Bill Kirton 
DIY DETECTIVES 
When I set out to write my first crime novel, I thought that I knew the basic things I'd need. Detectives, obviously. At least one body. Plenty of forensic trickery. Maybe some discreet sex and violence - tastefully done, of course. A plot. And that would be more or less that. Choosing a setting seemed equally straightforward; I could either avoid the issue altogether and never mention any place names so that readers could fit it into whatever geographical location they knew or preferred, or I could choose somewhere I knew anduse my own local knowledge to add a bit of realism. 
First, then, my detectives. With the generous co-operation of two members of Grampian C.I.D. I found out what I needed to know about the job. For a start, of course, the usual fictional combination of an inspector and a sergeant is a rarity. Usually, there's a superintendent in charge with an inspector as sidekick, then a large Prime Suspect style team of sergeants and constables carefully briefed on a twice daily basis. Their work is a painstaking, systematic accumulation of information, which may or may not prove to be relevant. The flashes of inspiration that enable the Morses and Wexfords of the world to uncover the culprit are pretty rare. On the other hand, I was writing a novel, not a police manual and, although I learned an awful lot from my visit to the C.I.D. and was determined to stay as close to actual procedures as possible, it was obvious that readers would prefer the familiar conventions. So I opted for the traditional inspector/sergeant duo with very limited resources and the sort of instincts that make flashes of inspiration possible. 
I was surprised to find (from my editor) that my central character, DCI Jack Carston, was an unusual creation. I wanted to avoid the usual gimmickry of funny clothes, strange habits, eccentric passions for obscure pursuits or arcane machinery, etc. and make him a believable guy who gets depressed by the things he sees in the job, angry at bureaucracy and yet still lives a nice, comfortable life eating well and drinking wine with his wife. It seems, though, that a happy marriage, dishes of oil and garlic pasta and bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon in front of the telly aren't the usual associations one has with fictional DCIs. But I quite like him, he's served me well so far and, anyway, he's got a very nasty surprise coming in the book after next. 
The body and all the forensic mystery connected with it was easier. There are reference books on forensic medicine full of stomach-churning cases (and illustrations), some of which are too extreme to be used in fiction, not because of any squeamishness but because the reader wouldn’t believe them. (As demonstrated by the way the victim died in that first novel. The circumstances were based on real events I'd read about in one such book but I had to simplify them. My editor (again) insisted that the killer would need a degree in physics, engineering and anatomy to make the whole thing work!) But embroidering a few choice details about the constitution of man-made fibres, the effect of shot gun cartridges fired into the chest cavity from various distances, the reactions that take place in the body's tissues post mortem gave me the solid basis of realism I wanted. 
I won't dwell on the sex and violence except to say that they both emerged naturally from the characters and their interactions and that my wife, on reading the first draft, treated me with great suspicion for a few days. 
If there's a body and a set of characters who all relate to one another, there's naturally a plot because once you start looking for motives, you uncover all sorts of possibilities and secrets. Take any action and there'll be reasons behind it and consequences of it, so as long as you stick with those actions which are relevant to the circumstances which led to the corpse being discovered, you've got a story. 
To my surprise, it was the setting which proved to be less straightforward than I'd anticipated. My agent suggested that all publishers prefer a distinct location with its own characteristics so it wasn't difficult to decide to set the thing in the Grampian region. I've lived in north east Scotland for nearly thirty years, I love the whole area and it,s got some very distinct characteristics - oil platforms, mountains, the queen living just up the road, and so on. But I couldn't use Aberdeen because then I`d have to make my policemen members of the Grampian force and that might cause problems. Any suggestions of misconduct, incompetence, masonic rituals or even of the typical renegade brilliance that leads fictional detectives to such outrageously successful clear-up rates might have been seen as libellous. So that meant inventing a new force. The North Sea prevented me moving east, so I had to go inland. My detectives therefore belong to the West Grampian force, which, needless to say, only exists between the covers of my books. 
But where exactly do they live and operate? Again, putting them into a real location might create the same sort of libel problems, so I needed a north east equivalent of Tannochbrae. Simple enough, but what can I call it? I tried many permutations but they all sounded exactly like invented names. Try it and you'll see what I mean. The one I eventually decided on, Cairnburgh, still has an artificial ring but it's too late now; it's in print. 
And where exactly is it? Well, you wouldn't think that would matter, would you? But it's astonishing how many of my friends and how many readers ask exactly that question. It seems that the urge to get out a map and find the hole into which Cairnburgh fits is irresistible. According to the books, it's some thirty miles west of Aberdeen. Fair enough, but when the characters drive in to get information from their colleagues in Grampian Police HQ, which road do they take? Do they go north and arrive via the Alford road or is the North or the South Deeside Road their preferred option? In the end I don't suppose it matters to most readers but the ones round here care and it's meant spending a lot of time with ordnance survey maps and finding out all sorts of fascinating things about the topography of west Grampian. 
The final issue concerned the way the characters speak. If you've never been to Aberdeen ,you won't appreciate the extent of this problem. Many of the people in the books have little in the way of accents, but some I wanted to be very much part of the region and so  they had to speak if not pure Doric (as the local dialect's called), at least a form of it. The  trouble is that that meant sending expressions like 'Foo ye deein?' 'Fa ye spikkin till?' etc.  down to my editor in London. Needless to say, she found them a little disorientating.  (They mean, respectively, `How are you?' and `Who are you speaking to?'). She suggested that the occasional `Aye' and `disnae' would suffice for readers south of the  border to be convinced the characters were indeed native Scots so, regretfully, I toned  them down and dodged the more extreme forms altogether. (Which is maybe why a  reviewer in the local paper commenting on my last book wrote that `some of the Scots  dialogue is a little suspect and inconsistent but that doesn't spoil the pleasure'.)  So if you're planning a holiday in the Grampian region and, unlike my friends, you actually  manage to locate Cairnburgh on the map, don't be surprised if the locals sound more like Australian or Irish extras from Braveheart than the residents of the other towns and villages in the region. I’ve spent lots of time with them and they’re really very nice people. Except, of course, for the one(s) who did it! 
And come to think of it, some of the others!