Costes financieros de los servicios del agua

On October 11, 1923, just outside the small town of Siskiyou, Oregon, in the mountains of the same name, the Portland–San Francisco Express Train No. 13 approached Tunnel 13, not far from the California border. Unbeknownst to the crew and passengers, two bandits hopped the mail car as it slowly approached the north entrance to the tunnel, and a third waited on a hillside just outside the south exit with his trigger finger on a bomb detonator. The train stopped unexpectedly just as the engine and the first few cars emerged from the south side of the tunnel; the mail car was halfway out, and the passenger and baggage cars remained in the tunnel. The bomb, planted in the mail car and presumably meant only to breach its integrity, exploded and, much to the horror of the robbers, not to mention the crew and passengers, ignited a fire. The mail clerk burned to death at his post, while the engineer, fireman, and brakeman were shot to death on a nearby hillside. The bandits were forced to abandon their loot, presumably the securities and sums of money carried in the mail car, and disappeared into the surrounding hills. The conductor, who had been riding in a rear car, and therefore escaping detection by the robbers, emerged and immediately called the authorities from an emergency telephone located at the south end of the tunnel.

Soon deputy sheriffs and other officers from nearby towns converged on the scene. On the slope just outside the southern end of the tunnel, they found the remains of a detonator with two batteries attached and with wires running to the train tracks. Close to the detonator, they found a revolver, a pair of greasy blue-denim overalls, and a pair of gunnysack shoes soaked in creosote, presumably to keep tracking dogs from detecting the scent. A knapsack, a suit of underwear, a pair of socks, a canteen, and a water bag were collected from a cabin close to the site. A local tramp reported seeing two men jump aboard the mail car as the train approached the northern end of the tunnel.

Posses and canine searches led nowhere. It was suggested that the batteries from the detonator might have come from a local shop. A group of men converged on the shop and, convinced that the grime on the lone mechanic’s hands and face resembled that on the overalls found at the scene, forced him to try them on. Convinced of a perfect fit, the men hauled the mechanic, over his protests of innocence, off to the local jail. However, the police failed to connect him to the crime in any other way. The blue overalls were sent to Edward O. Heinrich in Berkeley, along with a description of the garage mechanic. After carefully examining the overalls, he issued the following report:

You are holding the wrong man.… The overalls you sent me were worn by a left-handed lumberjack accustomed to working around fir trees. He is a white man between 21 and 25 years of age, not over five feet ten inches tall and he weighs about 165 pounds. He has medium light brown hair, a fair complexion, light brown eye-brows, small hands and feet, and he is rather fastidious in his personal habits. Apparently he has lived and worked in the Pacific Northwest. Look for such a man. You will be hearing more from me shortly.

The garage mechanic was release on the strength of Heinrich’s report.

How did Heinrich reach such astounding inferences? He concluded that, instead of oil and grease, the apparent grime was tree pitch, more specifically, fir pitch. From the right-hand pocket, he extracted a variety of grains, particles, and chips. From a microscopic examination, he determined that the particulate matter comprised bits of Douglas fir needles, fir chips, and fingernail clippings. He also recovered a strand of hair caught in a button. From the pocket contents, he surmised that the wearer was a lumberjack who worked around fir trees; the color, cross-sectional shape, and width of the hair apparently allowed him to determine that it came from the head of a Caucasian between the ages of 21 and 25.

60 Principles and Practice of Criminalistics

Few working criminalists today would support the extrapolation of such specific details about a person’s life and habits from the examination of phys- ical evidence, let alone a single glove or pair of overalls. Such inferences were probably overstatements even for the time, but with the increasingly mobile and eclectic nature of our society, they become irresponsible at best, mislead- ing at worst. Most forensic scientists practicing in the current climate shy away from grand sweeping Holmesian deductions, instead limiting themselves to

Heinrich was convinced that the man was left-handed. This conclusion was based on the finding of wood chips in the right pocket, where he said they would land while a left-handed person chopped a tree (his right side would be facing the tree, and the wood chips would fly in), the wear on the left side pockets, and his observation that the overall had been buttoned exclusively from the left side. The neatness of the fingernail trimmings convinced him of the fastidious nature of the man. The height, he calculated by measuring the overalls between the shoulder buckles and the bottoms of the trouser legs. Heinrich maintained that the fact that the left buckle was 3_{/4 inch higher than the right}

was further proof of left-handedness. The creases on the bottom of each leg told him that they had been tucked into shoe tops, “just as a lumberjack does.”

The most concrete finding, extricated from a deep narrow pencil pocket in the bib, was a registered mail receipt for $50 sent by Roy D’Autrement from Eugene, Oregon to his brother in Lakewood, New Mexico. This piece of information led police to Paul D’Autrement, father of three sons, Roy and Ray (who were twins), and Hugh. The elder D’Autrement recounted that his sons had vanished the day before the train was held up. His description of Roy appeared to coincide with Heinrich’s description, and he was a left-handed lumberjack.

A number of personal items were collected from the D’Autrement house. Heinrich matched a hair from a towel used by Roy to the one from the overall button. From the items in the cabin, he determined that the knapsack contained fir needle fragments and was mended with the same coarse black thread that had been used to mend the overalls — it was “identical.” From measurements of the underwear and socks, he calculated the stature and physique of the wearer, and, deciding that the person was larger than the owner of the overalls, concluded that such a person exactly matched the description of Ray given by his father.

From the Colt automatic revolver, from which the external serial number had been partially obliterated, he found a second, internal serial number. The gun was traced to a store in Seattle and had been sold to, and signed for, by a William Elliott. Elliott’s signature was sent to Heinrich, who established that it was — “identical” — to that of Roy D’Autrement. According to the gun dealer, the gun buyer fitted the description of Roy. Finally, a canteen and water bag were reported to have been sold from an army surplus store in Eugene to three men who had come in together. According to Block, “Obviously, these were the three brothers, and they must have used the cabin as their rendezvous before the robbery.”

Three years later, in March, 1927, Hugh D’Autrement was arrested after a former military colleague recognized his photograph on a wanted poster. A month later, an elderly gentleman, rec- ognized the twins’ photographs from an article in the Sunday paper. They were picked up from the Ohio steel mill where they had been working under false names. Hugh was tried first, and convicted, inspiring the twins to confess, as finally did Hugh himself. They were all sentenced to life imprisonment in the Oregon State Penitentiary at Salem.

It is difficult to know from a historical account what part the forensic evidence actually played in the investigation and conviction of the D’Autrement brothers. Most forensic scientists working today would agree that Heinrich’s conclusions, the significance he accorded them, and the confidence with which they were proffered, far exceeded the data on which they were based. However, no one can disagree that Heinrich was instrumental in popularizing forensic science, and educating law enforce- ment and the public about the potential contributions of physical evidence to the solution of crime. Source: Based on Block, E. B., The Wizard of Berkeley, Coward-McCann, New York, 1958.

reconstruction as either corroborating or confuting eyewitness reports, or providing information in the absence of any eyewitness evidence. DeForest, Lee, and Gaensslen (1983) suggest that:

Reconstruction refers to the process of putting the “pieces” of a case or situation together with the objective of reaching an understanding of a sequence of past events based on the record of physical evidence that has resulted from the events. Reconstructions are often desirable in criminal cases in which eyewitness evidence is absent or unreliable. Identification and individualization of physical evidence can play important roles in pro- viding data for reconstructions in some cases.

According to Saferstein (1998):

The physical evidence left behind at a crime scene plays a crucial role in reconstructing the events that took place surrounding the crime. Although the evidence alone does not describe everything that happened, it can sup- port or contradict accounts given by witnesses and/or suspects. Information obtained from physical evidence can also generate leads and confirm the reconstruction of a crime to a jury. The collection and documentation of physical evidence is the foundation of a reconstruction. Reconstruction

supports a likely sequence of events by the observation and evaluation of physical evidence, as well as statements made by witnesses and those involved with the incident [emphasis in the original].

Clearly, the more experienced we become in the use of physical evidence to provide information about crimes, the greater caution we take in interpreting results and making inferences about actual events. For the most part, modern- day criminalists understand that grand feats of detection are best left in the literary venue. However, perhaps some have even retreated too far into their havens of specialty within the laboratory. Few criminalists today consider it within their purview to suggest a reconstruction, and for those with only specialty training, they are correct. Associating objects and events in space and time tends to be left to the old-timers or, more commonly, the detective or attorney. In our opinion, the well-rounded and properly trained criminalist is still the best-qualified person to perform a reconstruction.

Even in the midst of discerning detailed event sequences from a single blood spatter patter, Kirk tempers his enthusiasm with the understanding that:

A single piece of evidence is rarely sufficient in itself to establish proof of guilt or innocence.

62 Principles and Practice of Criminalistics

D.

The State of the Practice

1. Continuing Themes

Throughout the short history of forensic science, some common themes have developed, mostly in the form of controversies and complaints. In the closing section of this chapter, we enumerate the most pervasive of these and com- ment briefly on the current state of the profession with regard to some of these concerns.

a. Recognition and Collection of Evidence

Perhaps the most bitter and persistent complaint throughout the history of criminalistics has been the lack of adequate training in crime scene proce- dures. In fact, most of the “police science” or “crime detection” books* specifically address, at least in part, the audience of nonscientifically oriented police officers and detectives who are virtually always the first to arrive at a scene. More often than not, a law enforcement officer or evidence collection technician with minimal scientific training is the person tasked with the all- important charge of recognizing and collecting evidence. Less and less often will a criminalist from the laboratory be called to the crime scene, and the decision to do so is usually that of those already there. The individual making decisions about what evidence to collect and the person given the responsi- bility to collect it vary widely between jurisdictions, so it is difficult to gen- eralize. Although numerous well-credentialed authors have stressed the importance of allowing the criminalist access to the scene,** budget con- straints and resource management often preclude even the possibility. For instance, even in those jurisdictions where a homicide might justify the services of a criminalist, dusting for prints at the site of a burglary might not. O’Hara and Osterburg, then members of the New York City Police Department, in Introduction to Criminalistics, published in 1949, are partic- ularly critical of this situation. They speak of the “inability of civil service to attract competent personnel” and, in the face of the already present separa- tion of the criminalist from the crime scene, emphasize the “importance of field work for the working criminalist,” describing the analysis as “a routine affair which may be entrusted to an ordinary technician.” They also point out the paucity of texts written “to make a detective out of the scientist,” noting, even then, the trend toward training specialized officers to collect evidence for the criminalist waiting in the laboratory.

* A great number of these books have been written throughout history. They include Gross, 1891; Else and Garrow, 1934; May, 1936; Grant, 1941; Svensson and Wendel, 1955; Nickolls, 1956; Cuthbert, 1958; Jones and Gabard, 1959; Williams, 1967; Kind and Overman, 1972; Fisher, 1992.

** Ibid.

interpret the information so obtained.” He espouses the presence of the criminalist at the scene stating “categorically that more laboratory failures are due to inadequate collection of the existing evidence than are caused by the failure of the laboratory to examine it properly.” Svensson (Svensson and Wendel, 1955) a Swedish author, in Crime Detection, provides one of the first specific descriptions of proper crime scene procedure. He emphasizes the duty of the responding officer in preserving the scene and stresses the care with which evidence should be handled.

L. C. Nickolls, then director of the Metropolitan Police Laboratory, New Scotland Yard, in The Scientific Investigation of Crime, published in 1956, provides some of the most compelling justification for calling the analyst to the scene. He describes the functions of the scientist as:

• To examine the general circumstances of the crime and form an opinion from the scientific angle of the nature of the events preceding the police investigation.

• To examine the scene of the crime for any unusual articles or fragments of material which have meaning to him in his special capacity as an expert but for some reason might not be suspected as being of value to the lay mind.

• To suggest from the examination of the scene what possibilities of future scientific action exist and, therefore, what kind of samples the police can expect to find of scientific value.

• Most important — to see for himself what the exact circumstances of the crime have been so that at the subsequent examination of the various scientific exhibits and also, if necessary, at the trial, the expert will know these circumstances. He will thus not be making examinations or giving evidence when has no first-hand knowledge of the reason why he is making the examination or of what value or purpose is his subsequent evidence.

In 1959, Leland Jones, one-time commander of the Scientific Investigation Division of the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD), and Gabard wrote

Scientific Investigation and Physical Evidence; A Handbook for Investigators. In

a surreal prescient comment (re: the Simpson case) he ironically suggests that the most valuable physical evidence may be worthless if inefficiently handled. He divides the handling of physical evidence into four phases:

1. Gathering all potential evidence at scene or elsewhere. 2. Marking it correctly.

3. Keeping the chain of continuity straight. 4. Preventing contamination.

64 Principles and Practice of Criminalistics

For reasons that continue to elude us (which means they must be adminis- trative or fiscal), the system continues to try to force square pegs into round holes, placing the onus of all-important evidence collection on those least trained to recognize it, and sequestering the criminalist in the laboratory with the expensive equipment.

b. Is Criminalistics an Autonomous Scientific Discipline?

Criminalistics is sometimes regarded, especially by those outside of the pro- fession, as a bastard child, essentially a parasitic branch of knowledge com- pletely dependent on the academic sciences for its continued existence (O’Hara and Osterburg, 1949). In his 1963 monograph, The Ontogeny of

Criminalistics Kirk already had the foresight to address the question of

whether criminalistics is an autonomous branch of learning. In addition to recognizing the basic attributes that categorize any particular endeavor as scientific, Kirk inquires whether criminalistics qualifies as an independent body of knowledge.

Is criminalistics a science? According to most definitions, a science consists

of an orderly and consistent body of knowledge, based on fundamental principles that can be clearly stated. Such a body of knowledge allows prediction as well as interpretation. Recognized sciences are characterized by research effort that produces constantly increasing theoretical and tech- nical knowledge. Does criminalistics qualify? It is based on apparently sim- ple but not clearly enunciated principles of individualization and individuality. In this sense it does not encroach on other sciences, but is a separate and unique area. It is unfortunate that the great body of knowledge which exists in this field is largely uncoordinated and has not yet been codified in clear and simple terms. The body of knowledge is constantly being increased by a moderate research effort, largely technical rather than theoretical. It seems fair to state that criminalistics may now be considered a science in its own right, but that it lacks at this time the full development that will allow general recognition. Even in its present state, it allows pre- diction as well as interpretation. It should be developed so as to achieve full recognition as a separate scientific discipline.

The situation, unfortunately, hasn’t changed much since Kirk described it 40 years ago. Technical innovations, especially in instrumentation, have far outdistanced any attempts to establish a theoretical framework for criminal- istics as an autonomous discipline. The dearth of, and recent alarming decrease in, academic programs in forensic science only serves to underscore the dangers of analysis without a framework for thoughtful interpretation. As Kirk so succinctly states, “a thoroughly competent investigator without much equipment is far better off than an incompetent investigator with 8127/frame/ch02 Page 64 Friday, July 21, 2000 11:51 AM

c. Is Criminalistics a Profession?

In The Ontogeny of Criminalistics (1963), Kirk lists three criteria that a pro- fession must meet: (1) extensive training at a high educational level, (2) a generally recognized and accepted code of behavior or ethics, and (3) estab- lishment of competence. The parameters that Kirk promulgates seem both reasonable and comprehensive. Did criminalistics in 1963 satisfy the require-