Murder on Page One Read Online Free PDF

re-filled their cups, lit a cigarette and leaned back in her chair. ‘Agents are powerful people,’ she said. ‘They say everyone has a book in them, and maybe they do, but very few can keep the pace of a story going for long enough. That’s why fiction writing is more demanding than factual stuff. You have to keep on flogging your imagination, keep the reader engaged. It’s a craft, you know, and it can be taught. A good agent will spot someone they think has talent and guide them: what to write, and how to write it. If you can get a good agent, you will almost certainly succeed one day, but it can take an awfully long time, and an agent will want to really believe in an author before taking them on. The publishing business is going through challenging times at the moment, with e-books and Kindle, so there are a lot of writers with real talent who will never get published, conventionally anyway.’
    ‘That must be very frustrating,’ Flick said.
    ‘Yes. I’m lucky to have such a good agent, and to have got in when I did. Of course, it’s like most other things: the more you do, the better you get, and I feel my latest book is my best. Most reviewers seem to agree, I’m glad to say.’
    Back in the sitting room, they discussed practicalities. There were over five hundred entries for the competition, about half in e-form. With less than a fortnight before the closing date, more were expected. Each entry consisted of the first three thousand words of the book plus a synopsis, about fifteen A4 pages in all. Mrs Smith had dismissed nearly three hundred entries as hopeless, but the rest awaited the selection of a shortlist. She was happy to give the officers the three hundred hopeless ones as soon as they had the warrant, but wanted to give them copies of the rest later, in dribs and drabs, with the competition going ahead as scheduled.
    Flick pursed her lips.
    ‘We don’t want to tip anyone the wink, and it’ll take us a fortnight to check three hundred,’ Baggo whispered in her ear.
    ‘All right. Since you’ve been so cooperative,’ Flick said.
    ‘Splendid. Now I suggest you should sit on the sofa and I’ll bring you some reading material. Unofficially, of course. You’ll see that a lot of entries come from abroad or from distant parts of Britain. You might be able to whittle them down geographically.’
    ‘Will they know that they are among the rejects?’ Baggo asked.
    ‘No. We acknowledge each entry but reveal nothing until we announce the shortlist. So all these poor devils will think they’re still in with a chance.’
    ‘When does the shortlist come out?’ Flick asked.
    ‘About the end of March. We do some checks before we make the announcement. We couldn’t allow the Crime Writers’ Association to be conned, could we?’
    ‘Quite,’ Flick said, not understanding why Baggo was sniggering.
    Two hours later, with only thirty-five entries read between them, the warrant came through and they drove away, the boot weighed down by two heavy mailbags. Mrs Smith promised to start sending the e-mail entries the next day.
    ‘Before you go,’ Mrs Smith said, her voice catching. ‘Jessica Stanhope was a friend. Do you think she suffered terribly?’
    ‘It was probably quite quick,’ Flick replied. She was lying. The room showed signs of a struggle and the dead woman’s face had been horribly contorted. As Flick drove up the M2 she wondered if she had said the right thing.
    ‘Some character, Mrs Smith,’ Baggo commented. ‘Quite up-to-date yet reassuringly old-fashioned.’
    ‘Absolutely. It must be a challenge to write historical novels. If you find one of hers, could you lend it to me?’
    ‘Of course, Sarge.’ He glanced at her. ‘Er, talking about the past, did you see that there’s a season of old Hitchcock movies showing in town? In colour, now, but with the magic of the big screen. All my friends are away this weekend, but I was thinking of going anyway.’
    Flick showed no reaction.