When the Night Comes Falling

The justice system in the United States has always had a complex, and often uneasy, relationship with the nation’s media. The US Constitution, notably the First Amendment, safeguards the transparency of the legal system by guaranteeing public access to court proceedings; additionally, most police departments maintain a close relationship with the media for reasons of public welfare, for example, to warn the populace of ongoing threats or to seek its help in solving crimes. (The “Amber Alert,” which signals the public to be on the lookout for abducted children, is a recent example.) In sharing information with the media, however, law enforcement agencies must strike a careful balance; for instance, withholding certain evidence, such as facts that only the perpetrator would know, gives investigators crucial leverage in questioning suspects. Further, as Howard Blum’s When the Night Comes Falling illustrates, public curiosity about certain, widely publicized cases can spark media frenzies and wild speculation that can quickly muddy the investigative waters and—at worst—derail the course of justice itself.

Blum, who does not hold back on his own theorizing, touches on the killer’s (mysterious) motive with his suggestion that the slayings were the result of a “fantasy” to commit the “perfect murder.” This raises an arguable effect of the media on vulnerable minds—e.g., those lacking empathy and (perhaps) predisposed to criminality. Brilliant, methodical murderers, whether fictional or real, have long been a staple of films and TV, which often glamorize the act of murder as a cerebral (if heartless) exercise of power. In many of these, the murderer is the de facto protagonist: not only the beneficiary of most of the screentime but the story’s most vivid character by far. Real-life murders inspired by fictional ones are a documented fact; as Kohberger’s professor Katherine Ramsland notes, “Fantasy […] builds an appetite to experience the real thing” (37).

A firm date for Kohberger’s trial has not, at this writing, been set, but already the marketplace has been flooded with lengthy accounts of the case, including at least two multi-part TV series and over a dozen books, many available on Amazon but highly variable in their quality and credibility. One of these books, J. Reuben Appelman’s While Idaho Slept, was a main source for Howard Blum’s own account, but other accounts of the case are significantly less credible. Blum’s own book was mostly sourced from interviews with figures close to the case or their relatives, whom Blum wined and dined to coax them into violating the gag order; as a result, for legal reasons, most of his sources are anonymous.

Despite Blum's reputation as an esteemed author and reporter, his book shows signs of being rushed. There is a notable vagueness around dates, which is confusing given the book’s chronological jumps; Blum alternates between stating that the distance from Moscow to Pullman is ten miles or nineteen; and the ‘Notes on Sources’ section repeatedly misspells Appelman’s name. While these are minor flaws compared to the errors of some other authors, it is notable that Blum never addresses the ethical implications of speculating on a murder suspect’s guilt or innocence before the jury selection has even begun.

The flood of hastily written books about the murders stems partly from the state’s long delay in setting a trial date. Authors, publishers, and filmmakers—like podcasters and vloggers—are eager to cash in on the mystery before public interest fades. Whether they’re equally dedicated to seeking truth or justice is another question.