Crime Writer Margot Kinberg

For an accused person, an acquittal is supposed to clean the proverbial slate. And legally, it does just that. The concept of double jeopardy, where a person can’t be tried twice for the same crime, protects people who’ve been acquitted. But that’s not always the end of the matter, especially if people think an accused person got away with a crime. There are plenty of people, for instance, who think Lizzie Borden got away with murder, although she was acquitted. There are other famous cases like that one, too, both in real life and in crime fiction.

For instance, in Marie Belloc Lowndes’ The Chianti Flask, Laura Dousland is on trial for the murder of her husband Fordish. There is evidence against her, too. He was poisoned, apparently via a flask of chianti to which she had access. But the evidence isn’t compelling enough to render a guilty verdict, and the jury returns an acquittal. That’s supposed to be the end of it, and Laura is supposed to be able to move on and start her life again. But it’s not that easy. There are still some lingering questions about the death, and there are still people who think Laura is guilty. The truth about what really happened to Fordish Dousland does come out, but what’s especially interesting is the set of social consequences Laura faces just because she was associated with this crime.

There’s an Agatha Christie novel in which the concept of double jeopardy comes into play. In that novel, whether or not there might be an acquittal becomes important on a number of levels. I won’t give the title, or even the sleuth, because I don’t want to spoil the story for anyone. But this principle adds a sense of urgency to the plot.

The focus of one plot thread of Carol O’Connell’s Dead Famous is a high-profile Chicago murder trial. The jury returned a unanimous verdict of not guilty, which set off a firestorm of public criticism. The evidence had clearly indicated the defendant, and there’s a strong feeling that justice was perverted in the case. Now, shock jock Ian Zachary is encouraging all of his fans to hunt down and find the jurors who returned the unpopular verdict. And a killer dubbed the Reaper seems to be heeding Zachary’s call. One by one, the jurors are being killed.  New York police detective Kathy Mallory finds a connection between those murders and an enigmatic young woman who works for a crime-scene cleaning company owned by Mallory’s former police partner Art Riker.

Belinda Bauer’s Blacklands introduces twelve-year-old Stephen Lamb. He lives in a small, working-class town in Exmoor with his mother, his grandmother, and his brother. It’s not a happy family, though. Nineteen years earlier, Stephen’s Uncle Billy went missing. It was presumed that he was killed by a man named Arnold Avery, who’s now in prison for other crimes. Avery was not convicted, though, and the family has been left bereft and without answers. Stephen wants to try to help his family heal, so he decides to write to Avery. His thinking is that if Avery tells him where Uncle Billy is buried (if he is), then his family will get the answers they need. Avery responds, and he and Stephen are soon engaged in a very dangerous game of cat and mouse as Stephen tries to get answers and Avery pursues his own agenda.

And then there’s Stef Harris’ Double Jeopardy. In that novel, retired Boston police officer Frank Winter learns that a man named Barry Krupke is about to be released from prison. This is devastating news to Winter, because twenty years earlier, Krupke was arrested and tried for the murder of Winter’s daughter Evie. Krupke was acquitted (although he was imprisoned for other crimes), but Winter has always been absolutely convinced that he is guilty. There’s concern that Winter might take matters into his own hands, so he’s provided with a minder, Detective Nunzio Arabito, whose job it is to make sure Winter stays away from Krupke. Winter knows there are many, many good reasons to do just that. At the same time, he is driven to find out the truth about Evie. When Krupke learns that Winter is still alive, he and Winter prepare for what they think will be an inevitable confrontation.

There are other novels, too, in which an acquittal doesn’t mean that things are over. In fact, things may just be starting. People tend to want closure when it comes to a crime, and if there’s a belief that someone’s guilty, even after an acquittal, that can lead in any number of directions. Little wonder we see this in crime fiction.

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Bruce Springsteen’s Galveston Bay.