One of the realities of life is that the ‘bad guys’ aren’t always caught, and don’t always face justice. Sometimes it’s because the guilty party is rich enough to hide behind excellent attorneys and sometimes bribery. Sometimes it’s because of mistakes made during an investigation. Sometimes, sadly, it’s because the victim isn’t important enough to warrant a careful investigation, and the case is left to go cold. Crime fiction that reflects this can be realistic and can lend itself to a new case where someone goes back over the older case. But even when that doesn’t happen, it’s interesting when a crime story doesn’t feature the sleuth catching the ‘bad guy’ and justice being served.
In Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Adventure of the Abbey Grange, for instance, Sherlock Holmes investigates the murder of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. The police believe the killing is the work of a gang of thieves who’ve been operating in the area, and at first, the evidence is consistent with that. But Holmes notices a few things that don’t quite fit that explanation. Holmes makes his own deductions about what happened and propounds his theory. But that doesn’t mean that the person responsible for Sir Eustace’s murder is going to be caught and jailed by the police. It’s an interesting case on that score alone.
When Agatha Christie fans think of cases where the killer isn’t caught, they may think immediately of The Chocolate Box. Poirot himself admits that it wasn’t one of his successes. In the story, he tells Captain Hastings of a case in which he investigated the death of French deputy Paul Deroulard, who was living in Belgium. Poirot followed the leads and paid attention to the clues, but he named the wrong killer, and that person was imprisoned. It wasn’t until the real killer summoned Poirot and told him the truth that the case was solved. So, in one sense, the ‘bad guy’ was caught. In another, though, that didn’t happen. There’s another Christie story (no title, nor even the name of the sleuth – no spoilers here!) in which the murderer ends up shielded, if you will, by social position. That can happen in real life, too.
We certainly see it in Donna Leon’s long-running series featuring Commissario Guido Brunetti, who lives and works in Venice. In his world, those who are rich and powerful often get away with crime because of their status. In one plot thread of Fatal Remedies, for instance, Brunetti’s wife Paola Falier stages a protest against a travel company because it supports sex tourism and the sex trade for those who can afford it. The focus is (at least at first) more on the vandalism that Paola committed than it is on the wealthy clients who commit trafficking and other crimes. There are other Leon novels, too, where social position and money allow some characters to, quite literally, get away with murder. We see that too in Andrea Camilleri’s Salvo Montalbano series, which takes place in Sicily.
Lawrence Osborne’s On Java Road is, in part, the story of Rebecca To. She is a Hong Kong student activist who’s working to maintain all of Hong Kong’s press and other freedoms in the wake of the handover to China. She lives a dangerous life, as the local authorities don’t want negative press, and China insists on the benefits of the ‘harmony’ between Beijing and Hong Kong. Rebecca meets and begins seeing Jimmy Tang, who is a member of one of Hong Kong’s powerful elite families. When Rebecca goes missing, journalist Adrian Gyle wonders whether her relationship with Jimmy had something to do with it. And when a body is discovered that could be Rebecca’s, Gyle has even more questions. He’s not likely to get answers, though, as the elite of Hong Kong can basically get away with whatever they want. So, in that sense, no-one’s brought to justice. Fans of Qiu Xiaolong’s Inspector Chen series will know that Chen doesn’t always bring ‘bad guys’ to justice, either, and for a similar reason. The elite of the Shanghai in which he works can often protect themselves from prosecution.
As with police, private investigators, and so on, lawyers don’t always win, either. Every real-life lawyer can tell you a story about a lost case, even if that lawyer prepared carefully and went into the courtroom with a strong will to win. Fictional lawyers like Erle Stanley Gardner’s Perry Mason have a much better record of wins than their real-life counterparts. But not always. John Mortimer’s Horace Rumpole, for instance, loses his share of cases in court. He certainly has the skills, the oratory, and the passion for justice to defend his clients well. But sometimes that’s not enough, and the most he can do is lighten his client’s sentence.
And that’s the thing about investigations and their courtroom follow-ups. Sometimes the ‘bad guy’ gets away with it. Sometimes the detective knows exactly who’s guilty but doesn’t have the evidence. Sometimes mistakes are made. Those things certainly happen in real life, and it makes crime fiction more realistic when they happen in a story, too.
*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Carole King’s Sweet Seasons.
Crime Writer Margot Kinberg 
That is a sad reality of life, Margot. I do think it makes an interesting story when the bad guy isn’t caught, and Perry Mason’s record of always winning is unrealistic. (But I like the stories anyway. Especially because he doesn’t always follow the letter of the law when working on a case.)
I need to get back to the Qiu Xiaolong’s Inspector Chen series.
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That’s the thing, Tracy. It is reality that sometimes, the ‘bad guy’ does get away. It can make for a realistic, interesting story when that happens in fiction, too. I agree with you about the Perry Mason mysteries, too; they are appealing, but in real life, lawyers don’t always win cases. As for the Inspector Chen series, if/when you do get back to it, I hope you’ll enjoy it. I think Chen is an interesting, well-developed character, and the stories draw me it.
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It’s funny, court cases really are not my favourite kind of crime fiction but ‘my’ how we sat glued to Perry Mason back in the 60s or 70s. Raymond Burr had so much presence. And I was always bitterly disappointed when he didn’t win… too young to realise how true to life that was.
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Oh, yes, indeed, Cath! Raymond Burr had a real presence, and a way of drawing viewers in to the Perry Mason cases. You’re right, too, that losing cases happens a lot more in real life than on that show. Interesting, too, how that sort of story can appeal more in, say, a film or TV show than in a book. Perhaps it’s the partly the visual appeal?
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Thanks for a good post on a topic close to my heart concerning lawyers.
The only litigators who do not lose cases are lawyers who do not take on tough cases. I suggested to Gail Bowen once that, if she wanted to create drama for Joanne Kilbourn’s second husband, Zach Shreeve, she should have him lose three cases in a row that he thought he would win.
Rumpole is a great example of the dogged defence counsel who is not afraid to take a case to trial.
There was an example of a lawyer losing a case in the best known legal fiction in America, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Atticus Finch’s client, Tom Robinson, is convicted of rape on deeply flawed evidence.
Sharon Bala in The Boat People took an unusual approach in that she ended the book just before a hearing that would decide if Sri Lankan refugee applicants, Mahindan and Sellian, would be allowed to stay in Canada. She left it to the reader to determine their fate.
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You put that so well, Bill: The only litigators who do not lose cases are lawyers who do not take on tough cases. Thanks for your insights. I think it takes courage on the part of a lawyer to take on a difficult case that could easily be lost. I would love to see how Gail Bowen’s stories would be impacted if Zack Shreve lost several cases in a row like that. That’s an interesting prospect!
And your reference to To Kill a Mockingbird shows exactly how that can happen. Atticus Finch defends Tom Robinson with everything he has, so to speak, even though it’s certainly not a guaranteed case. I’m sure there are plenty of real-life lawyers who take on very difficult cases that they sometimes lose, and I like it when fiction reflects that reality.
Thanks, too, for mentioning The Boat People. It is really interesting to leave the outcome of a trial up to the reader’s imagination. I think that invites the reader to think through everything and really engage in the story, even after it’s done.
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For the only time in my blogging history I took up Bala’s challenge and wrote an ending in the form of the judgment for the refugee hearing. It was an interesting experience to examine the evidence in the book and apply the law of Canada.
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Now you mention it, Bill, I remember your ending to The Boat People. I learned from the way you applied Canadian law to the situation. Folks do read Bill’s posts on this book; they’re fascinating!
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On the whole I don’t like it when the murderer gets away with it. I’m one of those people who likes everything to be made right at the end, or at the least to feel that justice has been done. Real life is full enough of privileged people getting away with metaphorical, and sometimes actual, murder!
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I know what you mean, FictionFan. I’ve actually read articles that argue that crime fiction lovers read the genre in part because we want that feeling of order being restored. It’s really not just you who likes to come away from a story feeling that justice has been done. And perhaps it’s exactly what you say: we like this because it doesn’t always work that way in the real world.
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That’s interesting, Margot, because one of the reasons I think people like crime, particularly GA novels, is because the world is set to rights at the end and the guilty person caught. But we often have a sneaky liking for the criminal, and more sophisticated authors can often shed doubt on their guilt or make us understand why they committed the crime they did. Sometimes the baddies *do* get away!
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Thanks, KBR. You bring up such a well-taken point, too. Crime fiction fans sometimes do have that duality; on the one hand, there is a lot to be said for that feeling of the world being set to rights again. We like that sense of order from chaos. On the other hand, though, we can develop sympathy – even liking – for the ‘bad guy,’ so if that person gets away with a crime, that can work in the hands of a skilled author. Sometimes, as you say, the ‘baddies’ do get away with it and we don’t always mind that!
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