HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Uh-oh. Stuff you
never thought about.
You think this murder stuff is easy? Huh.
As author Nupur Tustin says on Franz Joseph
Haydn: “You may know him as a composer. You may even know him as
Kapellmeister—Director of Music—to the powerful Esterhazy Princes. Now, I’d
like to introduce you to Haydn, the Kapell-Detective.”
But in writing about Haydn the
detective, Nupur ran into a bit of a dilemma. The question: Can forensic science play a role in
historical mysteries? And the answer? Well, it’s fascinating. And who better to
interview her about it—than the author herself?
NUPUR TUSTIN: Why would a writer of
historical mysteries bother researching forensic techniques?
I was writing the first draft of A Minor
Deception, when a dead body showed up, and I realized that I had absolutely
no idea how to describe it.
Obviously some
sort of description was necessary. There was a corpse in the wine-tavern. Even
if Haydn looked away, revolted, after his first glance, I'd have to provide
some explanation as to the cause of his revulsion. Moreover, the
barber-surgeon, also present at the scene, was unlikely to be quite so
squeamish.
But things were so different back in the
eighteenth century?
Then again, some things don't change. Whether your mystery is set in eighteenth-century Austria or twenty-first century Los Angeles, when a body appears on the scene, you need to give your reader some idea of what your sleuth sees. Manners and customs may have changed, but the changes that take place in the body after death have not.
Some changes like
rigor mortis—the stiffening of the limbs after death—would have been
commonplace in a time when death itself was an everyday occurrence.
Other
changes—such as the bloating that occurs as toxins are released in the process
of decomposition—may have seemed more unnatural. Certainly in
eighteenth-century Austria these changes led to a vampire scare so widespread,
the Empress Maria Theresa had to command her personal physician to look into
the matter.
Whether your
victim is an eighteenth-century traveler or a twenty-first century lawyer, the
appearance of a stabbing or bludgeoning or death by drowning remain the same.
Yes, but how much would an
eighteenth-century individual know about the signs that point to violent death?
Your eighteenth-century sleuth may not necessarily realize the bloodshot appearance of a victim's eyes points to death by strangulation, but that's not to say he or she won't notice it.
An experienced
executioner might even be able to tell your sleuth about this particular
phenomenon. You can't hang criminals, lop off their heads, or carry out other
similar executions without learning a thing or two about what happens during
and after the event.
All right, forensic pathology may be
useful, but what made you delve deeper?
Although forensic
pathology gave me nightmares, my introduction to it brought me into contact
with other fascinating technologies available to the modern investigator. When
a fellow crime writer shared the news of a free online course taught by the
University of Strathclyde in Glasgow, I was eager to take it, although I didn't
think I'd learn much from it of value to the Haydn Mysteries.
I couldn't have
been more wrong.
Seriously?
Absolutely. As I worked with fellow students on solving a true crime, I realized there was more to investigating a crime than pulling out all the stops with the fancy techniques available to us. Based on what the investigator sees at the crime scene, the initial interviews, and oftentimes the subsequent behavior of the survivors, a hypothesis is formulated.
It is this
hypothesis that directs further investigation.
In fact as I
worked on the case, I realized my questions, and the ones the instructors were
prompting me to ask, had nothing to do with the examination of trace evidence
and everything to do with (a) the appearance of the crime scene, and the
mismatch between it and the story the victim's husband gave the initial
responders; (b) my knowledge of human behavior; and (c) my nascent knowledge of
criminal behavior.
Can you illustrate those three types of
questions?
Sure. Here's an example of the first type. The gunman had apparently opened the
passenger-side door, and in a struggle with the victim, shot her in her right
temple. The incident took place in the U.K., meaning that the entry wound would
have to be in the left temple for that story to be accurate. Her right temple
faced her husband.
The position of
the body suggested she'd been looking straight ahead when she'd been shot.
As for the
second and third, having shot one individual, how plausible is it that the
killer would have left the other alive to potentially identify him? The woman
had received a fatal wound to her temple; but her husband had sustained only a
minor injury to his left arm.
Fascinating! But how did all this help
with the Haydn Mysteries?
The questions I asked
as I worked on this case are the same type of questions I have Haydn ask when
he's presented with a crime. What's the most likely hypothesis based on the
initial evidence? If new evidence challenges his initial assumptions, what
explanation might take into account both the old and the new evidence?
Since I already
know who the killer is, thinking in this way helps me to refine the plot as I
write my novel. I'm not only considering how to present evidence based on what
actually happened, I'm also thinking about plausible ways in which it might be
misinterpreted.
You're forgetting they didn't have the
technology to evaluate trace evidence back then.
I've come to realize
that forensic evidence is more important in presenting a cast-iron case in
court than in actually solving the crime. While in some cases, it does solve
the crime, in others, it has to be taken in conjunction with other types of
evidence gleaned from interviews with the victim's family, suspects, and anyone
remotely involved. Frequently, two experts will disagree on whether
fingerprints or tire marks or even handwriting match. And DNA evidence is only
as good as the kit used to collect it.
Sounds like a lot of work. Don't you
already have your hands full researching the time period?
Oddly enough, it makes
writing a historical mystery much easier. The same type of investigative work
needs to be done to narrow down the list of suspects and to follow leads. I
still, of course, try to present the reader with as much cast-iron evidence as
I can.
What about you,
readers? Are you convinced that learning about contemporary investigative
techniques can be helpful even to a writer of historical mysteries? Can you
think of examples from mysteries you've written or read?
HANK: Oh, that is so
fascinating! Huh. I keep thinking about The Alienist. It’s such a complicated
balance—because we as readers are reading trough the prism of what we know—and
compare it to how what it was like in the past. How do we change our
perspective and expectations to feel comfortable in the past?
Love this,
Nupur! And tell us more about your book.
And I’m delighted to
give a copy of A MINOR DECPTION to one lucky commenter. Are you a fan of
classical music?
Bio: A former
journalist, Nupur Tustin relies upon a Ph.D. in Communication and an M.A. in
English to orchestrate fictional mayhem. Childhood piano lessons and a 1903
Weber Upright share equal blame for her musical works.
Haydn Series: http://ntustin.com
Kapellmeister Joseph Haydn would like nothing better than to show
his principal violinist Bartó Daboczi the door. But with the Empress Maria
Theresa’s visit scheduled in three weeks, Haydn can ill-afford to lose his
surly virtuoso.
But when Bartó disappears—along
with all the music composed for the imperial visit—the Kapellmeister is forced
to don the role of Kapell-detective, or risk losing his job.
Before long Haydn’s search
uncovers pieces of a disturbing puzzle. Bartó, it appears, is more than just a
petty thief—and more dangerous. And what seemed like a minor musical mishap
could modulate into a major political catastrophe unless Haydn can find his
missing virtuoso.
