How My Tortoise Solves Crimes

No, this isn’t the beginning of a new cozy series. And no, I’m not a detective in real life. Just a writer of mysteries. Medieval, Tudor, and Sherlockian mysteries, if you want to get technical.

A reptile who solves crimes works on cold cases. Heh.

Harley is a twenty-seven-year-old Mojave Desert Tortoise. We got her not too long after she came out of her egg from friends who have a mating pair. Desert tortoises are protected in California. You are only allowed to obtain them from someone who has a mating pair, and you may not sell them or release them into the wild (they have diseases that the wild tortoises don’t have, and wild tortoises have bugs the domesticated ones do not.) And they also must be licensed. Harley grew from a superball-sized creature to a solid 24-pound, platter-sized reptile, who hibernates in the winter in a box in our closet and is her mobile self in the heat of summer in her “turtle run”.

So what the heck does my tortoise have to do with crime-fighting?

Well, as many of you know, writing is a solitary pursuit. An author spends six to ten hours (or more) confined in a small space, working away, without much human interaction. Sometimes this gets tiresome. But my tortoise has taught me some valuable lessons in being a solitary creature. Tortoises in the wild have vast territories. In some instances, they may only encounter another tortoise every twenty years (and no one really knows how long turtles can live. Darwin brought back lots of giant tortoises from the Galapagos. One named Harriet c. 1830 – June 23, 2006, lived some 175 years [though she was older than that as she was already a grown tortoise when captured.] It’s actually thought that, left to their own devices and barring disease or disaster, tortoises are practically immortal.)

Avocado Face

Such solitary creatures are remarkably social. Yes, they have natural enemies but if you are a predator, it’s too hard to get to a tortoise to eat it. They’re too heavy for birds when they are old enough, and too cagey for mammalian predators. Only man seems to be able to literally crack that shell. So once she gets over your shadow passing over her head—and she draws in quickly when that happens—she’s just as curious about you as you are about her. She doesn’t exactly come when I call, but if she sees me she comes a-runnin’. And she’s pretty fast, all things considered.

You see, a tortoise is like a good detective. It’s all about tenacity. Like a tank, a tortoise decides it’s better to just go over it than around it, like your Jack Reachers or Harry Boschs. And a tortoise takes the straight line when at all possible. There’s no messing with it, though it’s easy to deceive and pick her up and dump her in another location. She’ll take a moment to assess, but then she’s on her way again. Stubborn. Obstinate.

Just a girl, lying in front of a tortoise, asking her to love me.

I’ve often sought her advice when I’ve gotten stuck in a plot. Her recommendation? Keep moving. And like any detective, when it gets too hot, too dangerous, find a shady spot to chill. Now as a rule, tortoises don’t drink alcohol. But she’ll drink water when she needs it. But I do know of a few detectives who absorb booze. Philip Marlowe has been known to go on a bender. Ian Rankin’s John Rebus imbibes more than his share. And don’t forget Nick and Nora Charles.

So what happens when something isn’t working in the plot? My turtle’s advice? Back up. She’s good at backing up. A nice slow amble, a turn to see where she is, and then she goes over the route again. And when she encounters an obstacle, she uses all her means to get over it. She doesn’t just use those long claws on her feet, but also the scaly sides of her arms to get a grip. And if you ever doubted it, tortoises do climb. She’s just as wily as any caged-in shamus. So watch out.

Going after fresh grape leaves in her run.

What about character? What about the killer? I look into her sage little eye and try to figure out her expression, and she seems to be saying, “Look to yourself and your own experiences,” that famous writing advice of “write what you know.” It doesn’t mean that all mystery writers are murderers. It means that we’ve had life experiences to draw upon. We’ve all had the feelings of envy, a desire for revenge, any number of emotions that a killer might have. It’s good advice.

Battle Torty.

Finally, Harley offers the writer that companionship we seek. She’s a quiet sort, and mostly keeps her opinions to herself. She doesn’t bark, doesn’t bite, but her quiet commentary is sometimes more pointed than the chatter of a critique group. Even though she carries her shell she isn’t shy. She’ll face you like the brave little reptile she is. And isn’t that what detecting is all about? Not being afraid to face down the bad guys, making sure you’re well-armored, and not moving until the right moment comes along?

Yup, my tortoise has taught me a lot. Remember, slow and steady wins the race. And maybe it can catch a killer, too.