One of the hottest – and most regular – debates had by Columbo fans on social media channels is what precisely would happen when the Lieutenant’s cases get to the courtroom.
It’d be nice to think that 100% of the villains (especially the odious types like Barry Mayfield, Milo Janus and Paul Gerard) will pay for their crimes with a lengthy stretch behind bars. The reality, however, might be quite different. While we viewers can bask in Columbo’s reflected glory, safe in the knowledge that he has outfoxed smug murderer after smug murderer on a mental plane, a judge and jury might be an awful lot harder to convince.
Luckily (as we all know) the fate of the Columbo villains once they pass beyond the Lieutenant’s jurisdiction isn’t the point of the show. Us knowing he’s beaten them is usually enough. Yet the debate surrounding their ultimate fates at the hands of the law remains a juicy one, awash with speculation and hunches, but little genuine knowledge of the law.
Just as luckily, the Columbo community has an expert in its midst in the shape of former prosecutor (and occasional blog contributor) Rich Weill. Here, he applies his expertise on legal proceedings to give something approaching a definitive verdict on what the series villains could expect when their cases go to trial. It’s certain to be of interest to staunch fans, so read on with confidence…
IT’S BEEN more than five years since we last asked: What happens when Columbo’s cases go to court? That 2017 examination only looked at Prescription: Murder through Requiem for a Falling Star. What about the rest of the classic era — A Stitch in Crime through The Conspirators? What interesting legal issues do these 31 episodes raise?
Thirty-one episodes is a lot of ground to cover. So, first off, I’m going to skip Troubled Waters and A Matter of Honor. Assuming the boat ship The Sea Palace is as British as its crew, neither case would be adjudicated under American law. Then, if we group the remaining episodes in categories and focus primarily on the most interesting legal cases, maybe we can pull this off. Let’s take a look…
Go directly to jail
WHICH CASES will be the easiest to prosecute? It may surprise many of you that No. 1 on my list is A Case of Immunity. Wait a minute! Didn’t Columbo coerce Hassan Salah into confessing, by arranging with the King to hold the prospect of “Suarian justice” over Salah’s head if he didn’t? Won’t Salah’s lawyers be able to exclude his confession as involuntary? Not if Salah won’t let them try. Suari has every right to try a Suarian diplomat in Suari under Suarian law for murdering another Suarian national on Suarian soil (what the Suarian consulate property is by law). Salah’s only means to avoid this grisly alternative is to waive all objections to the prosecution’s murder indictment, plead guilty as charged, accept his sentence, and head directly to a California prison cell. And that’s what Salah will do. Case closed.
Ruth Lytton (Old Fashioned Murder) will likely plead guilty, too, although her lawyer will try to convince her that she is making a hasty decision. And who knows how protective Ruth will feel toward niece Janie when the moment of truth arrives? She did try to frame Janie for murder after all.
I don’t see Col. Lyle Rumford (By Dawn’s Early Light) putting up much of a fight either. He freely admitted his guilt (“Don’t you expect me to be contrite, Lieutenant. It had to be done, and I’d do it again tomorrow.”). [Law Lesson No. 1: Before anyone raises Miranda objections, here or anywhere else, please keep in mind that Miranda warnings are only required before custodial interrogation. Unless a suspect is in custody and responding to police questioning, Miranda is not implicated.] Rumford will probably take his case to trial, but only so he can use a public courtroom as a platform to preach in favor of national military preparedness. Once convicted, however, a 24/7 suicide watch is advised.
Prosecutors similarly will have no problem convicting Nelson Hayward (Candidate for Crime). Hayward convicted himself. He can’t deflect responsibility, or try to use Columbo as a fall guy. Columbo’s conduct here was unimpeachable. What right did he have to enter the room with the bullet hole? He was a member of Hayward’s security detail with legal access to the entire hotel suite. Politicians never go down quietly, but Nelson Hayward is sure to go down.
So will Stefan Mueller a/k/a The Great Santini (Now You See Him). The proof is strong that Jesse Jerome had just typed a letter about Mueller (it was the last thing typed on his typewriter before Sgt. Wilson’s typing exercise), and that this letter must relate to why Jerome was murdered (or the typed letter wouldn’t have disappeared from Jerome’s office). Mueller’s proven ability to pick the pick-proof lock on Jerome’s door further implicates him, and his skill as an illusionist ironically impeaches any alibi he might offer. Of course, we can’t forget he also admitted, in front of numerous witnesses, thinking he’d “performed the perfect murder.” Bye, bye, Herr Mueller.
What about Adrian Carsini (Any Old Port in a Storm) and Tommy Brown (Swan Song), both of whom told Columbo they would confess? Did they follow through? Tommy, certainly. He was caught red-handed. Carsini might have had second thoughts, but if so, Columbo need only have told Karen Fielding that Adrian preferred prison to her and Carsini’s alibi would blow sky high.
And speaking of “sky high,” one fully deflated murderer whom I wouldn’t count on to accept his punishment quietly is Oliver Brandt (The Bye-Bye Sky High IQ Murder Case). Regardless of how we left him, he still thinks he’s smarter than everyone else. Look for him to fire his attorney, insist on representing himself, and go down in flames when Columbo testifies that only a supreme genius could have arranged the murder of Bertie Hastings — whereupon Oliver will nod and say, “Thank you,” audibly before the jury.
In the end, Columbo’s “honest mistake” with Brandt’s umbrella won’t matter much; prosecutors will argue that Columbo prevented any taint by telling Brandt that “we’re not allowed to get evidence that way” and Brandt, knowing this, still incriminated himself. Brandt will be clueless how to respond.
At the other extreme…
…WHICH CASES face the prospect of an early dismissal? When prosecutors start to examine the proof against Emmett Clayton (The Most Dangerous Match), Viveca Scott (Lovely But Lethal), and Swanny Swanson (The Last Salute to the Commodore), they’re bound to be underwhelmed. Columbo is sure to hear, first: “Lieutenant, I get that Clayton wouldn’t know if the trash compactor turned off. But what evidence even puts him in the vicinity of the trash compactor? Besides, Dudek died of a medical mix-up in a hospital. What’s your proof against Clayton on that? That he has a good memory!?”
Next: “Where’s the microscope slide with the out-of-state poison ivy on it? You didn’t collect any of the broken glass? So how do you know what was on the glass, or if it even was a slide from the microscope?” And finally: “You’ve got to be kidding, Lieutenant. ‘T’isn’t’? You expect me to base a murder case on ‘T’isn’t’? T’won’t.”
There are also guaranteed to be some lively behind-the-scenes conversations about what to do with Ned Diamond (Forgotten Lady). We don’t know what evidence, if any, proves Diamond was elsewhere between 11pm and 1am on the night Henry Willis died. (We know he wasn’t one of Johnny Carson’s guests that night.) Assuming the alibi evidence is equivocal, Ned did confess to murdering Henry. That’s direct evidence of guilt. Prosecutors need no additional proof that Diamond committed the murder. [Law Lesson No. 2: The confession corroboration rule only requires independent evidence that the crime occurred, not that the confessor committed it.] Once Grace dies, Ned will surely recant his confession, but it’s still there. Columbo may have to threaten to testify for the defense to get prosecutors to drop the case. It won’t be pleasant for anyone, but Ned will be free in time to serve as one of Grace’s pallbearers.
The death of Karl Donner (A Deadly State of Mind) presents a tortuous dilemma (as the following tortuous paragraph bears out). Legally, it should have resulted in no criminal charges against anyone. Donner was viciously assaulting his wife Nadia. Mark Collier had the legal right to intervene to stop the assault. [Law Lesson No. 3: “Self-defense” includes defense of another person.] Collier couldn’t use excessive force against Donner, but one blow with the non-business end of a fireplace poker, on someone powerful enough to take on two people at once, is not excessive. Furthermore, Collier had a corroborating witness to the circumstances under which Donner died: Nadia Donner. But then Collier murdered his corroborating witness and tarnished the credibility he once had to explain Donner’s death.
Nonetheless, he only deserves to go to prison for killing Nadia Donner, not for his justified single blow to stop Karl. Is it a just result that, because he escaped punishment for murdering Nadia, he should be imprisoned for a lawful act of self-defense against Karl? That could happen. A jury is guaranteed to hate Mark Collier were he to testify about how he defended Nadia. They may discredit what we know to be true. Then again, the prosecution may not have sufficient evidence to necessitate his testimony. A lighter flint and Collier’s apparent knowledge that the passer-by was blind? Does that even put Collier in the room when Donner was struck? Does that establish that it was Mark who struck Karl? It’s too bad Columbo wasn’t able to prove that Collier sent Nadia over the balcony rail. That’s the case we’d rather see prosecuted.
Columbo in the crosshairs
In which cases is Columbo’s conduct likely to affect the result adversely, or at least become the principal focus of attention? Mind Over Mayhem, where Columbo knowingly arrested an innocent Neil Cahill to pressure father Marshall to confess? As those who follow my blog comments know, this is my ethical low point for Columbo during the whole of the classic era. But here is Law Lesson No. 4: To challenge an illegal arrest, you have to be the one arrested. Marshall Cahill has no standing to argue that Neil’s rights were violated. Sorry, Marshall.
On the other hand, there’s Double Exposure. Did Columbo have the right to enter Bart Kepple’s office twice without a warrant — once, to take photos to use as subliminal cuts and, second, to witness Kepple produce the all-important caliber converter? It’s an office, not a home, but commercial premises also are protected from warrantless intrusions. Columbo and his photographer waited covertly until Kepple left the building, and flashed a badge to a security guard to gain entry. Even Columbo’s photographer recognized the problem. (“Wait a minute. Flashing a badge to get past a guard is one thing, but this is searching without a warrant.” “I’m not searching, I’m looking.”) No, Lieutenant, “looking” is searching unless you are looking at something in plain view from a vantage point you have a right to occupy.
There’s no indication either man had the right to cross Kepple’s office threshold. Waiting in the dark for Kepple to drive away is most telling on this point. Moreover, in order to find the caliber converter Columbo also had to exercise possession over, and tamper with, Kepple’s property — his film. What right had he to do this as well? I’m afraid the Kepple defense team is going to have quite a time at our dear Lieutenant’s expense.
In several other cases, the defense team is likely to make Columbo’s conduct a centerpiece, but more out of desperation than anything else. Paul Galesko (Negative Reaction) will blame Columbo for his identification of the camera used in Frances’ murder. If Columbo hadn’t reversed the enlargement, destroyed the original, etc., etc. You get the idea. But so what? Galesko made an independent decision to grab a specific camera from a police evidence shelf. No one invited or permitted him to touch police evidence. He did it on his own. Don’t blame Columbo.
Mark Halperin (A Friend in Deed) will undoubtedly unload both barrels at Columbo — not because Columbo did anything wrong, but because Halperin has no other options. He will claim that Columbo, not he, collected Janice Caldwell’s jewels, planted them under Columbo’s mattress, and then tampered with a police file to lure Halperin into searching the apartment. If, as Columbo predicted, Hugh Caldwell does “fill in some missing pieces” once he “understands the situation,” Halperin will blame Columbo for Caldwell’s evidence, too.
He’ll use his remaining friends in the LAPD to gather every police file containing examples of Columbo straying outside the lines: using fake evidence, staging phony scenes, and the like. “Isn’t it true, Lieutenant, that even as a guest of Scotland Yard in London, you planted a pearl bead in an umbrella to entrap a feeble-minded suspect?” It could be quite a show. Columbo had better be at the top of his game that day (and hopefully was able to entrust Lieutenant Duffy with his suspicions and intentions so that Duffy can now back up Columbo’s account). Make no mistake, folks, the unfortunate truth is that the law frequently can become a blood sport.
Tough, but winnable
The prosecutors assigned to the Milo Janus case (An Exercise in Fatality) will definitely have questions for Columbo, like: “How many pairs of Stafford’s tied shoes did you examine? One? Only one!? What does that show? How can one pair prove that Stafford consistently tied his shoes the same way?” After some hemming and hawing, Columbo will remember the long list of other circumstantial evidence against Janus. That’s not likely to please the prosecution team; smoking-gun cases are easier to prosecute than those requiring jurors to piece lots of smaller bits together. But it’s still a winnable case.
How about the People v. Barry Mayfield (A Stitch in Crime) — not just for attempting to murder Dr. Heideman but for murdering nurse Sharon Martin and Harry Alexander, too? Personally, I think prosecutors will have a decent shot if, and only if, they’re allowed to try the three sets of charges at one time. They should be permitted to do this. Charges that factually overlap (that is, where proof of one crime also is evidence of another crime) usually can be joined together.
Here you’d start by proving that Mayfield used dissolving suture to turn Dr. Heideman’s heart valve into a ticking time bomb. When he later removed this suture, he tried to hide it, but Columbo found it anyway. Was this an unintentional surgical error? No. Even Mayfield admitted, “A surgeon wouldn’t make a mistake like that. Dissolving suture is an entirely different color.” The removed suture may still bear the phony color used to disguise it.
Then you tie this evidence in with nurse Martin’s behavior after Heideman’s first operation: according to both a hospital cleaning woman and a medical supply company receptionist, Martin was very upset immediately afterwards; that very night, she tried to contact the chemist at the company that supplied the suture. Only one thing explains this: Martin clearly suspected that Mayfield did exactly what we know he did: use dissolving suture to repair Heideman’s heart valve. But she’s murdered before she can meet the chemist the following morning. Only one person had a motive to stop that meeting.
Add to this the planted morphine vials wiped clean of fingerprints. Neither Martin nor roommate Marcia Dalton would have any reason to wipe down those vials before hiding them in their apartment. And then there’s Marcia’s account of how Mayfield extracted the name Harry Alexander from her — together with the proof that Alexander died from the same fingerprint-free drug vial via an injection in the wrong arm. Considered together, all these pieces of evidence paint a broad and reasonably clear picture: Mayfield was trying to kill Heideman; when Martin suspected this, Mayfield killed her and planted drugs and injected Alexander to implicate someone else in the Martin murder. Would it be reasonable for a jury to doubt that so many contemporaneous, interconnected facts are related? I don’t think so. Let’s see Mayfield laugh his way out of this one.
The other side of the joinder coin is the case against the Paris brothers (Double Shock). When two defendants act in concert, one of whom admits Columbo is right (“It’s all right, Mrs. Peck. What’s done is done. What’s obvious is obvious. I’m just sorry that you had to be here.”) while the other doesn’t (“Shut up!”), it’s very difficult to try the two defendants together. Because — Law Lesson No. 5 — Norman’s admissions aren’t admissible against Dexter. If used against Dexter, they’re inadmissible hearsay.
If prosecutors want to keep Norman’s ratification of Columbo’s theory in the case, they’ll have to try Dexter separately. This opens up the possibility that Dexter, knowing what Norman has said, will put all the blame on Norman; if the crime did require two people, as Columbo maintains, then Norman must have had help from one of his gambling buddies. I don’t think this will work in light of the telephone trail of brotherly collusion, but it’s a complication.
Columbo’s case against Nelson Brenner (Identity Crisis) discounted the significant probability that U.S. intelligence agencies had advance information about China’s Olympics withdrawal. The oversight may have led to a hasty conclusion. But never mind, Brenner rendered that possibility academic with his non-custodial admission: “I was going to [put Henderson’s coat back on], but apart from muggers on the beach, Mr. Columbo, they also have loving couples. And I was interrupted at the scene of the crime.” Not very intelligent for an intelligence agent.
As for Abigail Mitchell (Try and Catch Me), Columbo is quite right about the admissibility and power of “deathbed testimony,” also known as a dying declaration: Edmund Galvin’s “I was murdered by Abigail Mitchell.” The prosecution’s challenge in the Mitchell case will be to keep any testimony about Phyllis Galvin’s death from the jury. Edmund’s murder was meticulously planned. Mitchell not only staged an elaborate ruse to lure Edmund into her safe, but also arranged to reacquire the rights to her mega-hit play “Murder of the Year” in the process.
This was not a rash crime that might be mitigated on grounds of emotional distress. Abigail’s feelings for her niece and suspicions about Edmund are thus irrelevant to her culpability for Edmund’s murder. Any evidence along these lines would be a naked plea for sympathy, which is not the jury’s province. That’s solely a sentencing consideration after conviction. But many courts are reluctant to limit what a defendant may say in her own defense, so excluding it will be an uphill, but valid, fight.
You had to be there
There will always be criminal cases that become courthouse legends because of their inherent weirdness. I suspect that one such case might involve Ward Fowler (Fade in to Murder). I could very well envision Fowler’s defense attempting to place the blame for Clare Daley’s murder on Fowler’s alternate personality, Lieutenant Lucerne. Indeed, Columbo’s name might even appear on the defense’s witness list, purportedly to testify that he observed Fowler periodically morph in and out of Lucerne’s personality. But it’s doubtful that any such testimony would be received, because the law doesn’t recognize multiple personalities — dissociative identity disorder — as a legal defense to a crime, even where the disorder is medically established.
Simply put, a person with multiple personalities is responsible for every crime any of those personalities commits. If Personality X commits a vicious murder, you can’t let harmless Personality Y walk free without also freeing dangerous Personality X. They’re both housed in the same body. But nice try, Ward. As he’d acknowledge: “Damn! I had to forget something. That’s always how the third act ends…”
That about does it
That covers 23 of the remaining 29 classic-era cases. I haven’t said anything about Publish or Perish, Playback, Murder Under Glass, Make Me a Perfect Murder, How to Dial a Murder, or The Conspirators. To be honest, I couldn’t think of anything especially interesting or informative about them from a legal perspective. Not every Columbo promises to provide good courtroom fodder. (I recall one blog comment suggesting that Columbo “tampered with evidence” in How to Dial a Murder by having Laurel and Hardy retrained. Hardly. In fact, Columbo interceded to prevent this “evidence” from being destroyed. Retraining killer dogs is no more tampering with evidence than unloading a murder weapon.)
Will Riley Greenleaf, Harold Van Wick, Paul Gerard, Kay Freestone, Eric Mason, and Joe Devlin be convicted? Gerard, Mason, and Devlin, definitely. Van Wick and Freestone, probably. Greenleaf? Can anyone summarize the proof of murder against Riley in a few short sentences. I can’t.
In another few years, maybe we’ll take a legal look at the 1989-2003 Columbos. But for now, we’re adjourned.
Rich Weill is a New York-based lawyer/playwright/author/former prosecutor. His books We Open in Oxnard Saturday Afternoon (about his critically acclaimed stage thriller Framed) and Last Train to Gidleigh (a WWII mystery set in London) are widely available. He also has written several articles for this blog, which you can access here.
Wasn’t that marvellous? My thanks to Rich for once again applying his expertise to a hot Columbo topic and helping we average viewers enhance our appreciation of the greatest detective series of them all. Remember, if you missed the first part of Rich’s legal analysis of Columbo’s cases (from back in 2017) you can catch it here.
Until next we reconvene, take care of yourselves and each other…
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Shame about Double Exposure, cuz it was such a great gotcha. Hoist by his own petard. I’m wondering if there’s any way to salvage it. How about if Columbo took pictures in a similar looking office? If that’s acceptable, then we’d just have to figure out a way to get them into the film.
Let’s say I am defending the accused in How to Dial a Murder. The prosecution’s theory is that these dogs are vicious killing machines, trained to kill on command as soon as the word Rosebud is uttered. Let’s bring these dogs into court, and let the jury see the evidence for themselves, exhibits A and B….
I say Rosebud, and the dogs practically kill me with affection. Now, where is your case? The jury would laugh it out of court.
The behavior of the accused? Inconclusive. After all he and Columbo were just playing a game, nothing more. We have to conclude that this death, terrible as it was, was simply a tragic accident.
I actually knew a guy with that breed of dog, he used to frighten guests by saying “Get him” to the dog. The dog acted exactly like those dogs did with Columbo, but people who didn’t know the dog were sometimes very frightened.
The demonstration you anticipate would never occur. Because the prosecution’s case would preempt it with: (1) evidence that the dogs did kill Charles Hunter (a fact not in dispute); (2) Mason’s admission that the dogs were vicious and should be destroyed, a fact endorsed by a judge; (3) testimony from Columbo and Stein to how the dogs reacted initially upon hearing Mason say “Rosebud” on the tape recording; and (4) Cochran recounting the painstaking work necessary to retrain the dogs to react lovingly to the mention of the word.
So if, in response, the defense wanted to stage the demonstration you describe, no judge would allow it. It’s irrelevant. The dogs are not in the same condition they were at the time of the murder.
Very interesting article ! I was frustrated several times by how abruptly some Columbo episodes end, weakening the gotcha payoff. We often never see how other characters would react, we’re left with no clue about the cases actually holding up in court or not, etc. Thank you !
Tough, but winnable?..
In other forums, including ColumboPhile, about An Exercise in Fatality, Columbo fans, including myself (since the 1970s), made some good points about why the ending of this episode was weak. Very weak, considering that it was not proven that Gene Stafford was even murdered in the first place.
Columbo’s assumption that Stafford was murdered was based on unprovable speculation. Correct?.. Keep in mind that we in the audience have to keep separate what we saw and know from what Columbo could know or prove. Any cop would tell you that there is a difference between what they suspect and what they can prove. And there is a difference between what they know and what they can prove.
Columbo knew just about everything that went down between Janus and Stafford, and why. And, of course, we in the audience know. So what?.. We are in this forum to talk about possible court outcomes.
Columbo’s shoelace loop theory was ridiculous (IMO), even if Gene Stafford was not left-handed, which he was. Not right-handed, as Columbo assumed for an unknown reason. Early in the episode, Stafford was seen writing with his left hand.
Some people, like myself, don’t bother to tie or untie their shoes, to begin with. Weren’t the shoes in his locker left tied?
Some people just slip their shoes on and off without untying or tying.
This was the primary basis for Columbo’s theory that Stafford was murdered. Milo’s story holds up, as long as phone company records can’t show that there was no call from the gym to Milo’s house. That for some of us fans, was the bigger plot hole.
It has been pointed out here at Columbo Phile that it is not absolutely clear about how thorough phone company records were back in the early 1970s concerning local calls vs long distance, or something in between.
Without proof from phone company records to refute Milo’s story, then all Columbo has is unfounded or unprovable speculations that Gene was even murdered in the first place, let alone that Milo did it.
All that said, I have enjoyed repeatedly watching this episode for a host of other reasons. Even the ending, because the bad guy won. Which is more original. I’m not saying it should be that way all the time, but in real life the bad guys sometimes get away with it. Legally. Their Karma is another matter.
Milo wins, short term. Long term, he loses. And probably while he’s alive on Earth. Nobody really gets away with anything. Whether the police get you or not.
Do you see how invaluable Columbo is?
That’s why after all these years, I keep watching. Also, these shows from the 70s are great time capsules. What amazes me is how similar civilization was then to civilization today. Many more similarities, than not.
Smartphones. That’s about the only really noticeable change. Yes, cars look different, they they pretty much work the same. Some of the architecture is different looking, but functionally, largely the same. Believe me, at age 57 I am old enough to remember. For those of you who are not old enough to remember the 1970s, I promise you, if you could time travel back to that decade, you would not want for anything of substance. You would have electricity and light, hot and cold running water, heating and air conditioning. Big grocery stores, restaurants, shopping malls. All kinds of housing. All kinds of transportation, including jet travel.
All you might miss are a few of today’s conveniences.
Seriously. If you could somehow transport some people from the 1970s to present time, initially they would be excited, but they would end up underwhelmed, and maybe even depressed. And they would be desperate to go back.
“Where are the flying cars?!”
“Where are the spaceships?!”
“Where is the Moon base?!”
“Where is the Mars colony?!”
“Where is the cure for cancer?!”
“Where is the world peace?!”
“Everybody I knew is dead!.. I wanna go back! I wanna go back! Send me back! Send me baaaaack!…”
I love Columbo, and Barnaby Joes, too. And a bunch of other tv shows in the 60s and 70s. You just have to suspend disbelief a little to enjoy it.
Typos, shoot. No post edit feature.
“Yes, cars look different, (but) they pretty much work the same (way).”
In fact, Michael, there is a detailed deep-dive Columbophile piece regarding 70s California phone records (click article from rotating carousel above) and in it, I point out that it is indeed likely that if there was a phone call from the gym, there would have been a record for Columbo to access.
Usually, these issues are in a convenient gray area because specific locations aren’t mentioned, and if a party is dialing a 7-digit number, then it’s a local, and there wouldn’t be proof of the call. But in “Exercise”, it is clearly stated that Gene’s gym is in Chatsworth, and Milo hangs out on the beach (the same beach where Jim Rockford parks his Malibu trailer). That makes the distance at least 16 miles, which should be enough to trigger call evidence. It’s one of the few times that phone proof is there (or, in this case, not there) and not properly utilized.
On a side note, I happened to stumble across an excellent piece called “Columbo and the History of Gym Franchises” that puts the Janus Spa operation in the context of actual health franchises of the 70s. The author, “The TV Professor”, does thorough and entertaining takes on both serious and whimsical classic TV topics, such as “The History of Working Women on TV”, “Self Defense Tips From Joe Mannix”, and “The Rockford Files and the History of Answering Machines”. He also writes about Columbo’s Healthy Eating tips (a few in “Exercise” alone) and reviews David Koenig’s “Shooting Columbo”, which the TV Professor read about first on this here CP Blog. My only issue with his site is the advertising to wade through, but it makes for informative and amusing reading about classic TV.
Shooting Columbo: The Lives and Deaths of TV’s Rumpled Detective?.. I’m watching it now. Thank you… Are you familiar with Watch It For Days on YouTube? She is real good, pointing out things that I was not aware of. Even though she sounds a lot younger than me, and I’ve been watching Columbo since it was originally on TV.
Great article and comments. Thanks for shout out to Barnaby Jones. Let’s not forget Cannon. Columbo still reigns supreme.
Thank you for the reply. Have you checked out Watch It For Days on YT?.. Are you old enough to remember the the 1970s well? Unless I’m misremembering, civilization has not changed a whole lot over the past 50 years.
I agree, Columbo has no peers.
I’ve received considerable blowback from my placing “An Exercise in Fatality” in the “tough, but winnable” category. I didn’t go into a great deal of detail on this in the article. For one reason, I had a lot of episodes to discuss. For another, CP had done such an excellent job identifying all of the evidence against Milo Janus in his original review that I saw little need to rehash his analysis.
For me, what makes “An Exercise in Fatality” a tough but winnable case is the utter implausibility that Gene Stafford was exercising alone in the gym that night. Looking at all the evidence, that premise makes no sense. He’d just eaten a heavy meal. (The M.E. will say, no doubt, that hardly any of his meal had been digested when he died.) He was chased across the gym floor in his street shoes by an intruder in the otherwise locked facility. (Who exercises after that?) The barbell was too heavy for him to lift (and certainly to lift with no one else present to spot for him). Stafford never even untied his shoes.
I’ll also bet that every Milo Janus gym has a list of safety rules posted prominently on the wall — rules the gym’s manager certainly would know. Are we supposed to believe that Stafford ignored most of them, which he surely did when (1) over-exerting himself (2) alone in the gym (3) just after eating a ton of food? Frankly, looking at Stafford, I find it hard to believe that he ever exercised. I wonder what the gym staff would say about that.
Equally implausible was Stafford’s call, as Janus recounts it. Why did Gene bother Janus at home at night? Just to say he’d changed his clothes and was about exercise? These guys weren’t friends. It’s not as if Stafford called to tell Janus he couldn’t come to Milo’s party. Milo first mentioned the party to Gene during the call. And if Gene already had changed his clothes, then he’d already been chased across the gym in his shoes. Wouldn’t his escape from an intruder have been his first piece of news by phone?
Once you doubt Stafford was actually exercising, everything else suddenly falls into place. The phony telephone call (corroborated by the splice in the tape and the missing bulb); Stafford’s investigation into Janus’ financial maneuvers; Janus’ lie about the auto dealer; Janus’ burn mark and the corresponding coffee stain. I’m also curious what the custodian Murphy would say about the condition of Stafford’s desk. Whenever we saw Stafford working in his office, his desk was littered with piles of paper. The morning after his death, his desk was neat as a pin. Had Murphy ever seen it so neat? If Stafford always kept it a mess, then someone else cleaned off the papers he was examining. And why was that?
Of course, once you accept that Stafford never exercised that night, then all of Janus’ story is a lie — and there can be only one plausible reason for his lies (especially after Lewis Lacey and Ruth Stafford testify about Gene’s obsession with Janus’ fiscal chicanery).
Finally, to use Columbo’s line from “A Friend in Deed,” I’m pretty sure once Buddy Castle (Pat Harrington) understood the situation, he filled in the missing pieces.
An easy case? Certainly not. But it can be won. And sneaker laces need never come into it.
Thanks Rich, that was a great read! Not only in regard of the legal side to Columbo, but also for a better understanding of the US legal system in general.
“The prosecution’s challenge in the Mitchell case will be to keep any testimony about Phyllis Galvin’s death from the jury”.
Why would they want to? I mean, without it there is no motive, unless they are going to argue she did it just to get back the rights for her play.
It could be that deathbed testimony is considered so strong by the jury that there is no need to establish a clear motive for the crime. But is it that strong? Available evidence doesn’t allow for reconstruction of the exact circumstances of that night’s events, all we know is that the victim left a message. Abi’s defence could argue for a (perfectly possible) scenario that someone sneaked up on Edmund and he didn’t really see who shut the door but just assumed it was Abi for some reason. After all Columbo didn’t exactly prove that she still was in the house at the time when Edmund returned.
Victim-trashing never helps the prosecution’s case. Instead of focusing the jury’s attention on the defendant’s conduct, it turns the case into a referendum on the worth of the victim. And the prosecution would always prefer a sympathetic victim to an unsympathetic one.
Furthermore, I don’t see any evidence tying Phyllis’ death directly to Abigail’s motive. Did she threaten Edmund in front of a witness? To whom did she ever express her views on Phyllis’ death? As portrayed in the episode, Abigail was sweet and sympathetic to Edmund publicly (even privately until the final moments). So what evidence of motive are we talking about? The fact that Edmund had no pictures of Phyllis in his apartment (because, perhaps, the memories were too painful)? In any event, motive (which, unlike intent, is not an element of any crime) is generally elusive. It’s not important why she did it; it’s important whether she did it.
Let the defense argue that Edmund used his last breaths to record (and hide) an assumption. A guess. Jurors are unlikely to conclude that a person would use his last moments — and do everything Edmund had to do in that safe to create and protect his final statement — to say something he didn’t know to be true.
Yes, you are right of course. Simply allowed myself a bit of empty sophistry just for the sake of it.
About Nadia Donner though (let’s assume the murder method here is not pure sci-fi and is actually possible) what’s your take on this as a former prosecutor? How a real DA would go about proving it and is it even logically possible to prove? I mean how can you argue that a person was in a state when she didn’t control her actions while there is no physical evidence for that (traces of mind-altering drugs in her system etc.). To your knowledge had anyone ever tried to prove in a real court that a crime was committed via hypnotizing another person?
The closest example I can recall was Patty Hearst’s defense to the robberies she committed with members of the group who had kidnapped her. She claimed that she had been brainwashed, and suffered from “Stockholm Syndrome” and “POW Survivor Syndrome.” She was convicted. And there, her kidnapping was not disputed.
Nadia did receive drugs that made her especially susceptible to hypnotic suggestion. That was determined by the medical examiner. When Dr. Borden confronted Collier about using these very drugs, missing from the lab’s inventory, on Nadia in their sessions, Collier practically admitted it (“Anita, don’t second guess me on my methods.”). Plus, Collier tape-recorded his sessions with Nadia. Where are those tapes?
What the episode does not indicate is how long those drugs could have remained in Nadia’s system. Is their presence at death consistent only with their administration shortly before — or could these drugs have been given to her days earlier? If the scientific evidence could establish that these drugs were administered within hours of her leap, when she had no therapy session, that might allow an inference that Collier placed her under hypnosis shortly before she went off the balcony. And if telephone records could establish a call from Collier to Nadia just before her leap (Columbo alludes to this but doesn’t get specific about how the call can be proven), with Columbo as a witness to the fact that the call was for no other purpose, you’d have an interesting circumstantial case.
Another very interesting article, thanks Rich! I’m not a lawyer, but most of the outcomes you describe make intuitive sense. It’s good to hear that the murderers from my favourite episodes are likely to go down (e.g. Nelson Hayward, Col. Rumford and hopefully Mark Halperin as well).
Regarding Marshall Cahill, though: surely he could just withdraw his confession? There were no witnesses to it except Columbo, and no other convincing evidence – that was why Columbo needed a confession in the first place. Couldn’t Marshall just claim that he falsely confessed to protect his son, believing him to be innocent? And if Neil decided to go after the LAPD for wrongful arrest when he learned the truth, that would make Columbo’s case even less convincing. When I first saw this ‘gotcha’ I assumed that Neil was in on the whole thing, as it made no sense otherwise!
How does someone “withdraw” a confession? Cahill could lie and claim he never said what he said — that Columbo is lying when he recounts his words under oath. Milo Janus threatened to “deny” he ever said something he indeed had said to Columbo in “An Exercise in Fatality.” Good luck with that. Or Cahill could admit that, yes, these were his words, but they weren’t true, and were only said to free his son. Good luck with that, too. Keep in mind that both of these assertions would require Cahill to testify, a problematic move by any defendant.
As in any case, a lot always depends on Columbo’s credibility as a witness. Just as we like and trust Columbo, jury’s are very likely to do the same. Claims he is lying probably won’t go very far.
He may be asked some embarrassing questions. Will he handle them well? Hopefully so. And remember, Cahill still has that cigar-lighting match to explain away, too.
Well… either of those, really. I guess it would probably be more plausible and convincing to say he didn’t mean it, but my point is that if he later chooses to deny or lie about what he said to Columbo (without repeating it to anyone else), isn’t it just his word against Columbo’s at that point? Could you really get a conviction based on “yes, he totally confessed when we were alone together, promise”? Because it seems to me that cops could just make up ‘confessions’ all the time if that were the case.
A presumption that police simply make up evidence wouldn’t stop at confessions. What about all that physical evidence in Columbo’s raincoat pocket? What proves where this evidence was found other than Columbo’s word?
Before videotape, most confessions were oral, required that you accept police testimony. Even a written confession typed by police and signed by the defendant required a jury to trust police testimony that the defendant knew what he was signing.
As to Cahill, it would have been standard procedure, following his arrest, to reduce his confession to writing. Still wanting to free his son, Cahill no doubt would have cooperated in doing so.
A terrific read, dear Richard! Thank you for another extremely valuable contribution.
Thanks, Hugo.
I always wonder about the gotcha at the end of “Negative Reaction.” It would be pretty easy to convince me that a professional photographer could tell which camera had taken a given shot, especially when the camera is as weird-looking as the one Galesko grabs. The prosecution could spend a week putting one expert witness on the stand after another explaining that it isn’t so and I would still think he could tell. And I bet twelve names chosen at random from a list of voters registered in LA County would include at least a few people like me.
I very much doubt that a jury, seeing a picture of the cameras on that shelf, will give Galesko the kind of credit you ascribe to him. All of the cameras look to be of the Polaroid variety (and, as I remember, most Polaroid cameras of that era produced snapshots reasonably similar in appearance). Furthermore, a very similar looking camera is next to the one Galesko chooses, and the camera he picks is not even in front. He had to move another camera aside to grab it. And how did he even know that the killer’s camera in his wife’s case would be commingled on that shelf with other cameras?
If Galesko were to make this claim, he’d have to do so personally. He’d have to testify and explain how the snapshot he saw could so instantly be matched only to one camera — indeed, to one he could not see fully because of where it was positioned on the shelf. That’s a hard sell. The prosecution would have the opportunity to challenge this in rebuttal, but I’ll bet that effective cross-examination destroys this claim before rebuttal evidence becomes necessary.
No one pointed out during the show that Milo Janus’ murder victim in “An Exercise in Fatality” was left-handed. I noticed this in an early scene, where the man is writing something down. Since, as Columbo stated, the coat was buttoned how a right-handed person would do it, could that be used as proof against Janus?
It shouldn’t matter whether Gene Stafford was right or left-handed. What matters is whether he had a provable habit of tying his shoes one particular way (and not the way his sneakers were found tied). But you can’t prove a habit based on one example of behavior. That’s what Columbo was attempting here.
The point about being in custody and the use of Miranda rights is very interesting when you think about Columbo goes to college. I raised this point a while ago on another Columbo forum. Coop and Justin are very much taken in to custody at the end of the story. They aren’t read their Miranda rights when Columbo asks them why they did it. I’d say, given the definition posted above, that Coops admission that they did it because they could, couldn’t be used in court because they weren’t given their Miranda rights before being taken into custody and asked a question by a polica officer.
It was a needless mistake by the writer. Columbo could have asked his “one question“ before telling the cops to “book ‘em” and the cops cuffing the boys. They weren’t in custody before the “book ‘em” line. The story wouldn’t have been affected by that one tiny change. Columbo could even have asked his question first, gotten no answer, then told the cops to “book ‘em,” with Coop giving his answer as they’re being led away. It’s not a Miranda violation for the suspect to speak while in custody, only to be questioned after warnings are required.
Outstanding (and entertaining), Rich. The Blog is fortunate to have an expert who can comb through all the legal niceties and provide us with some free law pointers. It’s also important to establish as much plausible reality to Columbo’s universe as possible.
No doubt, if Columbo’s crimebusting happened in our real world – spoiler alert: it doesn’t – the villains would all be mounting vigorous defenses to provide alternate Gotcha explanations for why the clock didn’t chime, or where the poison ivy came from. We don’t see that because we don’t need to – we know that the killer did it because we saw it happen! All we need to see afterwards is the murderer’s guilty reaction to being exposed by our hero. Viewer emotional victory complete. Roll credits.
To those who downgrade some Columbo episodes because they wouldn’t be airtight in court, I would contend that while the legal system has a role in Columbo, it’s a different role than in, for example, Law & Order. In L&O, we open by seeing just the victim, not the killer, and we close by seeing the verdict, not the absolute truth of a defendant’s guilt or innocence. L&O tells us how a jury arrives at a legal judgment, Columbo tells us how one police lieutenant arrives at a moral judgment. To be sure, it’s much better when that moral judgment is also legally sound. But unless Columbo has crossed an indefensible legal boundary (like in “Mind Over Mayhem”), one judgment needn’t affect the other, nor our enjoyment of the episode.
It appears to me that Harold Van Wick is a dead duck. Columbo seems to think so: “In order to get it [the invitation] off the desk, you practically had to step over the body.” If Columbo can prove that a suspect was in a specific place at a specific time, I’m guessing that those cases might have a bit more legal weight. Columbo can’t prove that Dr. Collier handled the murder poker, but the blind man’s bluff would seem to confirm the time and his presence at the death scene. Time/place evidence might influence Milo Janus and Col. Rumford’s cases, too. As for Nelson Brenner, his spy bosses will certainly make sure that he never sees a courtroom.
Do they still use prisons in California? I thought the new style prosecutos closed them all.
Columbo’s murderers didn’t face the same threat as Perry Mason’s clients, a trip to California’s gas chamber. At least I never heard anyone on the show mention the gas chamber.