Crime Writer Margot Kinberg

If you’ve ever been around someone with narcissistic tendencies, then you know that people like that don’t tend to think of others and how their actions impact others. In fact, they don’t care about that; their only real interest is themselves. You’ll notice that I’m not going to get clinical about narcissism; I don’t have a sophisticated background in psychology. But there are plenty of characters in crime fiction that have narcissistic tendencies. And those characters can be catalysts for tension, motive, and a lot more.

For instance, in Agatha Christie’s The Hollow, famous actress Veronica Cray has taken a country cottage called Dovecotes. It’s not far from The Hollow, the home of Sir Henry and Lady Lucy Angkatell. Veronica knows that; in fact, that’s why she took the cottage. She’s discovered that her old flame Dr. John Christow sometimes visits the Angkatells. She wants to rekindle their relationship, and she’s figured that she’ll get the chance when he visits. One weekend, Christow and his wife Gerda do visit the Angkatells, and Veronica accidentally on purpose stops over. She and Christow get reacquainted, and she assumes they’re together again. When Christow tells her he has no intention of leaving his wife and children, Veronica is full of the baffled anger that narcissists can have when they’re thwarted. That’s what makes her a suspect when Christow is murdered. Hercule Poirot has also taken a cottage nearby, and he investigates. I know, Christie fans, I thought of Five Little Pigs and Lord Edgware Dies, too!

In James M. Cain’s Double Indemnity, we meet insurance agent Walter Huff. One day, he happens to be in a certain part of Hollywoodland near the home of one of his clients, H.R. Nirdlinger. He decides to stop in, but Nirdlinger isn’t there. His wife Phyllis is, though, and she and Huff get to talking. Huff is soon smitten, and Phyllis does nothing to discourage him. It isn’t long before they’re having an affair.  Phyllis isn’t particularly emotionally attached to Huff, though; she has another plan in mind. She wants her husband dead so she can inherit his money. And she wants Huff to help. By the time he learns of her plans, Huff is so besotted that he agrees to write the sort of double indemnity policy that Phyllis wants. He knows he may be falling into a trap, but he goes ahead with the murder plan, and the deed is duly done. The whole thing then leads to tragedy. Throughout the novel, we see that Phyllis is beautiful and can be charming. She wants what she wants and doesn’t really care much how it impacts Huff or her daughter. And Huff is too much in love to see her narcissism.

The protagonist in Beryl Bainbridge’s Harriet Said is an unnamed thirteen-year-old girl who lives in a Lancashire coastal town. As the novel starts, it’s summer and she’s waiting for her fourteen-year-old friend Harriet to return from a trip to Wales. During Harriet’s absence, the narrator has been a little bored and aimless, so she’s struck up a friendship with middle-aged Peter Briggs. Briggs is in an unhappy marriage, and a bit at loose ends himself, so he enjoys the company of a young person. The narrator feels the first stirrings of hormones, but she dares not do anything about it until Harriet gets home. When Harriet returns, she chides the narrator for being too emotionally involved. Instead, she wants to observe Briggs, and find a way to take him down a peg. The two girls go over to the Briggs home and see something they were not meant to see. The end result is real tragedy. Through it all, we see that Harriet has no empathy – not for her friend, not for Briggs, and really, not for anyone. She is the center of her world, although she’s not greedy for material things. She has a way of getting others to do what she wants, and you could say she’s got narcissistic tendencies.

Rachel Abbott’s Only the Innocent begins as Detective Chief Inspector DCI Tom Douglas and Sergeant Becky Robinson are called to the scene of a murder. Wealthy philanthropist Hugo Fletcher has been brutally murdered in his home. The evidence shows clearly that he was killed during a sexual encounter, so the first suspect is, as you can imagine, his wife Laura. But Laura was out of the country at the time of the murder, so she can’t be the killer. Douglas and Robinson will have to do more digging. As they investigate, they find that the victim may have been a philanthropist, but he was also manipulative and not emotionally involved. His former wife is quite blunt about his controlling nature, too. The more the detectives look, the clearer it is that Fletcher had narcissistic tendencies that could have played a very direct role in his murder.

And then there’s Prakash Agarwhal, whom we meet in Madhumita Bhattacharya’s The Masala Murder. He is a well-known, successful food and spice importer who lives in Kolkata/Calcutta. When he is murdered, it makes the news. Reema Ray is a budding PI who makes ends meet by writing articles for a lifestyle magazine called Face. That means she gets to eat at the best restaurants (then review them for the magazine) and interview all sorts of influential people. That’s how she finds out that Agarwhal has been murdered. She goes to visit the victim’s wife; maybe there’ll be an article there. She’s quite surprised when Agarwhal’s widow tells her:

‘‘Whatever else, don’t hold back to spare my feelings. Prakash Agarwal was a bastard who deserved to die. But if he was, indeed, murdered, I would like to know who did it. And why.’’

She doesn’t specifically hire Reema, but she does want her to write the piece. As Reema starts asking questions, she finds out that the victim was manipulative, selfish, and abusive, concerned only about himself. The more she learns, the more she sees how his narcissism had an impact.

And that’s the thing about narcissism. People with those tendencies may not care much about the impact of what they do, as long as they get what they want. But actions do have consequences, and those consequences can catch up with a person. And that can add tension and character layers to a crime story.

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Supertramp’s Goodbye Stranger.