These days everyone is an expert. With all the television dramas built around police procedurals, the plethora of crime fiction novels, and the explosion of interest in true crime, whether it be through books, documentaries, or podcasts, there is no shortage of experience to be had in crime scene investigation. By the time you are on your eighth season of CSI or have devoured the entire works of Patricia Cornwell and Kathy Reichs surely there is nothing left to learn about forensics. Or is there?
Remember that all fictionalized accounts of forensic procedurals are just that—fictionalized. They routinely present oversimplified and unrealistically speedy analyses and will even depict approaches and techniques that simply do not exist.
That said, every aficionado of the genre understands the importance of such things as DNA profiling, the crucial information that can be gleaned from blood spatter analysis or the game-changing results that might come from the identification of poisons.
But where would the likes of Kay Scarpetta and Temperance Brennan, as well as all our armchair forensic sleuths, be without these innovations? Just what did a forensic investigation look like before DNA had been discovered, before blood groups could be easily assessed, or before you could send a sample to the lab and get a full toxicology screen back the same day?
These were exactly the questions I started with when writing the Dr Jack Cuthbert mystery series. I had spent my whole career working in medicine and pathology, and when I came to writing fiction, I followed the age-old advice and wrote about what I knew.
However, I was keen to take an historical approach, and I chose to set my books in the late 1920s and early 1930s. This was a time of considerable innovation in many areas of science and technology, including medicine and forensics. But it would be another fifty years before the first practical DNA test would be done. So, what was left?
To help answer that question, it would be useful to look at the development of forensic science. Many people might be forgiven for thinking that our modern approaches to assessing a crime scene must have been around for a very long time. Surely, they might argue, it is just common sense that if a corpse is found in suspicious circumstances, then it should be examined closely. Furthermore, the immediate surroundings of the body should be studied for clues as to what has taken place. Samples should be taken, tests should be performed and all of this should be the remit of trained specialists.
Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth. As is so often the case, when we view history through a modern lens and expect our forebears to think like us and abide by our principles, we come unstuck.
Modern crime scene investigation is a very high-tech affair but not so in the period when my book is set. Working between the wars, my pathologist has very few scientific tools at his disposal beyond his powers of observation and his wits.
However, he does understand the importance of careful crime scene investigation and the invaluable evidence it can provide, even if those around him do not. Such an investigative approach was not routinely followed even in the early 1930s, but it had been suggested years before, and three people from three different countries deserve the credit.
It all began in 1844. William Guy, a London surgeon, wrote that doctors attending a death should not only examine the body but also pay attention to the environment surrounding it. At the time this was an astounding suggestion, and most doctors did not take too kindly to it. Fortunately for them, William Guy did not propose exactly how this should be done, so they were off the hook for another fifty years.
The practical advice, when it came in 1893, was written by the Austrian Judge Hans Gross in his book on crime scene investigation. In that major work, he says the first step is for the investigating officer to secure the scene from contamination. Interestingly, he adds that this should be principally from the investigators themselves, who he says must fight off their natural impulse to immediately touch anything of apparent significance.
There speaks a man with experience in the field. He understood what was at stake, and it was clear that he also had a good appreciation of human nature. Gross, of course, wrote his book in German, and it would be another thirteen years before a translation made its way into the English-speaking world.
The third name in our trio is the most celebrated of all—Edmond Locard—often called the Father of Forensic Science or the French Sherlock Holmes. In 1910, he established the first forensic crime lab, and he is most famous today for his “exchange principle.” Put simply, this states that every contact leaves a trace. And even today that principle is still the foundation stone of all forensic science. Think fingerprints, blood stains, trace contaminants such as soil, hairs, pollen, and fibers, and of course DNA.
Thus, by the 1920s, thanks to Guy, Gross, and Locard, we had the beginnings of a framework for the examination of a crime scene—the meticulous attention to detail required, the need to avoid contamination, and the appreciation that whoever has been there, and whatever has happened, have left their traces behind.
A framework, yes, but still a long way from the highly specialized and protocol-driven approach we expect today. And it is that development of forensics over the last century that I find so interesting and that I set out to explore in my books. Moreover, I would argue that specialists in any field should be aware of the history of their subject. After all, unless we know where we have come from and how we have arrived at the present, how might we plan our future?
Of course, all this does not only apply to the various modern professionals involved in forensic medicine and science, but also to all those who have devoted so much of their reading, viewing, and listening time to becoming amateur forensic experts. A little bit of history can make all the difference, and learning about the evolution of your favorite subject can be more than rewarding. It can also make you think differently about everything you thought you knew.
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