Expression used of someone who has met a sad end in fact or fiction. After a line from Hannibal Lecter in Thomas Harris's "The Silence of the Lambs", on the subject of Benjamin Raspail. Lecter had Raspail over for dinner and later commented, "Best thing for him, really. His therapy was going nowhere."
He jumped off a cliff and blew himself up with a bellyful of dynamite halfway down. Best thing for him, really. His therapy was going nowhere.