Be not untimely slain by lethal fiction.
When the publishers Polygon mooted the idea of a McLevy novel, I felt like running for the hills. I work on instinct – formalised thought and structure is not my port of call – I know where I’ll end, but how I actually get there is always a complete mystery. Mind you – it was supposed to be a mystery story in any case.
Number four – Nor Will He Sleep – my other hero - take a bow, R.L.S.
1887. Edinburgh seethes with anarchy as two gangs of students rival each other in wild exploits. After a pitched battle in Leith Harbour, an old woman is found savagely battered to death.
McLevy scours the waterfront then sees the tendrils of the case spread to more respectable nooks and crannies.
He meets Robert Louis Stevenson, author of Jekyll and Hyde, in the city to bury his deceased father; the two recognise each other as fellow travellers, both observers of the dark side of human nature, aware of their own strange contradictions and both obdurate insomniacs.
Or should they slumber – plagued by nightmares.
Another murder and this time an old woman’s body left on the doorstep of the Stevenson home. Glimpses of the murderer indicate a slender, androgynous figure with a silver cane, which he uses to lethal effect.
A dancing killer not unlike Mister Edward Hyde and McLevy is a terrible dancer.
I’ve also branched out into my other love – football – and written for the Blizzard magazine stories from my childhood some fictional some near the factual knuckle – these also may end up on ebooks. I could of course learn the tango instead of all this.