Murder Most Florid

by Mark A. Spencer

  By convention, scientific plant names are italicised; the main reason for this is that the name stands out on the page. You will also notice that sometimes I use the abbreviation ‘spp.’, which simply means more than one species of plant (e.g. Acer spp. will refer to two or more species of Acer). On occasion, I will also mention plant families. Like genus, the family can be thought of as a collective noun. In this case, a collective noun for related genera (the plural of genus). For example, in the mint family (Lamiaceae), there are many genera including sage (Salvia), lavender (Lavandula), thyme (Thymus) and marjoram (Origanum). Even a brief list like this can convey more meaning than merely the identity of the plants themselves. If I were presented with this list and asked to say where in the world this group of plants originated from, I would suggest the Mediterranean. These plants are classic indicators of the Mediterranean and are typically found in aromatic and thorny shrubland in sunny locations that are seasonally hot and dry.

  The idea that plants can help fight crime causes much surprise and some confusion in most people, even the police. In many cases, people think that my work involves studying plants that can be used to poison people. On occasion I do examine poisonous plants, but not that often. Recently, I met someone who assumed that being a forensic botanist meant that I was particularly careful in my critique of urban land management practices. In the context of what we were discussing, it was a reasonable assumption, but the suggestion did rather take me by surprise. My work as a forensic botanist largely focuses on helping to reveal how and when serious crimes such as murder occurred. Plants and other organisms react to the presence of the dead, they grow around human remains and can become time capsules enshrouding the person and bearing tell-tale signs of what happened. My work also involves searching for the dead. Some of the work I do is on ‘cold cases’ in which I aim to help the police find murder victims hidden in our landscape. Plants, and other aspects of the landscape, can be used to help locate missing or murdered people. Burying victims in woodland leaves a trace, even after several years. Finally, using trace evidence from the environment, especially leaf and fruit fragments, I help to link suspects to crime scenes or victims. As people move about, they come into contact with plants. Fragments of plants (and other trace evidence such as fibres, soil, insects) become attached to suspects, their possessions or their victims. Each fragment can lead to a better understanding of how a crime was committed.

  Forensic botany is not a discipline that works best in isolation. It is part of a wider sphere of forensic work known as environmental forensics, a catch-all term that refers to any material from the natural world that can be used forensically. Data derived from soil, insects, animals, plants and fungi all qualify as environmental. Building an understanding of how a crime can leave traces in the environment is challenging and complex. New areas of scientific research exploring the chemistry of decay and diversity of the microbial world offer exciting new opportunities for using environmental forensics in the courtroom. I’ll explore this in more detail later.

  As engaging as the typical television crime dramas are, they are poor reflections of reality. In arguably the most famous of these series, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, the viewer is often treated to the main character, Gil Grissom, solving the case using his nimble mind and mastery of several unrelated scientific disciplines. He’s a forensic entomologist, but he also appears to be a dab hand at criminal psychology, fingerprinting, DNA analysis and gunshot residue, among other things. Sadly, most of us are really not that gifted, and if you encounter a forensics specialist who claims to have such a wide scope of abilities, I would advise you to be very sceptical indeed. In many cases, it can take years to fully hone your skills in any one aspect of the forensic environment. On screen, the aura of scientific brilliance and geekery is enhanced by snazzy computer facilities, mysterious machines that whirl and multicoloured test tubes. And lab coats. If you’re clever, you’ve got to have a lab coat. And, it will be pristine. When I was doing my PhD, my lab coat always looked like I’d just dug up this season’s potatoes. Yes, there may be some modern technology available but often it is as simple as careful observation and a good-quality microscope. Television programmes focusing on the high-tech often lead the viewer to believe that crimes are solved in the blink of an eye using gadgets. Usually, they are not. Often the work is time consuming and is based upon long-established techniques and a thorough understanding of a scientific area of study. In my case, plants.

  For the first forty-plus years of my life I never conceived that my love of plants would take me on this journey. I never considered that plants and I could play a part in understanding how the act of committing a crime unfolds or that my knowledge could help bring comfort to the families and friends of the deceased.

  Not surprisingly, confidentiality is paramount. It is amazing how some people try and wheedle information out of you. I am very cautious, having once been duped by a journalist (on a matter unrelated to forensics) when I worked for the Natural History Museum. Now, I have become quite adept at talking expansively without saying anything substantive about my work! Knowing what has happened to someone long before a case has gone to court is a strange experience, as is seeing it on the news and knowing some of the ‘truth’! This leads me to needing to disappoint; if you are reading this book in the hope of finding out something exciting about a case you’ve seen on television, you’ll need to head towards the internet. While I have drawn upon cases I have worked on and in parts directly referenced some of them, I have left out key pieces of information relating to names and locations. Also, I have not fully described real examples of evidence. To do so would cause harm to my professional reputation and could affect the outcome of an investigation. Indeed, some of the cases I have been involved with are still ongoing, particularly missing person searches. Even for those that have gone to trial there is always the possibility that an appeal may be launched. Most importantly to me, it must be awful to be reminded of your loss if you’re the friend or relative of someone who has died under these circumstances. Therefore, when talking or writing about the work I do, I endeavour to ensure the anonymity of the cases I have worked on. I have a creeping dread of being held to account by an audience member (or reader) announcing that I have just been discussing the death of someone they love. I know it’s unlikely, but it could happen. Where appropriate, I have drawn upon publicly documented cases that I have not worked upon to illustrate the points I am making or to explore techniques that I have not used or am not professionally competent to use. For example, I will discuss the role of forensic botany during the investigation of the murder of the son of the pioneer aviator Charles Lindbergh in the 1930s and the murder of Joanne Nelson in Hull, Yorkshire in 2004.

  After my first case, I had to learn quickly about how criminal investigations were managed and structured. I soon discovered that there is a complex ecology of people working with different mindsets and power infrastructures. I had to learn the behaviours and foibles of each new police force and crime-scene team when I met them. I expect they had to do the same thing with me: they were probably wondering ‘what’s that flower bloke doing?’.

  Broadly speaking, most forces arrange their teams in the following manner. Crimes scenes are usually overseen by crime-scene managers (CSMs), who supervise a team of crime-scene investigators (CSIs); these are also known in some forces as scene of crime officers (SOCOs). Their role is to secure and manage the crime scene. Some will have specialisms in specific areas of forensics, but generally their role is to identify, record and recover forensic evidence from crime scenes. As the Nottinghamshire Police website says, ‘Unlike CSI: Miami, CSIs in Nottinghamshire do not analyse evidence themselves or arrest criminals!’. CSMs are the police staff I most closely work with.

  Alongside the CSI team are the police search advisors (PolSAs). They and their team are warranted officers. I can’t help myself here, but I must be a little cheeky: these people are often the tough ones in the team. I say this
with respect, as they do a very hard job. It is often these people you’ll see on television conducting searches. They must be tough, both in mind as well as in body. Some of them are built like bulldozers and clearly could snap me in half with ease. Needless to say, I’ll often find myself gravitating to the ones with broken noses. They’re also usually quite a lot of fun! Being on a crime scene can be exhausting and depressing, and sometimes a breath of levity is most certainly needed.

  Most of the time it is the PolSAs and the CSIs and CSMs that I work with. The detectives tend to come and go. This is not due to a lack of commitment but because they often must be elsewhere. Sometimes there will be more than one crime scene in an investigation, or they may need to interview witnesses or suspects; and they’re often also working on other cases. Overall, I’ve found that detectives seem to be the most stressed and at times, frankly, rather irascible members of the team. I don’t think it’s necessarily a character flaw, because their work is stressful. I’d be bloody awful at it. Not the sleuthy part, but the bit where you must deal with murderers and are then expected to be even-handed and professional in meetings. It’s a lot to balance.

  Far away from the crime scene, back at headquarters, are the forensic submissions staff. These are the people who approve expenditure. In nearly every organisation anyone with this role is rarely the most popular member of staff, and, in my experience, this is also true with the police. On occasion I find myself sharing those feelings; it seems that approval for expenditure gets sucked into a morass while the clock ticks. And, for me and other biologists working in forensics, time is our enemy. The longer a scene or an exhibit is left, the greater the chance that living or dead biological material will change, degrade or be lost. People in centrally heated offices tend to forget that outdoors, seasons change and so do the plants and animals that inhabit a crime scene. This can seriously affect the potential to retrieve relevant biological data. In one case, I have waited over eighteen months to be called to a crime scene to undertake a botany survey. Conducting one can be relatively simple: I make a list of the plants present at a crime scene. Surveys are very important because they are the foundation on which I can compare plant fragments retrieved from exhibits with what is present at a crime scene. Critically, non-botanists often don’t realise that many plants are highly seasonal; they’ll be easy to see in spring and impossible in the autumn. So, if I am obliged to wait six or more months to do a survey, my job gets a lot harder.

  Working alongside the police forces are specialists from forensic service providers (FSPs). This is policy and management speak for commercial companies that provide specialist skills the police either do not have in-house or are unable to deploy owing to resource limitations. On occasion, police forces may not be able to deploy their own specialists to a crime scene if their staff are already committed elsewhere. The police are then obliged to purchase these specialist services from the FSPs. I am on call to work as a subcontractor for the FSPs if they need my expertise. I don’t know of an FSP that employs their own forensic botanist; we are quite niche! My work as a forensic botanist means that I am also an expert witness and, if necessary, I attend court to explain my work and my conclusions.

  2

  The Deposition Scene

  It’s February, and almost a year after my first case. I’m huddled in the back of a cramped police car and as we negotiate our way through dense urban traffic, all I can see through the rain-spattered windows are the red and orange rear lights of the vehicles in front of us. Periodically, we are blinded by those awful LED headlights of the oncoming cars. The previous day, I was working in the museum, when my desk phone rang. The caller told me that a man’s remains had been found on a small piece of derelict land carved out over the decades by the creation of a canal, railway and bypass. The police urgently need to establish how long his remains have been at the deposition scene. Depositions may be due to accidental death, natural death, suicide or by a someone murdering them at the scene or transporting the body to that location. Unsurprisingly, graves always involve third parties.

  As we drive to the scene, the crime-scene manager explains the background to the case and how the person was found. Finally, after about twenty minutes we pull over onto the hard shoulder of the trunk road. In front of us, two further police vehicles are parked. As we get out of the car, I prepare myself for meeting the people working on the case. I always slightly dread introductions since I have a horrible memory for people’s names and tend to forget them with great rapidity. Sometimes I try and deflate this fear by making a feeble joke about wishing the person was a plant or a fungus, because I’d remember their name then. This is certainly not the time for feeble jokes, so I try and look intelligent and attentive. This is not too hard, it’s fairly dark and spitting with rain, and we can’t see too much of each other as we gather for another briefing. For the third time, I listen to someone explain the background of the case, this time it’s a detective. After almost a year of forensic casework, I’ve almost learnt to appear less impatient than I really am. Repetition can be useful. It drives home information and as I’ve discovered, serious crime investigations are conducted by sub-groups of people with their own hierarchies and decision-making processes. It’s vital that each of these – forensic service providers, crime-scene managers, police search advisors and the detectives – are all aware of what is known and what is planned. To a new boy like me, this can be confusing. Who calls the shots? I try to appear self-assured and avoid stumbling over the acronyms.

  Before we enter the triangle of derelict land, we are required to endure the health and safety talk. This is delivered by one of the PolSA team, who informs us that there is a very steep embankment leading to the deposition scene and that some of the ground is boggy. I groan to myself and in my mind sarcastically thank the officer for telling us about mud! It’s a bit like telling a gardener that roses have thorns. The PolSA continues: there is a lot of traffic because there are big roads nearby, don’t walk into them. Internally, I feel another shudder of sarcasm. To ram home my pain, the PolSA seems to devote especial attention in explaining all of this to me personally. I suspect that he thinks because I’m not big and burly that somehow I’m delicate, which I most certainly am not. I respond by merrily explaining that we botanists are very much used to this sort of terrain. There’s nothing we like more than a patch of marsh to go squelching around in. I’ve even been known to strip to my underpants when exploring a particularly fascinating wetland. I spare the PolSA that detail.

  The slope is indeed very steep and rather slippery. Coming down the slope with me is a woman who will become very important to me in my future work. Her name is Sophie and she works as a forensic anthropologist. The need to study human bones as part of the development of modern medicine has resulted in the creation of many discrete disciplines. Of these disciplines, forensic anthropology was developed to understand the effects of human (and sometimes non-human) activity on the remains of the dead. Forensic anthropologists are very often called to crime scenes, but their work is not limited to that. Accidental deaths or suicide investigations may also require their skills. As we walk along, Sophie presses the CSM on the details of the case. She wants to know more about the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the body. She also asks if the remains have been disturbed since the discovery. I can tell by the look in her eye that she won’t be pleased if they have. Sophie is quite curt, and I sense that she is respected. Straight away, I rather like her. Her swift, no-nonsense approach appeals. She isn’t bullish but I can see that her directness is intimidating to some. I find it refreshing, and I can understand what drives her to this. People have a horrible tendency to dither when in a group, but Sophie wants and needs to get things moving. This is not merely impatience. There are many reasons why rapid, measured action is needed, the most important being that the remains need to be retrieved and secured.

  The CSM explains that the police don’t know for certain who the person is, but they believe tha
t the bones may be those of a man who disappeared a decade earlier. There is still enough light to see the ground and the vegetation reasonably clearly. Still standing from the previous summer, the skeletal remains of last year’s flower stems hang on. The worn-ivory radiating, symmetrical stems of cow parsley (Anthriscus sylvestris) stand out against the drab browns and greens of decaying nettle (Urtica dioica), cock’s-foot (Dactylis glomerata) and bramble (Rubus spp.) stems. As we walk forward, the vegetation fades away; we are now beneath a fly-over and the ground is almost entirely bare; hardly a drop of rain has touched here in years. What was once a flower-rich field in a river valley is now cracked clay covered with a dusting of dry tree leaves and litter blown down from the nearby roads. There are signs of rough sleeping amongst the smashed-up and burnt-out remains of domestic rubbish and vehicle parts. Teenagers have been having fun.

  Someone has already created a common entry path. The aim of common entry paths is to minimise disturbance and preserve evidence. Despite our best efforts, we humans are rather predictable. Imagine you’ve committed a crime; it’s the depths of night and you need to move quickly to avoid discovery. Nearly all of us would follow in the footsteps of others, using existing paths. As a result, for at least part of their route, criminals tend to stick to paths already created by dog walkers and those who enjoy the countryside. It is here that the investigation needs to preserve evidence. The aim of a well-planned common entry path is to plan a route to the scene that does not appear to have been disturbed by human activity. This should ensure that any evidence remains intact.