Category Archives: Dennis Lehane

Please Come to Boston*

If you’ve ever visited Boston, then you know that it’s a beautiful city, rich in history and culture. Greater Boston is home to some of the world’s finest educational institutions, museums, restaurants, and medical facilities. It’s little wonder, then, that the city is a popular tourist destination.

But Boston is by no means a perfect place. There’s plenty of crime there – at least if you read crime fiction. Whether it’s in an exclusive Boston hospital, or the seamy side of Dorchester, anything can happen…

As Michael Crichton’s A Case of Need (which he wrote as Jeffery Hudson) begins, Arthur Lee, an obstetrician at Boston’s Memorial Hospital, has been arrested for performing an abortion. It’s 1968, and that procedure is illegal in the United States, so this is a serious matter. Lee claims that he did not perform the abortion, and, in fact, counseled the patient against it. But the patient is Karen Randall, daughter of J.D. Randall, one of the most influential doctors at the hospital. What’s worse, Karen did undergo an abortion, and died because the procedure was botched. So, as you can imagine, Randall is determined that the police will pursue the case against Lee. Lee asks his friend, pathologist John Berry, to help him clear his name, and Berry agrees. He begins to look into what happened, and finds that some things are not consistent with a botched abortion and a doctor who lied about it. But it’s not long before Berry also learns that some very powerful people who want the case left alone. And the more he finds out about Karen Randall, the more he sees that her life was a lot more complicated than anyone knew.

Several of Robin Cook’s medical thrillers/mysteries take place in the Boston area, too. For instance, in Acceptable Risk, noted neuroscientist Edward Armstrong accepts an offer to work for a breakout biotechnology company called Genetrix. He’ll be working on a new psychotropic drug designed to combat depression. He and his research team have already been working in the area, and have some promising ideas, so it’s exciting that he’ll have a company to back his efforts. At the same time, Armstrong meets a Boston-area nurse, Kimberly Stewart. She’s renovating a home that’s been in her family for a few hundred years, and Armstrong takes an interest in the project (and in her). He’s even more interested when he learns that ergot has been found below the house’s basement. He persuades Genetrix to set up a lab for him and his team on the property, and they get to work. The end result is terrifying, and it shows just how much pressure there is on researchers to come up with ‘the big cure.’

In Aaron Elkins’ Loot, we meet Boston art expert Benjamin ‘Ben’ Revere. One day, he gets a call from his friend, pawn-shop owner Simeon Pawlovsky. He’s gotten a painting into his shop that he thinks might be valuable, and he wants Revere to authenticate it. Revere agrees and goes to the shop. To his shock, the painting seems to be a genuine Velázquez. Revere wants to do some research on the painting to help his friend establish its provenance and worth. Revere doesn’t want such a valuable piece of art to be left in the pawn shop, but Pawlovsky refuses to let it go. So, a reluctant Revere leaves it there, and goes to find out more information. When he returns two hours later, Pawlovsky is dead. It’s obvious that he was murdered for the painting, although it is still in the shop’s safe. Revere feels guilty for leaving his friend, and that’s part of what motivates him. He decides that if he can trace the painting from the time it was ‘taken by the Nazis for safekeeping’ until it ended up in the shop, he can find Pawlovsky’s murderer. The trip takes him to several different European places, but it all starts in Boston.

Much of Dennis Lehane’s Gone, Baby, Gone takes place in the working-class Dorchester section of Boston. In it, PIs Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro get a new case. Four-year-old Amanda McCready has gone missing, and a massive hunt hasn’t turned up any clues. Amanda’s Uncle Lionel and Aunt Beatrice McCready want Kenzie and Gennaro to investigate.  The PIs not sure what they can do that several police departments and a public alert haven’t done, but they decide to take the case. They  start with Amanda’s mother, Helene, but they don’t’ get much help there. She’s not exactly an attentive mother; in fact, she left the child alone on the night she was taken. As Kenzie and Gennaro piece together the truth about what happened to Amanda, the search takes them through several parts of Dorchester, and we see what life is like in this part of Boston.

And then there’s Donald Smith’s The Constable’s Tale, which takes place in 1758. When Edward and Anne Campbell and their son are found murdered, it looks on the surface as though they were killed by hostile Indians (which wouldn’t be surprising, given this is during the Seven Years/French and Indian War). But the Indians in the area (North Carolina) where the bodies where found are not enemies. What’s more, an unusual brooch with Masonic symbols on it was found at the scene. Local constable James Henry ‘Harry’ Woodyard decides to look into the matter more deeply. He thinks that, if he can trace the brooch to its origin, he can find out more about the murder.  So, he follows the brooch’s trail to Boston (and later, to Québec). The Boston that Woodyard finds is much more urban and sophisticated than his plantation is, and there’s resentment there against what is seen as British highhandedness. The American Revolution itself is twenty years off, but there’s already deep unhappiness at the status quo, and it’s quite the topic in Boston. It’s an interesting look at the Boston of that era.

Whatever era one’s in, Boston is an interesting city. It’s a world-class destination for education, medicine, and more. But that doesn’t mean it’s crime free…

 

Thanks to Bostonusa.com for the lovely ‘photo!

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a song by Dave Loggins.

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Filed under Aaron Elkins, Dennis Lehane, Donald Smith, Jeffery Hudson, Michael Crichton, Robin Cook

Little Mysteries*

Most readers want the major plot lines in their novels to be resolved. They want the major questions answered, as it gives a sense of closure, if that’s the best word choice, to the story. At the same time, a certain amount of ambiguity can make for interesting ‘food for thought,’ and even discussion.

There are plenty of crime novels where there is that blend of plot resolution with some ambiguity. And when it’s done well, the result can be very effective. And sometimes, it can help a book to stay with the reader.

G.K. Chesterton’s short story, The Invisible Man is the story of the murder of Isadore Smythe. He’s a successful businessman who claims to an acquaintance, John Angus, that he’s being harassed by a romantic rival. Angus’ suggestion is to get assistance from a private investigator, and Smythe agrees to this. So, Angus goes to the home of an investigator he knows, Hercule Flambeau. It turns out that Flambeau’s friend, Father Brown, is there, so the two men join Angus, and go to Smythe’s home. By the time they get there, though, Smythe has been killed. And it seems to be an ‘impossible’ murder, too, since no-one was seen entering or leaving the place. In the end, Father Brown does find out who the killer is. But there is still some ambiguity about the case, and some things that are not laid out. Here’s the last bit of the story:
 

‘But Father Brown walked these snow-covered hills under the stars for many hours with a murderer, and what they said to each other will never be known.’
 

It invites the reader to wonder what they discussed, and what the real truth of the matter might be.

In Agatha Christie’s The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side (AKA The Mirror Cracked), Miss Marple decides to take a walk one afternoon. She visits the brand-new development of Council housing, where she unfortunately turns her ankle and has a fall. One of the residents, Heather Badcock, helps Miss Marple, and the two have a conversation. So, Miss Marple has special reason to be interested when Heather suddenly dies during a charity fête on the grounds of Gossington Hall. The property is now owned by famous actress Marina Gregg and her husband, Jason Rudd, and they’d opened parts of the home up to visitors for the event. When Heather had the chance to meet her screen idol, she spilled the drink she was holding, and Marina Gregg passed hers to Heather. That drink turned out to be poisoned, and now there’s a serious question as to whether the intended victim was actually Marina. If so, there are several suspects. Miss Marple is able to work out that the intended victim was actually Heather. Now, the question is: who would want to kill her? We do learn in the end who killed Heather Badcock (and two other people) and why. But there is one final incident that isn’t completely explained, and it’s decided to leave things that way. That adds both ambiguity and interest to the story.

Dennis Lehane’s Gone, Baby, Gone features Dorchester, Massachusetts PIs Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro. They are hired by Lionel and Beatrice McCready to find their four-year-old niece, Amanda. She went missing one night from the home of her mother, Helene, and hasn’t been seen since. At first, Kenzie and Gennaro aren’t sure what they can do that the police aren’t already doing. Besides, the media have made much of this case, and the public is on the alert. But the McCreadys insist, so the PIs take the case and begin asking questions. It turns out that very little is as it seems in this case, but in the end, Kenzie and Gennaro find out the truth about Amanda. But there is ambiguity here, and it’s not clear exactly what will happen after the story ends, if I can put it that way.

Cath Staincliffe’s Split Second is the story of what happens when Jason Barnes’ life intersects with Luke Murry’s. They’re on the same bus one afternoon when three young people board. Soon afterwards, those riders start to bully Luke. Jason intervenes to get them to stop, and the harassment lets up as the bus gets to the stop where Jason and Luke get off. Then, the bullying starts again, and escalates. It goes on all the way to Jason’s yard, and by the time it’s over, Luke is gravely injured, and Jason is dead of stab wounds. The police investigate, but they don’t get very far at first. Luke is in a coma, so he can’t be of help. And Jason’s parents, Andrew and Val, weren’t close enough to the fight to see the attackers. So, the police have to rely on the people who were riding the bus. Little by little, they find out who the attackers are, and they learn that this case is more complicated than it seems on the surface. By the end of the story, we learn their fate, and we see how Andrew and Val begin the process of healing. But what we don’t know is how Luke will fare. His mother and sister have to cope with his situation, and that’s of course very hard on them. But we don’t learn their ultimate fate.

And then there’s Petina Gappah’s The Book of Memory. In that novel, we meet a young woman named Mnemosyne, who’s sometimes called Memory, or Memo. She’s writing a letter to a journalist named Melinda Carter, whose focus has been exposing miscarriages of justice. Mnemosyne is in prison in Harare, convicted of killing her adoptive father, Lloyd Hendricks. Under Zimbabwe law, a murder conviction carries with it an automatic death sentence. But there’s been a change of government, and there’s a chance her conviction might be appealed, and she might escape the death penalty. Her lawyer has suggested she tell her story and show that her case warrants another look. So, Mnemosyne tells the story of her life, and explains how she met Hendricks, and what the circumstances of his death were. As the novel goes on, we slowly learn that things are not as they seem. And, in the end, we do learn about Hendricks’ death. But the story ends before Mnemosyne finds out whether she will get a new trial, or whether there’ll be other action on her case.

Sometimes those ambiguities can be frustrating, especially if they relate to the main plot point. But sometimes, when they’re done well, they can add interest to a case. And they can keep the reader thinking.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a song by Rickie Lee Jones

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Cath Staincliffe, Dennis Lehane, G.K. Chesterton, Petina Gappah

Till You Turn it All Upside Down*

If you read enough crime fiction, you start to develop expectations about crime stories. That’s natural enough, as we all have assumptions and expectations that help us make sense of the world. For instance, unless you know your car’s not working, you expect that, when you start the car, the engine will engage, and the motor will run. When you open a book, you expect that the first page of the story will be the first page you encounter. That’s part of how we humans sort out all of the stimuli we experience.

Crime writers know this, too. And sometimes, crime writers use those expectations to misdirect the reader. It’s not easy to pull that sort of misdirection off and still, ‘play fair.’ But it can be done, and when it is, it can be very effective.

For example, one expectation most readers have is that the sleuth is not also the killer. Sometimes the protagonist is, but most readers assume that the sleuth won’t turn out to be the murderer. Agatha Christie was well aware of that expectation and turned it on its head. I won’t mention title or sleuth, for fear of spoilers. But she did violate that expectation. And she’s not the only one (no more names – no spoilers).

Crime fiction readers also often make assumptions about the identity of a victim. When the police are called to a murder scene, they (and readers) believe that the dead person is, well, actually dead. But that isn’t always the case. For instance, in Vera Caspary’s Laura, New York police detective Lieutenant Mark McPherson is called to the scene when the body of successful advertising executive Laura Hunt is discovered in her apartment. She was killed with a shotgun blast which has obliterated her face, so there’s no question that this was a murder. With that information, McPherson starts to investigate. It’s not spoiling the story to say that McPherson is shocked when Laura returns to the apartment one day while he’s there. It turns out that the dead woman wasn’t Laura at all, but a woman named Diane Redfern, whom Laura knew, and to whom she’d given permission to use the apartment. Laura’s arrival turns the whole investigation on its head and changes the course of the story.

Dennis Lehane’s Gone, Baby, Gone is the story of what happens when four-year-old Amanda McCready goes missing. She disappears from her Dorchester, Massachusetts, home one night, and the police and public soon start a massive search. Dozens of police officers from more than one department do the ‘legwork’ of trying to trace the child. Many volunteers join in the search, too. Still, there are no traces of the child – not even a body. The child’s aunt and uncle, Lionel and Beatrice McCready, hire PIs Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro to find her. At first, Kenzie and Gennaro aren’t sure what they can do that the police can’t, but the McCreadys insist, so the two PIs get started. Reader expectations about what they will eventually find are turned upside down when the truth about Amanda’s disappearance is revealed. And that violation of expectations adds several layers to the story.

William Deverell’s Trial of Passion introduces his protagonist, Vancouver attorney Arthur Beauchamp. As the story begins, he’s just retired and decided to start life again in the peace and quiet of Garibaldi Island. He’s no sooner settled into his new home when his former colleagues press him back into service. It seems that Professor Jonathan O’Donnell, acting dean of the School of Law at the University of British Columbia, has been arrested and charged with rape. His accuser is a law student, Kimberly Martin. O’Donnell isn’t happy with his current representation and wants Beauchamp to take his case. At first, Beauchamp is reluctant to get involved. But, he’s finally persuaded, and he and his team start looking into what happened. Both parties agree about some of the facts. On the night in question, the Law Students’ Association (Martin is a member) held a dance, to which several members of the faculty (including O’Donnell) were invited. Then, a group of people went on to another party, and then to O’Donnell’s home. A great deal of alcohol was consumed, and not just by O’Donnell and Martin. Beyond that, the two parties disagree. Martin claims O’Donnell raped her; O’Donnell eventually admits that he and Martin had sex, but that it was completely consensual. As the story goes on, we learn more about each of the parties, and we see how their lawyers manage the case. Without giving away spoilers, I can say that the final bit of the story turns a reader expectation upside-down.

And then there’s Jock Serong’s The Rules of Backyard Cricket. As the story begins, Darren Keefe is bound up and locked in the boot/trunk of a car. He’s not sure where he’s going, but he knows that the people who have him are planning to kill him. He sees this as inevitable, so we know right away that something terrible has happened. Keefe then begins to tell his story, beginning with scenes from his childhood backyard near Melbourne, where he and his older brother Wally are playing cricket. As the novel goes on, we see what happens as the brothers grow into adults. Both are natural cricketers. Wally has discipline, focus, and determination along with his talent, and those serve him as he rises to the top of Australian cricket. Darren has unusual talent for the game, but he is less disciplined and more impulsive. He is, to put it mildly, uninhibited. But he can be superb – once-in-a-generation superb. As the Keefe brothers get older, they experience the dark side of cricket – and there is a very dark side to it. And their different personalities have a real impact on what happens to them when they do. Here is what the late Bernadette, who blogged at Reactions to Reading and Fair Dinkum Crime (and who is very sorely missed) said about the ending:
 

‘The resolution to the story was the second surprise. In the way that being struck from behind with a brick might be.’
 

I couldn’t have said it better. Certainly, it turns readers’ expectations inside out.

The expectations we have as crime fiction readers help us a lot in making sense of a story and following it. They can also be useful tools for the author who wants to manipulate them. It’s got to be done carefully, but when it is, such a strategy can make a story memorable.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Devo’s Spin the Wheel.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Dennis Lehane, Jock Serong, Vera Caspary, William Deverell

Where’s That Careless Chambermaid?*

When real and fictional police and PIs investigate, they try to get as much information as they can. Of course, they talk to family members, friends and co-workers, but even that doesn’t always fill in the proverbial blank.

A good detective can tell you that the real people to talk to when there’s a disappearance or a murder are people like restaurant servers and hotel chambermaids. And that makes sense if you think about it. A spouse or partner might not know about that ‘special guest’ in the hotel room, but the chambermaid will. The boss might not know how much someone drinks at lunch, but the server will. That’s part of the reason that the police work as hard as they do to trace a victim’s last days. Talking to people like porters, chambermaids, servers and so on can yield valuable clues.

Agatha Christie uses that plot point in several of her stories. For example, in Evil Under the Sun, we are introduced to Gladys Narracott. She works as a chambermaid at the Jolly Roger Hotel on Leathercombe Bay. She gets involved in a murder investigation when one of the guests, famous actress Arlena Stuart Marshall, is murdered. The first suspect is, as you’d imagine, the victim’s husband, Captain Kenneth Marshall. But he has an alibi for the time of the murder, and Gladys can corroborate that alibi. So, the police have to look elsewhere for the killer. Hercule Poirot is staying at the same hotel, and he works with the police to find out who the murderer is. And he discovers that Gladys has some useful information and insight to offer, just from what she’s learned about the guests as she’s tended their rooms.

In Dennis Lehane’s Gone, Baby, Gone, PIs Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro are hired to investigate the disappearance of four-year-old Amanda McCready. The child’s mother, Helene, claims that she doesn’t know who would have wanted to take her daughter; she also says, naturally enough, that she didn’t have anything to do with the abduction. But Kenzie and Gennaro follow up on every possibility, one of which is that Amanda was taken by someone Helene knows. There’s also the chance that Helene herself is responsible for whatever happened to Amanda. So, Kenzie and Gennaro trace Helene’s movements, and do what they can to find out about her background. And some of that information comes from the Filmore Tap, a very tough, seedy bar in Dorchester (Massachusetts). It turns out that Helene’s known there; and, although no-one says very much about her, the bartenders and owner know more than they want to tell.

Lilian Jackson Braun’s The Cat Who Said Cheese takes place, as many of her novels do, in the small town of Pickax, Moose County, ‘400 miles north of nowhere.’ A mysterious woman has moved into town, and is staying at the New Pickax Hotel. No-one knows anything about her, although there’s plenty of speculation and gossip. One day, a bouquet of flowers arrives for this enigmatic guest. Part-time housekeeping aide Anna Marie Toms is on duty when the flowers arrive, and prepares to take them to the new hotel guest. Then, a bomb hidden in the bouquet goes off, killing Anna Marie. Shortly afterwards, the mysterious woman goes missing. Local journalist James ‘Qwill’ Qwilleran, Braun’s sleuth, starts asking questions, and he and local police chief Andrew Brodie find out who the woman is, and who the killer is.

Eva Dolan’s Long Way Home introduces us to the Peterborough Hate Crimes Unit, and to Detective Inspector (DI) Dushan Zigic and Detective Sergeant (DS) Mel Ferreira. They’re called in to investigate when the body of an unknown man is found in a shed belonging to Paul and Gemma Barlow. The man is identified as an Estonian named Jaan Stepulov, who was apparently in the UK as a migrant worker. It’s often not easy to find out information about migrant workers, since they don’t generally ‘put down roots’ or have close connections with locals. But Zigic and Ferreira get to work. One of their stops is Maloney’s, a pub right near the local bus station. It’s frequented by people just like Stepulov, and Ferreira finds that one bartender in particular has some very valuable information about the case.

And then there’s Qiu Xiaolong’s Enigma of China. In that novel, Chief Inspector Chen Cao of the Shanghai Police is faced with a challenging case. Zhou Keng, head of Shanghai’s Housing Development Committee, is suspected of corruption, arrested, and held to face charges. He’s housed in a Shanghai hotel, rather than in the local prison, because of his status. One morning, he is found hanged in his room. The official theory is that he committed suicide, rather than face the shame of corruption charges. And Chen is expected to ‘rubber stamp’ that theory. But some things don’t add up. So, Chen and his assistant, Yu Guangming, look into the case more carefully. They’re going to have to move quietly and delicately, since this is no ordinary death. But in the end, they find out the truth. And some of the clues they need come from an interview with one of the hotel attendants, Jun, whose information proves quite useful.

And that’s the thing about people such as room attendants, chambermaids, bartenders and other servers. We may not notice them, but they know a lot. And their help can be invaluable when the police are on a case.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Al Dubin and Henry Warren’s Lulu’s Back in Town.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Dennis Lehane, Eva Dolan, Lilian Jackson Braun, Qiu Xiaolong

Are You Interviewing Me*

A lot of professions involve speaking to the public. And often that’s done through giving interviews. I’m sure you can think of plenty of famous people such as professional athletes, film stars, and political leaders who go in front of the cameras. It’s almost a job requirement, really.

But other people are sometimes interviewed, too. Some are fairly comfortable in front of the camera; others dread it. And, of course, some people are much more accustomed to being interviewed than others. Either way, the public interview can be an interesting plot point in a crime novel. And it can show a bit about a character, too.

If you follow sport at all, you’ll know that athletes, their managers, team owners, and so on are regularly interviewed for TV and radio, as well as other media outlets. We see a great deal of that in sport-related crime fiction, too. For example, Alison Gordon’s Kate Henry is a sportswriter who works for the Toronto Planet. She has a particular interest and expertise in baseball, and follows the Toronto Titans Major League Baseball team as they go to their ‘away’ games. She attends ‘home’ games, too, and is one of the members of the press who interview players and the management staff. There’s an interesting relationship between the press and the team. Each knows full well that they need the other. So, in general, the team and management staff try to be generous about giving interviews and information. They know that builds their public appeal. At the same time, members of the press try to be respectful. They know that they won’t get that exclusive interview/story if they’re seen as too pushy, or worse, untrustworthy. It’s a delicate balance, but when it works, it’s effective. And more than once, that relationship allows Henry to get information when she gets mixed up in murder investigations.

In John Daniell’s The Fixer, we are introduced to Mark Stevens, a former member of New Zealand’s legendary All-Blacks rugby team. He’s heading towards the end of his career, and wants to shore up his financial resources for his own post-retirement security and that of his family. So, he’s playing now for a French professional team. Then, he gets word that Rachel da Silva, who works for a Brazilian magazine, wants to interview him. She’s been sent to France to do an in-depth piece on rugby, the rugby live, and the sport’s popularity. She’s bright, attractive, and interesting, so it doesn’t take long for Stevens to be attracted to her. The feeling seems to be mutual, too, and all goes well at first. Stevens gets to promote the team and the sport to a wide audience, and da Silva gets her story and the recognition that goes with it. Then, da Silva introduces Stevens to a friend of hers named Phillip, who’s become quite wealthy through betting on rugby. Before Stevens knows it, he’s drawn into a web of supplying ‘inside information.’ He finds it hard to resist, because he wants  to ensure his and his family’s futures. It all starts to fall apart, though, when Phillip suggests that his ‘new friend’ fix matches. Now, Stevens has a choice to make. And no matter what he decides to do, it’s going to be very dangerous for him.

If you watch the news, especially crime news, you’ll know that there are sometimes interviews with convicted criminals. Sometimes they’re part of a larger story on the crime in question. At other times, the criminal wants to protest her or her innocence. And they certainly play a role in crime fiction. For instance, Angela Makholwa’s Red Ink features that sort of interview. In it, we are introduced to Johannesburg  publicity expert Lucy Khamboule. A few years earlier, she worked in journalism. At the time, she’d sent a letter to notorious convicted killer Napoleon Dingiswayo, asking for an interview. She never heard from him, and went on with her life. Then one day, she gets a telephone call from him. He wants to give her his story, and perhaps have her write a book about him. This is an opportunity Khamboule had only dreamed of; she’s always wanted to do a book, and this, she knows, will sell well. She arranges to go to the maximum-security prison where Dingiswayo is being held, and starts doing background work for the book. Soon after she begins her series of interviews, though, some violent and disturbing things begin to happen. Dingiswayo can’t be responsible, because he’s securely locked away. But if he isn’t guilty of the attacks, then who is? Before long, Khamboule begins to get too close to the story, which has its own consequences. She founds out the truth, but not without a heavy cost.

Helen Fitzgerald’s The Cry highlights another important role that public interviews play in crime fiction. In it, Joanna Lindsay and her partner, Alistair Robertson, travel to Melbourne, where Robertson grew up, with their nine-week-old baby, Noah. The flight is a nightmare, but everyone arrives. Then, on the way from the airport to their destination, disaster strikes with the loss of baby Noah. A massive search is undertaken, but no trace of the baby is found. At first, the press and public are very sympathetic to the parents. But it’s not long before whispers start that perhaps they had something to do with Noah’s disappearance. As a part of the search for answers (and to keep their own names as clear as possible), the two go in front of the TV cameras with a plea for their son’s safe return. Gradually, we learn the truth about what happened to Noah, and we see the role that interview plays in the story.

Fans of Dennis Lehane’s Gone Baby Gone will know that that novel, too, features a missing child. In this case, it’s four-year-old Amanda McCready. Dorchester, Massachusetts PIs Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro are hired to find the girl, and reluctantly accept the job. They’re not sure what they can do that the police can’t, but they agree to at least try. At one point, there’s a scene in which Amanda’s mother, Helene McCready, is giving an interview to the press. That’s not so unusual in itself; it’s the expected plea for the child. But Helene’s reaction to seeing herself on television is unsettling. As she’s watching the recorded interview during a news broadcast, she points out ‘the best part,’ and talks about who’s present at the interview. It’s difficult for both PIs to deal with her, and it adds to the suspense in the story.

There are, of course, many, many examples of interviews with fictional police officers, too. Sometimes, they provide valuable information, or prompt people to contact the police. Other times, they’re nothing but trouble. Either way, they’re an important part of the genre.

On Another Note…

Talking of interviews….I’m privileged and excited to have been invited to be a part of writer, blogger, and podcaster Claire Duffy’s series, Writers Chat Writing! It’s a long interview (sorry for going on so, Claire!) (31 minutes), but if you’re interested in what we had to say about writing and the writing process, you’re welcome to check it out right here. Claire’s a fabulous interviewer! Thank you, Claire!

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Carly Simon and Don Was’ Interview.

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Filed under Alison Gordon, Angela Makholwa, Dennis Lehane, Helen Fitzgerald, John Daniell