Crime Scene Investigator (2 page)

Even being without police powers did not stop me doing my duty as any member of the public can. Through being present at the right time I can claim three citizen’s arrests on two occasions, although as I recall they were recorded as ‘given into custody’ on the arrest sheet back at the station. Both occasions were to the amusement and joking congratulations of my police officer colleagues. Even more embarrassing was the occasion I stumbled across a cycle theft which had just taken place and saw two young men re-spraying an impressive new cycle. Calling on my radio for help, the ensuing chase involved a fleet of police cars and the newly acquired and much prized police helicopter. At the end of the chase there was nothing to show but a partially re-sprayed stolen cycle, lots of out of breath and red-faced police officers and one equally out of breath and out of shape, red-faced scenes of crime officer. Later, much later, once I had composed myself, I examined the recovered cycle. I managed to recover finger marks from the spray can used by one of the young men. Once identified, a detective took a more leisurely stroll to the young man’s house and arrested him. Now, wasn’t that much simpler, I thought.

In writing such a book there is a danger that I might educate career criminals or even someone who plans to undertake a life of crime. I have no desire to do either. My advice to such individuals is, don’t bother, you will get caught. Apply your talents to honest living, the rewards are better. So I have focused on how scene investigators undertake their interesting and challenging work and the tools they use, physical, mental and evidential. I hope to offer an insight into how crime scene investigators think and how they seek. I would like to inspire those new to this field and assure the honest reader that the answers are out there. This is not a textbook of forensic science (there are other volumes in print that offer that) but it is about the tools and methods the crime scene investigator applies. This book has examples of some of the scene investigations which I have either undertaken or managed. They offer the reader real examples of how some of these methods can be applied. There are also chapters covering the crime scene sciences themselves. I hope to inspire the reader to realise the limitless boundaries of evidence and to inform those of ‘ill will’ that their actions are futile. The only lottery is the skill of the investigator who is chasing them. As more and more sound investigators join law enforcement agencies, that aspect is diminishing. To the innocent, and those victims who wait to be healed by the capture of the offender, there is the comfort that the truth is out there. Sometimes justice is delayed, but I hope that it is not denied too long or too often.

My career would take me from a comprehensive school education to working at a bench at a forensic science laboratory, to crime scene investigation and the Flying Squad. I would command my own department in Surrey Police and serve in high office in the Forensic Science Society. Then I graduated to the independent field, defence investigations, training and contributing to TV documentaries in high-profile cases of the moment, ultimately to foreign fields, to Jamaica, the Source of the Nile in Uganda, and to Afghanistan post 9/11. Not bad for a boy from south London who found his science A levels challenging, but through tenacity and a firm sense of purpose passed, and went on to college and ultimately succeeded.

Through these pages I hope to enlighten you on the journey I took and on some of the cases I had the opportunity to investigate. I am hesitant to appear boastful or conceited and I do not want to forget all the fine colleagues who I worked with and those who continue to develop the science and the practice today. I was fortunate to be part of the development of the science at a particular moment in time, a small contribution in the scheme of things but a contribution none the less. I never forgot the victim or why I was motivated to do my job. These emotions did not cloud my responsibility to bring the offender, and only the offender, to justice. Like many of my contemporaries, I helped bring to book individuals who had committed minor and serious crime, all which affected the lives of their victims. I also helped eliminate and exonerate the innocent, of which I am equally and profoundly proud.

I hope that this can be read by the casual reader with an interest generated by the public perception of crime scene investigation and by the professional alike. For the former, I hope that it is not disappointing given the speed and glamour of the TV programmes which bear the name CSI. For the latter I hope that it reinforces the shared experiences and offers at least a little further insight in some areas. The book is written with chapters on biographical experience intermingled with the science which I believe underpins them. I have taken the decision not to include photographs. This is not a textbook and many photographs would be offensive to victims or their families. If any of the material in this book offends or causes pain to any victim of crime, I apologise now. My only hope is that it demonstrates that the truth is out there and it can be found. Wherever possible I have changed the names of many people involved in these cases to protect their identity. The names of some remain unchanged as do the names of police officers and colleagues. So I want you to think and picture in your own mind the work I undertook. I hope the text allows you to do that. If you are happy to read on from an intellectual position driven by interest, I hope this informs.

London, January 2008

Still holding the gun, I stood in front of the vehicle’s shattered windscreen. The glass was everywhere. I was about to get caught, my heart was racing but for some reason my legs were not.

I grew up on a pleasant housing estate in south London and a regular and daily visitor to our street was the Unigate milk float, driven by a rotund, tall, red-faced, jovial and kind milkman who we knew only as ‘Milko’. He was a constant and reliable presence who embodied all the best virtues of friendship and neighbourliness as he went about his daily task of delivering fresh milk to all the houses and flats on the estate. He would always be in the background at some time during the day as we played.

Two events as a child had a profound effect on me and probably determined my future professional career.

The first occurred while playing with my friends, Billy, John and Jo-Jo. I had been bought as a birthday or Christmas gift, a cowboy outfit (some might think I was to work for at least one in later life) complete with cowboy hat and belt and toy pistol. Prized amongst the set was a mechanical ‘pop’ gun. It was of thin metal construction and popular amongst young boys growing up in the 1960s. It had a long barrel rather like a toy rifle or shotgun. At the end was a cork which could be placed in the muzzle and pop out under pressure when the trigger was pulled with an accompanying satisfactory bang. To prevent injury or similar, the cork was attached to the barrel at one end by a chain or piece of string so it didn’t fly too far.

Well, this wasn’t good enough for Jo-Jo. A year or two older than me, he was the maverick leader of our little gang.

On that fateful day Jo-Jo and I were playing in the driveway of the block of flats where he, Billy and John all lived. Milko was in the flats delivering the milk and Jo-Jo and I were outside. The front of Milko’s electric milk float was facing us. Jo-Jo had the idea of replacing the supplied cork with a handful of small stones picked up from the gravel. Placing them in the barrel he pointed it directly at the windscreen of the milk float and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shattering windscreen was deafening. At this point Jo-Jo handed me the gun and shot off like a rocket to hide. I stood there for what seemed to be an eternity, not really understanding what had happened. I don’t know if I had intended to run, wasn’t fast enough or just plain stupid but in any event I didn’t move. Milko quickly emerged from the flats (the fastest I had ever seen this mature man move) where he confronted me. A short blond-haired boy wearing a pair of baggy shorts and a dumb expression was standing at the scene of the crime, holding the offending weapon. I was caught red-handed, ‘bang to rights’ as I would later know the term to be. The evidence was all around. The offender was still holding the weapon and the shattered glass of the screen said it all.

I was taken firmly by the ear and led by Milko to my house a hundred or so yards away to be greeted by my father. I’m not sure if I had protested my innocence on the way, or had ‘grassed’ Jo-Jo up by then, but both my father and Milko probably had already realised this was not in my nature. I could sense the wry smiles and hidden amusement on both of their faces as I protested my innocence. I was suitably admonished for the event by embarrassment if nothing else. Between them they sorted out how the damage was to be repaired. I don’t suppose my father was too pleased at the prospect of having to fork out for a new windscreen, when we couldn’t afford a car of our own at that time. I don’t remember any sanctions, but there must have been some. But such was the loving family environment in which I grew up that whatever the punishment, I soon forgot it.

What I did not forget was the feeling of injustice. I had been holding the offending weapon at the crime scene. The evidence was obvious and overwhelming. But it was wrong. From that day forwards I had a sense of the importance of accurately investigating the crime scene so that the guilty were brought to book and the innocent (particularly the dumb innocent as in my case) were exonerated.

The second event was as I sat on the floor of our home in front of the small black and white television. I was small. Well, I have always been small, but I was very young and very small. As I gazed up at the screen the news reporter was telling the story of some heinous crime and the in-depth police investigation. The images of police officers in dark serge uniforms and black police cars flickered across the screen. The reporter then uttered a phrase which totally enthralled me. He said ‘and a man is helping police with their enquiries.’ Wow, how exciting was that! I thought. My imagination quickly turned to a Sherlock Holmes figure, with pipe and cape, painstakingly sifting through the evidence to bring the case to a successful conclusion. I realised there and then I wanted to be that man. It was some time before I realised the true meaning of the statement I had heard, but by then it was too late and my imagination was hooked.

I didn’t have the physique to become a police officer (where my lack of height at that time would have meant certain elimination). I had to use other qualities and attributes. I would be that man who would help the police with their enquiries, and for all the right reasons.

My career in forensic science began in 1978 amid serious competition. I got a job as an Assistant Scientific Officer at the Metropolitan Police Forensic Science Laboratory. I consider myself extremely fortunate as I am sure there were people with far better examination grades amongst those who didn’t get through. Perhaps the words ‘tenacity’ and ‘sense of purpose’, which occurred in my early school reports, had some effect.

For two years I worked in the Criminalistics, Drugs and Toxicology sections. This was my apprenticeship in forensics and gave me a great underpinning knowledge of the science I was going to use as a tool later. It wasn’t just about the science though, it was the people too. I got to know many committed experts in all the fields at the lab, contacts I would use later whenever I needed advice. The lab, however, wasn’t for me, and when, in 1980, twelve places became came available as scenes of crime officers, I jumped at the chance. My lab experience gave me an advantage over many other candidates and, following a good interview, I was offered a post.

The hardest thing to do in early life is to decide what you want to be when you grow up. Once you have that vision and goal it only takes time and tenacity to realise it. Although my goals and vision meandered as I grew into adulthood, the events which I had experienced as a child sparked off my imagination and determination.

Throughout thousands of investigations, I found horror and tragedy, humour and fun, life at its worst and at its best.

It was always for me a search for the truth. I didn’t concern myself with justice. I quickly realised that was for others. If I used my best efforts to establish truth that would be contribution enough, so that is what I did.