By Tj O’Connor, author of Dying to Know
Detective Oliver Tucker—Tuck to his friends and murderers—is a
relatively unusual hero for a murder mystery. Tuck is the lead detective in the
most important murder case of his life, and, well, he’s the victim, too. You
see, I undertook an unusual approach to my first murder mystery. I killed my
hero in the opening chapter. Yes, killed him. Bang he’s dead. Ta-da, he’s back.
Silly? Bizarre? No, but it was difficult at best—trust me.
But there was method to my madness.
You see, years ago I was a government agent working in anti-terrorism around
the world. Shortly after a rather unnerving adventure, I began having a
recurring nightmare that I was killed during an operation and came back to help
my wife find my murderers. That nightmare plagued me for twenty years. A short
time ago, after getting serious about trying to sell one of my three thrillers
I’d written, Dying to Know was born. I
told my adult daughters about the nightmare one evening watching a science
channel show about hauntings when they seized on the storyline. My eldest
daughter—a fan of supernatural movies and books—commanded I write my nightmare
as the story—a dead detective solving his own case. She cited vampire
detectives, teenage wizards, dozens of reality T.V. shows, and two of my
favorite old-time movies—Topper and The Thin Man. (For those of you who are
scratching your head, think Patrick Swayze in Ghost meets Richard Castle of
T.V. fame.) She convinced me.
The next day, I began Dying to
Know.
A dead-detective story was not the story I thought I’d ever write nor
ever sell. And at the time Dying to Know
began to take shape, I was still unrepresented and unpublished. But, I had
nothing to lose but three months of my mornings, evenings, and weekends, right?
Oliver “Tuck” Tucker was born at three in the morning after another
episode of my nightmare. He came to life after tripping down my stairs to my
den to write the opening chapter…
“…Darkness and the grandfather clock greeted me—it chimed two.
The downstairs was quiet and I checked the front door. It was still
locked and there were no signs of splintered wood, broken glass, or other
forced entry. The only sound I heard was my own breathing. The only curious
sighting was the half-dressed, frumpy guy in the hall mirror who looked tired
and irritated…
…I started with the kitchen and worked my way around the first floor,
searching room by room—all five of them—ending in my den. Nothing. The most
dangerous thing I found was Hercule’s squeaky frog that scared the crap out of
me when I stepped on it. I felt foolish and decided to head back to bed. It hit
me when I reached to turn off my desk lamp...
Floorboards groaned above me. A door opened in the darkness beyond the
landing. Movement—a shadow.
Somewhere above, Angel called, “Tuck!”
There was a flash at the top of the
stairs...
a shot.
I lunged for the third stair. A figure stepped out of the darkness
twelve feet above me.
Another flash.
“Angel!””
And so Tuck began. Without intention—without even thinking about it—I
began writing Tuck in the first person. I realized pretty fast I had a big
problem by the end of the first chapter. Tuck was dead.
“The next morning, I realized how much in common I had with my heroes.
They were, of course, some of the greatest detectives in history. I’m speaking
of Doyle’s Holmes, Christie’s Poirot, and Bigger’s Charlie Chan. I could add
Scooby and Shaggy, but they’re cartoons and don’t count. The others are
fictional characters, too, but they’re legends nonetheless. I’m not saying I’m
a legend. I’m saying they’re all dead.
So am I.”
The solution unfolded as the plot did. I simply followed Tuck’s lead.
Tuck became a dead detective, back from somewhere I never quite discuss to find
his killer. I avoided the pitfalls of such a topic—no religion, beliefs,
deity-involvement, or other touchy topics. Instead, Tuck faced a basic conflict—being
back among the living but not one of them. First, he had to learn to be dead.
Easy? Not so much—where’s the research of this? I had to address life for
Tuck—or the lack of it—without any personal experience (thank God) and no real
foundation to go on. The upside was that it would be hard to be proven wrong.
The downside was being too unbelievable or too cheesy. It had to be a balance
of fun and possibility that would keep a reader going. So, as Tuck learned the
dead-ropes, he also had to learn to be among his family and friends but out of
their sight and hearing—to learn to communicate, move, and, most importantly,
to face the real possibility that his beautiful wife, Angel, or his blustering
partner, Bear, may have killed him. His only comforts are Hercule, his
four-year-old black lab, and a crusty old surgeon named Doc. (I’ll save you the
details for your read.)
But this is not a ghost story, it’s a murder mystery.
But, ghost stories are a different genre than murder mysteries and a totally
different readership. So, my first hurdle was to use Tuck’s demise to drive
this story as a murder mystery without letting it turn into a ghost story. I
wanted to create Tuck’s character flaw as a vehicle to tell the story and solve
his murder without letting it become the story itself. A balance of the
paranormal in such a way that lets the reader often forget he’s dead, to see
him as the protagonist with a little handicap here and there. Once again, Tuck
showed me the way.
Using his unique spirit skills—moving from place-to-place without cars,
trains, or automobiles; eavesdropping on conversations without anyone knowing
it; and having an unusual, sixth-sense insight into character’s pasts—Tuck begins
solving his crime. But Tuck has limits, too. He is not able to conjure up his
killer or use any hocus pocus to read minds or find clues. His detective skills
are a must. His character stays a hero with limits, weaknesses, and luck.
Tuck’s unusual skills are a conduit for the story—a means to learn other
character’s backstories and motivations. They are not the story itself.
Writing Tuck in the first person was difficult and at times, unnerving.
I tried to stay true to my nightmare—a man driven by sadness and anxiety and,
at the same time, staying a driven-detective who refuses to take things too seriously—not even death. It was
often difficult to put myself in Tuck’s point of view to face his challenges.
Like facing his grieving wife for the first time and trying to make contact—conflicted
by her outward grief and guilt-laden nuances. Or like seeing his partner acting
more like a suspect than a life-long friend—hiding evidence, lurking around his
home, and perhaps trying to steal his wife.
“There were several “somethings” that were
not right with Bear. There was the hidden file, my house key, and a secret
gargantuan informant. Now, he was stuffing evidence in his pockets. Since my
death, Bear’s secrets unnerved me and sent a chilling question through me. Were
his secrets because of my murder or the reasons for it?”
Writing Tuck in the first person was not simply viewing the story from my
own emotions in a given situation either. I had to account for his principle
flaw—he was dead. What would his lack of fear mean—it’s not like someone could
kill him, right? If Tuck didn’t fear death any longer, how would he act in a
crisis? Always brave and heroic? No—other emotions would drive him. How would he
feel facing his wife and best friend wondering if one killed him? How would he
react to the frustration of being unable to communicate, to being so close to
his wife but unable to touch or be touched? And, above all, how could he
maintain his easy-going yet sarcastic point of view while his entire world
turns upside down? Keep the story mysterious and interesting without letting it
become too dark and ghostly?
In the end, Tuck showed me. Dying
To Know hooked me my incredible agent, Kimberley Cameron, and my publisher,
Midnight Ink. It is the first of a series with Tuck solving crimes—all of which
with a historical subplot—and proving that it’s the living, not the dead, that
are most terrifying.
Since penning Dying to Know,
I’ve finished three new mysteries. The third is Dying for the Past, Tuck’s first of two planned sequels. The series
will continue to delve into Tuck’s world of being among the living but not one
of them. Each will also explore Tuck’s heritage and other historical plot
twists that will beg the question, “Is being dead hereditary?”
Tj O’Connor lives in Virginia with his wife
and three Labs. Dying to Know is the fourth of his seven novels. He works as an
international security consultant specializing in investigations and
anti-terrorism. Learn about his world at
www.tjoconnor.com
and Facebook at
www.facebook.com/TjOConnor.Author.
