Getting Away With It All

In real life, bad people get away with “it” every day—no matter what “it” is. It could be fraud, it could be embezzlement, it could be murder. The number of examples from throughout history is mind-boggling, yet fascinating; from a 21st century perspective, it’s almost unfathomable to think how murders can remain unsolved for generations, or even centuries, much less millennia.

This lack of resolution may explain our satisfaction when fictional cops and PIs bring criminals to justice. (There are exceptions to this rule, especially in heist capers where we delight in rooting for the thieves to stick it to the man.) But at the risk of being labeled a contrarian, where is it set in stone that this is how it must be—especially for mystery and crime fiction writers?

Some of fiction’s greatest detectives have, on occasion, failed in their quests. Even if the sleuth determines the culprit’s identity, said killer sometimes eludes punishment. They may not have committed the “perfect murder,” but they nonetheless managed to avoid prosecution. Some folks find this trope annoying. But I find it intriguing.

Look, I dig a plausible outcome as much as the next person. Whether I’m reading a mystery or watching one on TV, I relish the challenge of matching my limited wits with whatever PI or police detective is on the case. Still, real life ain’t always fair, which is why I find it intriguing when the intrepid inspector gets it right, but the perp slips away. Sometimes with the inspector’s help.

There‘s no finer example than Roman Polanski’s great neo-noir Chinatown. Starring Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway and released in 1974, Chinatown oozes noir tropes, from Nicholson’s flawed, hard-boiled private eye Jake Gittes, to Dunaway’s femme fatale Evelyn Mulwray, to a plot swimming in corruption, fraud, incest, and murder. But what sets Chinatown apart is the ending; watching in helpless desperation (spoiler alert!) as Evelyn is shot to death (while in the process of “getting away with it” with Jake’s assistance), and failing to “get his man,” Jake is shoved aside as the police allow his antagonist, Noah Cross (John Huston), to vanish into the darkness…leading to one of the all-time great closing lines of dialog.?

It’s also one of the most morally-ambiguous yet satisfying endings in movie history. Sure, Jake could have popped Cross, rescued Evelyn, and been the hero. But as we all know, the rich and powerful aren’t always held to account for their offenses, especially in noir.

The reason I bring this up is I’m at a crossroads with my current WIP, The Saddle Road Samba. I’d love for my PI protagonist, Noelani Lee, to crack the case and restore order to the world of Hilo, Hawaii. But an even bigger part of me would like to see her fall short. In the end she will sort out my complex plot, find a missing woman, and finger a murderer in the process. But maybe, just maybe, she won’t take this information to the police…for reasons she will discover in the course of her investigation.

I did something similar in my last novel, The Wailoa Waltz. In it, Noelani successfully unmasks the killer behind a 30-year-old cold case. But instead of taking her evidence directly to the police, she hands the perpetrator a police detective’s business card and says:

“I’ll let him know you plan on visiting him Monday morning. Unless you want to call him first. It’ll give you time to get your story straight.”

Did the killer do as she suggested? Maybe. Did Noelani follow-up with the police? Possibly. Did she let them get away with it? No, because she’s counting on them to do the right thing. Did they? Who knows.

I realize some of the handful of people who read this book may not appreciate the ambiguous ending. And they may disapprove if I do something similar with The Saddle Road Samba. But again, life ain’t always fair.

And as the writer…well, not to brag, but I can get away with it.