Story Skeleton—Magpie Murders

Story structure relates to the psychological appeal of narrative, that which engages readers and builds in them a sense of anticipation—a desire to know what happens next. Our ongoing exploration now delves into mysteries, illustrating yet again the universality of story structure, albeit from a different angle.

By Michelle Barker

A Story Within a Story Within a…

In a genre as established as mystery, it’s not easy to do something new, but Anthony Horowitz succeeds with Magpie Murders. By building a murder mystery around an author who writes (you guessed it) murder mysteries—as well as his editor—Horowitz can explore the form from a variety of unusual perspectives. 

The novel operates on two levels: the Golden Age whodunnit that author Alan Conway delivers to his editor, Susan Ryeland (which is also titled Magpie Murders), and the whodunnit mystery that ensues when Ryeland discovers that the novel is missing its key final pages—and then Conway dies. The death is pronounced a suicide, but Ryeland is convinced there’s more going on and devotes herself to uncovering the truth. As her investigation unfolds, she discovers odd parallels between Conway’s death and the novel he wrote. Could one help solve the other? (Spoiler alert: yes.) 

Horowitz gives us an accomplished fictional detective, Atticus Pünd, in Conway’s novel within the novel, and an amateur sleuth (Ryeland herself) whose knowledge of solving crimes comes solely from reading and editing mysteries. Ryeland is set up as the “fourth wall” for Conway’s book, but in fact, we must keep reminding ourselves that she too is fictional. It’s a classic metafictional structure that creates and invites commentary on the form while also using the form to tell the story.   

Horowitz begins with a prologue set in present-day London from Susan Ryeland’s point of view and then sets up Conway’s novel as though it were real, with a title page, an about the author bio of Conway, a list of other Atticus Pünd novels, and a page of excerpts from fictional reviews. What we are getting is Ryeland’s experience, as the head of fiction at Cloverleaf Books, of reading Conway’s novel. 

Structurally, Horowitz could have chosen to interrupt this experience by having Ryeland periodically put down the book and do other things. Instead, he immerses us completely in the novel within the novel, so that when we are on the point of discovering whodunnit, the ground is ripped out from under us as we realize, alongside Ryeland, that the last pages are missing. Like her, we’re left hanging without a solution. By this point, we’ve forgotten she even exists, so when Conway’s novel abruptly ends and Ryeland returns, there is a fourth wall moment where we’re reminded that we were reading a novel—except we’re still reading a novel. The first mystery within the mystery is: who killed the two victims in Conway’s story? The second mystery now emerges: what happened to those final pages? And then when Conway himself dies, we get the third mystery: was it really a suicide? And if not, who killed him? 

If your head isn’t hurting yet, just wait. 

Even though the overarching structure belongs to Susan Ryland, in order to disentangle these plotlines it’s probably best to take them as they appear in the novel.

Plot Points of Alan Conway’s Magpie Murders

Stasis

Alan Conway’s novel is set in 1955 in an English village called Saxby-on-Avon. Before the famous private detective Atticus Pünd ever appears onstage, Horowitz introduces us to the main characters by way of the funeral of the first victim, Mary Blakiston. Mary worked as Sir Magnus Pye’s housekeeper at Pye Hall and was the village busybody. She knew something incriminating about everyone. Cause of death: falling down the stairs and breaking her neck. It seems likely she tripped over a vacuum cord—unless, that is, she was pushed. 

The Initial Puzzle

At sixty-five, Pünd is a former policeman and a German refugee (much like the former policeman and Belgian refugee, Hercule Poirot). We first meet him in a doctor’s office where he receives the news that he has a malignant tumor and only a few months to live. This could be considered a variation on the detective and his methods beat, since it’s our introduction to the detective, and the diagnosis means Pünd won’t take on another case unless the stakes are high. The “detective and his methods” is a common beat that opens many mystery novels, demonstrating how the detective thinks, what their method of solving a crime is—and sometimes the code they live by. It’s a little vaguer here than it would usually be, probably because this is supposed to be Alan Conway’s ninth novel, and by now his faithful readers would be well acquainted with Pünd and his methods. 

It is Joy Sanderling, the fiancé of Mary Blakiston’s son Robert, who shows up at Pünd’s office and provides the inciting incident for his story. Joy wants to hire him because everyone in the village thinks Robert killed his mother thanks to a public argument between them outside the village pub. But because the police rule the death accidental, Pünd won’t take the case—a classic resisting the call beat. 

Point of No Return

• Pye Hall is burgled, and Magnus’s treasure of silver is taken.
• Newspapers announce Magnus has sold the beloved village woodland of Dingle Dell to developers.
• Magnus is murdered. 

The murder is Pünd’s point of no return. He doesn’t believe in coincidence. One death is one thing: but two? No. He believes “everything in life had a pattern and that coincidence was simply the moment when that pattern became briefly visible.” This is reason enough for him to change his mind and take on the case. 

Gathering Evidence

In true Holmesian fashion, Pünd has an assistant, the efficient but obtuse James Fraser who accompanies him on all his cases. The two meet with Detective Inspector Chubb who confirms that while Mary Blakiston’s death was certainly an accident, Magnus Pye’s most certainly was not. The murderer chopped off his head with a sword. 

While Chubb’s treatment of the crime scene is superficial, Pünd takes the time to sense the atmosphere and examines things Chubb misses. Chubb thinks this is a burglary gone wrong, which is the most obvious conclusion—but those are the conclusions Pünd avoids. Pünd notices a handprint in the soil near the front door. Upon entering the crime scene, he determines that the victim knew his assailant, based on the position of the suit of armor from which the sword was taken. He discovers cryptic notes taken from a phone conversation, a loaded gun that hasn’t been used, a safe that hasn’t been opened, a missing painting, a fragment of paper in the fire, and a typewritten letter with a handwritten envelope. The letter is a death threat, delivered hours before the murder occurred and relates to the proposed development of Dingle Dell. 

Mary’s death seems suspicious after Pünd speaks to Dr. Redwing and finds out that a bottle of deadly medicine went missing from the dispensary—and Mary knew about it. She kept a diary that included damning information on nearly every villager. Pünd believes there’s a connection between the two deaths. 

Midpoint

Dr. Redwing’s father, though demented, has a sudden moment of clarity and makes a deathbed confession: he delivered the Pye twins years ago and lied about who was born first. In fact, it was Magnus’s sister, Clarissa. The estate, which was entailed on the firstborn, had never truly belonged to Magnus. This moment points toward motive: was this why Magnus was killed? 

Red Herrings and New Evidence

• Johnny Whitehead acquires a silver belt buckle from the groundsman, Brent, who claims to have found it in the grass in front of Pye Hall. The estate had been burgled the same day as Mary Blakiston’s funeral. Pünd arranges for divers to search the lake.
• Diane Weaver, the woman who cleans Dr. Redwing’s surgery, wrote the threatening letter to Magnus about the sale of Dingle Dell.
• Pünd passes out in the middle of the investigation, adding a ticking clock to the story. He’s the only one who knows who the murderer is, but he might die before anyone finds out.
• Divers emerge from the lake with all the silver stolen from Magnus. The belt buckle that Brent found must have been dropped.

Pünd goes to see Matthew Blakiston who explains that Magnus used to play games of buried treasure with the boys. Robert’s younger brother Tom drowned because Magnus hid fool’s gold by the edge of the lake. Matthew admits to going to Pye Hall on the night Magnus was killed, but only to make sure Magnus would take care of Robert financially. Magnus refused to see him. Matthew drove away, thought better of it, then turned around. In those twenty minutes, someone else murdered Magnus. Matthew rang the bell, but no one answered. He leaned down to shout into the letter box, and that was when he saw him. He fell (thus explaining the handprint in the soil) but didn’t call the police for fear he’d be considered a suspect. 

Conway’s novel ends right before the resolution. Pünd has made all the connections. He claims Matthew Blakiston started it all because he killed his wife. And then comes an abrupt and startling shift back to Susan Ryeland’s storyline.

Susan Ryeland’s Plot Points

Stasis, Inciting Incident and the Detective and Her Methods

The manuscript of Magpie Murders amounts to a very extended stasis for Susan Ryeland’s storyline, since this is her lived experience of reading the novel. Her story doesn’t really get off the ground (inciting incident) until she discovers that the final chapters are missing. 

Her immediate narrative goal is to find them. Magpie Murders is the ninth novel in the Atticus Pünd series, which forms the cornerstone of the publisher’s business. Bad enough that Pünd has inoperable cancer in Magpie Murders, which means this will be the last book. Alan Conway is Cloverleaf Books’ biggest name. They’re counting on this instalment to bring in some much-needed revenue, but without the final chapters, the novel is essentially worthless. 

Ryeland will be the amateur sleuth, and we get an indication of how she thinks when she tries to piece together the solution to the two murders in Conway’s novel. She doesn’t approach the solution like a detective; she thinks like an editor. She rules out Brent because the first rule of whodunnits is that the most likely suspect isn’t the killer. She knows Conway likes to choose a secondary character as the killer, so she leans toward Osborne. Her editorial instincts—attention to detail, pattern recognition, narrative logic—will become her tools. 

And then, boom, we get the point of no return: Alan Conway turns up dead from a fall off a high tower at his house. Ryeland can’t retrieve the missing pages from him. To save the book, and her job, she must find them herself. 

Gathering Evidence: The Investigation of Alan Conway’s Death

The police are calling it an accident until Charles Clover, CEO of Cloverleaf Books, produces a suicide note. In the letter, Conway says he has cancer (like Pünd), and that he and his partner have split up. Ryeland notices the note was handwritten, but the envelope was typed (the opposite happens in Magpie Murders). It’s one of many intersections between Conway’s novel and his life. These become structural interruptions in the story that cause Ryeland to think about Conway’s novel, since without those final chapters, the fictional cases remain unsolved. She is effectively trying to solve the cases in Conway’s novel while also working out how/why Conway himself died. 

At Conway’s home to look for the missing chapters, Ryeland’s approach shifts from editor to detective as she photographs tire tracks in the grass and checks Conway’s agenda. But she doesn’t find the manuscript. At the top of the tower, she realizes how easy it would have been for someone to push him off. In his agenda are plans for lunch, a haircut, theater tickets—not the behavior of a man who intends to commit suicide. However, Ryeland also discovers that Conway intended to cut James out of his will. Conway’s sister Claire insists he was murdered. 

In an early reversal, Ryeland rereads the suicide note and realizes there’s nothing specific in it about Conway ending his life. She isn’t just looking for missing pages anymore: “The most successful murder writer of his generation had himself been murdered.” 

The rising action continues as Ryeland follows a widening trail of suspects and clues.

• Andreas, her boyfriend, wants her to quit her job with Cloverleaf and move to Crete. 
• A writer, Donald Leigh, reveals that Coneway was his writing teacher and stole his novel, which became the fourth Atticus Pünd book. This makes Leigh a key suspect.
• The grandson of Agatha Christie, Mathew Prichard, tells Ryeland that Conway borrowed several details from his grandmother’s novels, as though he was trying to send a message. This is confirmed by Claire who says he loved inventing games and codes. Ryeland realizes all the characters in Magpie Murders are named after birds.
• On the way to Conway’s funeral, Charles offers Ryeland the CEO position at Cloverleaf. They’re almost late, but Charles knows a shortcut to avoid construction, proving that he’s been there recently.
• Mark Redmond, the TV and film producer who has the rights to the Atticus Pünd novels, was fighting with Conway who was going to scuttle the whole project. He went to see him but then lied about his alibi.
• Conway’s ex-partner, James Taylor, has the clearest motive of all: money. Plus, James had access to Conway and knew he liked to breakfast on the roof. 

Midpoint: Pressure to Quit

When Ryeland confides her suspicions to Charles, he advises her not to go to the police because it will cause trouble for the company. Ryeland meets with Detective Superintendent Richard Locke who thinks it’s pathetic that she’s “trying to make a real-life mystery out of what is actually a textbook-case suicide.” 

Andreas has given his notice at work and is buying a hotel in Crete, but Ryeland is still considering Charles’ offer to take over the company. The failure of Magpie Murders and the death of Alan Conway would be effective ways to sink the publishing house. When Andreas asks her to marry him, Ryeland realizes she’ll have to make an important decision: retreat or pursue the truth. She finds she can’t give up on this. 

New Evidence

• Ryeland compares Donald Leigh’s novel to Conway’s; there’s no doubt Conway stole from Leigh.
• She receives a blurry photograph that suggests the neighbor John White might have pushed Conway off the tower.
• Conway’s ex-wife tells Ryeland that he hated writing mysteries and wanted literary respect instead. He felt trapped by his own success.
• Ryeland discovers that the first letters of the nine Atticus Pünd titles spell out AN ANAGRAM. But of what? 

All Is Lost

Ryeland runs into Jemima, her former assistant at the publishing house, and finds out that Charles lied about some key details. Jemima didn’t quit; he fired her. And he lied about when he’d read Magpie Murders, which tanks his alibi. She also finds out that Andreas, who had supposedly been in Crete, was actually in England and met with Charles. He lied to Ryeland too. 

Suddenly the circle of suspects includes both her partner and her boss. She’s not investigating this as an editor or a detective anymore. These are people she cares about, and she might lose them both. This is an emotional all-is-lost moment, rather than what we typically see in mysteries which is more like the case is nearly lost. 

Climax: Confronting the Culprit

Ryeland finds the missing chapters in Charles’ desk. In the manuscript pages she finds the letter Pünd writes to James Fraser confessing the truth about his illness. Part of it is Conway’s letter. And then Charles shows up. By now, Ryeland knows he killed Conway, though the clue she should have picked up on as an editor came from Conway’s letter itself: half of it is from Conway, but the other half is directly lifted from the novel and is in Pünd’s voice. 

By now she also knows the motive. The anagram is of the name, Atticus Pünd: “A stupid cunt.” This was how Conway felt about the whole mystery genre, and he told Charles he planned to reveal it at an interview the following week. He was dying anyway. But if he did this, it would have sunk the whole publishing house, and millions of readers would have hated Conway for it. 

Charles wants Ryeland to keep quiet about it, but she insists he turn himself in—so he bashes her in the head with Conway’s Gold Dagger Award and sets fire to the office. She is saved by Andreas and has the foresight to tell him to grab the final chapters off the desk. We get to hear them later on when Andreas reads them to her. 

The Missing Pages: Climax and Resolution of Magpie Murders

Pünd calls the key characters together and informs them of his solution. It was Robert who killed his younger brother, Tom, years before. Robert has something seriously wrong with him. Mary was trying to protect people from him. She saw Robert kill Tom from the window of her sewing room. She didn’t want him to marry Joy because she was afraid for Joy. Mary reveals all of this to Magnus in a letter that can only be opened in the event of her death, and she tells Robert she’s done this so that he won’t attack her. But then she dies accidentally (caused by Matthew’s phone call, since she ran down the stairs and tripped on the vacuum cord). 

Robert knows Magnus will open that letter, so he breaks into Pye Hall to look for it but can’t find it. He fakes a break-in and dumps the silver in the lake, except he drops the belt buckle which leads Pünd to have the lake searched. After Magnus opens Mary’s letter, he summons Robert to Pye Hall. Robert kills Magnus, throws Mary’s letter in the fire but burns the wrong envelope (Diane Weaver’s). The handwriting on the envelope matches Mary’s writing in the diary. 

Chubb arrests Robert for murder. Pünd eventually takes his own life with the poison he kept from Dr. Redwing’s surgery.

Resolution of Ryeland’s Storyline

Cloverleaf Books goes out of business, Charles goes to prison, and Ryeland marries Andreas and moves to Crete. Magpie Murders does get published, and even though everyone finds out about the anagram of Pünd’s name, the scandal of Conway’s murder keeps interest in the book high.

Using Metafiction to Explore the Genre

Throughout the novel Horowitz references mystery greats. Conway’s novel is structured according to a nursery rhyme about magpies (hello, And Then There Were None). Like Hercule Poirot, Pünd is refugee from the war. Like Holmes, he has a Watson in the form of James Fraser. His life’s work, The Landscape of Criminal Investigation, makes the reader think of Mma Ramotswe who relied on Clovis Andersen’s Principles of Private Investigation. 

Agatha Christie’s grandson, Mathew Prichard, turns up in Ryeland’s investigation. Christie apparently came to hate Hercule Poirot, much like Conway hated Pünd. She was frustrated that her publishers only wanted her to write books featuring Poirot when (like Conway) she wanted to write other things. The idea of branding has a long history. 

Horowitz uses various characters to ask profound questions about the nature of the mystery genre itself (and of course the metafictional structure is designed for this). Ryeland explores the genre from the point of view of a reader. Most people don’t know anyone who has died a violent death, and yet murder is pervasive in novels and other forms of entertainment. Why? What attracts us to murder mystery? She suggests it’s the satisfaction of learning the truth. The world is full of ambiguity. A whodunnit solves a puzzle; it makes things make sense. 

DS Locke takes a more cynical boots-on-the-ground view. How books and TV represent murder is nothing like the truth. “People don’t plan these things. They don’t sneak into their victims’ houses and throw them off the roof and then send out letters hoping they’re going to be misinterpreted … They don’t put on wigs and dress up like they do in Agatha Christie. All the murders I’ve ever been involved in have happened because the perpetrators were mad or angry or drunk. Sometimes all three. And they’re horrible. Disgusting.” 

Most murders are motivated by sex, anger, or money. And all the murderers Locke has met are stupid. Real detectives don’t ask clever questions. They catch the murderer on CCTV, or the murderer leaves their DNA everywhere, or they confess. If Ryeland ever published the truth about murder, he says, no one would want to read it. 

Ryeland also reflects on the inherent loneliness of detectives. The detective is always the outsider, the one no one really wants to talk to. But readers love the opportunity to work alongside the detective to solve the crime. They’re usually smarter than we are, but they’re also to some extent relatable. “Holmes is depressed. Poirot is vain. Miss Marple is brusque and eccentric.” We don’t have to like them; we follow them because we have confidence in them. 

We get Ryeland’s experience of reading not just Magpie Murders, but also Conway’s suicide note, Claire’s letter about her childhood, and excerpts from both Leigh’s and Conway’s novels for comparison purposes.The structure forces the reader to think about storytelling itself: how crime fiction works, which rules it follows, and how it manipulates expectation. The trick of withholding the last chapter of Conway’s manuscript is both a plot point and a metaphor for the way mysteries tease us with the promise of closure. It reminds us how much of our satisfaction depends on that moment of solution.

Alan Conway is both a fictional author and a parody of the difficult writer. His contempt for his own successful series reflects the real debate about literary versus genre fiction. The book pays homage to Golden Age detective fiction while simultaneously criticizing it. It’s more than just a whodunnit. It’s about how stories are made, how authors and editors interact, and how fiction shapes our understanding of reality.

In Conclusion

Andreas calls mystery novels trash. “Eighty thousand words to prove that the butler did it?” Sure, they make money, but as he points out, so do cigarettes and toilet paper. “It doesn’t mean they’re worth anything.” 

And yet mystery remains one of the most popular genres. There’s something about exploring the dark side of human nature that we can’t seem to get enough of—that need to solve it, to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense. To understand. And that will never get old. 

Michelle Barker is an award-winning author and poet. She is the co-author of two craft books: Immersion and Emotion: The Two Pillars of Storytelling and Story Skeleton: The Classics. Her fiction, non-fiction, and poetry have appeared in literary reviews worldwide. She has published three YA novels (one fantasy and two historical fiction), a historical picture book, and a chapbook of poetry. Michelle holds a BA in English literature (UBC) and an MFA in creative writing (UBC). Many of the writers she’s worked with have gone on to win publishing contracts and honours for their work. Michelle lives and writes in Vancouver, Canada.