DEBORAH CROMBIE: The last time I was up on our What We're Writing week, I said that by the time my next turn rolled around, A KILLING OF INNOCENTS would be finished!
Oh, oops, well, maybe not quite finished... but almost! Only a few days and two chapters to go, the climax and the resolution.
Resolution, now there's a nice word, and for a while I wondered if I would get there. I'd be the first to admit that I wandered and wobbled through the middle of this book, horribly frustrated by not being able to spend time in London doing essential research, much of which is just walking the city. A first visit gives me a general feel for a location. Subsequent trips let me imprint the specifics, moving the characters through their daily lives in the setting. That's when you find all the fun little tidbits; the best coffee shop, the park with the interesting history, the house where a favorite writer lived. It's where the book comes to life.
For this book, I had a couple of weeks in November of 2019. And THAT. WAS. IT.
But, eventually, I figured things out, and the first thanks in my acknowledgements will go to--Google Street View! I couldn't have done it without you, Google!
Back in the day, before we were smart, I was wedded to my A-Z.
That's pronounced A to Zed, by the way, and it is the definitive London street map book. I even had this mini version that went with me everywhere. Armed with my AZ and my tattered London Bus Route map, I could pretty much conquer London.
When he reached Old Compton Street, he was glad to see that
I Camisa and Son was just as he remembered it. The deli was busy, and as he
waited he breathed in the distinctive aroma of the place. Old cheeses. Cured
meats. Coffee, fresh bread. And always the undertone of spices, some
familiar—basil, fennel, oregano—some elusive. The place had been here a long
time, long enough for the scents to seep into the very fabric of it. He
wondered if there was even a ‘son’ anymore.
But whoever was in charge, it was an efficient operation,
and when his turn came at the counter, his order was filled quickly. With his
ham, mortadella, mozzarella, and tomato on focaccia stowed safely in a paper
bag and his coffee in a paper cup, he walked back into Old Compton Street.
There he hesitated, his face tilted up to the sun. He’d meant to take his lunch
back to Holborn, but the day was still fine and he had a better idea.
He rounded the corner into Wardour Street and was soon
seated on a bench in St. Anne’s churchyard, watching the pigeons as he ate and
trying not to drip roasted tomato on his best suit trousers.













