informed.
The forensic team, under Dr. Cochran’s supervision, performs all the prescribed tasks; evidence is collected, samples and prints are taken, the bodies are identified, bagged and made ready to be sent to FBI headquarters for autopsy. The entire scene is photographed, and then photographed again, especially the writing on the chest. The LA Times is bagged and also the meticulously marked piece of newspaper on the floor close to the torso of Emily Cho.
Schein asks the San Diego detectives to contact a local lock company to secure the residence. Anything golf related is collected, bagged and marked, as well as Emily Cho’s clothing items in the hamper.
When it is determined that her keys and car are missing, several calls are made until they discover the car is found abandoned at Aviara.
The bloody towels in both bathrooms are bagged and marked. Samples are taken from each blood spot on the floors, the bathtubs, sinks; every spot is noted for identification.
Agent Schein has a reputation for reviewing the scene after it has been processed and today is no exception. He studies every bit of evidence for himself before it is disturbed. He takes copious notes; in his mind, each piece of evidence is pregnant with clues and he considers it a personal failure if anything is missed.
When the forensic team concludes their responsibilities, Schein makes another tour of the entire house, looking for anything they might have missed. He knows there must be an explanation for the missing hand and eyeballs, but what is it? After his inspection of the bedrooms, he walks slowly back up the hallway.
He reaches the front bathroom, enters and lets his eyes drift around the room. The tub is smeared with blood, and there is more blood on the floor beside the tub. He turns the light on and lets his eyes follow the walls around the room. It is then that he notices an irregularity in the pattern of the window curtain adjacent to the bathroom sink. He walks up to it and there, amidst a collage of red and green parrots is a smear of blood.
“Hey! Somebody bring me a medium bag!” he yells out the door.
Dr. Cochran quickly appears with the bag. Lou removes the curtain from the rod and carefully folds it with the blood smear upright and inserts it in the bag. He asks the coroner to mark it, then bends down and looks for more blood on the floor. After close examination, he is satisfied there is none.
He starts to stand when the face of the sink catches his eye. It is an old, cast iron, wall-hung sink, typical of a house this age. The front rim is perpendicular to the floor and about four inches wide. He cranes his neck, follows the rim around to the side that faces the wall and with his head pressed against the wall, he can see the wall side of the rim.
There it is! A single drop of blood has fallen on the edge of the sink but has not dripped to the floor.
“Dr. Cochran! Get one of those forensic techs in here with a blood kit!”
A technician immediately appears at the door with a kit.
“There’s a drop of blood on the outside rim of this sink, the side against the wall. Get as much of it as you can.” Lou points and steps back to get out of the way.
The tech is on his knees in front of the sink as Lou walks out. He stops in the living room and finishes another page of notes. His eyes slowly scan the room and satisfied nothing is missed, he closes his notebook. The totality of evidence is so overwhelming it’s like being snow blind.
The tech from the bathroom passes by. “How’d you do on that blood?” Lou asks.
“I got all of it, sir,” the tech answers, holding up the kit.
“Good! All right, Dr. Cochran, let’s secure the scene and get back to the office.”
In the car, after a few miles of pensive silence, the two of them discuss the murders.
“What kind of impressions did you get? Anything in particular stand out for you?” Lou asks.
“I think it’s interesting that there is no Aviara scorecard. He must
The forensic team, under Dr. Cochran’s supervision, performs all the prescribed tasks; evidence is collected, samples and prints are taken, the bodies are identified, bagged and made ready to be sent to FBI headquarters for autopsy. The entire scene is photographed, and then photographed again, especially the writing on the chest. The LA Times is bagged and also the meticulously marked piece of newspaper on the floor close to the torso of Emily Cho.
Schein asks the San Diego detectives to contact a local lock company to secure the residence. Anything golf related is collected, bagged and marked, as well as Emily Cho’s clothing items in the hamper.
When it is determined that her keys and car are missing, several calls are made until they discover the car is found abandoned at Aviara.
The bloody towels in both bathrooms are bagged and marked. Samples are taken from each blood spot on the floors, the bathtubs, sinks; every spot is noted for identification.
Agent Schein has a reputation for reviewing the scene after it has been processed and today is no exception. He studies every bit of evidence for himself before it is disturbed. He takes copious notes; in his mind, each piece of evidence is pregnant with clues and he considers it a personal failure if anything is missed.
When the forensic team concludes their responsibilities, Schein makes another tour of the entire house, looking for anything they might have missed. He knows there must be an explanation for the missing hand and eyeballs, but what is it? After his inspection of the bedrooms, he walks slowly back up the hallway.
He reaches the front bathroom, enters and lets his eyes drift around the room. The tub is smeared with blood, and there is more blood on the floor beside the tub. He turns the light on and lets his eyes follow the walls around the room. It is then that he notices an irregularity in the pattern of the window curtain adjacent to the bathroom sink. He walks up to it and there, amidst a collage of red and green parrots is a smear of blood.
“Hey! Somebody bring me a medium bag!” he yells out the door.
Dr. Cochran quickly appears with the bag. Lou removes the curtain from the rod and carefully folds it with the blood smear upright and inserts it in the bag. He asks the coroner to mark it, then bends down and looks for more blood on the floor. After close examination, he is satisfied there is none.
He starts to stand when the face of the sink catches his eye. It is an old, cast iron, wall-hung sink, typical of a house this age. The front rim is perpendicular to the floor and about four inches wide. He cranes his neck, follows the rim around to the side that faces the wall and with his head pressed against the wall, he can see the wall side of the rim.
There it is! A single drop of blood has fallen on the edge of the sink but has not dripped to the floor.
“Dr. Cochran! Get one of those forensic techs in here with a blood kit!”
A technician immediately appears at the door with a kit.
“There’s a drop of blood on the outside rim of this sink, the side against the wall. Get as much of it as you can.” Lou points and steps back to get out of the way.
The tech is on his knees in front of the sink as Lou walks out. He stops in the living room and finishes another page of notes. His eyes slowly scan the room and satisfied nothing is missed, he closes his notebook. The totality of evidence is so overwhelming it’s like being snow blind.
The tech from the bathroom passes by. “How’d you do on that blood?” Lou asks.
“I got all of it, sir,” the tech answers, holding up the kit.
“Good! All right, Dr. Cochran, let’s secure the scene and get back to the office.”
In the car, after a few miles of pensive silence, the two of them discuss the murders.
“What kind of impressions did you get? Anything in particular stand out for you?” Lou asks.
“I think it’s interesting that there is no Aviara scorecard. He must
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