Behind the Scenes of A Storm of Doubts

I thought it’d be fun to give you a glimpse behind the scenes of A Storm of Doubts with a reimagined scene. Since the Chief of Police, Eric Simcox, is a reoccurring character and a rival to my main character’s father, I wanted to work him into Storm, even if it was only in a short scene. Here’s how I wrote that scene the first time.

First Version

Dad hung up the phone. “Simcox.”

That name said it all.

When Dad and I entered the lobby, Chief of Police Eric Simcox waited by Liz’s desk, his posture I-beam straight, like he was still in the army. About my height, the chief was built out of sharp, square angles—dark brown flat top, squared jaw, severely cut shoulders.

“I was on my way to lunch and decided to stop in and ask if there was any breaks in the Carlisle case.” He inclined his head a fraction. “Glad to see you’re all right, Miss Riley.”

 “Thank you, sir.” Based on our past brief history, I reckoned his relief was a mere formality. Like my thanks.

Dad said, “I’d call you if they were.”

Simcox nodded in one snapped motion. “You still don’t want to call in BCI?”

His patronizing tone made me itch to rip his tongue after enduring the heaps of sneers from Troy and Egypt. 

“Agents for the attorney general don’t want to help on a missing person case when we don’t know if a crime is involved.” Dad kept his gaze steady. “I know you think I can’t be objective because of my friendship with Jason Carlisle, but you’re wrong.”

“It’s easier to maintain a professional relationship with the public if you aren’t personally involved with them.”

“As sheriff, I have to be. I’m required by law to live in the county I serve. I can’t blow off every citizen because he or she might one day be involved in a case. Besides, people in rural counties like to know their cops.”

“That’s one theory.”

Obviously, it wasn’t the chief’s.

“I’ve served here long enough to know that’s a fact,” said Dad.

Simcox looked ready to offer another objection, but Dad went on, “I appreciate you and your officers volunteering your own time to check out some of the back roads.”

“I’ve got the list right here—” Liz patted her monitor “—if they want to cover anymore.”

“Local agencies should cooperate,” Simcox said in his toneless voice. “Keep me posted.” He marched out.

Liz twisted in her chair to follow him as he passed by the front window. “He’s not serious about you calling in state help?”

“Probably not. He just likes to remind me how I’m not fit for this office, how my connections to the citizens of Marlin County are a weakness.”

“But if you know people personally,” I said, “doesn’t that make you a better cop? I mean, you know people’s histories, and who hates who, and who’s friends with who, and all those sorts of relational things?”

“Yes, it does. And if people know me and my mom and my kids, it makes me look like a human being, and not just a cop, but I’ll never convince Simcox of that.”

“Nobody’ll ever mistake the Chief for a human being.” Liz spun back to her desk.

Dad glanced at his watch. “Rae, you’d better get moving. Liz, I’m going over to the jail to talk to my one conscious perp. If he says anything I can share with you,” he added, reading my expression, “I’ll tell you. But I’m sure what Troy told us will mostly jibe with anything Joseph or Falk will say. If it doesn’t, he’ll just claim they’re lying.” 

Then I began editing and needed to make some sizable cuts. That’s my editing style. I overwrite and then cut. When I realized that it didn’t make sense for Rae to go with her Dad to his office, I kept them in the setting from the previous chapter–their farm. And I turned the confrontation into a phone call.

Published Version

The landline rang.

Dad picked up and listened. His entire body went rigid.

“Yes, she’s fine, Simcox. Everyone in my family is.”

My eyebrows rose.

The Chief of Police hadn’t called out of any concern for Dad’s relatives. Not when he was still fuming over losing the election to Dad.

Dad listened again, his face growing redder and redder. “Excuse me for a moment.” His voice was hoarse.

He handed me the phone and placed my hand over the mouthpiece. Then he went out the back door.

My thoughts whirling, I lowered myself onto a stool by the counter.

A sharp roar made me jump, and in another minute, Dad returned to the kitchen. The deep scarlet in his face had faded to puce, and he gestured for the phone.

“I’m back, Simcox. Sorry for the delay. No, I don’t think I need to call BCI in on this case. Houston can handle it.” Dad went quiet, said good-bye, and hung up.

Bending his head, he gripped the counter.

“What did the Chief say?”

Dad shoved himself upright. “The case with Joseph and Falk is too tough for my department, so I should call in agents from the attorney general’s office for help. That’s just an excuse for him to remind me that he thinks I’m unfit for office.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t let him get to me. Usually, he doesn’t because I’ve come to expect his insinuations. Today, I took it wrong.” He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “You’d better getting moving.

I still like the first version better, but sometime you have to sacrifice your “darlings” in order to make the book better.