I recently listened to a 13-part podcast called Who Killed Emma?. It’s a gripping piece of work – a BBC investigation into the murder of 27-year-old Emma Caldwell in April 2005. Emma was a heroin addict and a prostitute on the streets of Glasgow. She was strangled and left for dead in a remote wood.
Is it so terrible to be interested in these killers and their deeds? I don’t think so
I’d recommend the podcast to any fan of true crime. And I’d also expect the scorn of those who deplore this highly successful genre. People who are inclined to say things like: ‘How can you be so voyeuristic? Why do you care about these monsters who kill? I want nothing to do with those despicable programmes and podcasts.’ Most definitely, there’s a tendency to be high-minded, snooty even, about these explorations of evil. It’s bad enough that the crime happened, and it is deemed awful to exploit it for profit or some perverted form of pleasure.
So, it’s with some trepidation that I’m making the case for true crime But here goes. It seems to me that Who Killed Emma? isn’t exploitative of Emma Caldwell at all. Indeed, in a strange way, it restores her humanity and her dignity in the face of the terrible things that happened to her. Her mother, Mary, takes part in the programme, and we get to see why Emma was so loved. She was a sweet little girl, pretty and blonde, who adored horses and had every reason to look forward to life. Then we learn how her life was destroyed by her addiction. If you have an ounce of empathy in you, you can’t help but be with Emma, on Emma’s side, as her life slides out of control.
The BBC journalist, Sam Poling, has done a magnificent job in bearing witness. Not just to Emma but to the thousands of girls like her, who ended up on the streets, wrecked, vulnerable and in danger. We have their voices here: ‘A client told me – I’m going to put you into black bin bags,’ ‘You go back. Go back to another client because you need the money. You don’t forget it. Every punch. Every rape.’ A bag of heroin at the time was £10, and Emma was using ten bags a day.
The women have a ‘beware book’ in which they name violent clients. One girl always drops a hair into the back of the car to show she was there, should the DNA evidence ever be needed. Another trick is to drop a used condom in the street. The programme shows prostitution for what it is – exploitative and degrading, sometimes life-threatening.
But it would be dishonest to claim a moral high ground in engaging with ‘tough listening’ as a kind of duty, because the storyline is riveting in much the same way as a first-class suspense novel, a Patricia Highsmith or a Gillian Flynn. There are lines of investigation that produce false leads, women who have a near-miss with the perpetrator, and the introduction of this foul individual himself who (spoiler alert) approaches the BBC journalist claiming to be an innocent victim in the story, wanting his name cleared. He sounds like a regular chap, until we learn about his prolific use of prostitutes, of saunas and sex chat lines. He’s spending more on all this than he’s earning and ends up £30,000 in debt. You could call him an addict too – except that he has agency, which Emma does not, harms others more than himself, is undoubtedly narcissistic and probably psychopathic.
Sam Poling is a brilliant interviewer. She’s genuinely open-minded and her technique is like those in the best police interviews, in which it’s important to give the suspect the impression that you’re on his side, just wanting the full story, gently but firmly leading him to incriminate himself. Afterwards, she goes away and does her own research – finding a mountain of horrendous evidence with which to confront him in a second, extraordinary interrogation. This, it should be said, is the BBC at its best. Excellent journalism as it used to be back in the day.
Is it so terrible to be interested in these killers and their deeds? I don’t think so – the nature of evil is a core subject for explorations of the human condition, as are the external circumstances that lead to horrific behaviour and the psychology of murderers. In fact, I’m so engaged with such things that I’ve written two books of historical true crime and, for the critics, I have a cheap retort at the ready – ‘If Shakespeare’s interested, then I’m interested.’ Because we absolutely know that Shakespeare would be interested.
In truth, it seems to me that those who aren’t interested in true crime are the odd ones. Is there no curiosity there? No interest in the make-up and motivations of our most malevolent citizens? No satisfaction gained from following the stories of the police actually doing their jobs – solving riddles, hunting down, bringing to justice? Several years into the phenomenon of the true crime podcast, there’s a huge selection to choose from. I’m now stuck into another one, also from the BBC – Death in Ice Valley. Another strong recommendation for those of us who have this tendency to go deep into the dark side.
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