I Know What I Know*

One of the reasons that Arthur Conan Doyle created his iconic detective Sherlock Holmes was that he wanted a detective who used scientific principles and evidence to make deductions and solve cases. He didn’t like the idea of a detective who solved cases through what seemed almost some sort of magic, so he created a detective who used logic and concrete evidence. And Conan Doyle had a point. I think all of us have read at least one novel in which the detective solves a case in ways that don’t seem very realistic. That said, though, there is also something to be said for using one’s instinct – an overall sense about a situation. In real life, experience, intelligence and a lot of subtle signs often combine to let us “read” a situation and make a judgement about it. So good police detectives know to pay attention to that “little voice inside” – that instinct that can point them in the right direction. It’s not that they don’t use evidence; detectives know how important evidence is. But they round out the picture of a case and sometimes get to the truth more quickly by paying attention to their own instincts. Many crime fictional detectives are like that, too.

For instance, in Agatha Christie’s Dead Man’s Folly, Ariadne Oliver, Christie’s fictional detective story author, is commissioned to create a Murder Hunt, akin to a scavenger hunt, for an upcoming fête at Nasse House, the home of Sir George and Lady Hattie Stubbs. The idea is that competitors will be given clues and a list of suspects, as well as a synopsis for the story. Their task will be to follow the clues and name correctly the murderer, the weapon and the motive. Oliver agrees to create the game and travels to Nasse House. Once she arrives, though, she soon gets a sense that something is wrong. There seems to be more going on here than simple entertainment for a fête. She calls her friend Hercule Poirot and asks him to come to Nasse House and investigate. Poirot has learned to trust Mrs. Oliver, so he agrees and makes the journey. When he arrives, Oliver tells him of her concern, adding,

 

“‘I suppose you think I’m a complete fool,’ Mrs. Oliver said defensively.
‘I have never thought you a fool,’ said Poirot.
‘And I know what you always say – or look – about Intuition.’
‘One calls things by different names,’ said Poirot. ‘I am quite ready to believe that you have noticed something, or heard something, that has definitely aroused in you anxiety. I think it possible that you yourself may not even know just what it is that you have seen or noticed or heard. You are aware only of the result. If I may so put it, you do not know what it is you know. You may label that intuition if you like.’”

 

Poirot then encourages Oliver to tell him the story of the Murder Hunt and describe the people who live in and near Nasse House. And we soon learn that Mrs. Oliver’s instincts are all too sound when Marlene Tucker, the young girl playing the part of the victim in the game, is actually strangled. Throughout the novel, we see Poirot’s respect for Mrs. Oliver’s sense that something is wrong.

We also see the delicate balance of what you might call intuition or instinct with actual evidence in Christianna Brand’s Green For Danger. In that novel, a group of people have been gathered for wartime work at Heron’s Park military hospital. One day postman Joseph Higgins, who as a matter of fact delivered the letters that brought them all to the hospital, is brought in with a broken femur. He’s scheduled for what seems to be a routine operation. But tragically, he dies during surgery. Everyone except his wife sees it as a tragic accident, and Inspector Cockrill is sent to the scene to “rubber stamp” the necessary paperwork. But his instincts tell him that there’s more to this than a tragic accidental death. He begins to ask questions and the more he learns about the people involved in the case, the more sure he is that he is right. Now, what seemed like a very natural “rage reaction” from Higgins’ wife takes on a new meaning. Then, Sister Marion Bates, one of the nurses at the hospital, has too much to drink at a party one night and blurts out that she knows Higgins was murdered and what’s more, she knows how. Later that night she herself is murdered. Now Cockrill is certain that he’s dealing with multiple murders, and so he is. Cockrill uses evidence to get to the truth, and he does find out who’s responsible for the deaths. But it all starts because of his sense that something “isn’t right.”

That’s also the case for Lew Archer in Ross MacDonald’s The Far Side of the Dollar. Archer is originally hired by Dr. Sponti, head of Laguna Perdida, a boarding school for troubled teens. Seventeen-year-old Tom Hillman, one of the students at the school, has disappeared, and Sponti wants him safely returned. Archer is just discussing the case with Sponti when Ralph Hillman, the boy’s father, bursts in saying that he’s received word that Tom has been kidnapped and that he’s had a ransom demand. Archer returns with Hillman to the family’s home, where he soon begins to get the sense that there is something more going on here than a wealthy teen who’s been kidnapped for money. Since Archer is a private investigator, he knows the value of actual information, and he does that kind of detection. But it’s his sense that something is “off” about the Hillman family that tells him to keep probing. When he does, he finds that Tom Hillman’s disappearance, and three murders that occur in the story, are all related to the Hillman family’s past.

And then there’s Smilla Jaspersen, whom we meet in Peter Høeg’s Miss Smilla’s Feeling for Snow. She is a half-Inuit Greenlander who lives in Copenhagen. She gets drawn into a murder case one day when her young neighbour Isaiah, who is also a Greenlander, falls off the roof of their apartment building. The child’s death is put down to a terrible accident, but Smilla Jaspersen has the strong sense that it was no accident. In part her conclusion comes from the snow on the building’s roof. She has a long and rich acquaintance with snow and ice, and they tell her things, if I may put it that way. So in that sense, she does get evidence from what she sees. And as the story goes on, she gathers other, more concrete evidence. But her initial interest in the case, and her refusal to let go of it, stem from her sense that something is wrong about this boy’s death. And she is proven right when we find out the truth about Isaiah’s death.

In Alexander McCall Smith’s Morality for Beautiful Girls, Mma Grace Makutsi, Associate Detective for the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, gets an interesting case. Mr. Pulani, who runs a very famous and popular Botswana beauty pageant, wants her to help him find the best candidate to win the Miss Beauty and Integrity contest. He’s been able to narrow down the list to four finalists, and hires Mma. Makutsi to find out which of the four most deserves the title. At first, Mma. Makutsi is reluctant to take the case, as she’ll only have a few days in which to meet all four girls and make her determination. But the fee is tempting, so she accepts. As she meets the girls, Mma. Makutsi finds that she has a better instinct than she thought for knowing when she’s being lied to and when someone is not the person she or he seems to be. In the end, she’s able to find Mr. Pulani a contest winner.

There are lots of other novels, too, in which the sleuth uses what you might call instinct – or intuition if you prefer – as well as concrete evidence. After a time, sleuths do develop a sense about cases so that makes sense. And it can add an interesting layer to a story provided it’s balanced with believability.

 

Ps. Oh, the ‘photo? That’s a ‘photo of a friend’s Pekingese acting totally by instinct with one of her favourite toys. 

 

 

 

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a song by Paul Simon.