Drop the Pen! What Every Writer Should Know About Real Police Work

Search Warrants Under a Magnifying Glass

By D.L. Williams

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My wife and I watch a streaming series called Joe Pickett about a game warden solving homicides in Wyoming, based on the exceptional novels by C.J. Box. Game Warden Pickett is an honest cop, savvy about woodcraft, less so about the politics and back-door deals of the world. He evidently patrols the most dangerous forest in the world, because someone ends up murdered in every book in the series and in each season of the televised program. 

I have to suspend some disbelief when I watch the show, however, because our good Game Warden Pickett seemingly has never heard of a search warrant. He’ll go in any tent, rifle through any pickup truck, and stick his nose in just about any hunter’s cabin if it means finding the truth. Our hero is out there in the woods alone, except for the fauna he protects, and lurking bad guys. Leaving a possible crime scene in the woods to get a judge to sign a search warrant for an ominous tent or a suspicious backpack means evidence might disappear and murderers will get away. 

Which is an understandable dilemma, but in legal terms this is what defense attorneys call a “no-no.” How you tackle the gray areas of fictional law enforcement depends on what you’re writing, the circumstances in the case, and your own literary voice. My job is to make sure you know the rules, so that you’ll know the stakes when you opt to break them. 

Search warrants are by far the most asked about topic I receive when writers reach out for feedback on their mystery/thriller novels or screenplays, or when I’m speaking at writers’ conferences. Writers know it is a subject they need to get right before sending a novel to agents or publishers, but high school civics was a long time ago for a lot of us. A review is in order.

Search warrants are a fundamental part of our governmental system of checks and balances. They’re a safeguard against executive branch overreach into places any reasonable person would consider private including homes, cars, computer hard drives, cell phones, and even our own bodies. We didn’t like it one bit when British redcoats kicked in our front door and rummaged around looking for evidence that we hadn’t paid a stamp tax or for contraband rum just delivered by the friendly neighborhood smuggler. So, way back in 1791 we passed and ratified the Fourth Amendment to guard against such intrusion:

The right of the people to secure in their person’s, houses, papers, and effects shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized. 

Which means, if police officers want to enter your home or other places you consider private, they can only do so with a warrant they’ve obtained by swearing to a judge that what they’re asking to search has to do with a criminal investigation, and that the evidence they’re basing that request on applies directly to the case. There are no search warrants granted for “gut feelings.”

There are a couple of exceptions to the warrant requirement. The first is for the owner of private property to give permission for officers to search the item or place in question. It’s kind of like the rule for vampires. Cops can’t come in until they’re invited. The irony of that analogy isn’t lost on me. 

The other way police officers can enter private property without a warrant is through exigent (emergency) circumstances. Such circumstances allow police officers to enter a private place if there is a reasonable concern someone within is hurt and needs emergency medical care and/or there is an immediate threat to lives or evidence posed by some thing or some person within the home. 

Let’s say a woman calls 911 to report violence in the apartment next door. She can hear a screaming female and a man growling threats. The sounds of glass breaking and furniture toppling reverberates through the apartment walls, and the caller frantically tells the dispatcher, “The cops better hurry before somebody gets killed.” 

Responding officers arrive in time to hear the violence still occurring within the apartment, so they will enter the domicile based on the exigent need to stop the violence and prevent further harm. Once inside, they spot a woman unconscious on the floor, bleeding from a head wound. EMS will be summoned, and first aid will commence. 

Meanwhile, the angry man heard by the 911 caller is nowhere in sight. It’s plausible he’s hiding in the apartment, which poses a continuation of the exigent threat. Officers will keep looking for the other party until they’re sure everyone in that apartment is accounted for. 

In our scenario, two officers searching for the suspect walk into a bathroom, only to discover there is a methamphetamine lab bubbling in the bathtub. This discovery will result in a whole new direction for the investigation, but for now the focus remains on scene safety. 

Only after the scene is made safe and the injured woman is on her way to the hospital will the new investigation into the meth lab kick into gear. Narcotics officers will be called in, as well as fire department personnel, to mitigate any danger from a fire or an explosion in the illicit lab. The scene will get quiet, because there isn’t much else to do until a signed search warrant arrives. Anyone still inside the apartment will be ushered out, and uniformed officers will be stationed at entrances to guard against someone going back in and tampering with evidence. 

A detective will then write a search warrant affidavit. The affidavit is designed to tell a story about how the investigation came about in the first place, what evidence has been secured in the case thus far, why the investigators believe there is more evidence to be discovered, and how they plan to go about finding it.  The affidavit in our case, for example, would detail how officers were dispatched based on a frantic 911 call, that the officers intervened to stop violence, that a man suspected of rendering his wife unconscious hid from officers, and that officers searching for that man in the apartment spied a meth lab during efforts to find him.

The detective writing the affidavit would then spell out exactly what the department personnel will be looking for as they search. Such a list in this case would include supplies used in the manufacture of the drug such as chemicals, heating elements, measuring cups, beakers, etc. 

Once the affidavit is completed and edited (yes, cops edit each other), an investigator must find a judge to sign the warrant. This can be a chokepoint if the judge is currently presiding over a hearing or trial, or if circumstances of the case necessitate the warrant be signed in the middle of the night. Most judges are patient and personable. A few are arrogant jerks, but detectives learn quickly who to approach and who to avoid when going to get a signature. 

The “Affiant,” is the person making the request of the court.  The detective affiant in our fictional case must raise her right hand and swear to tell the truth during the meeting with the judge, an oath which carries the same perjury consequences as a witness at trial if that detective lies. Most judges ask investigators to tell the story first, so they have some idea of what they’ll see in the warrant affidavit, and then they’ll read the actual document. This can take a few minutes, so good detectives steel themselves to wait quietly while the judge reviews their work like a tenth-grade English teacher reading your “What I Did Over the Summer” essay. 

The judge will sign two documents. The first is the affidavit, which spelled out the story in detail. The second is the warrant itself, a comparatively sparse document that simply says officers from Department X are allowed to search the apartment during a specified time period for the purposes of a criminal investigation. The actual details beyond the general nature of the crime being investigated are left off the document. Officers must show the actual warrant to the property owner (the Respondent), but they can withhold the affidavit with all the juicy details for now in order to preserve the ongoing investigation. All the facts will be shared with the suspect and his attorney later, but for now it’s best to keep some specifics secret as detectives work to find witnesses and other related evidence.

The apartment springs back to life as soon as the warrant arrives on scene. By then, everyone on the investigative team will know their assignment. Crime Scene Techs will start the process of photographing and collecting evidence (we’ll go into greater detail about this in a future column), and investigating officers will go to assigned or agreed upon areas of the apartment to search. 

Evidence will be photographed and labeled before being sent for processing (DNA, fingerprints, identification of unknown substances, etc.). The search will continue until the lead detective on the case deems the team has completed the objectives listed in the warrant. A copy of the search warrant is left in plain sight, often on a coffee table or kitchen counter, along with an inventory sheet of everything taken from the home.  

Now, let’s say the investigating officers find a computer in the apartment. That computer will likely be seized as well because it may contain evidentiary information such as search engine research into how to make methamphetamine, lists of ingredients needed for such manufacture, emails to and from potential buyers or sellers of contraband, and even photos of the suspect smoking or injecting the product they created. 

My recommendation is always to get an additional warrant for things like computers and cell phones. Yes, you might be covered in some jurisdictions based solely on the search warrant you gained for the crime scene. However, any evidence discovered in the computer will be challenged in court if there wasn’t a warrant specific to that private area. It’s prudent to simply get another warrant for each additional place to be searched. This would apply as well to remote storage buildings owned or rented by the suspects, cell phones, and cars. 

Novelists and screenwriters often take liberties when it comes to criminal investigations. You may choose to do that as well, if a bit of fudging better fits the tone and narrative of your work. I’m just here to make sure you know the background so you can make informed decisions as you plot your future bestseller.  I bid you luck and joy in crafting your own literary murder forest, packed full of dangerous, two-legged beasts and riddled with places to hide a body.  Onward. 

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David “D.L.” Williams is a public safety veteran with assignments including paramedicine, patrol in high-need areas, helicopter rescue, mental health liaison, and violent crime investigations as a detective. During his thirty-year career, Williams was twice named Officer of the Year by the Fraternal Order of Police, and he has been recognized by Rotary Club, the American Legion, and the National Coalition Against Sexual Violence for his work with families and children in crisis. He now teaches criminology at the University of Arkansas, and he is the bestselling author of Fighting for Her Life: What to do When Someone You Know is Being Abused and Textbooks, Not Targets: How to Prevent School Shootings in Your Community. He and his family have settled in the Ozark Mountains where they offer a haven for donkeys and horses who previously endured a rough life.

The Importance of Honest Feedback

By Judy Penz Sheluk

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Writing is a solitary pursuit, one where we spend countless hours of our lives, often laboring over a single sentence or paragraph for more time than most of us care to admit. So, it’s only natural that we become protective of our words. After all, something that took hours to perfect must be, well, perfect, right?

If only that were so. Unfortunately, as writers, we are simply too close to our work to see the flaws. Oh, we may find the typo on page 75 on reread, the one where we’ve called a car a cat (though even that is iffy), but the overuse of a favorite trope, phrase, or gesture (my characters love to nod). Maybe not so much. And that’s why we need feedback.

Feedback comes in many forms and at various stages of the writing process. The most important thing to remember is that you are looking for an honest and unbiased evaluation of your work. You may not agree with every comment or suggestion, but you should at least consider each one without becoming defensive. Consider it “thick skin” training for the rejections you’re almost certain to face going forward. 

Let’s look at some options:

 Writing Critique Groups

While there are no hard and fast rules, these work best if the group is small—three to five people—allowing each member time to read and respond without becoming overwhelmed. It’s essential to establish parameters from the get-go, such as weekly word count limits and the type of feedback expected. 

While critique groups can be invaluable for some writers, they should never be the final step in the review process. As you become immersed in your work for months on end, you lose objectivity. Those intimately familiar with your work will too.

Alpha Readers

Readers who provide detailed and constructive feedback, both positive and tactfully critical, about your book’s premise, plot, characters, and other elements. This is the place to include readers who have knowledge of the technical elements in your manuscript. 

Whether you choose to hire a professional, or ask a trusted friend or relative, they should be aware that they are commenting on an unpolished (first) draft. They should also be avid readers of your book’s genre or sub-genre. Consider this the first test drive of your overall story from a reader’s perspective. 

Beta Readers

Beta readers (or betas) critique finished manuscripts before they are published. It’s advisable to have betas who are familiar with your genre/sub-genre. Betas can be friends, family members, teachers, members of online writing groups, or other writers willing to do a manuscript swap. This will help identify the finer points of your book that may need an adjustment. Ideally, you’ll have no fewer than two and no more than five, allowing for a comparison of opinions without the risk of opinion overload. If one beta reader doesn’t understand why your protagonist hates red, that might be a point worth clarifying. If two or more betas don’t get it, it’s a must-fix. 

While betas are an excellent way to obtain (often free) feedback, they do not replace the role of a professional editor. There is one school of thought that because traditional publishers pay for editing, there is no need for authors to incur this expense if their intention is to traditionally publish. 

Let’s look at that statement. Is it true that traditional publishers hire and pay for editing services? Yes. However, it’s equally true that agents and publishers receive thousands of submissions from aspiring authors every year. While there are no guarantees, a professionally edited manuscript may increase the odds of acceptance. 

Developmental Editing

Also known as substantive or content editing, developmental editing is the first step, focusing on big picture story elements. The developmental editor will also assess and shape draft material to improve flow and organization by revising or reordering content and clarifying plot, arc of action, characters, and/or thematic elements.

Line Editing

Also known as stylistic editing, the line editor focuses on coherence and flow, eliminating jargon, clichés, and euphemisms, while adjusting the length and structure of sentences and paragraphs, and establishing or maintaining the overall mood, style, or voice.

Copyediting

Ideally combined with line editing, the copy editor checks spelling, grammar, punctuation, and usage, and ensures consistency in character names, places, descriptions, and other details. Copy editing also covers fact checking and/or obtaining or listing permissions needed (e.g., use of song lyrics or trademarked products). The copy editor may create or work from a style sheet.

And there you have it, feedback in a nutshell. Now all you need to do is write that book. Hey, if it were easy, everyone would do it.

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A former journalist and magazine editor, Judy Penz Sheluk is the bestselling author of two mystery series: The Glass Dolphin Mysteries and Marketville Mysteries. Her short crime fiction appears in several collections, including the Superior Shores Anthologies, which she also edited.

Judy has also written two how-to guides to publishing. Finding Your Path to Publication: A Step-by-Step Guide was the Winner of the 2024 Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award for Best Nonfiction. The follow-up to that book, Self-publishing: The Ins & Outs of Going Indie, provides an insider’s insight into the world of self-publishing. 

Judy is a member of Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, the Short Mystery Fiction Society, and Crime Writers of Canada, where she served on the Board of Directors, most recently as Chair.

How to be Funny in a Murder Mystery

By Bill Gormley

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How funny should a murder mystery be? Must you choose between funny and scary? Is it possible to combine comedy and tragedy in one piece of work?

Many mystery writers opt for one over the other. By sanitizing violence and downplaying death, “cozy” writers achieve a light, frothy consistency high in humor, low in dread. By expunging light-hearted moments and heightening the drama as much as possible, “suspense” writers achieve a grim, scary consistency high in fear, low in fun. 

Though I enjoy many mysteries that tilt strongly one way or the other, I generally prefer a balanced approach – some fear and some humor, some tension and some relief. But how to go about it? Is there a right way and a wrong way to blend humor and suspense?  

For starters, let’s agree that it would be bad form for police to joke about someone’s death when informing a loved one. It would be equally bad form for a writer to interrupt someone’s expression of grief with a burp, a fart, or a double entendre. Some things just aren’t done and shouldn’t be done. As Johnny Carson liked to say, never joke about Abraham Lincoln.

On the other hand, a funny sequence after the grim work at the scene of the crime can be a welcome relief to investigators and readers alike. That’s where good writing and good timing pay off.

Consider Janet Evanovich’s irrepressible Grandma Mazur, whose zest for visiting funeral homes is legendary. In addition to hogging the best seat in the house and cramming her purse full of cookies, she’s notorious for opening closed caskets: “I just don’t like when they have a closed casket. I think it’s a gyp. How do you know if there’s anyone in there?” 

 We shake our heads and chuckle at Grandma Mazur’s antics because she is not testing the boundaries. For her, the boundaries simply don’t exist. We can overlook her sins because she doesn’t know they are sins. 

So, can we agree that funny scenes are worth doing when we can pull it off? If so, how do we do it?  How do we inject humor into a murder mystery without creating a jarring mix of moods? 

Here are five suggestions:

SUGGESTION # 1 – CREATE QUIRKY CHARACTERS. They enrich our daily lives. Why shouldn’t they enrich our stories? A barber who offers to remove a mole while trimming someone’s hair. A beautician whose chihuahua jumps on customers’ laps. A neighbor who plays more tricks on trick-or-treaters than they play on him. An auto repair man who can’t drive.

Thieves and grifters are especially good bets. According to the gospel of Elmore Leonard, your average criminal hatches schemes that are doomed to failure. That’s comic gold if you know what to do with it. Leonard devotes as much time to the bad guys as to the good guys and somehow manages to get inside their clueless heads. With empathy and humor, he portrays individuals who see themselves as pursuing the American dream, albeit without guardrails or constraints.

In Maximum Bob, for example, an ex-con, Dr. Tommy, hires another ex-con, Elvin, to assassinate the super-strict judge who sentenced him. His boyfriend Hector points out that Elvin is more of a bungler than a burglar. Why hire him? “Listen, he could be lucky and do it. You know why? He doesn’t see what could stop him.” Like Hector, Elvin’s nephew, Dale, is skeptical and asks his uncle if he’s really up to the job.

Elvin: You’re working with a pro here. I’ve done it. 

Dale: And you went to prison. 

Elvin: Hey, that’s something else entirely. We set this up right, it’ll work slick.

It’s fun knowing that Elvin is hurtling into the abyss with almost no chance of succeeding.

Criminals with scruples can also be amusing. In Hanging the Devil, Tim Maleeny introduces us to some savvy Russian thugs who join an alliance of misfits to steal paintings from a museum. Their front is a store that sells Russian nesting dolls, including an assortment of Mary Poppins characters. Mary herself is topless, but she’s discreetly wearing an apron. “We have standards,” Sergey explains. “This is a family business.” 

Notice the juxtaposition here. Grand theft and murder? All in a day’s work. Offending sensitive customers with a nude doll? Unthinkable.

SUGGESTION # 2 – CREATE WITTY CHARACTERS. A character with a sharp tongue or a dry wit is a gift that keeps on giving. The character can be likable or not, eccentric or not. The key is that the character can deliver zingers with the best of them. 

Take Ruth Zardo – one of Louise Penny’s characters in the tiny village of Three Pines, in Quebec. A crotchety, potty-mouthed poet, Ruth insults anyone and everyone, even friends, like painter Clara Morrow. 

After receiving a devastating review of her latest paintings – small miniatures described as “trite, derivative, and banal,” Clara needs some cheering up. But that’s not Ruth’s way: “The good thing is, nobody will see your crap. Who goes to an exhibition of miniatures? Why in the world would you agree to contribute to a group show of tiny oil paintings? It’s what bored society women in the 1700s painted.” 

A village of Ruth Zardos would be exasperating. But other residents of Three Pines, including Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, are so unfailingly nice that Ruth is paradoxically a welcome breath of foul air.

If Ruth Zardo has a rival for curmudgeon of the decade, it might be Jackson Lamb, the disheveled, ill-mannered, mean-spirited man who runs Slough House in Mick Herron’s Slow Horses series. The premise is that disgraced and incompetent MI5 agents who can’t be fired are assigned to a sort of “rubber room” where they are occasionally asked to perform difficult assignments that they are well beyond their means. 

When Lamb berates a member of his crew, he is blunt, vulgar, and cruel. He has a grudging respect for his chief deputy, Catherine Standish, but even she gets treated caustically, as in Dead Lions:

Lamb: You’ve got a theory, haven’t you?

Standish: Yes, I …

Lamb: I didn’t say I wanted to hear it.

Lamb is funniest when sparring with an equal, like “Lady Di” Taverner, Deputy Director-General of MI5. When Taverner complains about her boss, Lamb commiserates and offers to help: “I know some people. I could have her whacked.” He’s kidding, right? Yes. Probably.

Adrian McKinty’s Sean Duffy is kinder and gentler than Jackson Lamb, but just as funny. A detective sergeant in Ireland during The Troubles, Duffy wise-cracks his way through murder and mayhem. When a man is found dead in his car, with two ugly gunshot wounds, his right hand neatly severed at the wrist, Duffy’s boss, Chief Inspector Brennan, wants to know what Duffy makes of it.

Brennan: Well?

Duffy: It’s my belief, sir, that this was no ordinary car accident.

Brennan: Why is it that every eejit in the CID thinks they’re a bloody comedian?

Duffy: Probably to cover up some deep insecurity, sir.

As the plot thickens, we learn that Duffy is more than just a wisenheimer. He is clever, resourceful, and empathetic. As Anjili Babbar notes, Duffy is even ethical in his own way. But his quips make for a jolly ride into a world of chaos and horror.

SUGGESTION # 3 – DEVISE FUNNY SITUATIONS. Put your characters in an awkward situation and watch them squirm. 

In Notorious Nineteen, bail bondswoman Stephanie Plum and her pal Lula get a hot tip – a man who jumped bail has been spotted at a nude beach. On arriving at their destination, Stephanie and Lula confirm with the attendant that the scofflaw is there. There’s only one problem:  they have to take off their clothes to apprehend him. How embarrassing! Not surprisingly, Janet Evanovich, a master comedienne, makes the most of it.

A subtler approach might be to borrow from the fable where one of the mice must bell the cat but none is willing to put his tail on the line. Let’s say Character A wants to burgle an apartment but won’t do it himself for fear of getting caught. He commissions a reluctant Character B to do it. Character B, no chump, says yes but secretly arranges for Character C to do it, and so forth. What’s fun about this is that multiple refusals create multiple opportunities for something to go wrong.

If you handle it right, as Brad Parks does in Faces of the Gone, a dangerous situation can be funny. Carter Ross, investigative reporter for a Newark newspaper, secures an invite to meet with some gang members but is told that he must smoke weed with them to prove that he is not a cop. Blindfolded, he is taken to their hideaway where they produce some first-class weed, which Ross promptly smokes. Ross suspects that the gang members are drug dealers, but they indignantly deny this, showing him their warehouse, which contains boxes and boxes of … bootleg movies! Ross returns unharmed to his office, “as high as the Himalayas.” There, he unexpectedly runs into … his executive editor. An old-school gentleman, Harold Brodie is horrified that his star reporter has been smoking dope. Tempted to lie but not clear-headed enough to do so, Ross spits out a garbled version of what happened to his incredulous boss.

Brodie: So … you smoked marijuana with some sources to get them to trust you?

Ross: Well, actually, so they wouldn’t shoot me. But yes.

Brodie: That’s fantastic! Very well done, my boy. You did what you had to do to get the story.

What’s sweet about this sequence is that Ross faces a serious threat to his career, after having barely survived a threat to his life. We’re as surprised as Ross is when his boss decides that getting high was exactly the right thing to do. Ross has snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

SUGGESTION # 4 – CREATE A PARALLEL UNIVERSE. A great way to avoid an ill-fitting mix of moods as investigators try to solve a murder is to create a relatively serene parallel universe. In this parallel universe, your characters’ private lives are a source of merriment and amusement, a safe haven for the reader. 

Inspector Salvo Montalbano, who lives in a small coastal village in Sicily imagined by Andre Camilleri, has a rich private life that includes an on-again off-again romance with his girlfriend, Olivia, who lives in Genoa. The running gag is that when Olivia is eager to see Montalbano, he is not eager to see her, and vice versa. This makes for stormy, sometimes angry, but often funny telephone exchanges. 

Given Olivia’s sensitivity to slights, real and imagined, Montalbano is understandably concerned when his maid accidentally shrinks his sweater to a child’s size. The sweater was a special gift from Olivia. Uh-oh. Montalbano’s first impulse is to hide the diminished sweater in his armoire. But Olivia is nosy. His next thought is to bury it in the sand outside his home. But, with his luck, it will reappear at low tide. Desperate, he tears the troublesome garment apart with a knife and his bare hands until it is no longer recognizable. Is this progress? We won’t know for sure until Olivia’s next visit! 

When she is not busy solving crimes in Lafayette, Louisiana, Danielle Arceneaux’s Glory Broussard has a steady gig. Every Sunday, just after Mass at St. Agnes Catholic Church, she is a popular bookie, working out of a corner table at the local coffee shop. Like Grandma Mazur, Glory B fails to see why this is a problem. As she explains to her daughter, Delphine, this is a “fresh start” following her divorce.

Delphine: Mom, running a criminal enterprise is not exactly a fresh start.

Glory: This ain’t no criminal enterprise. I am a small-business owner. A risk-management consultant … I am an entrepreneur working in a collaborative workspace.

Glory’s conversations with Delphine are both funny and touching. The two Black women are poles apart in their personal habits, but their bond is deep and enduring. And they’ve learned to compromise. For example, Glory reluctantly agrees to Delphine’s suggestion that they visit a backwater voodoo priestess, in hope of identifying a murder: “Let’s go before Jesus strikes us down and swallows us up in this sinkhole trailer park, on account of placing another god before him.” The mother and daughter bend and stretch in ways that are amusing and touching to watch.

SUGGESTION # 5 – BRING ON THE ANIMALS! Pets and barnyard animals are cute and adorable, so why not invite them to join the cast? A watchdog who goes nuts over squirrels but ignores actual burglars. A goat who eats evidence. A K-9 officer who is better at detecting T-bone steaks than illegal drugs. Animals worked splendidly for Verdi in Aida and for Puccini in La Boheme. They can work for you too.

John Grisham knows the comic value of animals. In each of his Theo Boone Kid Detective mysteries, a retired judge, Sergio Yeck, presides over a pet dispute in a makeshift “Animal Court.” Theo, the 13-year-old son of two lawyers and a legal eagle himself, represents the defense – a dog, a rabbit, a parrot, or an otter, usually owned by a friend. The scenes are hilarious, and the judge is unfailingly Solomonic in his decisions. These chapters are the high points of every book. 

Which raises an interesting question: where to locate the Animal Court scene within the overall narrative? Usually, Grisham situates his Animal Court chapter at the midpoint or later. You don’t want to peak too soon.

I hope it’s clear from my examples that humor is not just about funny characters or funny situations. It’s about the right characters in the right situations.

When a woman who can’t swim falls from a boat into a lake during a late-night storm, that’s flat-out scary. But consider, as Carl Hiaasen did, an unscrupulous biologist who fears that his wife will blow the whistle on him. He invites her to join him on an ocean cruise and pushes her overboard, which sets the stage for a funny twist – the wife, a good swimmer, breaststrokes her way to safety and plots a sweet revenge against her murderous husband.  

A better swimmer in the storm and you lose your suspense. A poorer swimmer on the cruise and you lose your comedy. The trick is to have the right person in the right situation.

I should add that comedy and suspense can be compartmentalized to some degree. For example, Grandma Mazur’s corpses are seldom the victims of foul play. The pageantry of Janet Evanovich’s funeral homes and the pageantry of her murders operate on parallel tracks. The laugh track and the fear track are sequential, not simultaneous.

So, don’t lose sight of the big picture when you are writing your murder mystery. But have some fun along the way. If you do, your reward will be an occasional belly laugh from your readers. And what could be better than that?