Project piece 2 : Crime story Extract

For this piece I decided to write a crime story extract, set in 1930’s America. The detective is a mysterious character clearly from a well off background but somehow stuck in the job of being a private eye. He is investigating a tip off that the suspect he is hunting is hiding in a rural farmhouse and is faced with the situation of a fleeing suspect who may or may not be armed. I have tried to hide subtle hints in the story as to what the crime is, such as the “alien looking meat” in the pig pen which could be a clue later on.

The time was around eight o’clock in the morning, late November, an icy breeze tugging at the tail of my trench coat and attempting to wrestle my pristine fedora from atop of my head. The sun was still rising in the East, low over the rolling prairies of North Dakota, casting a dark shadow in front of the great wooden farmhouse that stood before me. I wasn’t dressed appropriately for the occasion. Polished leather oxfords tarnished by the sea of mud and manure and loose grey trench coat leaving me vulnerable to attack from the gusts of wind that swept the desolate landscape. It was all too obvious that a big city, Harvard educated private eye like me did not belong in the rural back-country of a place like this.

“I stepped up onto the porch, dimly lit by an ancient oil lamp clearly weathered over many years of service. The door was that of heavy timber adorned with a horseshoe fashioned into a door knocker, which I used to deliver three large thumps onto the door. No answer. Three more thumps. Still no answer. I was suitably annoyed by this point and paid little attention to the state of my expensive shoes as I trudged round to the back door through yet more mud. As disgusting as the big city was, it had nothing on this place. The back door faced a small paddock in which a couple of pigs foraged through the mud  for some alien looking meat that smelt appalling. The door itself was made of some corrugated metal, joined to the wall by some rusty hinges. I paused. In one of the windows I spotted the shadowy silhouette of a face peering from behind the curtains. Whoever it was had noticed me, as when I turned to examine the face closer they disappeared from view. I didn’t waste any time high-tailing it round to the front of the house, half-expecting the shadowy figure to already be long gone, however to my surprise the impenetrable door was still bolted shut. Why didn’t this person try and run? They clearly knew I was onto them so it would only be logical for them to make a break for it and escape. Something wasn’t right. A blast of cold, northern wind threatened to relieve me of my hat as I made my way onto to the front porch of the house: one hand clenched around the polished steel grip of my revolver, just in case this person – whoever they were – decided they wanted to put up a fight. I made up my mind that I was going to enter the property one way or another as I  had a warrant from the court for the suspects immediate arrest. Drawing my gun, I aimed at the first hinge that connected the door to the frame, making sure to cover my eyes with my fedora in order to stop the sparks flying into my face. With one pull of the trigger, a bullet tore into the metal and wood causing sparks, splinters and all manners of shrapnel to spray in all directions. The first hinge was off and I quickly dispatched the second causing the once impressive door to plummet inwards to the ground like the felling of a mighty oak. I took a deep breath, and made my way in.

Stepping into the farmhouse, it seemed I had stepped through a portal back to the mid 1800’s. Antique furniture sat clumsily arranged all over the place with some covered in white sheets in an effort to protect them from the dust. I noticed that one of the sofas had been relieved of its cover and was instead draped with tattered winter coat. On the floor by the sofa sat a half finished pack of beers and a heap of cigarette butts. The person who had been squatting here had clearly left in a hurry… I turned.  The screech of door hinges had broken my trance as I surveyed the scene and alerted me to the presence of a possible threat. Hurriedly drawing my revolver once again, I cautiously crept towards the room in which I presumed the sound had come from. I was nervously sweating as rounded every corner, half expecting someone to be waiting for me with a knife or gun. This was the worst possible situation, being that I was miles from civilization and backup was a few hours away at best. As I edged my way into the kitchen I found the source of the sound. An open trap door. I should have known there would be a secret way out. Unfortunately for my prey however, I remembered a possible exit for this hidden passage. On my drive up the winding muddy path towards the house, I had noticed a disheveled looking shack out in the middle of a field. Why else would it be there? The chase was on…”

I am very pleased with how this extract turned out as it is exactly the same as my original plan. I have stuck to the same plot the entire way through and have been able to insert clues into the passage in order to give the reader a chance to investigate the crime along with the detective. I feel that from this short passage I could write the full story as I know exactly what is going to happen and how the story will unfold as the detective continues his work. I took much inspiration for this piece from the work of Raymond Chandler. One of chandlers most important rules of writing a detective novel is to make the story believable and about real world people. I think i have achieved this by making the setting of my novel in the 1930’s and matching the correct clothing and minor details to this time period. Chandler also says that it must not be a violent story, nor a loving romance. I have included little to none of either of these, instead hinting at the idea of violence with the addition of the detectives revolver that implies danger. I feel that I have employed many different writing skills to make this a successful piece of literature. I have used short sentences to great effect in order to add drama and suspense to the story. One of my favorite examples of this is “no answer. Three more thumps. Still no answer”, as it gives off the impression that the detective is impatient without mentioning it. If I were to compare my piece to another, it would have to be any of the Sherlock Holmes novels as I feel that the flow is very similar. Both allow for the reader to join in with the investigation and the personalities of the detectives are similar. The main difference is that my extract is set in 1930’s America unlike Sherlock Holmes which is based in 18th Century England.