Crime Writer Margot Kinberg

I think we’d all agree that story beginnings are really important. Readers often decide whether to engage with a book within the first few pages. Even the first sentence has an impact. But stories’ endings matter, too. The last sentence can end a story in any number of ways, so they have power. Final sentences can be memorable, too.  They can even change the tenor of a story. So, it’s worth the writer’s effort to pay attention to the way a story ends. Here are a few examples to show how final sentences can impact a crime novel.

In Agatha Christie’s Lord Edgware Dies, famous actress Jane Wilkinson approaches Hercule Poirot. She wants a divorce from her husband, 4^th Baron Edgware so she can marry someone else, but she tells Poirot that Edgware refuses to grant it. She wants Poirot to try to convince Edgware to change his mind. Poirot reluctantly agrees, and he and Captain Hastings pay a visit to Edgware. To their shock, their host tells them that he has already withdrawn his objection to the divorce. At first, they think the case is over, but that night, Edgware is murdered. His wife is the first suspect, but she says she was at a party in another part of London at the time, and twelve people are prepared to swear that she was there. So, Poirot and Chief Inspector Japp have to look elsewhere for the murderer. It turns out to be a very unusual case, and the final sentence is quite telling. At the end of a letter, the murderer muses:

Do you think they will put me in Madame Tussaud’s?

G.K. Chesterton’s short story The Invisible Man sees Father Brown investigating what seems like an ‘impossible crime.’ Successful businessman Isadore Smythe tells an acquaintance that he’s being harassed by a romantic rival. His acquaintance’s suggestion is that he call in a detective. Smythe agrees, and the detective and his friend, Father Brown, go to Smythe’s home. When they arrive, though, they find that the house is empty and there’s evidence that Smythe’s been murdered. No-one was seen entering or leaving the building, and no body was found, either. Still, Father Brown deduces who the killer must be and how the crime was committed. The story ends with a sentence that says as much about Father Brown’s character as about anything else:

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

A.A. Milne’s The Red House Mystery features Antony ‘Tony’ Gillingham and his friend Bill Beverly. As the story begins, Gillingham visits Beverly, who’s staying as part of a house party at the Red House. One night, their host, Mark Ablett, gets word that his ne’er-do-well brother Robert is coming from Australia for a visit. When Robert gets there, he and his brother go into the study and a loud argument starts. Then Gillingham hears a gunshot. When the study door is opened, Robert Ablett is dead on the floor, and Mark Ablett is nowhere to be found. The police investigate, and Gillingham and Beverly get drawn into the case. The two questions they have to answer are: who killed Robert Ablett, and where is Mark Ablett? At first, they actually enjoy it; it’s a bit like Holmes and Watson to them. But it soon stops being a ‘jolly detective story.’ In the end, we learn who’s behind it all, and how the crime was committed. And Gillingham has to admit taht it hasn’t been all bad. Here’s what he says when he finds Beverly has been invited to another house party at another home. It reflects their friendship and Gillingham’s attitude:

‘Yes, well if any of ‘em should happen to be murdered, you might send for me. I’m just getting into the swing of it.’

In Colin Dexter’s The Daughters of Cain, Inspector Morse and Sergeant Lewis investigate the murder of former Oxford don Felix McClure, who’s found stabbed in his home. The most likely suspect is McClure’s former scout Ted Brooks. McClure had discovered that Brooks was dealing drugs and was going to make it public. But then, Brooks disappears and is later found dead. Now, Morse and Lewis will have to re-think their case. One of the ‘people of interest’ in the case is a prostitute who calls herself Eleanor ‘Ellie’ Smith. Morse is well aware that she is a possible suspect, since McClure was one of her clients. But he and Ellie find themselves attracted to each other. Even though the two of them don’t cross the line into ‘affair’ territory, she still haunts him. We do find out who killed McClure and Brooks (and why), but for Morse, the story doesn’t end there. Here is the final sentence of the novel:

‘And above all in Morse’s life there remains the searching out of Ellie Smith, since as a police officer that is his professional duty and, as a man, his necessary purpose.’ 

The final sentence of a story doesn’t have to be long or flowery to have an impact. For example, Jean-Claude Izzo’s Total Chaos takes place in Marseilles and is in its way as much a love letter to the city as anything else. In the novel, we meet Fabio Montale, who grew up on the (not so nice) streets of Marseilles. He and two of his friends spent  their share of time getting into trouble, until one of their adventures went tragically wrong. After that, Montale left Marseilles to join the military, and then returned to serve as a police officer. One of his friends, Pierre ‘Ugo’ Ugolini, also left Marseilles, but the other, Manu, stayed, and got involved in the criminal underworld. Now, Manu has been killed, and Ugo’s come back to Marseilles to avenge his death. When Ugo himself is killed, Montale takes it on himself to find out who killed his friends. It’s not a happy, light story and it shows the grittier side of Marseilles. At the same time, it’s clear that Montale loves the city (and so does his creator). Here’s the final sentence of the story:

‘A city after our own hearts.’

The final words of a story can have an impact. They can reveal a plot twist, add a character layer, or even a hint of the next story in a series. Which final words have stayed with you?

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Billy Joel’s Famous Last Words.