though all the seven deadly ttymp–
tations of the world pass before
him
in their salivant allure; and
neither would we. Once in a while
a true detective, even though he
happen to be a cop, will confess
that this is so. Thus the noble
speech of Ngaio Marsh's half-noble
Alleyn (C.I.D., Scotland Yard,
British) to his beloved recently.
In the quest for the murderer
your true detective must suspect
everybody. Theologically and so–
ciologically, how could he other–
wise? "In Adam's fall we sinned
all." "Whither shall I go from thy
spirit? or whither shall I flee from
thy presence?
If
I ascend up into
heaven thou art there.
If
I make
my bed in the underworld, behold,
thou art there.
If
I take the wings
of the morning, and dwell in the
uttermost parts of the sea; even
there would thy hand lead me, and
thy right hand would hold me"
(Pss. 139: 7-10). The universality
of suspicion merely corresponds,
theologically speaking, to the fact
that the
atonement
(if,
as, and
when) is for everybody. Therefore
our sigh of relief, of gladness or
recognition when the detective
points the finger is commingled
with disappointment and with the
trace of a bitter metaphysical cha–
grin. For we cannot wholly believe
in our atonement until we have
suffered
it.
If
we, who are guilty
as hell, are let off this time, that
is not quite as satisfactory as it
ought to be.
842
Therefore also,
(a)
the multi–
plicity of crime in the true detec–
tive story, not one murder but
many; and
(b)
the insatiability of
your true reader. For expiation, as
Freud so brilliantly and Reik so
woodenly have both pointed out
(Moses and Monotheism,
and
The
Unknown Murderer),
means
repe–
tition
of the crime.
Therefore, finally, the mystical
need of the hero-detective (from
time to time) to undergo the fate
of the criminal; and by the same
token the profound urgency of the
regular police (from time to time)
to sock the detective,
and to sock
him hard.
Then and only then has
the hero detective earned the right
himself (or through his assistant)
to punish the face and body of
the suspect, before the arrest. Then
is the deposition of the shaken body
of the criminal
(Boomerang;
Ham–
mett; etc.) a shattering
pieta.
This is the detective's ultimate
vocation: up ladders of love and
identification to help us through
the agony of the garden of crime,
and thereby to achieve our vicari–
ous atonement. But
his
sanctity is
deeper than his vocation; it lies in
himself. Immune to bribery, help–
ing the widow and the orphan,
sharp with the sharpness of his
skill,
which
is that of a bloodhound,
a boxer, and a judge, holy with
his
calling and tragic in his de–
tachment from all other men,
Galahad is he.
If
his strength is
as the strength of ten it is because
his heart is pure. His quest for a
