Dysfunctional Relationships in Crime Shows: Lack of Protection

In a prior post, I discuss the trope where couples break faith with each other. They are no longer an "us," neither physically nor emotionally. 

This moment becomes a final straw, the ultimate death knell to the relationship.

Naturally, therefore, the trope shows up in murder mysteries!

• In The Mentalist, a degenerate gambling husband stakes his wife's "favors." The wife's father kills the bad husband. 
• In a Kate Ross novel, a husband uses his wife to pay off an enemy. Again, a family member takes care of the offender.
• In Nero Wolfe's Too Many Clients, a wife's fickle lifestyle leads the husband, using an assumed name, to hire Archie--his indirect attempt to confront his wife through Archie leads to Archie and Nero uncovering and subsequently hiding information from the police.   
• In Murder in Mesopotamia, the wife's willingness to turn her husband-spy over to her government is forgiven but not her willingness to fall in love with another man. The other man additionally both loves and hates her since he feels she forced him to betray his friend. He confesses these mixed feelings to Poirot and consequently becomes a suspect. 
  

Interesting enough, although some literature treats the initial action as symptom of a dying relationship, in mysteries, the type of betrayal is the mystery. Its extreme nature puts it outside the pale, beyond an ordinary affair. Consequently, it becomes harder to detect. Once detected, however, it is viewed as self-explanatory of the offended spouse's behavior. 

The betrayal hinges on loss of faith (as referenced earlier). In mysteries, it is also about loss of protection. In the first two cases, the "winner" (the Robert Redford character) is treated with less contempt than the husband. Another family member has to step in to provide the protection not provided by the spouse. In the last two cases, the reluctance of the husbands to directly confront the betrayal is treated with some degree of compassion--their behavior, once attached to a loss of confidence, is slotted into place as entirely comprehensible.

The Dollhouse by Ibsen uses a similar theme. The wife is willing to play the part of domestic ninny until her husband fails to step up. The compact--we both plays roles that give us satisfaction--is broken. Without that protection and stability, anarchy ensues. 

The power of roles and expectations here is strong.