1986’s Coolest Crimefighters – Mysteries, Miami and Magnum 

1986’s Coolest Crimefighters – Mysteries, Miami and Magnum 

In 1986, television didn’t just serve justice—it served style. This was the year crimefighting came with Ray-Bans, witty banter, and a soundtrack that made you want to hit record on your cassette deck. The small screen was a playground for detectives who looked like models, acted like mavericks, and solved cases with equal parts instinct and charisma. 

The cop dramas and private eye shows of this era weren’t just about catching the bad guys. They were cultural statements—part fashion runway, part action movie, part soap opera. It was where neon met noir, where Ferraris burned through palm-lined streets. And where a moustache could carry a franchise. 

From Miami Vice and Magnum, P.I. to Moonlighting and Murder, She Wrote, 1986 was peak TV cool, when every mystery had a signature vibe and every sleuth had their own unforgettable flavour. 

 

Miami Vice: Style as Substance 

By 1986, Miami Vice was more than a hit show—it was a movement. Debuting in 1984, the series had matured into a fully realized aesthetic experience by its third season, which aired through 1986. Don Johnson’s Sonny Crockett and Philip Michael Thomas’ Ricardo Tubbs weren’t just cops—they were fashion icons. Crockett’s pastel blazers, loafers with no socks, and five o’clock shadow became the look for a generation that didn’t even live in Florida. 

But it wasn’t just about clothes. Miami Vice used music like no other show before it. The use of pop songs—from Phil Collins to Glenn Frey to Tina Turner—turned episodes into hour-long music videos with a plot. Jan Hammer’s synth-driven theme was instantly recognizable, setting the mood for high-stakes drama soaked in humidity and swagger. 

The show tackled issues that felt bigger than the usual crime procedurals. Drug trafficking, corruption, racial tension—it was all there, wrapped in fast cars and atmospheric lighting. Vice was dark, moody, and unapologetically stylish. It didn’t just depict the war on drugs—it soundtracked it in Dolby stereo. 

 

Magnum, P.I.: Mustache, Muscle Cars, and Maui Cool 

If Crockett and Tubbs were the poster boys of urban cool, Thomas Magnum was the king of island charisma. 

By 1986, Magnum, P.I. was deep into its run and still going strong. Tom Selleck’s performance was effortless, charming, and deeply likable. Magnum wasn’t your standard tough-guy detective. He was sensitive, funny, and occasionally got his butt kicked. And that made him even more compelling. 

Set against the lush backdrop of Hawaii, the show mixed tropical escapism with detective grit. Magnum drove a red Ferrari, lived in a beachfront guesthouse, and worked security gigs while solving cases involving everything from stolen art to military secrets. He was a Vietnam vet with emotional baggage, often wrestling with issues of loyalty, identity, and friendship. 

And then there was the look—aviator shades, short shorts, loud Hawaiian shirts, and that perfectly groomed moustache. Magnum was so cool he made casual tank tops and Detroit Tigers caps look like high fashion. 

The show also had one of the best supporting casts in crime TV. Higgins, T.C., and Rick weren’t just sidekicks—they were a found family. And the chemistry made the stories matter more. It wasn’t just about solving mysteries. It was about trust. 

 

Moonlighting: Romance Meets Rapid-Fire Mystery 

Where other crime shows focused on grit, Moonlighting leaned into chaos and charm. 

In 1986, Moonlighting was a sensation—and much of that came down to the chemistry between Cybill Shepherd and a then-unknown Bruce Willis. She played Maddie Hayes, a former model who owns the Blue Moon Detective Agency. He played David Addison, the sarcastic, wisecracking investigator she reluctantly partners with. Together, they were electric. 

What made Moonlighting different was its refusal to follow the rules. Dialogue was fast, flirty, and full of pop culture references. Episodes regularly broke the fourth wall, experimented with format, and even included musical numbers. It was part mystery, part screwball comedy, and all unpredictability. 

Yet, beneath the snappy dialogue and absurdist flair, the mysteries still worked. They gave the characters something to orbit. And they gave audiences a reason to come back week after week, hoping Maddie and David would finally kiss. 

Moonlighting helped redefine what a detective show could be. It didn’t need to be all shadows and gunshots. Sometimes, it could be champagne and tension. 

 

Murder, She Wrote: Cozy Crimes and Killer Ratings 

While much of crime TV in 1986 was busy being sexy and modern, Murder, She Wrote was the comforting counterbalance—and still a ratings juggernaut. 

Angela Lansbury’s portrayal of Jessica Fletcher, a widowed mystery writer from Cabot Cove, Maine, was pure magic. She didn’t carry a gun or wear designer sunglasses. She solved crimes with empathy, intellect, and a kind smile that could disarm the guiltiest suspect. And viewers loved her for it. 

What made the show ICONIC was its formula. Every week, someone in Jessica’s orbit would end up dead—often in a different city—and she would quietly, cleverly piece the puzzle together. It wasn’t about car chases or shootouts. It was about clues, contradictions, and character. 

In 1986, the show was in its prime. Its success defied industry logic. Jessica Fletcher wasn’t young, glamorous, or edgy. But she was brilliant, beloved, and, frankly, better than most of the detectives on TV. Lansbury earned multiple Emmy nominations, and the show ran for 12 seasons, with 1986 marking some of its most consistently watched episodes. 

Murder, She Wrote proved that cool came in many forms—and Jessica Fletcher’s quiet confidence was one of the coolest of all. 

 

Simon & Simon: Brotherly Brawls and Blue-Collar Sleuthing 

In a television landscape packed with sleek suits and fancy cars, Simon & Simon brought a grittier, more grounded energy to crime-solving. 

The show followed two brothers—Rick, the ex-Marine with a pickup truck and cowboy boots, and A.J., the buttoned-up, college-educated one with a taste for finer things. Together, they ran a private investigation firm in San Diego and clashed constantly about how to get the job done. 

By 1986, the show was well into its stride and had found a loyal audience. It wasn’t flashy, but it was solid. Episodes featured solid storytelling, strong performances, and a satisfying mix of humour and action. 

What made it special was the dynamic between the brothers. They weren’t perfect—they fought, they messed up, and they made each other crazy. But they always had each other’s backs. That dynamic made the show feel human in a genre that could often feel overly polished. 

Simon & Simon didn’t redefine the genre. But it reminded us why we loved it in the first place. 

 

Remington Steele: Where Glamour Met Gumption 

Long before he was James Bond, Pierce Brosnan was already the suavest man on TV thanks to Remington Steele. The show, which was still pulling strong numbers in 1986, flipped the detective genre on its head. Laura Holt, played by Stephanie Zimbalist, was the real brains of the operation—an ambitious private investigator who invents a fictional male boss to get respect in a male-dominated industry. Brosnan’s charming con man assumes the identity, and the rest is a glamorous game of crime-solving cat and mouse. 

Remington Steele had international flair, romantic intrigue, and a sly sense of humour. The mysteries were fun, but the gender dynamics and clever writing made it something more. 

It was also ahead of its time. Holt was one of the few female leads in a traditionally male genre, and she wasn’t just holding her own—she was running the show. The sexual tension between the leads, the luxurious locations, and the stylish tone made it a weekly indulgence for viewers looking for brains and beauty. 

 

The Era of Signature Style 

What tied all these shows together—despite their differences—was their sense of identity. They didn’t blur into one another. You knew a Miami Vice episode from the first synth note. You could spot Magnum by the roar of the Ferrari. You recognized Moonlighting by the pace of the dialogue and Murder, She Wrote by the tinkling piano theme and Jessica’s typewriter. 

TV crimefighters in 1986 had flair, rhythm, and personality. They each brought something different to the screen, whether it was wild energy or quiet confidence, punchlines or pathos. 

Even the opening credits mattered. These were not throwaways—they were mood-setters. The music, the freeze-frames, the glances into the camera. You didn’t just watch a show. You stepped into a world. 

 

Conclusion: Crimes Solved, Cool Confirmed 

The detective and crime shows of 1986 weren’t just escapist fun—they were reflections of the era. They captured the style, the swagger, the contradictions, and the aspirations of the time. They showed us heroes who could fight the bad guys with a wink, a suit, or a notepad. They gave us laughs and lessons. They gave us closure in a chaotic world. 

And they made TV cool. 

From neon-drenched drug busts in Miami to moonlit flirtations in L.A., from moustachioed sleuths in paradise to cozy mysteries in sleepy towns, the year was bursting with ICONIC investigators. These weren’t just characters solving crimes—they were shaping culture, rewriting fashion, and making prime time unforgettable. In 1986, justice was always served—with just the right amount of ICONIC flair.