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Criminal Beginnings

When Patricia Cornwell penned her first book, Postmortem, “the interior world of forensic science and medicine was a dark and chilly secret,” based on her experiences in the office of Virginia’s chief medical examiner.

Of course, back in 1990, forensic pathology was a groundbreaking science that validated the almost supernatural gut instinct of the quintessential hardboiled detective. It was a game-changer, redefining the justice system and trapping criminals with indisputable evidence. Postmortem relies heavily on the novelty of forensic profiling and computer analysis, which makes the book’s platinum edition seem dated, 21 years on. The book introduces Cornwell’s maverick pathologist, Dr Kay Scarpetta, who goes on to ‘star’ in 14 other books in what is now a well-established series.

The platinum edition of Cornwell’s first Scarpetta novel is a throwback to the complex, interwoven plots of the 80s, where crime-scene investigation was only picking up and words like “modem” were considered technical jargon. The novel lacks the usual psychological profiling other Scarpetta novels tend to have, where the murders are more interconnected and uniquely disturbing. In Postmortem, Scarpetta begins investigating a typical serial killer situation — a series of horrific murders where the victims (all well-heeled young women) are brutally abused and killed.

As she unravels the forensic clues with a tough-talking detective, Pete Marino, it appears that legal officials, who should be on her side, suspect her of leaking compromising evidence to the press. The case gets complex when it appears that her ten-year-old niece, Lucy, has become involved. To cap it all, it looks like the perpetrator could have inside knowledge of the investigation as well.

The medical discussion in Postmortem seems too thorough at times, but Cornwell does a fairly good job incorporating all the aspects of the story, tying up loose ends and giving us an acceptable conclusion. She leads the reader to draw incorrect assumptions about the killer, only to surprise the reader at the end of the novel, in typical murder-mystery fashion.

Cornwell presents a realistic world where everyone has his or her own agenda. The description of the murder scene and all the infinite tasks to find the killer show the hoops that are necessary to solve the case.

The tedium of reading her 448-page novel with its tired plot is only redeemed by Cornwell’s remarkable characterisation of Kay Scarpetta. Dr Scarpetta is a strong central character who does not follow social conventions, working in a male-dominated unit, and flouting the expectations of her conservative Italian-American family by living alone and unmarried, much to her mother’s chagrin. She also takes on a maternal role as the sole guardian of her computer-whiz niece (who appears in later novels as a sidekick of sorts).

Scarpetta is more than just a crude caricature of the all-too-common case-hardened lady cop we tend to see in this genre. She embraces her feminine nature, while projecting a tough (yet not overdone) exterior, which is portrayed as a necessity in her line of work. Four women have been strangled and viciously abused, and while helping the police solve these crimes, she has to deal with prejudice from the force (and her shifty partner, Pete Marino) assuming that a woman can’t possibly do the job.

Reading Postmortem in 2011 does not do the book justice. Those who enjoy this genre would probably find it as 
satisfying as an episode of CSI on television: entertaining, but after multiple franchises and seasons, the concept is hardly mind-blowing.

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