I’ve said before that it’s a real source of frustration that I simply cannot read or feature all the books I’m offered, but occasionally I simply have to feature one that I wish I could get to in the near future and which is calling to me from my TBR. The Genius Killer by Mark Robson is one such book and I’m delighted that Mark has agreed to provide a guest post about his journey to publication for The Genius Killer for Linda’s Book Bag today. I also have a cracking extract to share and I think when you’ve read these pieces you’ll see why I’m so keen to read The Genius Killer myself.

The Genius Killer is available for purchase here with all profits going ebook and paperback profits to charity including The Lighthouse Charity.

The Genius Killer

The dark heart of a brilliant and ruthless psychopath

A celebrated but haunted detective

A determined young reporter hunting for justice – and the big story

Karl Jackson is a particularly vengeful sociopath with his unique way of ‘problem-solving’. DCI Tex Deacon suffers from the trauma of his beloved wife’s death and finds it immensely difficult to come to terms with it. As a Detective Chief Inspector specialising in murder and killer profiling, Tex has a relentless workload from his base on the edges of the mountains of the Lake District.

Tex is under pressure from his superiors to take a step back to grieve properly. It’s clear that Susan’s death has ripped out part of his soul. There is no doubt that Tex is suffering, but this DCI is a driven man. Tex’s welfare is the responsibility of his boss Chief Constable Barbara Bracewell, and she and Tex go back a very long way. However, Bracewell must do what is right for Tex and the Cumbrian police force.

Despite falling into a mental abyss, Tex’s instincts for the hunt never leave him. A hyper-intelligent and devious murderer appears in his crosshairs – the self-styled ‘Genius Killer’. So what will Tex do? What can he get away with doing with the Chief Constable monitoring his every move?

And then there’s Debbie Pilkington, a tenacious and hugely ambitious cub reporter at the local paper – The Rimpton Chronicle. Debbie has big stories and a big future in her own sights. A young journalist, a craggy and vastly experienced detective, and one of the most dangerous serial killers Britain has even seen. Their lives were about to intertwine. The chase to stop a cunning killer begins. Tex is a master at breaking down the thinking processes of those he hunts but with Tex enduring his own psychological meltdown, can he penetrate the mind of this supremely malevolent psychopath?

The Genius Killer Road to Publication

A Guest Post by Mark Robson

“Murder? The mountains are the perfect place.” The man looked at me from the corner of his eye – the way Clint Eastwood does in A Fistful of Dollars just before he spits and butchers the bad guys. “Yeah, it’s very tough for the police – remote spots, very little evidence and there’s no CCTV. A killer’s paradise really.” Those were the words that launched the seed of an idea, a seed that lay dormant for many years before being germinated by the arrival of the coronavirus lockdown. As a freelance sports broadcaster all of my work and income was shut down in a heartbeat. The Netflix box sets took an almighty thrashing but lying on the sofa and fretting and rattling around my bachelor pad wasn’t particularly good for my mental health.

Enter Petra, my then girlfriend, “Do something. Write a book. A novel.” I remember curling a lip and widening my eyes in that sarcastic way that people do when they think someone has said something ridiculous.  “What about?”  I squawked, sounding rather like a chip hunting seagull. Petra sighed, “Don’t be a prick. What about that fell running chum of yours. The guy who knew some of the Mourne Mountain Rescue team? You always said that would make for a great novel.” My curled lip had softened – replaced by the knowing pout that all novelists display when they realise they have ‘The Narrative’. You see, now, without writing one word I was already, in my own mind, an author. My eyebrows arched so high they almost hit my receding hairline. I remembered Fred, the man who had described in detail three Mountain Rescue body recoveries that they had suspected to be murder. They were all reported as natural or accidental deaths. Me and Fred were running side by side. Rain drops battered us like bullets, our Gortex tops working at capacity through the rolling roar of a storming Westerly, “There were far too many suspicious elements. A few of the team went to the body sites and carried out re-enactments. Murder – definitely.”

That was it then. I had a loose framework and all I had to do now was build a structure around it. First I met my old chum Deric Henderson, one of Northern Ireland’s great political journalists, who had written Let This Be Our Secret, a shocking true story about double murder in Castlerock. Deric’s book went on to become an ITV and Netflix series, The Secret starring Jimmy Nesbitt and Genevieve O’Reilly. Deric, close to breaking point due to my persistent questioning, put me in touch with Michael Mcloughlin at Penguin Ireland and Patsy Horton of Blackstaff Press. They gave me more valuable advice which was along the lines of, “Go read On Writing by the great Stephen King,  a masterpiece of instruction for budding novelists who think they already know everything but actually know feck all.” I also consulted my old schoolfriend Colin Bateman, auther of many best sellers like Divorcing Jack and writer of several Hollywood screenplays.

Within moments of writing the first words of The Genius Killer I was an arousing combo of Ernest Hemingway, Patricia Cornwell, Harlan Coben, Val McDermid and Liz Nugent with a luscious soupcon of Agatha Christie adding the final thrilling sprinkles. Three months later and my New York Times best seller was finished. 70,000 words of pure magic. Netflix had already been in touch. Okay – it was about renewing  my subscription – but it was true. I’d had contact from the streaming giant. A deal was sure to follow. The washing machine of white noise inside my head had already reached the spin cycle, “I’ll have Miles Teller as the killer, Jason Bateman as the Detective and Julia Garner as the ambitious journalist. Not cheap. I hope those Netflix Muppets know the kind of budget they’ll need to give this book the treatment it deserves.”

Then, sadly, and this was inevitable I suppose, someone read my draft. His name? Andy Brennan, former Head of English at the highly respected Wrekin College in Shropshire. “Mark. Love the story, but it’s written like a journalist – probably because you are one!” Andy went on while I visualised the embers of a burning Netflix contract, “It’s like a news report. Facts and detail all tightly packaged and, yes, it rollicks along but there’s not much colour and very little character development….” Andy kept talking but I was already blubbering, frothy spittle on my chin. He’d taken a fire hose to my sizzling ambition.

Who could rescue me? Enter the first of my saviours, Simon Hess of Gill Hess Publishers. Simon, a big rugby fan, found grass with a long punt downfield that landed in the bread basket of Vanessa O’Loughlin (AKA Sam Blake) at The Inkwell Group. Vanessa propelled my red raw scribbling into the experienced hands of two published authors, Mary Stanley and Adrian White. Mary’s brilliant synopsis highlighted the good and the bad and sent me scurrying into the richness of ‘show’ and not ‘tell’ and so the real learning began. (SHOW: A warm ball of fuzzy fur had wrapped itself tightly in front of a crackling wall of flame, teasing it’s whiskers with the pads of a spongy paw. Red and orange shards flickered up and away into the smoky darkness. TELL: The cat sat in front of the fire) Vanessa – is that right?

After a short spell of mourning a rewrite followed. Then came Adrian White’s report. Now this was different. I felt like I’d opened my legs and allowed Tyson Fury three free uppercuts. It was quite devastating but, mostly, Adrian was right – though I almost gave up. It took a lot of weeping before I was able to galvanise myself enough to rewrite the bloody thing again. Thanks to Mary and Adrian – and other caring helpers – 70,000 words became 100,000. Finally there was a printable blend of story, show, tell, timeline, narrative and plot. Orla Kelly Publishing took on my little project. On publication day I celebrated by running naked through my home town, like some sort of deranged town cryer, screaming, “Here it is, ‘The Genius Killer’ … Roll up, roll up, get your copy here.” Hopefully, while I’m in custody, Netflix will call.

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That’s brilliant. I’m sure Netflix are on the phone right now!

And in case readers would like a flavour of The Genius Killer then here’s an extract to whet their appetite further:

An Extract from The Genius Killer

The following morning Ferris stood at the end of the small pontoon. The sun, which had peaked its brow above the yellow grass of the distant fields was already forming a heat haze across the lake, forming silver shadows. A haphazard smattering of trees circled the lake, their branches waving with a hypnotic synergy as if absorbed in some mysterious dance.

Karl, in no rush, walked towards Ferris, taking the long route round the boat house. Ferris, relaxed and vulnerable, turned and held out his hand. Karl took it, but instead of shaking it, he used it as a pivot. Karl pulled hard and fast, and Ferris spun round on his heels. Karl pressed the chloroform-soaked cloth over Ferris’s mouth.

To minimise what he knew would be a brief struggle, Karl pulled his free arm across the man’s chest. Ferris blew a muffled cry through the drenched rag. Resistance drained quickly and Karl was in complete control. He positioned the unconscious victim face up on the pontoon and then slid out a stiletto knife he’d concealed in his sleeve. Half light from the early sun bounced off the blade and the rippling water. Karl slid the stiletto between Peter Ferris’s ribs. There was a barely audible murmur and in a heartbeat it was over.

Earlier that morning, Karl had rowed across the lake, a lake he knew so well. This was where he had enjoyed so much fun blowing up those hopping amphibians. It wasn’t far from the Satterscale village between the towns of Rimpton and Hollway and the site of Jackson’s old house. Karl had placed two heavy dumb bells on the struts below the waterline underneath the pontoon. Now, after the kill, Karl used cable ties to attach the dumb bells to the floppy corpse of Ferris. Karl rolled him over the side of the pontoon. He sank fast, the weight helping Ferris on his final journey, and he would soon be buried in the lake’s deep soft silt.

Ferris disappeared below the water as a few geese lifted from the water, disturbed by the gentle splash. It was such a peaceful disposal.

****

Doesn’t that sound a cracker? Don’t forget The Genius Killer is available for purchase here.

About Mark Robson

Mark has been a journalist and broadcaster for over 30 years. Working almost exclusively in sport. Mark was employed for 15 years by SKY Sports, and 11 years by the BBC. Elsewhere he worked, on significant national contracts, for ITV, Eurosport and Premier Sport. Mark has been been involved in BAFTA and Sony award winning, and nominated, documentaries and programmes. Mark worked on these productions as a writer/reporter.  For the last 10 years Mark has focused on rugby commentary with SKY, as well as Premier Sport and Eirsport. Mark was working on the Six Nations Rugby when all sport stopped due to the pandemic, so he decided to write his first novel.

For further information, follow Mark on Twitter @rugbyjaffa, or visit Mark’s website.