Fiction writers make stuff up. That’s our job. But writing a novel takes a lot of time and energy, and over the course of all those months plugging away at the word count, as life is happening, as our writer brains process events and emotions around us, real-life inspiration seeps in. Sometimes without us even realizing it.

My debut novel, Never Saw Me Coming, is very much a psychological thriller forged out of my desire to subvert readers’ expectations.

I have been a crime fiction fan for thirty years, since reading Thomas Harris’, The Silence of the Lambs, and my enthusiasm for thrillers dates back to Peter Benchley’s Jaws.

In August 2012, Winnie Johnson died, aged 78. She died never knowing where her twelve year old son, Keith Bennett, was buried, and her long held wish to give her son a proper burial was never fulfilled.

My husband and I were out for breakfast when the seed for my third novel was planted.

You could say I’ve been involved with crime for a long time. Over two decades in law enforcement taught me a lot about human nature, good and bad.