identity of the author.
Nothing happened in the days that followed, and on July 22, Warsaw celebrated the anniversary of its liberation from Nazi occupation. People took to the streets to watch the celebratory parades. The note was more or less forgotten. But on that day in Olsztyn, a town two hours north of the capital by train, a young woman died. Danka Maciejowitz, seventeen, had gone out to watch a parade in the city streets, saying good-bye to her parents and letting them know she would be back in a few hours. But she did not return. Her worried parents went searching for her and finally went home. She was still not there. It was not like her to be irresponsible, so they grew more concerned and filed a police report. The following day, officers sadly informed them of the reason for Danka’s absence.
A gardener tending the grounds of the Park of Polish Heroes came across the nude corpse of a blond adolescent girl. She had been stabbed several times in the abdomen and had bled freely onto the ground before she was shoved under some shrubbery. She was well hidden, and no one had seen her all night. The gardener had informed the police.
They recalled the reports from the parents of Danka Maciejowitz and made the difficult trek to their home to get an identification. The father confirmed his daughter’s identity. Further examination revealed that she had been raped as well as stabbed and disemboweled. This was a devastating crime for the small town, but the crime scene yielded no viable leads. Nor did further questioning. The girl had no known enemies or potentially brutal admirers, so investigators assumed that, given the festivities of the day before, some predator had spotted her walking alone and taken advantage. As the police canvassed the area to look for witnesses, another letter arrived at the Warsaw newspaper office. “I picked a juicy flower in Olsztyn,” it said, “and I shall do it again somewhere else, for there is no holiday without a funeral.”
This letter, too, was turned over to the police, and they contacted officials in Olsztyn. The implication was chilling: a random killer had sent a warning, traveled to this town, and made good on his threat, striking down a random victim. He’d even taken the time to use a method of communication that would produce an eerie effect, which suggested that he was not impulsive. There was small probability that he could be linked to the victim. He’d simply struck and gotten away. His apparent enjoyment of the act and his bragging afterward indicated he would do it again.
The Investigation
With two letters clearly tied to a horrendous crime and the threat of another one, it was time to start a detailed forensic analysis. Questioned document analysis had achieved some status in prior decades, as had handwriting analysis. Experts could examine the paper on which a note had been written and the type of ink used, and if they were able to acquire examples of handwriting from suspects, they could make comparisons and ascertain if certain features of the handwriting were sufficiently similar to identify the note sender. If so, the police could do a more in-depth investigation to tie the notes to the suspect in other ways. It was painstaking work, and not altogether definitive, but certainly better than nothing.
The examination of questioned documents includes any kind of crime that involves writing, writing implements, and a writing surface. Examiners might look at impressions left on the surface of a tablet or do a chemical analysis of the surface itself. First, the investigators had to decide if the document was authentic, and it certainly seemed so. Second, they hoped to learn something about the author. Third, they sought to figure out where it had been mailed. Since there had been no ransom demands or attempts at extortion, the last task was going to be the most difficult. The letters and accompanying behavior seemed the work of a demented individual hoping to
Nothing happened in the days that followed, and on July 22, Warsaw celebrated the anniversary of its liberation from Nazi occupation. People took to the streets to watch the celebratory parades. The note was more or less forgotten. But on that day in Olsztyn, a town two hours north of the capital by train, a young woman died. Danka Maciejowitz, seventeen, had gone out to watch a parade in the city streets, saying good-bye to her parents and letting them know she would be back in a few hours. But she did not return. Her worried parents went searching for her and finally went home. She was still not there. It was not like her to be irresponsible, so they grew more concerned and filed a police report. The following day, officers sadly informed them of the reason for Danka’s absence.
A gardener tending the grounds of the Park of Polish Heroes came across the nude corpse of a blond adolescent girl. She had been stabbed several times in the abdomen and had bled freely onto the ground before she was shoved under some shrubbery. She was well hidden, and no one had seen her all night. The gardener had informed the police.
They recalled the reports from the parents of Danka Maciejowitz and made the difficult trek to their home to get an identification. The father confirmed his daughter’s identity. Further examination revealed that she had been raped as well as stabbed and disemboweled. This was a devastating crime for the small town, but the crime scene yielded no viable leads. Nor did further questioning. The girl had no known enemies or potentially brutal admirers, so investigators assumed that, given the festivities of the day before, some predator had spotted her walking alone and taken advantage. As the police canvassed the area to look for witnesses, another letter arrived at the Warsaw newspaper office. “I picked a juicy flower in Olsztyn,” it said, “and I shall do it again somewhere else, for there is no holiday without a funeral.”
This letter, too, was turned over to the police, and they contacted officials in Olsztyn. The implication was chilling: a random killer had sent a warning, traveled to this town, and made good on his threat, striking down a random victim. He’d even taken the time to use a method of communication that would produce an eerie effect, which suggested that he was not impulsive. There was small probability that he could be linked to the victim. He’d simply struck and gotten away. His apparent enjoyment of the act and his bragging afterward indicated he would do it again.
The Investigation
With two letters clearly tied to a horrendous crime and the threat of another one, it was time to start a detailed forensic analysis. Questioned document analysis had achieved some status in prior decades, as had handwriting analysis. Experts could examine the paper on which a note had been written and the type of ink used, and if they were able to acquire examples of handwriting from suspects, they could make comparisons and ascertain if certain features of the handwriting were sufficiently similar to identify the note sender. If so, the police could do a more in-depth investigation to tie the notes to the suspect in other ways. It was painstaking work, and not altogether definitive, but certainly better than nothing.
The examination of questioned documents includes any kind of crime that involves writing, writing implements, and a writing surface. Examiners might look at impressions left on the surface of a tablet or do a chemical analysis of the surface itself. First, the investigators had to decide if the document was authentic, and it certainly seemed so. Second, they hoped to learn something about the author. Third, they sought to figure out where it had been mailed. Since there had been no ransom demands or attempts at extortion, the last task was going to be the most difficult. The letters and accompanying behavior seemed the work of a demented individual hoping to
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