Writing a Detective Story

 

This guide will not teach you to write. No one can do that. Writing can only be learnt by taking on board selected hints, lots of practice and even more determination.

   What I aim to do here is offer guidance in telling a tale; a craft that is much more difficult than mere writing. There are millions of writers in the world, but very few storytellers.

   Lesson One takes us back to the beginnings of detective fiction in the 19th century. I will attempt to recreate the time and the style. Lesson Two deals with the Whodunnit. Log on in a couple of weeks to see if Lesson Three has been posted.

 

Lesson One

 

A SHOT IN THE DARK

 Anthony North

    In deciding to write about the adventures of my good friend Marmaduke Grey, I feel somewhat overawed. How does one express, in words, such absolute genius when my own mind is inferior to the task. Of course, this is not to denigrate my own abilities. Simply that, next to him, we are all inferior.

   We heard about the case whilst relaxing in Marmaduke’s apartment. ‘What do you think about the case, Perkins?’ he asked as he sat there, pipe in one hand, newspaper in the other.

   A quick glance at the paper and I had the basic facts. The previous night a shot had been heard in a street not too far from us. Police had immediately been on the scene, found the body of one Henry Baxter and arrested a suspicious gentleman close by.

   ‘It seems an open and shut case to me,’ I offered. To which Marmaduke Grey showed intense irritation and rushed for his coat and hat.

 

   ‘I’m not quite sure what you intend to discover here,’ said the Inspector of Police a short time later. 'After all, we already have the killer.' 

   Marmaduke had summoned him to the scene of the crime and rushed there himself in a Hansom cab.

   ‘What do you make of it, Perkins?’ he asked.

   I looked up and down the street. Scrutinised the ground. ‘There is nothing out of the ordinary, Marmaduke,’ I said.

   ‘Quite,’ replied the great detective. ‘But don’t you think the lack of blood a little suspicious?’

   I had to admit, when he pointed it out it was a little strange. I turned to the Inspector of Police: ‘And the man was shot here, at close range?’

   ‘He was not,’ interrupted Marmaduke Grey. ‘There would be a pool of blood. No, gentlemen, he was shot elsewhere and placed here to distract the investigation.’

     ..............................................................................................

    We have immediately placed in the story several important factors. First of all, we have highlighted the relationship between the detective and his assistant.

   This must be made clear early on, and stuck to. In this way, an 'inferior' assistant is used as a bouncing board upon which the detective narrates to the reader his thoughts.

   If the tale is placed in another time to the present, it is important that you reflect this in your writing style. If you do not, then the story is not believable.

   Finally, the incidences of the case must be made quickly and with little doubt as to what happened. In this way, the great detective can immediately rubbish any idea that it happened like that.

    ...............................................................................................

 

   Marmaduke Grey was always irritated when he had to wait. And as we sat in the police station waiting for the suspect to be brought to us, his irritation was rather worse than normal.

   ‘The fools,’ he said, ‘how could they ever have thought they had the killer. Goodness, they don’t even have the gun.’

   I offered, on their behalf: ‘They were of the opinion he had thrown it away, or placed it down a nearby sewer, where it was carried off by the drains.’

   ‘My dear Perkins, supposition can never replace evidence. And without evidence you have no basis upon which to suppose.’

   ‘But isn’t such supposition the whole purpose of investigation?’ I asked. After all, Marmaduke had for ever told me of the importance of imagination in solving a mystery.

   ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘But only if you have a mind fit for the task.’

   He sneered as the Inspector of Police brought the suspect to him.

   Marmaduke looked him up and down. Finally, he said: ‘And you are?’

   The man looked frightened. Finally, he said: ‘My name is Rupert Anders, and I am innocent.’

   ‘Of course you are,’ said Marmaduke, his irritation continuing. ‘But if I am to prove that, we need your help to solve the case.’

   This was, of course, a surprise to me. ‘But Marmaduke,’ I interrupted, ‘if you are right and the man is innocent, then he will also be in the dark regarding the motive of the crime.’

   ‘In that, you are absolutely right. But for the murderer to have a suspect in place, he must have put him there. And in working out how that occurred, we can work back to the murderer, and from there intuit the motive.’

   ...............................................................................................

   The nature of the detective is now outed. His is arrogant but rightly superior to his contemporaries. He has immediately looked at the elements of the case and realised a hidden methodology in the killer.

   Namely, that a stoodge has been placed at the scene to take the rap. And with this information, our detective realises a line of inquiry. He can work the case backwards. Some form of inspired detection is always required in this kind of tale for it to work successfully.

    ..............................................................................................

 

   I had to admit, it was a strange way of going about the case, but strangeness was a factor you had to get used to when working with Marmaduke Grey.

   To me, his interview with Rupert Anders had been of no use. The man had simply been shopping for a particular item he wanted, but the shop was unable to supply it. As such, a rather exciteable shopkeeper had directed him to where the item could be purchased, whereupon he found himself involved in a murder. The only other incident to be recalled was a man asking for directions to another whom he suspected of having an assignation with his wife. But it was clear, to Marmaduke, that the interview held the solution.

   ‘A normal street, you will agree,’ said Marmaduke as we exited the Hansom into the commercial area of the London district.

   ‘Absolutely,’ I agreed.

   ‘And Mr Anders? Did he seem a normal man having a normal day?’

   ‘He did, indeed,’ I agreed.

   ‘So what can you deduce from that?’

   I offered a blank stare.

   ‘But it is so obvious,’ said Marmaduke. ‘The murder was an abnormal aberration in an otherwise normal situation.’

   .................................................................................................

   The detective has now taken a leap of the imagination, but based on his knowledge of criminality. His understanding of the abnormal being an aberration of the normal leads on to a more acute line of inquiry ...

    ..............................................................................................

 

   We entered the shop a couple of minutes later. ‘You will recall that Mr Anders came into this shop in search of a particular item,' said Marmaduke. He looked the contents of the shop up and down. ‘Aha!’ he said, excitedly. He held just such an item in his hand.

   ‘But according to Mr Anders, the shopkeeper hadn’t the item in question.’

   ‘Exactly,’ said Marmaduke. ‘But he did advice where such an item could be found.’

   I still didn't understand.

   Marmaduke sighed and said: 'The shopkeeper had purposely directed Mr Anders to the scene of the murder.'

   He continued:

   ‘Our suspect was quite clear that the shopkeeper was overexcited and anxious. And if you recall, some time earlier, he had bumped into a gentleman in the street who was questioning passers-by in order to ascertain the location of a gentleman he suspected of having an assignation with his wife.’

   ‘Good grief,’ I said, ‘you mean to say you think the gentleman found him?’

   ‘I do. And that gentleman was the shopkeeper. And during the argument that followed, the shopkeeper shot the gentleman dead. And after the fact, he thought on his feet, directed Mr Anders, his next customer, to a specific location where he placed the body and fired a shot as Mr Anders approached.’

   His speech complete, Marmaduke Grey burst through the curtains to the back of the shop, whereupon we found the shopkeeper dead in a chair, a bullet hole through his temple, and a revolver on the floor by his feet.

   ‘Ah, the consequence of the normal man descending into crime. Guilt, my dear Perkins, the greatest detective of all.’

© Anthony North, June 2006

   ................................................................................................

   The case is solved, but in the final scene, a higher moral must be placed in order to gain credibility. Hence, when a normal man kills, the guilt drives him on to kill himself.

   The detective intuited that this could happen, and in doing so, whilst he may not be able to properly exist in society, he is an observer and knows society, and the nature of man, only too well.

 

(c) Anthony North, January 2007

 

Lesson Two - The Whodunnit

 

A MINISTERIAL AFFAIR

Anthony North

   Detective Sergeant Jordan entered the room with an air of expectancy. It seemed as if he'd been a copper all his life, but although he enjoyed it, he knew that, at thirty five, he should be an Inspector by now. He knew, of course, what the problem was - he just couldn't keep his mouth shut or tow the line. And with a new user-friendly police service - NOT force - he knew he was seen as a dinosaur.

   He turned his balding head to take in the room - called over the Alsatian which sat, peacefully, by a large leather settee. 'Hello, chum,' he said, stroking it affectionately. 'I wonder if you know your master's dead?'

   Jordan certainly knew he was. And it was his job to find out why. And he well knew that if he got this right, he'd be one step closer to that mythical Inspector.

   Sir Keith Masters had been found, dead, on the road below his balcony that morning. Jordan's initial reaction on hearing the news had been that it was suicide, even though there was no evidence of psychological problems before hand. But even this conclusion would be an embarrassment, for Sir Keith was - had - been a junior Minister at the Ministry of Defence.

   Murder had obviously to be considered, and it was to check out this possibility that he stood in Sir Keith's study, the balcony visible through the open french windows.

   He had been in the room, alone, for ten minutes, having found no sign of struggle or break-in, when the door opened, the Alsatian ran out, and in walked DS Tina Thompson.

   Jordan scowled. 'What the hell are you doing here?' he said.

   Tina Thompson pushed back her long, dark hair and her piercing brown eyes fixed on him. They had only worked together once before, and she'd wished it would never happen again. But the DCI had wanted her on the case, for he just didn't trust Jordan's tact. Telling him straight, Jordan paced the room. 'Typical,' he said, 'bloody typical.'

   'Well I don't like it any better than you do.'

   A silence followed, finally interrupted by Tina, saying: 'So have you found anything?'

   'It's as clean as a whistle.'

   Opening the french windows, Tina Thompson walked out onto the balcony, looked down, winced, and looked over the road. Momentarily distracted from the case in hand, she said: 'Oh, isn't that lovely.'

   Jordan followed her gaze, took in the Siamese cat sitting on the balcony opposite, and swore. 'We do have a case to solve, you know.'

    ................................................................................................

   The Whodunnit is one of the two major classes of detective story today, and for the last seventy years it has been supreme. In the present tale we have immediately set out a death with the basic facts and an obvious mystery. However, nowadays a basic whodunnit is no longer acceptable. There have to be other issues involved.

   The usual vehicle for this is a conflict between detective and sidekick. Here, the characters focus on the popular conflict between unfashionable and modern policing .....

   ................................................................................................

  

   Tina Thompson considered herself part of the new, caring police service. Just ten years in the job following her degree, she was on the fast track, not long, she knew, from her inspector. She hated coppers like Jordan and wished they would just disappear. The Met quite simply had no room for them any more. Rather, the future had to be caring, or all that would happen is the circle of crime would go on spinning round and round.

 'Not if we lock the sods up,' said Jordan as they left Sir Keith's flat and got into his car.

   Their destination was Sir Keith's London constituency office. Walking into the office, Matthew Perkins was already waiting for them. Sir Keith's constituency agent, both Jordan and Tina immediately noticed his shiftiness and realised he had something to hide.

   The interview was standard: 'Did Sir Keith have any problems?' 'Can you think of anyone who would want to kill him?' 'And where were you between midnight and six o'clock this morning?’

   The answers were nothing more than they'd expected. 'But he's hiding something,' said Jordan.

   Tina agreed, adding: 'Of course. he's having an affair with Sir Keith's housekeeper.'

   Jordan whistled. 'And how do you know that?' he asked.

   'Because as we entered the office, he slipped  something quickly into his desk drawer. And when you were distracting him, I took a look.'

   'And what did you find?'

   'A snapshot of him arm in arm with the woman who let me into the flat this morning.'

   ................................................................................................

   The reader should now be taking sides over the conflict between the two detectives. This conflict must continue throughout the story towards a moral point. As for the case, it has already deepened. Who let Tina into the flat? There is now sexual intrigue with the possibility of an affair with this person and Perkins. Do we have a suspect and a motive?

   ................................................................................................ 

    Jordan hated smart coppers, especially if they were female. It wasn't that he was anti-feminist. Just old-fashioned.

  'So that puts him in the frame,' he said as they got back into his car, heading back to Sir Keith's flat.

   Tina sighed. 'We can't say that. Not yet. But it's certainly suspicious that he didn't want us to know.'

   'Well I go on hunches, love. And I'm telling you, it's him.'

   'Don't call me love.'

   'And they should hang him. Hang 'em all. That's what I say.'

   'Yea, yea, yea,' said Tina, sitting back in her seat, wishing the day would end.

 

   Jennifer Armstrong was maybe forty five, her good looks just beginning to disappear under a profusion of wrinkles. Tina immediately noticed two things about her as she sat in front of them. First, she just didn't seem the housekeeper sort. And second, she had been crying a lot, and even now, was forcing herself to hold back the tears. It was midway through the interview that Jordan dropped the bombshell:

   'And what did Sir Keith think about your affair with Matthew Perkins?'

   Ms Armstrong was clearly rattled by this, and Tina just couldn't get it out of her head that she thought it had nothing to do with the case. And it was then that her own intuition struck - a much more fundamental thing, she knew, than Jordan's animal-like hunches. Excusing herself from the interview, she wandered about the flat, looking for the tell-tale signs she was sure she would find.

 

   'Well I don't think that added anything to the investigation,' said Jordan when they left.'

   'I disagree,' said Tina, feeling rather smug, and determined to show Jordan up for the dinosaur he was.

   'Oh,' said Jordan, 'and why's that?'

   'She was far too upset, so I looked round the flat. There was no sign of Sir Keith having any woman friends visiting him. He's not gay, so that's unusual for a man in his position. But I did notice that Jennifer Armstrong's room had not been slept in for God knows how long.'

   'So what are you getting at?'

   Is he dumb, or what, thought Tina. 'That they slept together, of course.'

   Jordan whistled. He had a nasty habit of doing that, thought Tina. 'So we've got a motive,' he said.

   'It would seem so.'

   'But which one did it?'

   'That's what we have to find out.' Which was rather like stating the obvious.

   ..............................................................................................

   The conflict has now turned into a contest. Will this cloud judgement? As for the case, we now have two suspects with a single motive. Which one 'dunnit,' or is one, or both, a red herring?

   We are coming to the conclusion. And essential to the whodunnit is the ability to con the reader. All the facts are in place to solve the death of Sir Keith. If the story is re-read, the reader will see all the facts to solve it before this point.

   Further, a contest must be won and a moral point made. This must be directly related to the case. If I've succeeded, you will presently have no idea what is going on.

   ..............................................................................................

    The rest of the day was spent at the station, making calls and confirming that Sir Keith AND Matthew Perkins were lovers of Ms Armstrong. The following day they would have to find out who pushed him off the balcony. Tina Thompson spent most of the night mulling on the matter.

   The next morning she entered Sir Keith’s flat. Jordan was sat on the settee, stroking the Alsatian as it sat, patiently, next to him. ‘If only you could talk,’ he said, prompting Tina Thompson to question his hands-on technique.

    Jennifer Armstrong entered the study, then. 'What is it this time?' she said, irritated.

   Tina was about to put the question delicately, when Jordan interrupted and said: 'So you've been playing around. All I want to know is who pushed him? You or Perkins?'

   Jennifer Armstrong broke down at that point. Tina Thompson had had enough and needed some fresh air. She opened the french windows and walked out onto the balcony. Embarrassed by Ms Armstrong's tears, Jordan joined her, and as Tina flashed him a look that could kill, said: 'I know, I know, I'm not good at tact.'

   'Well we'll never find out which of them did it, now, will we?’ said Tina, walking back into the study.

   Jordan looked over the road as he leaned on the balcony. As the Siamese cat appeared once more, he said, 'your cat's back. '

   Tina Thompson suddenly stopped in her tracks. 'What did you say?' she asked. Whilst at the same moment the Alsatian spotted the cat, growled, and bounded towards the balcony. With a warning of 'watch out!' from Tina, Jordan jumped out of the way just before the dog would have sent him spiralling to his death.

 

   'Jordan?' said Tina as they were about to leave.

   As he looked round, she held up the dog lead, as if a noose, and tugged. Then, following a trail of expletives, she smiled and followed him out.

 

© Anthony North, March 2002

 

Coming next, the troubled modern detective.