I decided to check out the HBO Max series The Curious Case of … and the title proved more than just a clever bit of alliteration; it got me thinking about how and why our legal system excuses some crimes over others.

The eighth episode of Season 2, “The Corpse Who Came to Dinner,” centers on Jean Stevens, a Pennsylvania widow who—rather than settling for the time-honored traditions of burial, cremation or something similar—took it upon herself to dig up the bodies of her late husband and (later) her deceased twin sister and move their embalmed bodies to her home.

Not in their caskets. Not buried in the backyard. Literally inside her home, tea parties and all.

Estate planning meets Weekend at Bernie’s

I was initially turned off by the episode’s pacing. The approach was far too scattershot, and the hectic nature of the narration, coupled with the oddly whimsical soundtrack, gave off an unsettling air of confusion. It was probably a deliberate choice; the viewer needs to be prepared for the disturbing content that would follow.

Within the first 15 minutes or so, though, the tempo turns, and the episode finds its groove. We meet Stevens, learn some of her background and hear about her relationship with her sister, June. The two were inseparable: They even married brothers and had homes in close proximity to each other.

We also learn that Stevens had, on at least one occasion, exhumed her mother from her grave. Odd? Sure? Criminal? Potentially. But, more importantly for this exercise, the event wasn’t a one-off. When Stevens’ husband passes, she initially gets a court order to have his body exhumed. But once the order expires and he is reinterred, she enlists a neighbor to assist in digging up the body and bringing it back to her home, where she kept it.

Fast-forward a few years, and local law enforcement have received tips of an elderly lady digging up bodies from the cemetery. When they visit Stevens to conduct a wellness check based on the complaints, not only do they find her husband’s decomposed remains in the garage, they also find her sister’s corpse, dressed to a T—with makeup, perfume and a wig—sitting on the couch in the living room.

Interviews with locals (and photos—beware) shed light on the plight of a sweet yet weird and unusual elderly woman who wanted nothing more than to keep company with the people she loved the most. And apparently quell the claustrophobia she projected on the dead.

Blind eyes and community complicity

Throughout the episode, family members and neighbors recount how Stevens would keep the corpses in the home, with one niece noting that she even had tea with them on one occasion. The locals who were interviewed discuss the situation as if it’s a lot to do about nothing. Did she dig up a couple of bodies? Sure. Did members of the community help her? Probably. Why wouldn’t they? She wasn’t hurting anyone.

When you watch the witnesses recount their experiences, it’s a bit jarring. The audience is privy to photos of the decomposed remains, and while the state of spoilage is never described in detail, it’s hard to imagine the bodies being anything close to pleasant in presence. Nevertheless, the interviewees laugh about the situation, crack jokes about the circumstances and generally speak very favorably about Stevens, all things considered.

As the episode unfolds, an explicit question arises again and again: Why would so many people be complacent in this position? Never mind the individuals who either admittedly or inferentially assisted Stevens in exhuming and transporting the bodies—after all, she was 91 when authorities finally realized what was going on; she couldn’t have done it alone. Multiple people knew she had corpses in her home. Honestly, from the way some of the witnesses speak, it sounds like the whole town knew.

Surely someone would have taken offense. Pettier problems are reported to police at all hours of every day. But for whatever reason, Stevens was allowed to carry on this way for years. The host commentary argues that there must have been an incentive to acquiesce, at which point the audience learns that her home was situated on land with mineral rights worth millions.

The last portion of the episode discusses who all may have lobbied for a claim to that inheritance, and to what extent neighbors and others in town were willing to go for the sake of enrichment.

And Stevens may finally be reunited with her husband and sister. She died in 2012.

Criminal considerations and prosecutorial preference

Per usual, my mind went straight to criminal liability.

Here in Oklahoma, we have a couple of different crimes on the books that deal with those who unlawfully deal with the dead. You can catch a felony for desecration of a human corpse or unlawful removal of the same. To be fair, though, I don’t usually see situations where someone has unlawfully exhumed a body that’s previously been interred.

Instead, we usually see the corpse-related crimes charged parasitically; they are hanger-on, after-the-fact crimes prosecutors tack onto cases to increase bond and potential punishment. Think of damage to a corpse, such as fire in hopes of concealment, or movement of the body after a murder.

Still, there are some instances where the crime is a stand-alone act. I remember a little over a decade ago when a Tulsa jury gave a defendant 16 years in prison for entering a funeral home and mutilating the body of a deceased woman she believed had an affair with her then-husband. And then going to her home and stealing her jewelry.

Stevens’ actions, on the other hand, pale in comparison. There was no observable ill will behind her manipulation of the dead bodies. To the contrary, actually. The then-district attorney interviewed for the episode explained that even though the health code had been violated at the very least, it didn’t seem like charges would “solve anything or make anything better.” As a retired criminal investigator in the case said in regards to potential criminal charges: “They decided the juice wouldn’t be worth the squeeze.”

Apparently, the same carried for those who conspired with her.

The verdict?

From a legal perspective, “The Corpse Who Came to Dinner” is an interesting study in how laws can be interpreted through social norms, and how those norms can shift depending on the frame of reference and location. It highlights the uncomfortable space where “illegal” sometimes meets “understandable.”

From a more human position, though, the episode is a reminder that, regardless of how we as a society cast our various notions of norms, grief does not always sit at socially acceptable—or legally compliant—crossroads.

Adam Banner

Adam R. Banner is the founder and lead attorney of the Oklahoma Legal Group, a criminal defense law firm in Oklahoma City. His practice focuses solely on state and federal criminal defense. He represents the accused against allegations of sex crimes, violent crimes, drug crimes and white-collar crimes.

The study of law isn’t for everyone, yet its practice and procedure seem to permeate pop culture at an increasing rate. This column is about the intersection of law and pop culture in an attempt to separate the real from the ridiculous.