan Police. There are several other ‘main characters’ that stay with the story lines throughout each book, and I am really thrilled that many of the reviews I have had to date comment on how strong and believable the characters are. For me, writing is all about characterisation.

The Fifteen follows the investigation into a serial killer with a unique twist to the plot.

The Blurb:

When the past finally catches up with you, is it murder? Or justice?

When a bedbound, defenceless man is found dead in his London nursing home, nobody saw his killer. But the killer left their mark. Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh soon discovers that this was no random killing; this one was personal.

And it was just the beginning.

As the case unfolds, Jack is forced to think the unthinkable as the evidence begins to point disturbingly close to home.

Revenge – how long would you wait?

Conversation between a protagonist and antagonist in The Fifteen (There are several protagonists and antagonists in this book, and I have changed all names in the following extract to protect both the innocent and the guilty!)

“Stand there and don’t move!” John Smith’s menacing tone cut through the otherwise stillness of the cold night air.

Terry Anderson’s legs trembled. He felt sick, but had already vomited up the entire contents of his stomach and there was nothing left except acid. He choked back the acrid taste and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“I don’t even want to hear you breathe.” John Smith glared at Terry before turning his attention to the other two figures standing behind him. David Smith’s pasty face had a thin sheen of perspiration, giving him a wax-like appearance in the moonlight. His father had told him to carry Danny Hopkins’ limp body over his shoulder and trek the one and a half miles to the fringes of the woodland that skirted the grounds of St Bartholomew’s.

And David always did what his father told him.

“Start digging.” John Smith thrust a rusty spade towards his son. “We don’t have all night.” He knew that the woods were a haven for dog walkers – early morning dog walkers – some even setting out before the sun was up.

Terry Anderson watched as David Smith began to shovel earth from beneath a wide-bodied tree. The ground was frozen and hard. It had been an exceptionally dry winter with not a drop of rain, freezing or otherwise, gracing the landscape for weeks. The sheen of perspiration on David’s brow now turned into droplets of sweat.

All the while, Danny Hopkins lay lifeless on the cold ground at John Smith’s feet. The man barely gave the boy a second look.

Terry felt himself sway as the nausea rose up once again inside him and he turned away, unable to look at poor Danny’s broken body. Instead he started to whimper.

“I thought I told you to keep quiet!” John Smith’s thunderous voice spat towards Terry, making him flinch. Within seconds, John Smith was at his side, grabbing hold of both of his arms in his vice-like grip. “Shut up! Stop snivelling!”

Terry then felt himself propelled forwards so that his face was mere inches from Danny’s still form.

“Unless you want to end up like your friend here, keep quiet! I don’t want to hear another sound.”

With a final thrust of Terry’s head towards the ground, John Smith turned away to oversee the digging of the makeshift grave. The other figure, hanging back in the shadow of the trees, Terry recognised as the portly gentleman who had dragged Danny to his death in the hospital wing. He, too, looked somewhat shell-shocked, his face white and blotchy. Saying nothing, he merely twisted what looked like a jumper or sweatshirt in his hands, wringing it like it was a damp tea towel.

Terry staggered backwards and leant up against a nearby tree trunk, his legs quivering like unset jelly. He wiped his eyes on the Swap Shop scarf that hung loosely round his neck.

“It’s no good, the ground’s too hard.” David Smith flung the spade onto the ground with a thud.

Cuffing his son around the ear, John Smith grabbed the spade and began stabbing at the frozen earth. “You’re useless. Bloody useless!” With a final smack around the head, he sent David flying onto his knees.

Grunting with effort, John Smith put all his weight behind the spade, forcing it, time after time, into the ground. After a minute of frenzied digging, he threw the spade angrily onto the hardened ground, blood dripping from his hands.

“Just drag him over!” he yelled, kicking at the ground with his boot. “Cover him up! Now!”

David scrambled to his feet, cowering beneath his father’s imposing shadow.

“Put his clothes back on first.” John Smith threw Danny’s clothes at his son. “You. Help him.” He glared at Terry, his eyes bulging with anger. “NOW!”

Terry staggered away from the sanctity of the tree, tears cascading down his cheeks. He watched in horror as David Smith proceeded to pull Danny’s underwear and jeans back over his limp legs. His tiny body flopped like a rag doll, rigor mortis not yet setting in. David wiped his brow as more droplets of sweat dripped down onto Danny’s jeans.

“I said help him!” John Smith picked up Danny’s t-shirt and thrust it towards Terry’s quivering form.

Terry took the t-shirt in his trembling hands and tried to place it over his friend’s head. The tears in his eyes made everything around him blurry. As he leant in closer, the Swap Shop scarf fell forward onto Danny’s body.

“For God’s sake, hurry up! The pair of you are useless!” John Smith bent down, pushing Terry out of the way, and began pulling Danny’s yellow t-shirt over his head, forcing his arms through the sleeves. Blood from his blistered hands smeared across the bottom hem. He wiped the rest on Danny’s jeans and looked up. “You see this here?” He nodded down at Danny’s body. “You breathe a word of this to anyone – ever – and you’ll end up just like him. Understand?!”

Terry nodded, ashen-faced.

“I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” John Smith’s voice echoed around the woodland. His eyes bulged and spit flew from his mouth as he shouted across the top of Danny’s body.

“Y…yes.” Terry’s voice shuddered. “I…I understand.”

“You tell NO ONE. You hear?” John Smith pushed himself to his feet and glared across at Terry. “You tell NO ONE. You trust NO ONE.” Wrenching the Swap Shop scarf from on top of Danny’s chest, he flung it towards Terry with a venomous look.

Terry nodded, and watched as John and David Smith slung Danny’s body into the shallow grave and began dragging leaves, twigs and branches across to cover his pale body. Before Danny was completely covered the portly gentleman, who had been hovering in the shadows, stepped forwards and handed John the sweatshirt he had been holding so tightly. The name on the label was clearly visible – ‘William Brown’ – and John tossed it in beside Danny’s partially covered body.

After a few minutes, with Danny’s body covered by enough twigs, leaves, branches and chilled earth, John Smith grabbed hold of Terry’s arm and dragged him out of the trees, back in the direction of St Bartholomew’s. He leant in close to Terry’s ear.

“You tell no one.”

Who would you choose to play each of them in film or TV series?

The above scene is a flashback scene, from 1982. In the present day, I would maybe have someone like Damian Lewis to play the ‘Terry’ in the above extract. For the modern day ‘John Smith’, I would have someone like David Bradley or Gary Oldman

Although DI Jack MacIntosh is not in the above extract, I would have him played by someone like James Nesbitt or Ewan McGregor. And I have another antagonist (who shall remain nameless!) who would be perfect for Liam Neeson!

What is the creepiest action taken by your antagonist?

In my second book Seven Days, the killer uses the same kill method (strangulation) for his victims and lays them out in full view in London parks, but he leaves a shoe at each scene which belongs to the next of his victims.

In my current publication The Fifteen, the killer brands his victims with a homemade tattoo, sometimes while they are still alive.

Author Bio

Michelle Kidd is a self-published author known for the Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh series of novels.

Michelle qualified as a lawyer in the early 1990s and spent the best part of ten years practising civil and criminal litigation.

But the dream to write books was never far from her mind and in 2008 she began writing the manuscript that would become the first DI Jack MacIntosh novel – The Phoenix Project. The book took eighteen months to write, but spent the next eight years gathering dust underneath the bed.

In 2018 Michelle self-published The Phoenix Project and has not looked back since. There are currently three DI Jack MacIntosh novels, with a fourth in progress.

Michelle works full time for the NHS and lives in Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk. She enjoys reading, wine and cats – not necessarily in that order J

Website:

www.michellekiddauthor.com

Social Media links:

www.facebook.com/michellekiddauthor (Facebook)

@AuthorKidd (Twitter)

@michellekiddauthor (Instagram)

Bibliography:

The Phoenix Project (DI Jack MacIntosh book 1) https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07HVXMDM5 https://www.books2read.com/u/bW1Np1

Seven Days (DI Jack MacIntosh book 2) https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08413GDYQ https://www.books2read.com/u/bMp5zX

The Fifteen (DI Jack MacIntosh book 3) – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08FH5WH9L https://books2read.com/u/bMP00A