By Katy Kelleher
Author Gerry Boyle is always looking for his next villain. Or victim.
“Good writers are really observers,” he says, as he sips coffee at a table in the back of a café in Brunswick.
“See that guy?” Boyle asks, gesturing toward a blandly handsome middle-aged man in a white shirt who he has been watching for the past fifteen minutes. “He was watching the young woman over there. It might be nothing, but when you write crime, you assume the worst. In my imagination, in those few minutes, he became a villain."