\n| Mitchell Geller<\/a><\/td>\n | <\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n In books by Christie, Sayers and Ngaio Marsh<\/strong>
\n the mystery writer observes this dictum:<\/strong>
\n A man or woman, venal cruel and harsh,<\/strong>
\n shot, stabbed or poisoned, must be the first victim.<\/strong>
\n With Corpse Number Two, the rules relax;<\/strong>
\n A kindly person, warm, or even saintly,<\/strong>
\n dispatched (so the \u201cperp\u201d can cover his tracks)<\/strong>
\n for sensing whodunit, however faintly.<\/strong>
\n Henceforth, clues and alibis alike are flimsy —<\/strong>
\n has someone stolen Madam\u2019s secateurs?<\/strong>
\n If so, why do Alleyn, Poirot or Wimsey<\/strong>
\n deduce the fingerprints they bear are hers?<\/strong>
\n Yet how they charm! Stale plots, dull dialogue,<\/strong>
\n Manor house murders and footsteps in fog.<\/strong><\/p>\n The new ones differ — brilliant PD James<\/strong>
\n created a brooding detective-poet.<\/strong>
\n Anne Perry\u2019s historical oeuvre proclaims<\/strong>
\n Victorians were kinky, though loath to show it.<\/strong>
\n The kudos trenchant Ruth Rendell has garnered<\/strong>
\n extend to her alias, Barbara Vine,<\/strong>
\n and sly diabolical Robert Barnard<\/strong>
\n lampoons England\u2019s bleak, bureaucratic decline.<\/strong>
\n Where once the motives were classic and clean —<\/strong>
\n the quartet: love, loathing, lucre and lust —<\/strong>
\n now sociopathy dominates the scene;<\/strong>
\n victims dismembered, leather-clad and trussed.<\/strong>
\n The grey cells are augmented in our day<\/strong>
\n by Freud and forensics and DNA.<\/strong><\/p>\n |