One thing many people enjoy about crime fiction is the sense of closure they get when the “bad guy” is revealed. And for a lot of people, it’s important to get a sense that the criminal is going to be brought to justice. In some way, the criminal will pay for what s/he did. The thing is, though, that life’s not always that neat. Even if the police find out who the criminal is, they may not have enough evidence to get a conviction. Sometimes criminals are very highly-placed and powerful, so it’s hard to pursue a case against them. There are other reasons, too, for which a guilty person might not end up convicted of a crime. So when that happens in crime fiction, it can lend an air of authenticity to a novel. That’s one reason most crime fiction fans can accept a criminal not being brought to justice if there’s a really believable reason for it and so long as they know whodunit (I honestly think most crime fiction fans get frustrated if the culprit isn’t revealed).
For example, in Agatha Christie’s The Hollow, Hercule Poirot has taken a cottage near the country home of Sir Henry and Lady Lucy Angkatell. Even he admits to a bit of snobbery, so he’s quite pleased when the Angkatells invite him for lunch one Sunday. When he gets there, he’s dismayed to find what looks like an “amusement” arranged for his dubious benefit. The body of John Christow, one of the Angkatells’ house guests, is arranged by the swimming pool, and the murderer is standing next to the body, holding the weapon. Very quickly, though, Poirot realises that this is no tableau. Christow really has been shot. The police are called in and Poirot works with Inspector Grange to find out who the killer is. At first it seems clear that Christow’s wife Gerda is guilty. But soon, several pieces of evidence turn up suggesting that she’s innocent. And as Poirot and Grange look into the matter, they find that more than one other person had a motive to kill Christow. In the end, Poirot discovers who the murderer is, and it’s interesting to see how Christie deals with the whole question of bringing the killer to justice.
In Christianna Brand’s Green For Danger, postman Joseph Higgins has suffered a fractured femur. He’s rushed to Heron’s Park military hospital, where plans are made to set the bone. The next morning, he’s taken into the operating room where, tragically, he dies on the table. Inspector Cockrill is sent to the hospital to put a “rubber stamp” on the incident but as he soon discovers, this is no accidental death. First, Higgins’ widow claims he was murdered. One might put her claims down to denial or to the desire to “lash out.” But then one night at a cocktail party, Sister Marion Bates has too much to drink and blurts out that she knows Higgins was murdered. What’s more, she says, she has proof of that. Later that night, she’s found stabbed to death in the operating theatre and her body is stretched out on one of the tables. Now it’s clear that Cockrill is dealing with a double murder, and he goes to work to find out who the killer is and what the motive is. In the end, Cockrill finds out whodunit and (what’s really quite interesting) howdunit. A very creative twist, though, means that this killer isn’t brought to justice in the way that Cockrill had planned.
In Michael Connelly’s The Black Ice, Harry Bosch hears over the police radio that an apparent suicide victim’s been found not far away. Bosch is annoyed that he wasn’t informed officially, since this is his patch of turf. So he goes to the scene himself where police have discovered the body of Calexico “Cal” Moore, a fellow L.A.P.D. cop. Some aspects of the scene make Bosch begin to wonder whether Moore really committed suicide, but he’s quickly shuttled off the case. In fact, he’s given other cases to solve. But when one of the cases turns out to be tied in with the Moore case, Bosch plunges back into the death of Cal Moore. Evidence suggests that Moore “went dirty” and committed suicide because of that. So there’s little wonder that the top brass doesn’t want this case to make headlines. But Bosch doesn’t think it’s as simple as that, and goes looking for the truth. His search takes him to the heart of a Mexican drugs ring – and to Moore’s boyhood home. In the end, Bosch finds out who killed Cal Moore, but the killer doesn’t get locked up and tried in the usual way. There’s a very creative twist in this story that gives the reader answers without it ending in the traditional way.
Scott Turow’s Presumed Innocent also contains a very creative approach to justice being served, so to speak. In that novel, chief deputy prosecutor Rožat “Rusty” Sabich is given a very difficult task. The body of fellow prosecutor Carolyn Polhemus was discovered in her apartment and Sabich’s boss Raymond Horgan wants her murderer caught. Not only are there personal feelings involved, as Polhemus was a co-worker, but also, Horgan is up for re-election. He’s facing tough competition, and he’s afraid he’ll lose the election if Polhemus’ killer is not brought to justice. What makes this case difficult for Sabich is that he himself had been involved with Polhemus up until a few months before her death. Nevertheless, Sabich begins the work of looking through police files and trying to make sense of the evidence. As he looks into the case, he finds that Polhemus was a very complicated person on many different levels. So more than one person in her personal and professional lives could have had a motive for murder. When the truth about Sabich’s relationship with Polhemus comes out, he finds himself suspected of the crime. In fact, he’s arrested for it. Now, he’s on the other side of the case, so to speak, as he tries to clear his name. In the end, we do find out who killed Carolyn Polhemus. We also find out why. But there isn’t a cathartic scene in which the killer is led away in handcuffs.
The killer isn’t led away in handcuffs in Håkan Nesser’s Woman With Birthmark, either. Inspector Van Veeteren and his team are called to the home of Ryszard Malik, who’s been killed with two neat shots. It’s a very professional “hit” so there’s little evidence. The team is just beginning its investigation of that murder when there’s another, nearly identical one. And then another. As they look into the histories of the victims, Van Veeteren and the other team members realise that they’re going to have to work fast if they’re going to prevent another killing. In this novel, we know who the killer is from early in the novel. As the story goes on we learn the motive, too. Van Veeteren and the team learn those things, too, but in the end, the killer isn’t arrested or jailed. So you could say that justice isn’t served. Or perhaps it is…
In Alice LaPlante’s Turn of Mind, Detective Luton is assigned to investigate the murder of seventy-five-year-old Amanda O’Toole. As Luton looks into the case, she begins to suspect O’Toole’s neighbour, sixty-four-year-old orthopaedic surgeon Dr. Jennifer White. The two families have had a long relationship and have a real history together. What’s more, White and O’Toole were witnessed having a loud argument before O’Toole’s death. The clincher, though, is that O’Toole’s body has been mutilated in a very professional way that only a surgeon would be likely to know. The problem with Luton’s case is that Jennifer White has been diagnosed with dementia, and is slowly slipping away from what most of us think of as reality. So Luton can’t really get reliable answers from White. This novel is told from Jennifer White’s point of view, so readers don’t really know exactly what happened on the night of O’Toole’s murder. We do learn about the families’ history, and about O’Toole’s personality. We also learn how both of those things might have contributed to the murder. Still, because of the progression of White’s dementia, we don’t really know the details of the murder for quite a while. In the end, readers do learn what really happened and why. But the killer isn’t arrested and taken off in handcuffs.
For most crime fiction fans, it’s important to find out who the killer is and most fans want to know the “why” and “how,” too. But is it always important that the killer be brought to justice? There are some very well-written books in which that doesn’t happen. And it can be very authentic when something really believable prevents the killer from being arrested, tried and so on. After all, real life is often not particularly neat. What do you think about this question? Is it important to you as a reader that the killer pay the price? If you’re a writer, do you feel it’s important to have the “bad guy” arrested and pay the price for the crime?
*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Billy Joel’s Famous Last Words.
I like that AC sometimes leaves the question of justice open. Like Murder on the Orient Express. We find out who is guilty but does justice (in the sense of law and order) prevail or has justice been served in another way? Or we have Poirot’s last case. Or the case of Five Little Pigs where justice has taken place (or so we think) but in the end, it takes years for true justice. It’s a good question. Sometimes we want the killer to get caught and sometimes we don’t. Sometimes when we want the killer to walk free (because we think they have (a) received all the punishment they deserve or (b) they rendered justice to an evil person) and they end up getting caught, we feel strong emotion against it. Thought-provoking indeed.
Clarissa – Thanks; I think it’s a fascinating question myself. As you say, Christie does address this question in several of her novels, and handles the issue thoughtfully. There are cases where catching and imprisoning the culprit might not be the most just thing; it’s such a hard concept to define. And then, as you say, there are cases where the reader develops a certain sympathy for the killer (or an intense dislike of the victim) and wonders whether it would be the right thing to do to imprison the culprit. There are other issues, too, that make this a complicated question.
File this under the reason “Law & Order” has been on TV since the year 1. Cases do get messy and, for interest, the messier the better. The last thing you want in a mystery novel is a cut and dried case.
I’m a little disturbed about the unreliable narrator in Turn of Mind. I should read it, I guess, but I can’t see how the story can make sense with a person descending into dementia. Unreliable narrator indeed.
Barbara – Interesting point about Law & Order. As you say, real life cases can get messy. In fiction, that messiness can add to the plot.
I recommend Turn of Mind. The narrator does get unreliable, and it is not an easy book to read. It is in some ways disturbing. But it is one of the more compelling books I’ve read, and raises some fascinating issues. And the story makes more sense than you might think at first glance.
I agree that the narrator in TURN OF MIND is unreliable but knowing that from the outset made it OK…at least for me. First person narratives are always a little unreliable I think because any one person’s perspective always skews ‘the truth’, no? I thought it was an utterly brilliant book but I will admit less from the crime fiction perspective than the depiction of what that horrible disease does to people – am living through it with my dad at the moment which is grim but I did find it helpful in a wierd sort of way to have some grasp of what things might look like from his side of things.
Bernadette – I am so sorry for what you’re going through with your dad. I won’t insult you by saying I know what it’s like, but I do sympathise.
As far as Turn of Mind goes, you make an interesting point about knowing the narrator is unreliable. I agree completely that since we know that fact about Jennifer White from the outset, it’s less jarring as the book goes on and we see things from her point of view. And as you say, it’s a first-person narrative. That means there are things the narrator doesn’t know, and biases the narrator has and so on. Folks, if you haven’t read Turn of Mind, I really do recommend it.
Agreed, it’s a brilliant book, and the narrator is unreliable “by definition” rather than in any form of cheat or randomness that can be disappointing in the books that use this device carelessly.
Maxine – You put that difference very well. That’s exactly what make the unreliable nature of this narrator work so well.
My father had Alzheimer’s and he died in 1998. He hadn’t been “him” if you know what I mean for several years at that point. Maybe that’s what bothers me in this unreliable narrator; it makes me think of the way he slowly disappeared as an intelligent person. Bernadette, I’m very sorry you and your father are going through this too.
Barbara – I am terribly sorry to hear of the loss of your father, and of the way he died. No wonder you feel the way you do about unreliable narrators. It’s interesting isn’t it how a book can touch those deepest parts of us in different ways…
Justice certainly isn’t a straightforward concept. I agree with Clarissa, and I’d add that some very interesting books raising questions about justice were written in the Golden Age by the likes of C.S. Forester, Anthony Berkeley, and the now forgotten Milward Kennedy.
Martin – Right you are about the fact that justice isn’t straightforward. That’s what makes it such a fascinating question in crime fiction in my opinion. And certainly taking a deeper look at the question can make for a really rich story. Thank you, too, for mentioning Forester, Berkeley and Kennedy. I agree completely on Forester and Berkeley (I’m embarrassed to say I’m familiar with Kennedy’s work).
Because I’ve been reading a lot of older fiction recently – Ngaio Marsh, Agatha Christie et al, I’ve been acutely aware that in the time of their works, justice was meted out by hanging – the last hanging for first degree murder in Britain was in 1964, so justice was often deadly, which makes it kind of bitter-sweet and very permanent!
Vanda – Oh, that’s such a good point! When capital punishment is involved, it’s much harder to decide if a criminal deserves to be sentenced to that punishment. That puts a very different picture on the question doesn’t it?
Overall this issue is one that I have changed my viewpoint on – both in life and in my reading – as I’ve gotten older. I’m less and less convinced of the point of prisons at all as I age, and certainly less sure that ‘locking up bad guys’ is the same as justice. I wonder where notions of things like repatriation have gone. Because I’m more uncomfortable with a black and white view of the issue in real life I think I’m much more receptive to books in which the concept of justice is differentiated from ‘locking up and throw away the key’ (eg Christie’s Orient Express) and even books in which justice doesn’t make an appearance at all – just like life for some people.
Bernadette – Justice and locking people up are not always the same things. And if you look at what happens especially to young people who get locked up, you have to wonder what purpose it serves. I can’t see that it often does much good. I think about this issue a lot, actually. On one hand, I don’t want dangerous criminals to be free to steal, murder, etc.. And I certainly don’t want paedophiles anywhere near children, or domestic abusers to be free to beat up on their families. On the other hand, “lock ‘em up and throw away the key” doesn’t really solve society’s problems, either. It’s such a thorny issue and it’s deeper and more complex than it’s often portrayed in books.
I agree, the reader needs some sense of closure – and justice isn’t always of the kind the law dishes out
If you have time Margot, there’s a mention of you in my post from Wednesday
Sarah – You’ve got a very well-taken point – and well-put. And off I go to read your wonderful blog
To bring up my favorite Venetian detective series, one of the things that stands out in Donna Leon’s books is that rarely is there justice for a murder suspect. Usually Guido Brunetti and his team find out who did it and why, but they are not usually arrested or brought to trial. They are mostly highly connected to the government, military, a corporation, the church, or some shady but influential businesspeople, or are wealthy lawyers or other professionals themselves. (I am satisfied if the culprit(s) are revealed. I get the reasons why they may not face justice.)
I have seen articles that said that Leon’s books weren’t well-read in the U.S. as in Europe because readers here want suspects arrested and brought to justice, and that readers abroad understand that isn’t real life often.
Leon, in an audio of a speaking engagement in the States, in answer to a question about why her suspects aren’t usually arrested and tried and sent to jail, said that the wealthy and highly connected in real life are often not given justice. And that she is reflecting life as it is.
It works for me.
Kathy – You know, I was thinking about what Leon said as I was writing this post. It’s quite true that in real life (and in Leon’s books) people who are wealthy, well-connected and so on often don’t get arrested. And even if they do they certainly don’t end up behind bars. I think Leon portrays that reality very well. And you’ve got a well-taken point about knowing who the culprit is; I think most readers are satisfied if they know whodunit, even if that person doesn’t end up in jail.
In the (fairly long ago) days when I still read John Grisham, I enjoyed The Runaway Jury. There is a movie of it but that lacked impact because they changed the case too much.
In terms of what some are writing about the use of prisons as a deterrent, this is a fascinating sub-theme in Jan Lier Horst’s DREGS, an excellent Norwegian police procedural published in English translation a month or two ago by a small Scottish press. The protagonist’s daughter is a journalist and in this book she is interviewing criminals who have served their time and been released, to investigate precisely this question of whether they feel their sentence has led to rehabilitation/reform. Of course, this becomes central to the main plot as well! Another interesting aspect is the daughter’s boyfriend is someone who has previously been convicted for drug (dealing or taking, can’t recall). All in all these are great themes in the book which don’t overwhelm the plot but are an intelligent part of it.
Maxine – Thanks for discussing Dregs. It’s certainly an excellent example of this whole question of what “counts” as justice. Your excellent review of it put that novel right on my TBR. I applaud authors who look at these complex questions and address the issues without taking away from the plot. And what an interesting plot device – to have a journalist look into this question like that. Yes I am definitely going to read this one!
And about The Runaway Jury… I confess I didn’t see the film, but I will say that films all too often pale by comparison to books exactly because the plots and/or characters change too much…
I prosecuted for twenty years before becoming a defense attorney so I can attest that many crimes go unsolved and many defendants walk away unpunished. In fiction the readers need closure. Until I read this I never even considered allowing them to go unpunished with a plausible reason. Reading through your examples was helpful. I had forgotten about Scott Turow’s ending in presumed innocent. I loved it and I did not feel cheated.
I am a new follower and I am glad I found your blog.
Melissa – Welcome! Thanks for the kind words. I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed what you’ve seen here and you’re welcome to stop by at any time. Thank you also for your insight from both tables in the courtroom, so to speak. I’d always suspected that a lot of crimes are not punished for a wide variety of reasons. Some might make sense to us on an ethical level; some probably don’t. But the reality of crime, its investigation and its prosecution has got to be a lot messier than it can sometimes seem in books. As you say, readers want closure in books, so I think it’s important that the author be clear about who the guilty party is. But because of the complexities of the question of justice, I think most readers understand when a crime doesn’t get punished. In some cases, it may even be what a lot of people would call a good thing.
Really interesting post as usual Margot! It makes me think about my mixed reaction to Patricial Highsmith. I admire her for so many reasons and yet the fact that Ripley continually ‘gets away’with his murderous spree is a source of annoyance. Unfortunately I can’t equate the fact that the lifetime of paranoia that Ripley supposedly will face as a form of justice. I feel that I need to see some form of retribution for crimes committed.
Sarah – Thank you for the kind words
. And I know what you mean about a somewhat mixed reaction to the way Patricia Highsmith depicts Ripley. As you say, on one hand, what great writing and characterisation. On the other, it is pretty natural I think to want Ripley to face the music, so to speak. And is paranoia enough? Tough question and I can see why it gives you pause…
But a psychopath and/or sociopath might be able to maneuver and manipulate and lie well enough to avoid capture and justice. That’s an interesting topic. Some people like to read about these personalities and their actions and see how they get away without punishment.
I’m not a fan of this genre; I like whodunnits and police or detective procedurals, written from the detective’s point or view or another character’s, but not the killer’s. (In real life I have to read or see too much awful news. In books I want entertainment, distraction and an intellectual challenge or two — and characters I’ll like.)
Kathy – You’re absolutely not alone in wanting to be entertained when you read. I think a lot of us are like that. And of course, the intellectual challenge is always a “plus” as well
. But you’re right. In real life there are people who are able to manipulate the system to avoid getting caught. That ability is certainly another reason for which a person might not pay the price, so to speak, for what s/he does.
Also, Presumed Innocent was very good. The ending was a shocker, but satisfying. Turow’s sequel Innocent is quite good, too. And so was Woman with Birthmark. It’s understandable why “justice” wasn’t obtained here.
The issue of people killing others who have committed terrible crimes, and escaped unscathed, as in Nesser’s book, is a moral dilemma. Sometimes the murder is justifiable — “justifiable homicide.” If someone kills a Nazi war criminal who escaped trial and jail and is living a comfortable life, is that justifiable? Or someone who has raped and assaulted many women? Is a parent justified for killing someone who molested and assaulted (or worse) his/her own child? In The Lovely Bones I would have said yes, but the psychopath is never arrested, and the father is criticized and punished in the book for wanting to avenge his child’s death. This bothered me, since the police authorities never caught the person. What if a woman kills a long-time batterer in self-defense? Or because it’s the last straw?
Moral dilemmas about justice are extremely complicated.
Kathy – They are indeed complicated. That’s why the whole concept of what justice is and what “counts” as just is so interesting. As you say, there may be circumstances under which we might feel someone’s justified in taking a life. So we may feel that in general, murder is very wrong. But for a given case, taking a life may be justified. That’s why many people think that punishments should not be “written in stone,” so to speak. All sorts of circumstances affect a person’s decision to take or not to take a life.
Sometimes it works for the author to have the bad guy escape and return in another novel. I’d hope he eventually gets caught, like the end of a trilogy?
Pat – Oh, that is is an intriguing idea, isn’t it? I like that! Hmmm… maybe I’ll dream a trilogy where that happens…
The complications of a possible “justifiable homicide” make for the themes of many detective stories or psychological suspense books. And it’s why in so many states sentencing varies, and there are categories of manslaughter, etc. Of course, the charges and sentencing may be unfairly carried out.
In countries where there aren’t different degrees of crimes, or where “justifiable homicide,” is not allowed or even self-defense, I’m sure that democratic rights are much more restricted in general.
Reading one of Giancarlo Carofiglio’s books about the Italian criminal justice system, it seems absolutely medieval and like the courts haven’t evolved since Galileo was kept under house arrest for his scientific discoveries. No wonder the author could use this in the first book in his series. Any mistakes or errors or hesitations could have sent the defendant to jail for eternity.
Anyway, all this makes legal thrillers interesting.
Kathy – The whole question of justifiable homicide is interesting isn’t it? As you say, that’s why in many places, there are degrees of homicide. It’s also why intent is considered and provocation, too. And you’re quite right; questions like that do make for interesting legal thrillers.