Traces

by Patricia Wiltshire

  I found that I was the only one who regularly attended crime scenes and mortuaries. I had just taken it for granted that if the police wanted to glean as much information as humanly possible from a crime scene, I had to be there quickly before anything could change or be contaminated. Being naturally quite forceful, I had always insisted on being ‘hands on’ from beginning to end and, in this way, built up a large network of police colleagues and, indeed, forensic practitioners in very many areas of forensic science. The police rarely argued and they accepted my advice; in this way, they facilitated the development of the science, some to a considerable degree. My colleagues abroad never seemed to manage this kind of relationship with investigators, and I suspect this is partly due to the differences in the ways police services are organised and set up in those countries. Perhaps our characters and personalities had been an influence too. I seemed to be the only one with a strong enough stomach to face the most horrific of sights, smells, and the awfulness of corpses in every conceivable state of decay and mutilation. I always looked upon the deceased as a valuable source of evidence and developed techniques to maximise evidence retrieval from them. Importantly, I also had a sufficiently robust character to endure hostile police officers, solicitors, and barristers, as well as cope with the grim and worrisome character of the UK’s Crown Courts.

  How did I get to this point? When I look back, so much is a blur. I have never, ever, planned any aspect of my life and, although many cannot believe it, I am not a woman of ambition. It has all just happened to me; I have been reactive rather than proactive. I was already pre-adapted to become a forensic ecologist and had the necessary skills and knowledge from the laboratory, the field, and the literature. I had spent much of my academic life in university teaching and it is a truism that one learns a great deal from one’s students. For the last six years that I was full-time at the University of London, I ran an MSc course on forensic archaeological science. As well as the rigour of the theory, the course had a strong practical element and I held a class rota. As the turn of each pair of students came round, they could accompany me to the crime scene and/or the mortuary to act as my assistants. They had first-hand experience of real life and this certainly sorted out those who ‘could’ from those who ‘could not’. Teaching the MSc was challenging and fun for me, and I think the students felt that too. I look back now and it all seems such a long time ago. I am still giving lectures at universities in the UK and have travelled the world, running workshops and giving lectures in 23 countries. In the last couple of years, I have been to China twice, Peru, Colombia, and India.

  It has been an incredibly full life from beginning to now, and it is still too full. I have little time to indulge myself in what I want to do – playing the piano more, sewing, craftwork, painting, cooking, and gardening – all rather solitary pastimes but all with a definite outcome. They are antidotes to the flurry of meetings that make up so much of my life. Every day I tell myself that I am going to spend the whole day on some indulgence, but usually end up at my computer screen, dealing with some problem or other. But I still have work to complete and publish. As one gets older, as well as funerals, one collects responsibilities – editing papers for journals, reviewing books and papers, checking other people’s texts, and for me, being in local government. I was pleasantly surprised to get such a large majority in local elections as an independent councillor and am now a cabinet member in our local district council. I could never stand under the banner of one of the national political parties because I want to express my own views and reflect those of the electorate. It is difficult to juggle all the work, especially as I have the portfolio for ‘Environmental Health and Services’. This seems to cover everything from dustbins, licensing, pollution of air, water and soil to pigeon fouling – and everything in between. One certainly gets to know people.

  I hated my grammar school but it seems to have endowed me with an education and skills that made me interesting enough to be the subject of broadcasts many times on radio and television. It even taught me to curtsy, something that came in useful when I was invited to lunch with the Queen and Prince Philip. That school also instilled in its pupils an over-exaggerated sense of duty and responsibility. I regularly meet up with my old school chums and, after all these years, they seem just the same. We are all from an age of innocence and, thankfully, seem to have retained it. The contrast between my own life and those of the criminals and victims, who have impinged on me over the years, is stark. I cannot help feeling sympathy for certain of them. Some have had a rotten start in life while others have not had the ability to grasp the endowment of riches gained from education. Some are victims of their families and circumstances, the people they fall in with, or unsympathetic authorities. Some just seem to be foul and evil.

  Over the last ten years or so, government changes have transformed the forensic landscape in the UK. We used to have the government-run Forensic Science Service (FSS) which dealt with nearly all the police cases as a matter of course. Then a decision was made to allow competition and some ex-Forensic Science Service staff started up their own companies, first of all to provide good defence facilities for those faced with prosecution, but later expanding into prosecution work. These early entrepreneurs worked hard at absorbing any new discipline and skill to add to the base of standard scientific techniques used routinely. They commissioned people in the universities and anyone who had any unusual or rare skill that became feasible in forensic analysis.

  In its wisdom, the government then decided that the official Forensic Science Service had to become competitive and would become a public company, but with the government as the main shareholder. Oh dear, what a catastrophe. Essentially they were trying to commercialise a Civil Service operation, but the Forensic Science Service (FSS), with all the red tape typical of a government department, just could not respond quickly to change. The scientists dissipated and many set up their own companies. What is the situation now? We have two or three large commercial providers who aim to be one-stop shops to police forces that have been tied into contracts with them.

  It is obvious that these providers cannot possibly afford to have the full range of skills in-house, so they commission anyone they think can serve them. On paper, the police can just tick a box to say that they have a certain skill in place for an inquiry. But the quality of the skill? That is another matter. I certainly know that some with minimal experience have been employed on occasion, and I have, several times, been the cause of evidence being withdrawn once my evaluation and submission of that evidence has been delivered to the defence barristers. Some of the reports I have seen on forensic palynology and soil analysis have been what can only be described as bizarre. The police have also decided to take on their own forensic work and some now employ ex-FSS employees in their own laboratories. One can imagine that there might just be a prosecution mentality there somewhere. I wonder if the in-house scientists are ever exposed to pressure to get the ‘right answer’. Officers can be so convinced of guilt, and so keen to obtain a conviction, that one might fear the possibility of cognitive bias. One can only hope not. All forensic scientists need to be trained in providing unbiased reporting.

  The American television programme CSI became very popular. Of course much of it is fantastical, and the crime scene protocols, laboratory analysis, timelines, and results are often unrealistic and silly. But, the programme certainly caught the public’s imagination and universities were quick to realise that money was to be made by putting on, say, forensic chemistry rather than just chemistry. Forensic has become a very sexy word and more ‘forensic scientists’ are being produced than would ever find a job. At the time of writing, several of my peers and I find the whole forensic scene in the UK somewhat depressing. There are hundreds of different university courses with the word ‘forensic’ in the title. What about basic science – botany, zoology, chemistry, biochemistry, and mathematics? It is now virtually impossible to complete a botany degree in the UK whereas the
subject is seen as essential overseas and certainly in China, India, and even Spain. More and more we have to recruit for senior jobs in botanical science from overseas.

  Everyone now learns about DNA but, even here, serious mistakes can be made. A few have arisen at the laboratory stage but this kind of error is much rarer than those of misinterpretation. There have been some serious miscarriages of justice in recent years because of inadequate interpretation of DNA results, and this is frightening. Even worse, the advancement of DNA technology has made it a victim of its own success. Techniques are now so highly sensitive that a DNA profile can be obtained from just a few cells. Imagine the problems when there are mixed profiles or contamination. Even if the laboratory technique is impeccable, the presence of a person’s DNA at a crime scene does not necessarily mean that they had been present because of the ease with which DNA can be transferred. One of the great problems is understanding when there has been transfer from a primary source to a secondary one, and even to a tertiary one. When we meet our friends, or are compulsorily pressed up against people in the underground train, we are constantly exchanging DNA, so it is easy to see how some innocent person could be implicated in a crime. DNA results are also subjected to complex statistical techniques, and computer programs can be used to execute the analysis of the data, but they create their own problems. The person who has to interpret a DNA profile may not know what is going on within the analysis of the data. There is little doubt that DNA technology is highly advanced, and it exercises the mind of very many extremely clever people, but it is recognised that it does not always provide results that can be accepted with 100% confidence.

  Forensic palynology is invariably needed when DNA or fingerprint evidence is of no help. Fingerprints, DNA, and fibres are three of the most important kinds of trace evidence in forensic science. Pollen and spores, and other microscopic particulates, provide another and, when produced and interpreted properly, the evidence they provide can be very powerful indeed. But I wonder whether my kind of work will survive and be part of forensic armoury in the future? There are no broad-based botanists or mycologists now being trained in the UK universities.

  I frequently receive e-mails and letters from both students and experienced scientists from overseas asking if I will mentor them, or whether they could come and work with me so that they can learn the ropes. But when you point out that they would need palynological or botanical skills to PhD level and already have many years of work experience, the requests fade. I had been working as a researcher and lecturer for many years before I became so unexpectedly involved. I was already poised to be able to work out a strategy and execute it right through to court level. I was not a ‘learner’, I simply amended what I already knew. My colleagues in Texas and New Zealand have also been scientists all their lives and came into the forensic arena late in their careers. They are well past retirement age and, although I find it hard to believe, so am I. This kind of work is not for the beginner.

  I will never be able to look upon myself as being retired. To me, that is a bizarre concept. If there are things to do, do them. I have knowledge and skills that are useful, and it would be bad not to share them if needed. Sometimes I feel that I have done quite enough, and although I still take on cases, I never intend to give my life over to working with the police at the same intensity ever again. Life? I had no life. I did not even know my neighbours well and, in reality, was dedicated to working, much to the chagrin of my very few close friends.

  One fascinating aspect of forensic ecology, or any kind of ecology, is that one never, ever stops learning. Every sample brings some surprise or other, and the rush of adrenaline that accompanies the trip from the slide tray to the microscope stage never fails to excite. It drives one on to investigate more. There is always more to look at, record, measure, interpret; the natural world seems infinite. In the first part of my career, I was seeking the past, and this meant digging into sediments and soils. Forensic work is mostly about the present and the evidence is mostly at the surface. The only thing that is predictable is the unpredictability of Mother Nature. One can draw up broad protocols and guides to best practice for carrying out a particular job, but one can never construct an infallible model to be applied from one scenario to another. Everything must be interrogated afresh.

  A common fantasy among those of a certain age is having the opportunity to live one’s life over again. Increasing years brings home very forcibly that you only have one go at it. This has become a cliché but, like so many clichés, it is so very true. I have never planned anything and my life just happened to me, but knowing what I know now, would I have done anything differently? Yes, I would. When I was a dreamy youngster, I thought I might be a ballerina, a concert pianist, or a research scientist. I suppose I achieved the lesser of the three, but looking back on my life, perhaps I should have gone into law and become a Queen’s Counsel – a silk. I wouldn’t want to be an ordinary barrister as, irrespective of seniority, they are always referred to as being juniors. It is the QC who leads a case and has the responsibility of influencing a jury to give a verdict of innocent or guilty. In the UK, the US, and much of the Commonwealth, the legal system is adversarial. Both sides are in it to win and, in my experience, no holds barred. The prosecution puts the police case against the defendant and the defence barrister attempts to act as a shield against any probing questions. You know you have done well, and that your evidence is strong, if the opposite side tries to denigrate you as a person. They have lost the plot at that point.

  I have always loved court arguments where evidence is minutely scrutinised and challenged. The need to ‘think on one’s feet’; the barrister attacks, the witness parries, the barrister then ripostes. Sometimes these games proceed for some time, depending on the confidence and robustness of the witness. Other times, a clever barrister can destroy a witness with his opening statement. Luckily that has not happened to me, but an experienced expert witness always expects the worst. The best barristers are those who do their homework, or at least they have diligent juniors who do it for them. They are then exquisitely prepared for the sword to strike home. But, if you are truly expert, they can never do sufficient research to match your knowledge, and it never fails to amaze me that, in many cases, the barrister has not been particularly well prepared at all.

  Some seem to have a vague idea of what the case is about and present their ‘evidence in chief’ based on what they can draw out of a prosecution witness. The best ones have been where, after submitting my reports, the barrister has requested meetings and spent time with me before going into court. The worst experience was when the QC had not read any of my reports at all before I made my oath, while the shortest one was in a murder case in the Old Bailey. I had to explain the complexities of my findings to the barrister in the public hall five minutes before going in to be cross-examined. I was perplexed and angry at this as I had done months of work; and the barrister would not be going to prison as a result of his lack of diligence – that would be the privilege of the defendant.

  I have witnessed the outcomes of many different kinds of death – strangulation, poisoning, stabbing, suffocation, and mutilation as well as the outcomes of body disposals in various places and conditions. One thing that has always impressed me is that the body is an empty vessel; there is nothing left inside to make the body a person. There is no doubt in my mind that a someone becomes a something. We throw an empty bottle into the recycling bin without a thought other than protecting the planet from being polluted, and there have been events from prehistory through to today where human corpses have been treated in the same way. Our social memes demand that we engage in complex rituals when disposing of our dead, and these are observed irrespective of the closeness of relationship to the deceased.

  I have lost a number of good friends in the last couple of years and, as I have stood in sombre silence, mouthed hymns, and bowed my head in simulated prayer, I have often asked myself how much concern I had about that body in t
he coffin. Caring for memory of the person, our past relationship and times together is taken for granted, but, the body? Not much, but there are exceptions. Irrationally, I cared desperately about the fate of the bodies of my child, my grandmother, and every pet cat I have had. Why? I suppose I knew their bodies, their smells and their feel intimately, and they were all precious. These feelings are irrational but I cannot deny them.

  After death, the body will break down into the molecules which built it up from the food taken in. That person had converted the molecules of other organisms (meat and two veg) into those of his or her own, and these will now be released once more, to be taken up by others and perpetuate the cycle of life. A body left on the surface will break down much more quickly than a buried one, and a cremated individual will be reduced to mineral ash within minutes. If the ash is spread about in a woodland, that person will be truly reincarnated. Elements in the ash will be taken up by bacteria, fungi, invertebrates, and plant roots. One individual can spread throughout a woodland and become many. How wonderful to be reincarnated as a bluebell, an oak tree, and a lovely beetle all at the same time. It will certainly happen whether you like the idea or not.