Forensics Journal - Stevenson University 2012

STEVENSON UNIVERSITY Corpses Don’t Lie On Douglas Starr’s The Killer of Little Shepherds— A True Crime Story and the Birth of Forensic Science Alexander E. Hooke, Ph.D. “What makes a human monster a monster is not only that it is an exception to the form but also that it introduces disorder into the legal system…” Michel Foucault (Foucault, 2003, p. 324) matic and brilliant individual. Third, it has institutional support, such as a government bureau or university department. Finally, it provides the basis—through generations of students, journals, books—for further advancements and discoveries in the particular field of knowledge. THE STORY For the millions of fans devoted to crime scene investigation television, a moment of reverent silence might serve as homage to the uncelebrated figure who gave birth to their daily entertainment. He is Dr. Alexandre Lacassagne, perhaps the first college professor to have directed the capture of a human monster. The case involved a serial murderer, Joseph Vacher, a shrewd vagabond who in 1890s France mutilated, dismembered and violated numerous hapless victims. The arrest, trial and execution of Vacher became a public sensation, similar to television stars such as Mr. Monk or The Mentalist nabbing a clever but crazed killer who caught the attention of a fearful public. Candidates for developing an influential theory school in the nineteenth century include: Darwin, Marx, Freud, Durkheim and Pasteur. As depicted in Starr’s book, Lacassagne is a pristine model for how a theory school emerges and prevails. Attuned to everyday controversies, Lacassagne realized that many violent people escaped punishment and many convicts were actually not guilty of their alleged misdeeds. Innocent suspects of horrific crimes could be held in jail for weeks or months before charges were dropped. How Lacassagne convinced legalists of Vacher’s guilt, though, is the key to his legacy. Unlike conventional detective methods of his time—eyewitness testimonies, undercover spies, or tortured confessions—Lacassagne emphasized a scientific and systematic approach that focused on physical evidence rather than human perception and memory. This interdisciplinary approach gave birth to what we now call forensics. A major reason for this ineptness is that before Lacassagne, criminal inquiries relied on the testimonies of witnesses and coercing suspects. Human testimony has always been considered as a hit-or-miss endeavor. People have erratic or self-serving memories, and confessions gained under physical duress (i.e., torture) are hardly convincing. As a professor in the department of legal medicine, Lacassagne realized that ascertaining true guilt or innocence required an alternative approach. For example, Lacassagne worked on a case involving the alleged poisoning of a husband by a distraught and angry wife, who had both motive and opportunity. Lacassagne learned that subsequent residents of the widow’s dwelling developed symptoms similar to those of the deceased husband. As a result of his investigation, he concluded that the cause of death was polluted air from an adjacent factory rather than homicidal poisoning. Its story is remarkably presented by Douglas Starr, author of The Killer of Little Shepherds, where he portrays how a professor in legal medicine eventually proved that a solitary wanderer trekking through remote villages in France was the serial killer. Starr illuminates how Lacassagne and his assistants relied on a corpse’s details to learn about the time and method of the gruesome murders. Witnesses tend to distort, exaggerate, deceive, mislead and equivocate. Determination of whether they have poor memories or concealed motives, demands on-going suspicion and uncertainty. In contrast to living humans, corpses don’t lie. By all accounts, Lacassagne was a charismatic figure. Colleagues and associates admired his kindness, sense of humor, work ethic, and commitment to on-going research conducted by graduates or local officials. He continually supplied the research lab with state-of-the art equipment while overseeing publications for researchers and practitioners, ranging from The Journal of Criminal Anthropology to his Handbook for future forensics investigators. By the 1920s his students were working throughout much of Europe. He consistently employed the latest findings in chemistry, bacteriology and ballistics. Equally important was his eager embrace of the sophisticated improvements in microscope technology. Lacassagne’s research required forbearance. Without rubber gloves, he had to manipulate his bare hands inside decaying cadavers. Without refrigeration, the decomposed bodies emitted an odor that sickened his beginning students. When he and his examiners finally endured the smells of putrid flesh overrun with maggots, fleas and moths, they still tired of how many days the stench of death lingered on their own skin. As presented by Starr, these efforts help us appreciate Lacassagne’s legacy in several ways. He founded a school in legal medicine, inaugurated a twist to the power/knowledge dynamic, and offered a fresh angle to the on-going debates about the born criminal and abnormal brain. Thus he and his assistants learned to find clues in minute details that eluded the naked eye. Slivers of hair, particles of dust, drops of blood and flakes of skin were among the types of evidence that provoked an entirely new approach to criminological investigations. Moreover, no matter how well the killer planned his crime, he would invariably leave a trace or clue of his identity, awaiting discovery by Lacassagne and his team. In Starr’s poignant words, “Death leaves a signature, and they would learn to read the meaning.” (Starr, 2010, p. 19) FORENSICS AS A THEORY SCHOOL According to sociologists of knowledge (Tiryakian, 1986), a theory school that

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