The Nature of Closure in The Color of Death

Defining the Thematic Claim

The Color of Death repeatedly contends that closure is a myth—an emotional finish line that never arrives, no matter how many verdicts are won or secrets uncovered. Yet the novel does not leave its characters stranded in despair. Instead, it proposes a quieter, more honest substitute: meaning found through perseverance, accountability, and small acts of kindness. Trey Gowdy and Christopher Greyson weave this tension into every layer of the story, from Colm Truesdale’s haunted conscience to JD’s self-destructive vendetta. The result is a thriller that refuses to pretend that a solved case equals a healed heart.

Three separate plot threads dramatize the same paradox: the legal system can determine what happened, but it cannot undo the damage. Characters who chase absolute resolution—whether through revenge, confession, or judicial victory—find only emptiness. Those who accept the ongoing nature of grief and focus on process instead of outcome come closest to peace.

Three Plot Threads That Test Closure

Bethany Barnett and the Gift of Knowing

Early in the novel, Colm visits a cemetery on a rainy November afternoon. There he meets Bethany Barnett, the widow of a murder victim from a case he prosecuted five years earlier. She thanks him for “finding” her husband and grandson—not in the sense of locating them, but in the sense of uncovering the truth of what happened. She tells Colm that knowing gave her something that looked like closure.

Colm himself, however, cannot accept her gratitude. He carries a second bouquet meant for another grave—likely connected to his own past loss—but he cannot bring himself to walk that path. He leaves the flowers on a nearby tombstone and retreats to his car, thinking, “My wounds haven’t healed. I can’t do this today.” The chapter closes with his internal refrain: “If it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t be here.”

This scene establishes the novel’s core argument. Bethany has found a form of peace, but Colm—the man who secured her justice—remains trapped in guilt. Closure, the novel suggests, has less to do with outcomes than with the internal work a person is willing to do. Bethany did that work; Colm has not. The legal process gave her facts, but facts alone could not heal him.

Frank Hastings and the Staged Suicide

The novel’s opening chapter introduces a very different relationship with closure. Frank Hastings is kidnapped by Knox and JD, who force him to write a confession admitting malpractice and conspiracy. JD’s motive is revenge for Larry Stafford and their mother, whose case Frank mishandled. JD plans to stage Frank’s suicide, then move on to kill Frank’s law partner, the judge, and Colm.

When Frank’s body is discovered in a remote cabin, Detective Rick “Bones” Denton arrives at the scene and immediately notices details that do not add up. The suicide note seems “written for his malpractice insurance carrier.” Three empty casings in the revolver suggest the TV was shot more than once. A broken rope dangling from a beam—and a noose on the floor—indicate a failed hanging attempt. Bones tells the medical examiner, “This one is almost too neat.”

The official ruling is suicide, but Bones cannot let go of the one percent of doubt. What JD presents as closure—a confession, a body, a tidy narrative—is actually a fabrication. The novel uses this plotline to show that the desire for neat endings can be a weapon. JD wants to feel finished, to close the book on her family’s suffering, but she achieves that only by creating a lie. The “resolution” she manufactures does not honor the truth; it buries it.

The Rachel Simone Investigation: Process Over Resolution

The third thread—and the novel’s central case—is the murder of Rachel Simone, a young hairdresser and single mother whose body is discovered in her salon. Colm leads the prosecution against Judge Martin Weber, the man who was having an affair with Rachel and whose DNA evidence places him at the scene.

Throughout the investigation, Colm insists on preparation over intuition. In a team meeting, he declares, “I hate surprises.” He builds a system—columns for witnesses, exhibits, chains of custody, and potential problems—designed to eliminate ambiguity. His motto, taken from Louis Pasteur, is “Chance favors the prepared mind.”

Yet the case resists neat resolution. A fire destroys Rachel’s trailer, eliminating the chance for a jury view. Rachel’s phone is never found. The DNA on the tissues near the back door is only a partial match to Martin—familial DNA that points to his son, Lucas. The gloves used by the killer show no DNA inside, consistent with hand sanitizer. Every piece of evidence creates new questions.

Rather than despair, Colm doubles down on the process. The work itself becomes the goal. He tells his team, “The best cross-examinations take place weeks or months before trial. Preparation wins cases.” The novel suggests that meaning is not found in the final verdict, but in the daily discipline of pursuing justice. Colm cannot bring Rachel back, and he cannot undo his own past grief, but he can make sure her death is not ignored.

Character and Symbol Connections

The symbols of the novel reinforce this theme. The King of Hearts playing card that JD tears in half—calling it the Suicide King—represents her belief that death is the only path to closure. She draws a noose on the Queen of Hearts, vowing that Colm cannot stop what comes next. For JD, closure is synonymous with destruction.

The Doc Martens shoeprints found at Rachel’s salon, matched to Martin’s shoes, represent the slow, patient process of building a case. Each print is a small piece of evidence that moves the investigation forward, not toward emotional resolution but toward accountability.

The silver Audi that Martin drives—and that witnesses partially identify as being near the scene—symbolizes the corruption and privilege that allow the powerful to evade consequences. Martin’s attempt to buy his way out of trouble through Beau Landry shows that closure, for those with resources, can be a commodity. But the novel undercuts this: even with help, Martin cannot fully control the narrative.

The salon scissors, used postmortem by the killer, are the most brutal symbol of interrupted life. Rachel’s killer cut off her hair before plunging the scissors into her chest. The scissors are a tool of her trade, turned into an instrument of death. Colm describes the weapon as more personal than a gun or strangulation—“What could possess someone to lift a sharp object and plunge it into a person even once?” The violation goes beyond murder; it is an attempt to erase her identity. The novel refuses to offer a satisfying explanation for such violence. Some acts, it suggests, cannot be closed.

Complexity and Contradiction

The novel resists any simple moral. Bethany Barnett finds peace; Colm does not, even though he won her case. JD pursues vengeance and becomes a killer herself; her “closure” destroys her humanity. Bones Denton investigates Frank’s death and suspects foul play, but the system labels it suicide anyway. The truth is known only to those who refuse to accept an easy answer.

The most complex character is Colm himself. He is the one who tells Bethany that closure is a myth, yet he continues to prosecute cases with relentless energy. He visits the morgue in Chapter 25 not because he expects justice to heal him, but because “it’s the only reason I’ve found worth having a law degree for.” He works for the living—for Rachel’s son, for the community that needs to see accountability enacted.

This is the novel’s final answer. The characters who come closest to peace are not those who find closure, but those who accept that grief is permanent and keep working anyway. Belle Atkins, the waitress at The Junction, represents a different kind of presence: she is not chasing anything, she is simply there, offering small kindnesses. The novel ends with no triumphant resolution, only the continuation of the work.

Study Questions and Answers

1. How does Colm’s encounter with Bethany Barnett in Chapter 2 establish the theme of closure? Bethany thanks Colm for giving her the ability to know what happened, which she describes as a form of peace. Colm, however, cannot accept her gratitude because he remains consumed by guilt over his own losses. The scene shows that closure depends on the internal state of the person, not on external outcomes. Bethany found meaning through knowing; Colm cannot find the same release.

2. What does Frank Hastings’s staged suicide reveal about the danger of seeking neat endings? JD manufactures a confession and a suicide scene to create a false sense of closure for her family’s suffering. Bones immediately notices inconsistencies—three spent casings, a note that reads like a malpractice admission, a failed hanging attempt—but the official ruling is suicide. The episode demonstrates that the desire for a tidy resolution can lead people to accept lies. Real closure, the novel implies, is messy and often elusive.

3. How does Colm’s investigative process in the Rachel Simone case reflect his rejection of closure as a goal? Colm builds a meticulous system of evidence columns, prioritizes preparation, and tells his team “I hate surprises.” He does not expect the trial to heal his own wounds or erase the tragedy. Instead, he finds meaning in the daily work of accountability—the process of building a case, even when evidence is imperfect or ambiguous. The work itself, not the verdict, becomes the point.

4. How do the symbols of the King of Hearts and the salon scissors reinforce the novel’s argument about closure? JD tears the King of Hearts in half, calling it the Suicide King, and draws a noose on the Queen of Hearts. This symbolizes her belief that vengeance and death are the only paths to resolution. The salon scissors, used to cut Rachel’s hair before being plunged into her chest, represent the violent interruption of a life. Neither symbol offers any possibility of healing or restoration—only rupture.

5. Why does Colm’s belief that “closure is a myth” not lead him to abandon his work? Colm continues to prosecute cases because he finds purpose in accountability and perseverance, not in emotional resolution. He tells himself that holding killers responsible is “the only reason I’ve found worth having a law degree for.” His persistence is not a search for closure but a commitment to process, justice for the living, and small acts of duty that give shape to a life marked by loss.