Historically Speaking: Using Forensic Evidence to Solve Crimes

Today’s DNA techniques are just the latest addition to a toolkit used by detectives since ancient times.

The Wall Street Journal

May 5, 2023

In February, police in Burlington, Vt., announced they had solved the city’s oldest cold case, the 1971 murder of 24-year-old schoolteacher Rita Curran. Taking advantage of genetic genealogy using DNA databases—the latest addition to the forensic science toolbox—the police were able to prove that the killer was a neighbor in Curran’s apartment building, William DeRoos.

The practice of forensic science, the critical examination of crime scenes, existed long before it had a name. The 1st-century A.D. Roman jurist Quintilian argued that evidence was not the same as proof unless supported by sound method and reasoning. Nothing should be taken at face value: Even blood stains on a toga, he pointed out, could be the result of a nosebleed or a messy religious sacrifice rather than a murder.

In 6th-century Byzantium, the Justinian Law Code allowed doctors to serve as expert witnesses, recognizing that murder cases required specialized knowledge. In Song Dynasty China, coroners were guided by Song Ci, a 13th-century judge who wrote “The Washing Away of Wrongs,” a comprehensive handbook on criminology and forensic science. Using old case studies, Song provided step-by-step instructions on how to tell if a drowned person had been alive before hitting the water and whether blowflies could be attracted by traces of blood on a murder weapon.

As late as the 17th century, however, Western investigators were still prone to attributing unexplained deaths to supernatural causes. In 1691 the sudden death of Henry Sloughter, the colonial governor of New York, provoked public hysteria. It subsided after an autopsy performed by six physicians proved that blocked lungs, not spells or poison, were responsible. The case was a watershed in placing forensic pathology at the heart of the American judicial system.

Using forensic evidence to solve criminal crimes

THOMAS FUCHS

Growing confidence in scientific methods resulted in more systematic investigations, which increased the chances of a case being solved. In England in 1784, the conviction of John Toms for the murder of Edward Culshaw hinged on a paper scrap pulled from Culshaw’s bullet wound. The jagged edge was found to match up perfectly with a torn sheet of paper found in Toms’s pocket.

Still, the only way to determine whether a suspect was present at the scene of a crime was by visual identification. By the late 19th century, studies by Charles Darwin’s cousin, the anthropologist Sir Francis Galton, and others had established that every individual has unique fingerprints. Fingerprint evidence might have helped to identify Jack the Ripper in 1888, but official skepticism kept the police from pursuing it.

Four years later, in Argentina, fingerprints were used to solve a crime for the first time. Two police officers, Juan Vucetich and Eduardo Alvarez, ignored their superiors’ distrust of the method to prove that a woman had murdered her children so she could marry her lover.

The success of fingerprinting ushered in a golden age of forensic innovation, driven by ambition but guided by scientific principles. By the 1930s, dried blood stains could be analyzed for their blood type and bullets could be matched to the guns that fired them. Almost a century later, the first principle of forensic science still stands: Every contact leaves a trace.

Historically Speaking: Poison and Politics

From ‘cantarella’ to polonium, governments have used toxins to terrorize and kill their enemies

The Wall Street Journal, September 7, 2018

ILLUSTRATION: THOMAS FUCHS

Among the pallbearers at Senator John McCain’s funeral in Washington last weekend was the Russian dissident Vladimir Kara-Murza. Mr. Kara-Murza is a survivor of two poisoning attempts, in 2015 and 2017, which he believes were intended as retaliation for his activism against the Putin regime.

Indeed, Russia is known or suspected to be responsible for several notorious recent poisoning cases, including the attempted murder this past March of Sergei Skripal, a former Russian spy living in Britain, and his daughter Yulia with the nerve agent Novichok. They survived the attack, but several months later a British woman died of Novichok exposure a few miles from where the Skirpals lived.

Poison has long been a favorite tool of brutal statecraft: It both terrorizes and kills, and it can be administered without detection. The Arthashastra, an ancient Indian political treatise that out-Machiavels Machiavelli, contains hundreds of recipes for toxins, as well as advice on when and how to use them to eliminate an enemy.

Most royal and imperial courts of the classical world were also awash with poison. Though it is impossible to prove so many centuries later, the long list of putative victims includes Alexander the Great (poisoned wine), Emperor Augustus (poisoned figs) and Emperor Claudius (poisoned mushrooms), as well as dozens of royal heirs, relatives, rivals and politicians. King Mithridates of Pontus, an ancient Hellenistic empire, was so paranoid—having survived a poison attempt by his own mother—that he took daily microdoses of every known toxin in order to build up his immunity.

Poisoning reached its next peak during the Italian Renaissance. Every ruling family, from the Medicis to the Viscontis, either fell victim to poison or employed it as a political weapon. The Borgias were even reputed to have their own secret recipe, a variation of arsenic called “cantarella.” Although a large number of their rivals conveniently dropped dead, the Borgias were small fry compared with the republic of Venice. The records of the Venetian Council of Ten reveal that a secret poison program went on for decades. Remarkably, two victims are known to have survived their assassination attempts: Count Francesco Sforza in 1450 and the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II in 1477.

In the 20th century, the first country known to have established a targeted poisoning program was Russia under the Bolsheviks. According to Boris Volodarsky, a former Russian agent, Lenin ordered the creation of a poison laboratory called the “Special Room” in 1921. By the Cold War, the one-room lab had evolved into an international factory system staffed by hundreds, possibly thousands of scientists. Their specialty was untraceable poisons delivered by ingenious weapons—such as a cigarette packet made in 1954 that could fire bullets filled with potassium cyanide.

In 1978, the prizewinning Bulgarian writer Georgi Markov, then working for the BBC in London, was killed by an umbrella tip that shot a pellet containing the poison ricin into his leg. After the international outcry, the Soviet Union toned down its poisoning efforts but didn’t end them. And Putin’s Russia has continued to use similar techniques. In 2006, according to an official British inquiry, Russian secret agents murdered the ex-spy Alexander Litvinenko by slipping polonium into his drink during a meeting at a London hotel. It was the beginning of a new wave of poisonings whose end is not yet in sight.