Beating the Devil's Game: A History of Forensic Science and Criminal by Katherine Ramsland Page B
Authors: Katherine Ramsland
Tags: Law, Forensic Science
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and two other medical experts contradicted one another on matters in which there should have been no dispute, leaving the case in a muddle, but Smethurst was nevertheless convicted and sentenced to hang.
The press jumped on this case, as did other professionals, criticizing the expert testimony and asking how such eminent people could disagree on matters based in proper scientific analysis. A collection of medical men composed and signed a letter to the home secretary insisting that the case receive further attention, as there had been no clear proof of poisoning. Officials sent it to yet another medical expert for analysis, and finally the defendant won a pardon. The way his case had been handled brought shame to the profession and detractors of forensic medicine dubbed it a “beastly science,” which forced physicians to greater accountability. The toxicologists and anatomists had to work hard to recover their dignity and credibility. But eventually, they did.
FOUR
OUTER MAN, INNER MAN
THE MEASURE OF A MAN
As cities expanded during the nineteenth century, crime rates rose, and it was no longer sufficient to be able to identify a thief or burglar on sight. Few investigators possessed the prodigious memory of Vidocq for case details and criminal faces, and while photography was used in some places as a means of preserving images, the number of photographs added up and took up space with little sense of organization. No one had yet devised a system for sorting through them, and since criminals often used disguises, pinning crimes on specific perpetrators often required specific identifiers. People involved in law enforcement and science were working on that goal.
Christian Freidrich Schonbein developed the first presumptive blood tests in 1863, basing his discovery on observation that the reaction between hydrogen peroxide and hemoglobin took on the appearance of “foaming” as the oxygen bubbles rose. Schonbein reasoned that if an unknown stain foamed when hydrogen peroxide was applied to it, then that stain probably contained hemoglobin, and therefore was likely to be blood. However, he could not prove that it was human blood, specifically.
Other scientists studied the structure of the body. Belgian statistician Lambert Quételet set forth the notion in the early 1860s that no two human beings shared the exact same dimensions. Over two decades before, he had published
On Man
, in which he proposed statistical studies of intellectual development. The warden of Louvain Prison agreed with Quételet about the physical dimensions and applied the hypothesis to his charges by taking their physical measurements. Yet while Quételet’s methods failed to catch on with a wider audience, physical anthropology, which had been in the lexicon since 1593, dominated mid-nineteenth-century discussions about crime.
Among those who made a significant contribution was a man interested in human remains. In Paris, the ancient cemetery of the Celestins was undergoing excavation, and while many of the remains had decomposed into dust or bone fragments, some skeletons remained intact. Paul Pierre Broca, a former child prodigy with academic degrees in literature, mathematics, medicine, and physics, was a professor of surgical pathology at the University of Paris. He was interested in cartilage and bone structure, as well as cancer, the behavior of blood, and the mechanisms of the brain in language processing. He would soon gain the distinction of having his name applied to the part of the frontal lobe of the brain, Broca’s area, which he proved, via intensive study of aphasic patients, was responsible for speech production.
It was his work in the cemetery in 1847, however, that led him in another direction. Broca was well-read in anthropology and although he was denounced as a materialist corruptor of youth for his support of Charles Darwin’s theory, in 1859 he founded the Anthropological Society, along with a laboratory at the École
The press jumped on this case, as did other professionals, criticizing the expert testimony and asking how such eminent people could disagree on matters based in proper scientific analysis. A collection of medical men composed and signed a letter to the home secretary insisting that the case receive further attention, as there had been no clear proof of poisoning. Officials sent it to yet another medical expert for analysis, and finally the defendant won a pardon. The way his case had been handled brought shame to the profession and detractors of forensic medicine dubbed it a “beastly science,” which forced physicians to greater accountability. The toxicologists and anatomists had to work hard to recover their dignity and credibility. But eventually, they did.
FOUR
OUTER MAN, INNER MAN
THE MEASURE OF A MAN
As cities expanded during the nineteenth century, crime rates rose, and it was no longer sufficient to be able to identify a thief or burglar on sight. Few investigators possessed the prodigious memory of Vidocq for case details and criminal faces, and while photography was used in some places as a means of preserving images, the number of photographs added up and took up space with little sense of organization. No one had yet devised a system for sorting through them, and since criminals often used disguises, pinning crimes on specific perpetrators often required specific identifiers. People involved in law enforcement and science were working on that goal.
Christian Freidrich Schonbein developed the first presumptive blood tests in 1863, basing his discovery on observation that the reaction between hydrogen peroxide and hemoglobin took on the appearance of “foaming” as the oxygen bubbles rose. Schonbein reasoned that if an unknown stain foamed when hydrogen peroxide was applied to it, then that stain probably contained hemoglobin, and therefore was likely to be blood. However, he could not prove that it was human blood, specifically.
Other scientists studied the structure of the body. Belgian statistician Lambert Quételet set forth the notion in the early 1860s that no two human beings shared the exact same dimensions. Over two decades before, he had published
On Man
, in which he proposed statistical studies of intellectual development. The warden of Louvain Prison agreed with Quételet about the physical dimensions and applied the hypothesis to his charges by taking their physical measurements. Yet while Quételet’s methods failed to catch on with a wider audience, physical anthropology, which had been in the lexicon since 1593, dominated mid-nineteenth-century discussions about crime.
Among those who made a significant contribution was a man interested in human remains. In Paris, the ancient cemetery of the Celestins was undergoing excavation, and while many of the remains had decomposed into dust or bone fragments, some skeletons remained intact. Paul Pierre Broca, a former child prodigy with academic degrees in literature, mathematics, medicine, and physics, was a professor of surgical pathology at the University of Paris. He was interested in cartilage and bone structure, as well as cancer, the behavior of blood, and the mechanisms of the brain in language processing. He would soon gain the distinction of having his name applied to the part of the frontal lobe of the brain, Broca’s area, which he proved, via intensive study of aphasic patients, was responsible for speech production.
It was his work in the cemetery in 1847, however, that led him in another direction. Broca was well-read in anthropology and although he was denounced as a materialist corruptor of youth for his support of Charles Darwin’s theory, in 1859 he founded the Anthropological Society, along with a laboratory at the École
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