Today I’m lucky to be interviewing Lisa Cutts, whose début novel Never Forget was recently published by Myriad Editions. Lisa is a serving police officer, and has written a gripping crime novel which gives a vivid impression of what it’s like to work on her side of the thin blue line.
Lisa, perhaps you can introduce yourself by telling us a little about your background and the kind of work you do.
Thank you, Tony. Prior to my current job, I had a number of others in London and Kent before joining Kent Police in 1996. I’ve spent the majority of my service in CID and a number of years in the Major Crime Department, investigating serious crimes, including murder. It’s very interesting work and can be very varied, although often disheartening seeing the things that people do to each other.
This is your first novel, and hopefully many more will follow. What inspired you to get into writing fiction?
In a nutshell — Elizabeth Haynes. I met her after reading her début novel and contacted her to congratulate her. It wasn’t something I would normally do as I had no aspirations to be an author at that time. I contacted her because we worked in the same building at Kent Police Headquarters and just wanted to tell her I had enjoyed her book. We met and she encouraged me to write. I’d always thought that someone like me would read books, but I never thought I would be able to write one. It was her enthusiasm that sparked my interest in writing fiction.
Many crime authors take liberties with real police procedure and experience, yet your story gives us an insight into what it’s like to be part of a real police team solving crime. Was it important to you to keep the portrayal accurate? If so, why?
I set out to write a book that readers wouldn’t want to put down, but almost as important to me was its accuracy. I’ve made sure that I’ve stuck to procedures and have at times told the reader why something has been done in a particular way without going into too much detail. I was well aware that the law isn’t always interesting but I wanted to make sure that the fictional murders in the book would be investigated in the same way if they actually happened. I felt it was important to show readers the team work involved: no one single detective can do it alone, irrespective of their rank. That’s something that is sometimes overlooked in crime fiction.
To what extent did you base your detective character Nina on yourself?
We both like a drink. Apart from wine and doing the same job, there are a few things that we both share such as detesting injustice and people not being held to account for what they’ve done. She is taller than me though.
I’m not sure how much you can give away about your work, but have you ever worked on a serial killer case?
I can’t write about specific investigations but no, I have never worked on a serial killing. The main reason I wrote about one in Never Forget was because I have a written agreement with Kent Police that I wouldn’t write about actual crimes I’ve worked on. I felt that I was on safe ground writing about a particular crime I had never investigated. They are also, extremely rare.
Now the book is out, how are fellow police officers reacting? Are they looking for themselves in your characters?
Colleagues and friends at work have been extremely supportive. It’s been lovely for me to have so many of them backing me. I have assured them they aren’t in the book but one or two have asked if certain characters are based on certain people. I’ve done my best to reassure them that it is fiction and that includes the characters — apart from Nina’s fondness for wine.
You’ve said you intend this to be the first of a series. What’s coming next? What about Nina’s love life?
The next book is called Remember, Remember and starts with an investigation surrounding something that happened years ago and follows Nina and the team as they attempt to amass the evidence for a conviction. I wanted to do something slightly different with a few of the same characters. Must admit, I haven’t quite made up my mind about her love life.
Finally, do you have a message for your readers who might be reading this post?
If writing is something you want to do, then please get started. If it’s something you already do and love, please just keep going. I know how difficult it can be to find the time and put the work in but you never know what may happen. And a massive thank you to anyone who has bought my book and read it. It doesn’t matter what’s in a book if no-one reads it.
From the back cover:
A brutal serial killer is stalking the streets. As the body count increases and the force’s biggest-ever manhunt gets underway, Niina is determined to find the murderer.
But when the story of her own traumatic childhood comes to light — a past she’s worked hard to hide — her role on the team is threatened.
Suddenly her job, her peace of mind and her safety are all in danger.
Thank you, Lisa. I very much enjoyed Never Forget, and I’m looking forward to the next book in this series. Good luck.
Hal-an-Tow, jolly rumbelow
We were up long before the day-o
To welcome in the summer
To welcome in the May-o
The summer is coming in
And winter's gone away-o
We were, indeed, up long before the day.
This morning, May Day morning 2013, we went to Coldrum Stones in the North Downs of Kent at the crack of sparrowfart to welcome in the dawn in the company of the Hartley Morris Men. The celebrations began with Dave piping in the dawn on his bagpipes, and then at about 5:30am, as the sun rose behind a grey, cloudy sky, the Hartley Morris Men danced their first dance of the morning, which was Banks Of The Dee.
What would May Day morning be without fruit cake, impaled on a sword? Thank you, Phil, it was delicious.
The sun clearly had plans for the rest of the day, but it was keeping itself to itself during the dancing. They danced for about half an hour, finishing off in style with Bonny Green Garters.
To round off the celebrations at the stones we all went down to the foot of the hill, looking up towards the entrance to the burial chamber.
There we sang Hal-An-Tow to welcome in the May.
When all was done we went on to the Rose and Crown in Wrotham for a hearty breakfast, which was much needed, after our cold and early start.
The programme for the Hartley Morris summer can be found on their website.
The Land
When Julius Fabricius, Sub-Prefect of the Weald,
In the days of Diocletian owned our Lower River-field,
He called to him Hobdenius—a Briton of the Clay,
Saying: "What about that River-piece for layin' in to hay?"
And the aged Hobden answered: "I remember as a lad
My father told your father that she wanted dreenin' bad.
An' the more that you neeglect her the less you'll get her clean.
Have it jest as you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd dreen."
So they drained it long and crossways in the lavish Roman style-
Still we find among the river-drift their flakes of ancient tile,
And in drouthy middle August, when the bones of meadows show,
We can trace the lines they followed sixteen hundred years ago.
Then Julius Fabricius died as even Prefects do,
And after certain centuries, Imperial Rome died too.
Then did robbers enter Britain from across the Northern main
And our Lower River-field was won by Ogier the Dane.
Well could Ogier work his war-boat—well could Ogier wield his brand—
Much he knew of foaming waters—not so much of farming land.
So he called to him a Hobden of the old unaltered blood,
Saying: "What about that River-piece; she doesn't look no good ?"
And that aged Hobden answered "'Tain't for me to interfere.
But I've known that bit o' meadow now for five and fifty year.
Have it jest as you've a mind to, but I've proved it time on time,
If you want to change her nature you have got to give her lime!"
Ogier sent his wains to Lewes, twenty hours' solemn walk,
And drew back great abundance of the cool, grey, healing chalk.
And old Hobden spread it broadcast, never heeding what was in't-
Which is why in cleaning ditches, now and then we find a flint.
Ogier died. His sons grew English—Anglo-Saxon was their name—
Till out of blossomed Normandy another pirate came;
For Duke William conquered England and divided with his men,
And our Lower River-field he gave to William of Warenne.
But the Brook (you know her habit) rose one rainy autumn night
And tore down sodden flitches of the bank to left and right.
So, said William to his Bailiff as they rode their dripping rounds:
"Hob, what about that River-bit—the Brook's got up no bounds?"
And that aged Hobden answered: "'Tain't my business to advise,
But ye might ha' known 'twould happen from the way the valley lies.
Where ye can't hold back the water you must try and save the sile.
Hev it jest as you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd spile!"
They spiled along the water-course with trunks of willow-trees,
And planks of elms behind 'em and immortal oaken knees.
And when the spates of Autumn whirl the gravel-beds away
You can see their faithful fragments, iron-hard in iron clay.
. . . . .
Georgii Quinti Anno Sexto, I, who own the River-field,
Am fortified with title-deeds, attested, signed and sealed,
Guaranteeing me, my assigns, my executors and heirs
All sorts of powers and profits which—are neither mine nor theirs,
I have rights of chase and warren, as my dignity requires.
I can fish—but Hobden tickles. I can shoot—but Hobden wires.
I repair, but he reopens, certain gaps which, men allege,
Have been used by every Hobden since a Hobden swapped a hedge.
Shall I dog his morning progress o'er the track-betraying dew?
Demand his dinner-basket into which my pheasant flew?
Confiscate his evening faggot under which my conies ran,
And summons him to judgment? I would sooner summons Pan.
His dead are in the churchyard—thirty generations laid.
Their names were old in history when Domesday Book was made;
And the passion and the piety and prowess of his line
Have seeded, rooted, fruited in some land the Law calls mine.
Not for any beast that burrows, not for any bird that flies,
Would I lose his large sound counsel, miss his keen amending eyes.
He is bailiff, woodman, wheelwright, field-surveyor, engineer,
And if flagrantly a poacher—'tain't for me to interfere.
"Hob, what about that River-bit?" I turn to him again,
With Fabricius and Ogier and William of Warenne.
"Hev it jest as you've a mind to, but"—and here he takes command.
For whoever pays the taxes old Mus' Hobden owns the land.
Rudyard Kipling
Photo by Margo Benson
The moment has arrived... I now have cover art for An Accident Of Birth, which is planned for release in July/August 2013.
The year is 2754 and Francesca is 21 years old. As a rare fertile person in a largely infertile society she is a valuable resource for breeding and by law she is kept in an Atelier which is effectively a luxury hotel prison where she is required to breed.
Since she was brought here she has been waiting for her sweetheart Dominic to rescue her. She is coming to believe that he will never do so, but still hangs on to the possibility that he will. She ponders about the last few years and regrets that she didn’t run away and become a bolter when she had the chance. Exile would surely be better than this.
Baron Drake is a Fertile who has bolted and built a criminal empire exploiting people who either want to bolt, or who have done so, some with his rather expensive assistance.
Dominic, having exhausted his ideas for springing Francesca from her captivity, engages Baron Drake to do so on his behalf. It is a black market transaction with a large deposit and a huge balance to pay.
Baron Drake decides that Francesca is a worthy trophy and he will have her for himself. He turns on the charm and gains Francesca’s affections.
What follows is a competition between the sensitive and caring Dominic and the ruthless Baron Drake to get her free from the Atelier and to gain her love.
Cover design by www.jdsmith-design.com
