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I grew up in south east London and joined the Metropolitan Police at twenty-one. I spent the next twenty years on specialist squads: drugs, serious crime, fraud and rape investigation. I met more genuine villains in that time than any crime writer has a right to, and a fair few of them have turned up in my books under different names. They haven't complained yet. I did my back in during my fourth year. It took the job another sixteen to decide I was 'no longer fit to perform the ordinary duties of a constable', which tells you how fast the paperwork moves. While I waited to be discharged, I wrote a screenplay. Then I stuck it in a drawer and went off to do twelve years in another enforcement job, as you do.
At fifty-six I was made redundant. I had a knackered back, time on my hands and an itch I'd had since reading Ed McBain's 87th Precinct novels as a much younger man. So I dug out the screenplay and turned it into a novel. That became Their Last Words, the first book in the Detectives Paterson & Clocks series, published by Joffe Books. Nine more followed, along with a standalone thriller, Jack Knife. Between them they've sold over 218,000 ebooks, and Kindle readers have got through more than 85 million pages. Not bad for a bloke who started at an age when most people are eyeing up beige jumpers with the elbow patches.
I write the books I wanted to read and couldn't find. Coppers who swear, fight, banter, and wind each other up. Fall out with their bosses and rarely play it by the book. Real procedure, uncomfortable subjects, and a sense of humour so dark you'll need a torch. The strapline says it all: Sometimes You Have To Do Wrong To Do Right.
These days I live on the East Sussex coast. I plan every book on index cards stuck to a wardrobe door, and I type my first drafts on an old AlphaSmart that does exactly one job: it lets me type. I also used to lecture in Clinical Hypnosis. So if you find you can't put one of my books down, it may not be entirely your fault.
Paterson & Clocks
Ray Paterson has the money, the manners and the Rolex. Johnny Clocks has the mouth, the fists and not a shred of fear for anyone, rank included — together they hand out the justice the courts can't manage, breaking every rule in the book and a fair few bones along the way. Loyalty neither of them will say out loud, humour that gets darker the closer death gets, and a body count that keeps climbing because neither man knows how to walk away from a fight, a mate, or a case the law's already given up on. Meet Paterson and Clocks