Forensics Squad Unleashed (2 page)

It is uphill to the university gates, and Mason is out of breath when we get there. In the distance, I can see a crowd gathered outside the Life Sciences Building, where the forensics camp is being held.

Mason wipes the sweat off his forehead. “What do you think is going on over there?”

“Don’t you see the yellow tape, doofus? It’s a crime scene!” I tug on Mason’s sleeve. I want to go investigate!

A car has been abandoned on the curb. When we get closer, we see bicycle handlebars poking out from underneath the front of the car.

“Yikes,” Mason says.

A guy on a skateboard stops to take a look. “I hate to think about what happened to the dude who was riding that bike,” he says.

“There’s no sign of blood on the pavement,” I tell him.

“Good point.” The skateboarder gives me a thumbs-up before he zips off.

Mason is shaking his head. He looks a little green.

I punch his arm. “Hey, Mase, don’t take it so hard. I bet you anything this whole thing is a setup for forensics camp.”

Mason’s face relaxes. “I hope you’re right,” he says.

A young woman with long, thick red hair and purple cat’s-eye glasses is standing behind us. I suspect she has been listening in on our conversation. Still, I am surprised when she taps my shoulder. “Forensic scientists never make assumptions,” she says. “They analyze evidence.”

Before I can ask her who she is, she walks away.

We have to take an elevator to the fourth floor, where the Department of Forensic Science is. Three other kids are waiting for the elevator. I recognize a girl from school. “I’m Stacey,” she says to us. “You’re Tabitha, right? Patti’s friend? I had a feeling you’d be at forensics camp too. You were in my second-grade class. Whenever we sang ‘Who Stole the Cookies from the Cookie Jar?’ you’d ask Mrs. Smitt for evidence. I didn’t even know what
evidence
was.”

“That sounds like Tabitha,” Mason says. “By the way, I’m Mason.” I roll my eyes when he shakes Stacey’s hand. What thirteen-year-old shakes other kids’ hands?

Mason must know what I am thinking, because he mouths the words,
I’m branching out
.

Stacey introduces us to the two other kids. “These are my cousins Muriel and Nico. They’re from Vancouver.”

“We’re twins,” Muriel says. It would not take a
DNA
test to figure that one out. Muriel and her brother have the same
wiry build; they also have the same dark eyes and straight brown hair, though Nico’s is short and Muriel’s hangs in a ponytail down her back.

When we get off the elevator, we see double glass doors with white lettering that says
Department of Forensic Science
. I stop to savor the moment—I, Tabitha Letour, am about to spend a week studying forensics at a university. It’s a dream come true.

Two counselors are waiting in the reception area. One is a tall broad-shouldered guy with pimples on his cheeks and nose. The other is the redheaded eavesdropper who tapped on my shoulder outside. She must have taken the stairs.

They introduce themselves. The guy’s name is Lloyd Burke. The woman is Samantha Buxbaum. They are third-year forensic-science students.

“Tabitha Letour?” Samantha reads my name off the first of a stack of notebooks she is holding.

“That’s me.”

“Right.” Samantha hands me the notebook. “We’ve met.” I am expecting her to smile when she says that, but she doesn’t. Something tells me Samantha Buxbaum is not a big smiler. “Mason Johnson?”

I lift my chin toward Mason. “That’s him.”

“I can tell her my own name,” Mason mutters.

“Stacey Thompson. Nico Watkins. Muriel Watkins.” Samantha hands them their notebooks. Still no smile.

Stacey sniffs her notebook like an airport dog sniffing for drugs. “This cover is plasticized.”

“Stacey is trying to save the planet,” Muriel explains.

Stacey shakes her head as if to say that saving the planet is a big responsibility for just one person. “Plastic is not biodegradable. Most of it will never disappear. Ever.” She taps her notebook on the word
ever
.

Samantha has one notebook left. “That’s a good point about the plastic.” She whips out a small spiral notepad from the back pocket of her black pants. “I’m going to write that down so we can look into getting different notebooks next summer.” Once that’s done, she reads the name off the last notebook. “Nathaniel Willet?”

The elevator doors slide open, and a boy in baggy khaki-colored shorts and a T-shirt with a winged skull on it slouches out. “I’m Nathaniel,” he says as he comes through the glass doors.

Lloyd rests his butt against the desk in the reception area. Samantha stands next to him and says, “Pull up some chairs.” We grab chairs and make a semicircle around the two of them. “Do any of you know what the word
forensics
means?” Samantha asks.

Nathaniel does not raise his hand. “It means we’re going to be examining gravesites and human skulls.” His voice sounds flat—as if he examines gravesites and human skulls on a regular basis.

“Uh, I hate to disappoint you, but not exactly,” Lloyd says. “Anyone else?”

I raise my hand. “Forensic science is the application of science to the law. Forensic scientists help the police, a judge or a jury understand the science used to solve a crime.”

Lloyd whistles.

“Tabitha has memorized the
Junior Encyclopedia of Forensic Science
,” Mason says. “She asked for it for her birthday when she was in fifth grade.”

“Actually, it was fourth grade,” I say.

Lloyd leans in closer to us. “One of the things we want to do this week is dispel some of the myths that surround forensic science. I’ll bet most of you have watched
TV
shows like
CSI
and
Criminal Minds
.”

“Nico and I watched all seven seasons of
Criminal Minds
,” Muriel says. “Twice.”

“I really wish they hadn’t canceled
CSI: Miami
,” Mason adds.

I don’t say anything. Even the music on crime shows upsets my mom, so I never get to watch that stuff.

“The problem with most of those shows,” Lloyd says, “is that they don’t portray forensic science very accurately. Can you think of any examples of what I’m talking about?”

Lloyd looks around, but none of us can answer his question. “Well, on
TV
,” Lloyd says, “forensic scientists behave like detectives—meaning they actually solve crimes. In real life, forensic scientists stick to science. They transmit their findings to detectives who try to solve the case.”

“Another difference,” Samantha adds, “is that on
TV
, you often see one forensic scientist analyzing everything: documents, fingerprints, bones, teeth, blood splatter.” Nathaniel looks up at the mention of blood splatter. “In reality,” Samantha continues, “there are many different branches of forensic science, and forensic scientists work together as a team. Just like you guys will be working together this week.”

Samantha points to a chart on the wall behind her and reads off some of the branches of forensic science. Forensic anthropology studies the human skeleton; forensic biology focuses on bodily fluids and
DNA
; forensic toxicology uses chemistry to identify substances; and fingerprint analysis looks at visible, invisible and three-dimensional prints and tries to identify whom they belong to. Forensic accounting analyzes data to assess if there has been financial fraud. I have to remember to tell my dad about that one.

Samantha turns back to us. “We want to start by emphasizing that forensic scientists need to pay close attention to details. Sometimes things that seem unimportant turn out to be extremely important. On your way in just now, you passed a simulated crime scene.”

I look at Mason and raise my eyebrows.
See
, I wish I could say,
I was right. They set the whole thing up
.

I have a hunch we’re going to investigate that simulation.

My hunch is confirmed when Lloyd says, “Before we can go down there, we’ve got to talk about what to do at a crime scene.”

THREE

We each get to borrow a point-and-shoot camera. The cameras are for the university’s forensic-science students, so we need to be careful not to drop them or smudge the lenses.

Stacey sighs. “Look at all this unnecessary packaging,” she says as we unpack the cameras from the boxes they are stored in.

Samantha and Lloyd are going to give us a lesson in forensic photography so we can go back outside and document the crime scene.

Muriel raises her hand. “Samantha, are we also supposed to take notes?” she asks. I can tell Muriel wants to be Samantha’s favorite.

“Absolutely,” Samantha says. “Always have your notebook ready.”

Muriel glows.

Nathaniel slouches lower in his chair and sighs loudly. “I thought this was camp. Not school.”

If Samantha thinks Nathaniel is being rude, she does not let it show. “Forensic scientists don’t go anywhere without their notebooks. Taking detailed notes at a crime scene is super important. Besides, this is just going to be a mini-lesson,” she tells Nathaniel. “And there’s no test at the end of the week…though you guys will be using forensic science to solve a case. If that’s okay with you, of course.” Even though Samantha’s face is serious, I know she’s teasing Nathaniel.

Nathaniel lifts his head. “That part sounds okay.”

Nico keeps shifting in his chair, as if he can’t get comfortable. “If you want us to take notes,” he says, “I think you may have overlooked one small detail.” He pauses. “We don’t have anything to write with!”

We all laugh—even Samantha. Lloyd grabs a box from a nearby table. Inside is a packet of ballpoint pens that say
University of Montreal Department of Forensic Science
on them. I vow never to throw mine away, even when it runs out of ink.

Stacey is sitting next to me. She has opened her notebook to the first page and is making a list of all of our names.

Lloyd starts the lesson. “Like Samantha just said, recording case notes in your notebooks is extremely important. As you take notes, you want to try and answer the questions who, what, where, when and how.”

“What about the why?” Muriel asks.

“I’ll get to that in a minute, Muriel.” Lloyd extends his arm like he is stopping traffic. “So as I was saying, forensic scientists try to figure out:
Who
was there?
What
type of crime was committed?
Where
are the boundaries of the crime scene?
When
was the crime committed? And
how
was the crime committed? We don’t ask
why
—that’s the detectives’ job.”

“Always use a pen to take notes,” Samantha adds. “And if you have to cross something out, make sure you initial it. Otherwise, your notes may not hold up in court. You guys got all that?”

“
Hold up in court
,” Nico repeats the words to himself. “Cool!”

“All right then,” Lloyd says. “Let’s talk about forensic photography. What makes forensic photography so important is that it provides a permanent visual record of a crime scene. Once you move something at a crime scene, it never goes back to the way it was. So if a case goes to trial, forensic photography lets people who were not at the scene know what things looked like. Which is why forensic scientists need to take photos as soon as possible after a crime has occurred, in case evidence is moved”—Lloyd drops his voice as if he is about to tell us something terrible—“or tampered with.”

Lloyd looks at Samantha. It must be her turn to talk.

“Forensic scientists need to take three kinds of photos at a crime scene.” Samantha pauses, and I figure that’s because she wants us to write this next part down so we’ll remember it. Now I open my notebook and write the numbers 1, 2 and 3. I hope Samantha notices that my
University of Montreal Department of Forensic Science
pen is poised for note taking. Muriel is not the only one who wants to be Samantha’s favorite.

“The three kinds of photos are overall, mid-range and close-up. You’ll want to use your camera’s wide-angle setting
for overall shots.” Samantha gives us a minute to find the wide-angle setting on our cameras. “When we go outside, you should try to shoot the whole street corner. That would be an example of an overall. A mid-range photo might include the car with the bicycle sticking out from underneath it. A close-up could be just the handlebars or the front tire. Remember to use the zoom for those close-ups. Can you figure out where your zoom is?” We all fiddle around with our cameras until we find the way to control the zoom.

“And keep a detailed list in your notebook of every photo you take,” Lloyd says. Stacey nods. I guess she likes lists. “That way you’ll avoid confusion afterward,” Lloyd explains.

Muriel’s arm shoots up into the air. “Why don’t forensic scientists just take pictures with their cell phones? Wouldn’t that be a lot easier?”

Lloyd shakes his head. “The resolution isn’t high enough on a lot of cell-phone cameras. If your photograph is blurry, you risk losing important evidence. Plus your cell phone might be seized, and everything on it could be looked at in court.”

“Wow, I never would have thought of that,” Muriel says.

I am writing so much down, I have to shake out my wrist. Except for Nathaniel, the others are also taking tons of notes.

“I’m glad you guys are psyched about forensics camp.” Samantha does not look at Nathaniel when she says that. Probably because he has just yawned and not bothered to cover his mouth. “Now that you’re equipped with cameras, notebooks and pens”—Samantha glances at Nico—
“we’ll head back outside. You have forty-five minutes to record your observations and take the three kinds of photographs we discussed. But before we go, we need to brief you on the facts of the case.”

I open my notebook to a fresh page.

Lloyd takes the fact sheet out of a file folder and reads it to us in a solemn voice. I close my eyes, and for a moment I let myself imagine that I am a forensic scientist being briefed by a police officer.

“A cyclist was struck by a car at twenty-one hundred hours last night.” I get a little thrill when Lloyd says
twenty-one hundred hours
instead of 9
PM
. I know from my
Junior Encyclopedia of Forensic Science
that forensic scientists use a twenty-four-hour clock to avoid confusion. “The cyclist was taken to hospital by ambulance. The driver fled the scene on foot.” Lloyd looks up at us. “Any questions?”