Some writers make up elaborate "dossiers" and biographies for their characters before they start writing -- like the lists of "traits" we were supposed to compile for sixth grade book reports. I have always found that the only way I can get to know characters is to start writing them.
A perfect case in point is the hero of my new thriller White Crow. He was originally introduced in the sixth Henry Kennis mystery, now slated for a June 2021 release. I hadn't given Mitchell Stone much thought -- or page space -- when I wrote his scenes in Nantucket Penny. I knew the rough outlines -- retired spy, coming home to Nantucket to take up residence at Police Chief Henry Kennis' badass sidekick. Spenser has Hawk, Elvis Cole as Joe Pike, Kenzie and Gennaro have Bubba Rogowsky. Kennis needed some muscle on his side.
Several scenes in Nantucket Penny are described in White Crow, but from Mitch's point of view. The delay in publishing Penny has allowed me to revise those scenes. I know Mitch much better now, after writing him for 250 pages, and I'm glad to have the opportunity of correcting the earlier larval version of him I attempted a year ago when I was working on Penny. In the climax of that book, Kennis is about to shoot the villain -- currently helpless and disarmed, cringing on his knees in front of the anger-crazed police Chief. Mitch breaks Kennis's wrist with a kick as the Chief squeezes the trigger. The shot goes wild. When the red haze clears, Kennis has to live with the fact that he was willing to commit murder -- but he's been spared the reality of actually committing the crime.
For clarity I should add that the cringing villain in question, Todd Fraker, had been planning to take revenge on his childhood tormentors -- including Henry's fiance, Jane Stiles -- by putting them on trial and hanging them from a gallows on Coatue, the narrow strip of barrier beach across the harbor from Nantucket town. Mitch planned the rescue operation, using kayaks for a stealthy approach. Until this morning I had never given a second thought to the gallows itself, and I was actually planning to "cut and paste" the brief post-mortem chat between ex-spy and police Chief, which takes place a few days after the climax of the book.
Here's how that scene originally appeared in Nantucket Penny:
Mitch Stone appeared at my
door the next morning, routing his daily run through Darling Street.
He
stood on the little deck at the top of the front stairs. “You okay, Chief?”
“I’m
fine.”
“I
was there, man. Remember?”
“I’m
fine.”
A
small smile. “Good to hear.”
“The
Staties wanted to know if I was pressing charges against the individual who
broke my wrist.”
“What
did you say?”
“I
told them I was going to call your girlfriend, find out what kind of beer you
drink, and buy you a case of it.”
He
shrugged. “No need.”
“Thanks,
anyway. For yesterday.”
“That’s
what friends are for. To protect us from ourselves.”
“So
we’re friends now?”
“If
you want. I’ve had a lot of attrition in that area lately.”
“That
sounds ominous.”
“Let
me just say this, Chief. I’ve been where you were. I’ve done what you did.”
“Any
regrets?”
“Now
and then. But I was always on my own – no back-up, no support. You had me. I
gave you a second chance out there. That’s a blessing.”
Here's what I came up with this morning, many months and many pages later, three quarters of the way through Mitch's book. I should add that among the things I discovered about Mitch in writing White Crow was that he was the kind of person who would rescue a teen age runaway, and wind up adopting him. Ricky Muller went from a casual thought to a major figure in both Mitch's life and the book that features him. I was surprised and reluctant, but like most people, I let Mitch take the lead.
Anyway, here's the scene from Crow.
As you could probably guess from the cliff-hanger last sentence, this is the end of a chapter ...
Anyway, here's the scene from Crow.
As you could probably guess from the cliff-hanger last sentence, this is the end of a chapter ...
Mitch drove back to Coatue to pick up the last kayak.He stood on the far side
of the yellow crime scene tape strung between the shack and the gallows. Two uniforms
lounged beside their blue State Police SUV.
The noose was still
dangling from the upright cross beam.
It
was an obscenity.
And
two nights later, it burned to the charred dune grass. You could see the torch
from all over the island. Some people said you could see it from the mainland. Technically a case of arson,
trespassing and malicious destruction of property, the investigation of the
crime was cursory at best and wound up shelved as unsolved.
Mitch
brought it up when it stopped by Chief Kennis’ house on Darling Street a few
days later.
“Any
idea who might have set that fire, Chief?”
Kennis
smiled. “We suspect Muslim terrorists. Or possibly, disgruntled immigrants. Those
are some bad hombres.”
“I
was thinking of guerilla real estate brokers. A gallows across the harbor tanks
the property values.”
“I’ll
look into it.”
A
companionable silence bloomed between them. A gardener’s truck rattled past
toward Pine Street.
“Did
Jane bring marshmallows?”
Kennis
shook his head. “No Hershey bars, no graham crackers. The occasion was a too somber
for s’mores, Mr. Stone.”
“Of
course. Sorry.”
“They
told some stories, put out some grass fires, passed around a flask of scotch
and went home.”
“Quite
a day out there.”
“The
Staties wanted to know if I was pressing charges against the individual who broke
my wrist.”
“What
did you say?”
“I
told them I was going to call your girlfriend, find out what kind of beer you
drink, and buy you a case of it.”
He
shrugged. “I like Kronenbourg. But it’s hard to find on Nantucket.”
“There’s
a lot that’s hard to find here.”
Mitch
nodded. “Big Macs, fountain pens and ammunition.”
“Among
other things.” A lady walked by with two pugs on the leash. Kennis nodded to
her. She smiled and lifted a hand.
Kennis turned back to Mitch. “So what brings a
world traveler like you to Nantucket?”
“What
brings an LAPD cop to Nantucket?”
“My
ex-wife’s family were summer people for years.”
“Summer
people.”
“You
say that the way I say ‘shoplifters’. So I assume you grew up here.”
“You
don’t assume anything, Chief. After the school shooting you did your research. You
know everything there is to know about me. You know my father was an abusive
drunk. You know I was suspended from fifth grade for throwing snowballs at a
police cars. You pulled my Marine Corps service record. You have my whole life
on your computer.”
“Until
2009, when you disappear off the face of the earth.”
Mitch
shrugged. “Well, I’m back.”
They
eyed each other quietly, a steady assessing stare. And they came to their silent
agreement: Mitch wasn’t going to answer any more questions and Kennis wasn’t
going to ask them.
Instead
he hoisted his cast from its sling. “Thanks for your help.”
“We
have a saying in the Marines, Chief. Two is one and one is none. You gotta have
back-up. Nobody hacks it alone.”
Some
kids on bikes rode by on Fair Street, shouting and laughing.
When
they were gone Mitch said, “You think their parents know what they’re up to
today?”
“I
certainly hope not.”
Mitch
squinted up at the cloudless early autumn sky. “Beautiful day.”
“Yeah.
Looks like things are back to normal finally.”
“Don’t
jinx it.”
“Good
point.”
But
it was a little too late.
As Mitch was driving back
to Quidnet that afternoon, Ricky Muller was two miles away in a friend’s guest
cottage, overdosing on oxycodone.
That's the Mitch Stone I know. What a difference a year makes -- and what a luxury, to be able to make these changes. Nantucket Penny was originally scheduled to come out in less than a month, with my vague notion of Mitch Stone permanent and indelible as an ink stain on a silk couch.
And the gallows still standing!
Whew.
