I’m a blue collar person from Detroit. I’ve worked as a truck driver, dispatcher, logistics analyst, operations manager, and ten years as a 911 operator, which was the very best job of them all. I write stories like you’d watch a movie and put them down on paper. I have written in different genres; crime, romance, literary and The Death of Anyone which is a mystery/suspense story with romance and science in it. The last sentence in my writing bio is always: He is a wolf expert. I am not a biologist. I raised two arctic hybrids, had them for eleven years, and have written two books in which the wolves join the other protagonists.
The underlying theme in my new mystery, The Death of Anyone from Melange Books, poses the Machiavellian question: Does the end justify the means? Bonnie Benham, the lead detective in my story, has her own answer. But the legality of this question will be answered in a real life courtroom in the California trial of a serial killer called The Grim Sleeper.

In The Death of Anyone, Detroit homicide Detective Bonnie Benham has been transferred from narcotics for using more than arresting and is working the case of the killer of adolescent girls. CSI collects DNA evidence from the scene of the latest victim, which has not been detected on the other victims. But no suspect turns up in the FBI database. Due to the notoriety of the crimes a task force is put together with Bonnie as the lead detective, and she implores the D.A. to authorize an as yet unapproved type of a DNA Search in an effort to identify the killer. Homicide Detective Neil Jensen, with his own history of drug and alcohol problems, understands Bonnie’s frailty and the two detectives become inseparable as they track this killer of children.
                       
In a real life courtroom drama Lonnie David Franklin, the Grim Sleeper, was caught because his son’s DNA was the closest match to DNA collected at the crime scenes in the database. Investigating Franklin’s son led them to investigate Lonnie Franklin. But there was no direct DNA evidence that linked Lonnie to the crime scene until they obtained a sample from him after his arrest. Lonnie Franklin will be the first person in the U.S. to ever stand trial based on this type of evidence, and its admissibility issues in court will be thoroughly tested by defense attorneys.
 
Only two states at this time, California and Colorado, have a written policy concerning the use of Familial DNA in an investigation. The admissibility of Familial DNA has never been tested in court. The California trial of Lonnie David Franklin will become a landmark case for the future use of Familial DNA Searches by law enforcement agencies nationwide.
 
I first heard of the technique while working as a 911 operator in 2006. It came up in a conversation with officers. I thought at the time it would make an interesting premise for a book. I began writing the mystery some three years later after leaving the department. I had just finished editing a first draft of The Death of Anyone in the summer 2010 when news of The Grim Sleeper’s capture in Los Angeles was released. I read with interest all the information pouring out of L.A. regarding the investigation and the problems confronting prosecutors. All of which are explored in The Death of Anyone.
Here is a brief excerpt from the book:

~Chapter Two~

Benham arrived first, no sign of Russo or Jensen. She got a table and told the maitre de to send them over when they arrived, and that there would be a third party, a Detective Lagrow. As he seated Benham, the maitre de informed her, “The show starts at about 12:30 pm. We have a couple of new dancers.

Benham screwed up her nose, gave him a curious eye. “Dancers?”

The maitre de nodded. “Yes, belly dancers. We have a new one I’m sure your friends will appreciate. She’s very good-young, friendly.”

Benham just shook her head. ”I’m sure they will,” she said as she sat.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Whoa, the brake in her head told her. You know you, you know your history. You know what a slip can do to you. Doctors, psychologists, treatment, rehab, counselors, AA, each and every one of them flashed across her head as her mind absorbed the offer. “Just a coke, or, actually, would you just bring me a black coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Benham sipped her coffee and looked through her brief notes of the case. They were very brief, there was little to put in them. A young girl, perhaps ten, dead, strangled, almost for certain assaulted, lying in an alley for a few hours. And it had only been a few hours—Pierangeli seemed pretty sure she hadn’t been there long. She was found at around nine-thirty am, so she died maybe around eight am. She lay there, choked, defiled, beautiful, and dead, and nobody was looking for her. She had to have been taken pretty early this morning, so it’s been about five hours she’s been gone, and nobody loves her enough to miss her. Benham could feel the anger rising from within, from the source where feelings come from, from deeper but inclusive of the stomach, from the birthplace of emotion.

A hand touched her shoulder and startled her. “Me and Jensen are here, bring on the dancing girls,” Dean Russo bellowed, joyous almost, and that irritated Bonnie a little. There was nothing to be happy about this day.

“You’ll get your wish. The belly dancers will be here in a few,” Benham said, with a bit of obvious disdain that Russo picked up on.

“You picked the place.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bonnie answered, feeling a little sorry now she sounded so disapproving. “Yeah, I picked it. Didn’t think about belly dancers, but, hey, we’re here, and I love pastitio, and they have the best. Sorry if I sound pissy, it’s only because I am. Once you see the girl you won’t be dancing in the street either.”

Russo quit laughing. “How long you been in homicide, Benham?”

Bonnie could see she rubbed something, “A couple of months.”

“You were in narcotics?”

“Yeah, I was in narcotics. I was in it and it—I was narcotic.”

There was a pause. Jensen looked across at Russo, glared a little, trying to shut him up with a look. And out of the corner of his eye let Bonnie know he saw her, too. He wanted her to keep this cool.

But it was a little late, and Bonnie was a bit volatile. “You know fucking well I was in narcotics. And you fucking know why I’m in homicide. I got myself transferred out for becoming more narcotic than narc. Quit beating around the bush. What’s your point?”

The book is available as a download or in paperback at these websites:
Melange Books, Lulu, Amazon, and Bookwire 
 

Tim Ouellette was born in Salem, Massachusetts on June 16th, 1966. He has 
published poetry in little/literary magazines in the mid to late 80′s. 

Tim and  his wife Dianna were married in 1988 and moved to Maine a year later. They have 
six children and own a 110 year old Federal-style home in Southern Maine.

His children swear the house is haunted; Tim tells them they’re just 
“characters in the making”.

~~~

I was stumbling around the web the other day searching for bits of writing wisdom I could parlay into a blog post that would make me sound, if not intelligent, than at least coherent. Not sure if I will have accomplished that by the end of this post, but I’ll let you be the judge.

Anyway, I found a website where stories about zombies were the primary topic of discussion. My initial response was *yawn* not another zombie post, but then I read a statement by the author (whose name escapes me at the moment) where he essentially said (and this is not a direct quote):

“When it comes to writing about zombies, there’s only one thing you need to remember: it’s not actually about the zombies.”

I sat at my laptop for a moment and mulled this one over; it took me a couple of minutes but the wisdom behind this statement finally began to sink in.

The popularity behind the current run of zombie-apocalypse books and television shows stems not from the existence of the zombies themselves but from the relational response of the various survivors; those individuals or groups who have banded together to fight for the continued existence of the human race. Relationships are a vital component of human nature; they help us to establish our identity in our families, our jobs, and in the world. In the zombie-apocalypse material presented on television and in books these relationships appear to sometimes be the last remaining component identifying human beings as, well, human.

Human at our core

Authentic horror fiction validates the existence of some of our more basic human instincts and emotions; but it does so without necessarily validating the truthfulness of the expression. In other words, it recognizes that, as human beings, we have a pool of raw, basic emotion and instinct at our core that often remains untapped, revealed only when we’re thrust into situations of extreme duress. No-one reading a story that has the protagonist going on a violent rampage would advocate that sort of thing in real life; yet how many of us commiserated with (and sometimes even cheered) the character of William Foster in the 1993 film Falling Down? (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Falling_down)

Horror fiction allows us to “enjoy” a sometimes aberrant human response without necessarily requiring us to advocate such a response. It allows us the freedom to put ourselves in the protagonist’s shoes and experience the thrill of illicit emotions and responses.

The Challenge

It is the challenge of the writer of dark fiction to take normal, everyday existence and inject it with the surreal; to show the reader normal, everyday people who have been thrust into either supernatural or just plain horrific situations and how they respond to these abnormal, extra-ordinary occurrences.

It’s the challenge of the horror writer to help the reader realize that things are not necessarily as they seem.

Horror writing need not be filled with the stuff of slasher movies in order to be viewed as “horror”; that’s not to say that horror fiction, in order to be classified as such, must be approached solely from an elitist point of view. While there’s certainly nothing intellectually stimulating about a scene depicting a man being skinned alive, for example – and yes, I have a scene like that in one of my works of fiction – sometimes a scene like this is necessary in terms of either plot or character advancement. Sometimes a scene like this just works; but fiction that attempts to convey the true nature of horror by simply splashing blood and gore across the page will ultimately fail.

Authentic horror writing advances the notion that there exist cracks or fissures in reality; it strips away the sometimes all-too-thin veneer of superficiality to reveal our baser human thoughts, emotions and desires. It recognizes the existence of a moral plane and then thrusts the protagonist into a situation that calls into question everything they believe in.

Good horror writing is authentic because it’s honest.

Who could ask for more than that?

~~~

Tim has recently published horror fiction & poetry online; “Fractured” is his first book-length work, and he’s currently writing his first novel, tentatively titled “Fallen”.

Connect with Tim on his website and Facebook, and follow him on Twitter.

Demonic children. A husband on the brink of insanity. A woman whose obsession brings her back from the dead…
“Fractured” is a collection of horror fiction and poetry that seeks to pierce the darkest regions of the human mind. The stories in this collection touch upon powerful themes such as love and death, with a paranormal twist.night after night.

“Fractured” can be purchased in print or as a download for Kindle here.