Forensic Archaeology: Multidisciplinary Perspectives [1st ed.] 978-3-030-03289-0, 978-3-030-03291-3

Table of contents :
Front Matter ....Pages i-xviii
Front Matter ....Pages 1-1
Different But Equal: The Philosophical Foundations of Forensic Archaeology (Kimberlee Sue Moran)....Pages 3-19
Four-Field Forensic Archaeology (Derek Congram)....Pages 21-31
Professionalism in Forensic Archaeology: Transitioning from “Cowboy of Science” to “Officer of the Court” (Melissa A. Connor)....Pages 33-42
Forensic Archaeologist or Crime Scene Investigator? (Kimberlee Sue Moran)....Pages 43-56
The Human Side of Forensic Archaeology (Ann Marie Mires, Randi Scott)....Pages 57-72
Front Matter ....Pages 73-73
The Language of Forensic Archaeology: Discourses in Field and in Court (Anna S. Chaussée)....Pages 75-89
Convincing LEO: Successful Interaction Between the Archaeologist and Law Enforcement Officials in Crime Scene Investigations (Michael J. Hochrein)....Pages 91-110
The Use of Forensic Archaeology in Missing Person Cases (Ann Marie Mires)....Pages 111-141
Landfill Searches for Human Remains (Brian D. Paulsen, Kimberlee Sue Moran)....Pages 143-152
The Application of Archaeological Techniques to Forensic Fire Scenes (Karl Harrison)....Pages 153-162
An Evolving Problem for Forensic Archaeology: The Involvement of Armed Users of Controlled Substances in Archaeological Crime (James E. Moriarty, David E. Griffel, Martin E. McAllister)....Pages 163-174
Front Matter ....Pages 175-175
The Role of Palynology in Forensic Archaeology (Vaughn M. Bryant, Mary K. Bryant)....Pages 177-202
Putting “Science” into Forensic Science: A Chemist’s Perspective on Forensic Archaeology (Susan White)....Pages 203-221
The Use of 3D Laser Scanning in Forensic Archaeology to Document Unauthorized Archaeological Damage (Tate Jones, Martin E. McAllister)....Pages 223-234
Forensic Archaeology and the Question of Using Geographic Profiling Methods Such as “Winthropping” (Sharon K. Moses)....Pages 235-244
Front Matter ....Pages 245-245
The Benefits of a Cooperative Approach: Case Studies from Lancaster County, Nebraska (John Oladapo Obafunwa, Karl Reinhard, Emily Hammerl)....Pages 247-264
Use of the Archaeological Damage Assessment Methodology as an Application of Forensic Archaeology in Criminal and Civil Prosecutions (Martin E. McAllister, Larry E. Murphy, James E. Moriarty, David E. Griffel)....Pages 265-279
Looking Back: 10 Years After “the Station” Nightclub Fire, West Warwick, Rhode Island (Richard A. Gould)....Pages 281-297
Acquisition and Disposition Problems and Experiences Policing the Online Marketplace for Human Remains (Ryan M. Seidemann, William T. Hawkins)....Pages 299-312
Take Them to the Woods: Melding Forensic Science Education with Real Case Experience (Dana D. Kollmann)....Pages 313-324
Back Matter ....Pages 325-333

Citation preview

Kimberlee Sue Moran Claire L. Gold Editors

Forensic Archaeology Multidisciplinary Perspectives

Forensic Archaeology

Kimberlee Sue Moran  •  Claire L. Gold Editors

Forensic Archaeology Multidisciplinary Perspectives

Editors Kimberlee Sue Moran Department of Chemistry Rutgers University – Camden Camden, NJ, USA

Claire L. Gold Norwood, MA, USA

ISBN 978-3-030-03289-0    ISBN 978-3-030-03291-3 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3 Library of Congress Control Number: 2018966814 © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

This book is dedicated to Dr. Vaughn Bryant. His kindness, tenacity, and dedication to his craft are forever inspirational.

Preface

Forensic archaeology is often a career by mistake, or serendipity, depending on one’s perspective. Prior to the 1990s, forensic archaeology as a form of applied archaeology did not exist in any organized sense1. There were no classes in forensic archaeology; there was no set of terminology or techniques. Ask an archaeologist back then what “forensics” meant, and they would probably direct you to a debating team. Forensic archaeology was born out of the combination of a series of events: the ethnic cleansing campaign of the 1992–1995 Bosnian War that produced scores of mass graves resulting in the deployment of many anthropologists and archaeologists; the partnering of UK law enforcement with academic archaeologists over a handful of domestic homicide cases in the mid to late 1990s; and the increased interest in all things forensic thanks to a number of TV programs from the early 2000s. As a result, many archaeologists began a relationship with law enforcement and the legal community. In some instances those relationships were short-lived – a single case or consultation, a finite deployment, or a special topics class. For others, this brave and recent world of forensic science provided multiple opportunities to engage in fieldwork (of a distinctly grisly nature), forge new territory in archaeological application, embark on new research initiatives, and create best practice and degree programs. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, only a handful of forensic archaeology graduate degree programs existed, all of which could be found in the UK. In the USA, forensic archaeology was, and, at the time of this publication, still is, found within forensic anthropology. Therefore, no formal forensic archaeological degree programs exist in the USA. Students wishing to pursue forensic archaeology either choose to study in the UK or settle for an anthropology program, specifically one that contains a robust recovery component rather than a focus on the laboratory analysis of remains. For those that study in the UK, despite these programs often 1  Prior to the 1990’s there was a small spattering of forensic archaeology texts, most notably, the 1983 book Handbook of Forensic Archaeology and Anthropology by Morse, Duncan, and Stoutamire.

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providing some casework experience, students cannot expect any sort of full-time employment upon graduation. While some police forces will occasionally stock their Scenes of Crime Units with archaeology graduates, for the US student studying in the UK, employment opportunities are limited or nonexistent. The forensic landscape in the USA was and is vastly different from that in the UK and Europe. The fractured nature of the criminal justice system into state and county forces means that no standard structures or practices exist. Forensic services and/or dedicated crime scene personnel may be found within a city police department or a county prosecutor’s office, a sheriff’s department, or medical examiner/ coroner’s office, or not at all. Each state will have some sort of forensic lab system, but the range of techniques, services, and technology available varies widely from state to state. None of these small forensic departments maintain a forensic archaeologist on staff, and even at the state level, forensic anthropologists are rarely employed full-time. Another confounding factor for forensic archaeology is that the private sector for forensic science is, at best, minimal in the USA. In the UK, especially after the dissolution of the Forensic Science Service in 2012, a large number of private, independent forensic service providers sprung up and, today, supply police forces with many of the lab-based and specialist techniques on a contractual basis. The rationale is that this system of a private marketplace provides better value for money thanks to a competitive bidding process. In addition, because these labs are independent from the police, often doing defense work as well, they are less prone to bias. In the USA, only 25 accredited private labs exist; nearly all of them focused on biology, toxicology, or digital forensics2. The result is that the practitioners who self-identify as forensic archaeologists through training, field experience, or both have mainly ended up in academia or CRM3 and work as private consultants. Casework is fairly infrequent. A bigger question one might ask is why, in a country with 17,250 murders4 and 88,089 missing persons5, is forensic archaeological casework a rarity? The answer is multifaceted, but it ultimately boils down to a singular issue: what is forensic archaeology? The average detective or investigating officer has a general sense of the methods and utility of a range of forensic techniques from DNA to pattern evidence. Forensic anthropology they will rightly associate with bones; but ask them 2   This figure was retrieved in 2017 via a search of private labs accredited through the American Society of Crime Laboratory Directors/Laboratory Accreditation Board (ASCLD-LAB), the largest US provider of forensic lab accreditation. Recently ASCLD-LAB merged with the ANSI-ASQ National Accreditation Board (ANAB). Is it unclear whether the private labs accredited under the old ASCLD-LAB system retained their accreditation and/or whether they decided to use ANAB as their accreditation provider or change to another provider of which there are several in the US. 3  Cultural Resource Management. 4  Murder data is from the annual FBI report Crime in the United States. Figures are from 2016. 2017 data was still preliminary at the time of publication. 5  Missing Persons data is from the 2017 National Crime Information Center Missing and Unidentified Persons Statistics.

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what a forensic archaeologist does or when they might need one, and they will draw a blank. Doesn’t the anthropologist deal with dead bodies? Why can’t a crime scene unit excavate a burial? To many, archaeology means “old” and “slow”; it conjures up images of digging with dental picks and toothbrushes, museum artifacts, and the eternal, incorrect association with dinosaur fossils. Police are usually wary to engage with outside experts, especially academics. Without an understanding of the archaeology skill set or prior experience employing or working with an archaeologist, the chances of law enforcement requesting assistance are virtually nonexistent. If forensic archaeology aspires to join the forensic family, and become a routine tool, we must begin with educational outreach6. We must first educate ourselves within archaeology as to what forensic archaeology is and, more importantly, what it is not. This leads us to the purpose of this volume. In 2004, the Society for American Archaeology’s (SAA) annual meeting included a very small paper session, consisting of only three presentations, dedicated to forensic archaeology. The true aim of the session was to start the process of identifying those within the ranks of archaeology who were interested or engaged in forensic work and to start building a community. That session has continued every year since, and the participation from both presenters and attendees has consistently grown. This volume is a collection of some of the paper topics from the annual forensic archaeology symposium at the SAA from 2004 through 2013. Compared to other topics within archaeology and within forensic science, there are very few books dedicated solely to forensic archaeology7. It is worth noting that there are many forensic anthropology and bioarchaeology books, which often include some, limited, mention of forensic archaeology. Of the forensic archaeology books that do exist, they are practical guides, outlining the “how-to” of forensic archaeology. The central focus is mostly on human remains recovery. This book expresses the multidisciplinary nature of forensic archaeology along with case studies, elements of its theoretical framework, and real-world issues and applications. A range of perspectives are expressed from the USA and the UK, from academic to researcher to practitioner. In addition, this book introduces different contexts in which forensic archaeology may be employed such as fire scene investigation, missing person searches, landfill searches, cemetery exhumations, archaeological damage assessment, and the looting of sites. Finally, just as traditional archaeology borrows analytical techniques from many fields, this book offers a few chapters exploring methods from other fields such as engineering, chemistry, psychology, and environmental science and how they lend themselves to forensic archaeological application. It is the hope of the authors that this volume will help to expand the scope of 6   Forensic archaeology has applications beyond basic criminal investigations and as such, outreach efforts should concentrate on the wide range of forensically affiliated organizations that could benefit from archaeological input. Law enforcement, private investigators, NGOs such as the Innocence Project, attorneys, even our forensic colleagues all would benefit from learning more about what forensic archaeology is and how it could be a tool of use. 7  A (2018) search on Amazon.com brings up around nine books on forensic archaeology or with forensic archaeology in the title.

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forensic archaeology and help the reader to develop a fuller appreciation of what forensic archaeology can offer to modern crime scene examination. This book is geared mainly toward the archaeological community in the USA8 – students and practitioners – that look to better understand the forensic applications of their training. It is assumed that the reader understands the basic tenets of fieldwork and excavation techniques. In addition, though, this volume should be of interest to the forensic community as a primer to what archaeology has to offer. Forensic archaeologists are archaeologists first, and we come from a range of backgrounds: historic archaeology, Near Eastern archaeology, Mesoamerican archaeology, etc. As we transition from our initial academic roots to practical fieldwork aiding law enforcement, we are drawn into the forensic world. However, the extent to which we engage with the forensic community varies. As we are responsible for identifying and collecting evidence, it is useful at the very least to have an understanding of the downstream forensic analyses to be done. However, if we want to be a recognized forensic resource ourselves, we need to more fully engage with the forensic community. We cannot be offered a seat at the table if we are not present from the outset. Forensic journal articles and presentations at the American Academy of Forensic Sciences (AAFS) will often refer to “archaeological methods” but will almost never include “forensic archaeology” in the title or list of keywords. Why is that? Returning to the origin of this volume: the Society for American Archaeology’s annual meeting. On the conference program at the 2013 SAA annual meeting were three, full paper sessions concentrating on forensic archaeology, totaling 23 papers. This was the apex of forensic presentations at the SAA, a real high point, and those of us in the community thought we had finally arrived as a firm fixture within the discipline. Since 2013, forensic archaeology presentations have retreated somewhat and remain at a consistent 8–12 papers each year. The presenters of those papers remain more or less the same year on year. On the surface this appears to be a decline. Has the prospect of forensic archaeology as a distinct discipline peaked and is now in the wane? Probably not. What is more likely the case is that the second phase of educational outreach has begun, i.e., outreach to the forensic and legal communities. Now that forensic archaeology is recognized within the archaeological community, it is time to engage the forensic one. By publishing, presenting at the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, and participating in the Organization of Scientific

8  Forensic archaeology is much better organized in the UK and in Europe. The Institute for Archaeologists, now the Chartered Institute for Archaeologists (CIfA) has established professional standards of practice for those operating forensically, available on their website (https://www. archaeologists.net/sites/default/files/CIfAS&GForensics_2.pdf). Also, since 2011, UK and European forensic archaeologist have organized an annual European Meeting of Forensic Archaeology within the European Network of Forensic Science Institutes (ENFSI). This meeting has produced two excellent volumes: Groen & Grant (2015) Forensic Archaeology: a Global Perspective and Barone & Groen (2017) Multidisciplinary Approaches to Forensic Archaeology: Topics discussed during the European Meetings on Forensic Archaeology (EMFA).

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Area Committees (OSAC)9, we can establish a presence and tie the acknowledgment of the importance of archaeological techniques to actual, practicing archaeologists. Once the forensic world knows who we are and what we can offer, we can then begin the last phase of outreach: outreach to the law enforcement community. Only then can we step out of the textbook and into the crime scene. The editor of this volume would like to thank all the SAA forensic archaeology symposium paper presenters and especially those who have contributed to this book. Thank you also to Dr. Allison Grunwald, Dr. Marianne Hamel, Ms. Ani Hatza, and Jeannie Garmon for their feedback and support. Thank you to Beth Tracy and the Rutgers University Office of Faculty Development for the writing support provided to faculty including the organization of writing retreats. Much of this volume was produced as a direct result of those efforts and provisions. Thank you to all our forensic archaeology colleagues in Europe and the UK who have blazed trails and provided a model for us in the USA to aspire to. Finally, a huge debt of gratitude is owed to this volume’s co-editor, Ms. Claire Gold. She is directly responsible for bringing this volume out of its languishing state and into completion. Camden, NJ, USA Norwood, MA, USA

Kimberlee Sue Moran Claire L. Gold

  In 2013 a national Forensic Science Standards Board (FSSB) was established in response to the 2009 National Research Council’s damning report on the state of forensic science in the United States. Coordinated by the National Institute for Standards and Technology (NIST), the Organization of Scientific Area Committees (OSACs) were created to draft standards for the myriad of forensic disciplines. While many forensic fields have a well-established history of best practice through pre-FSSB efforts, crime scene investigation has traditionally been overlooked. Finally, in 2015, over a year after the formation of the OSACs, NIST announced the formation of a CSI OSAC subcommittee that included two inaugural members from the archaeology community.

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Contents

Part I Theoretical Frameworks 1 Different But Equal: The Philosophical Foundations of Forensic Archaeology����������������������������������������������������������������������������   3 Kimberlee Sue Moran 2 Four-Field Forensic Archaeology��������������������������������������������������������������  21 Derek Congram 3 Professionalism in Forensic Archaeology: Transitioning from “Cowboy of Science” to “Officer of the Court”����������������������������  33 Melissa A. Connor 4 Forensic Archaeologist or Crime Scene Investigator?����������������������������  43 Kimberlee Sue Moran 5 The Human Side of Forensic Archaeology����������������������������������������������  57 Ann Marie Mires and Randi Scott Part II Forensic Archaeological Contexts 6 The Language of Forensic Archaeology: Discourses in Field and in Court���������������������������������������������������������������������������������  75 Anna S. Chaussée 7 Convincing LEO: Successful Interaction Between the Archaeologist and Law Enforcement Officials in Crime Scene Investigations ������������������������������������������������������������������  91 Michael J. Hochrein 8 The Use of Forensic Archaeology in Missing Person Cases ������������������ 111 Ann Marie Mires 9 Landfill Searches for Human Remains���������������������������������������������������� 143 Brian D. Paulsen and Kimberlee Sue Moran xiii

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10 The Application of Archaeological Techniques to Forensic Fire Scenes������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 153 Karl Harrison 11 An Evolving Problem for Forensic Archaeology: The Involvement of Armed Users of Controlled Substances in Archaeological Crime���������������������������������������������������������������������������� 163 James E. Moriarty, David E. Griffel, and Martin E. McAllister Part III Multi-disciplinary Techniques & Methods 12 The Role of Palynology in Forensic Archaeology������������������������������������ 177 Vaughn M. Bryant and Mary K. Bryant 13 Putting “Science” into Forensic Science: A Chemist’s Perspective on Forensic Archaeology �������������������������������� 203 Susan White 14 The Use of 3D Laser Scanning in Forensic Archaeology to Document Unauthorized Archaeological Damage������������������������������ 223 Tate Jones and Martin E. McAllister 15 Forensic Archaeology and the Question of Using Geographic Profiling Methods Such as “Winthropping” ������������������������������������������ 235 Sharon K. Moses Part IV Case Studies 16 The Benefits of a Cooperative Approach: Case Studies from Lancaster County, Nebraska ���������������������������������������������������������� 247 John Oladapo Obafunwa, Karl Reinhard, and Emily Hammerl 17 Use of the Archaeological Damage Assessment Methodology as an Application of Forensic Archaeology in Criminal and Civil Prosecutions ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 265 Martin E. McAllister, Larry E. Murphy, James E. Moriarty, and David E. Griffel 18 Looking Back: 10 Years After “the Station” Nightclub Fire, West Warwick, Rhode Island�������������������������������������������������������������������� 281 Richard A. Gould 19 Acquisition and Disposition Problems and Experiences Policing the Online Marketplace for Human Remains�������������������������� 299 Ryan M. Seidemann and William T. Hawkins 20 Take Them to the Woods: Melding Forensic Science Education with Real Case Experience������������������������������������������������������������������������ 313 Dana D. Kollmann Index�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 325

Contributors

Vaughn M. Bryant  Palynology Laboratory, Department of Anthropology, Texas A&M University, College Station, TX, USA Anna S. Chaussée  The University of Winchester, Winchester, UK Derek Congram  Munk School of Global Affairs, University of Toronto, Toronto, ON, Canada Melissa  A.  Connor  Forensic Investigation Research Station, Colorado Mesa University, Grand Junction, CO, USA Richard A. Gould  Brown University, Providence, RI, USA David E. Griffel  Northland Research, Inc., Tempe, AZ, USA Emily Hammerl  Department of Anthropology, University of Nebraska – Lincoln, Lincoln, NE, USA Karl Harrison  Wellcome Centre for Ethics and Humanities, University of Oxford, Oxford, UK William T. Hawkins  Independent Researcher, Los Angeles, CA, USA Michael  J.  Hochrein  Department of Justice, Law and Security, Special Agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation (retired), La Roche College, Pittsburgh, PA, USA Tate Jones  KCI Technologies, Lawrenceville, GA, USA Dana D. Kollmann  Department of Sociology, Anthropology & Criminal Justice, Towson University, Towson, MD, USA Martin E. McAllister  Northland Research, Inc., Tempe, AZ, USA Ann Marie Mires  Molly Bish Center and Forensic Criminology Program, Anna Maria College, Paxton, MA, USA Kimberlee Sue Moran  Department of Chemistry, Rutgers University – Camden, Camden, NJ, USA xv

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Contributors

James E. Moriarty  Northland Research, Inc., Tempe, AZ, USA Sharon K. Moses  Northern Arizona University, Flagstaff, AZ, USA Larry E. Murphy  Submerged Cultural Resource Consultants, Panama City, FL, USA John  Oladapo  Obafunwa  Lagos State University College of Medicine, Ikeja, Nigeria Brian D. Paulsen  Chief of Police (Retired), Crofton, NE, USA Karl  Reinhard  Professor and Fulbright Scholar, School of Natural Resource Sciences, University of Nebraska – Lincoln, Lincoln, NE, USA Randi Scott  Independent Archaeologist, Benicia, CA, USA Ryan M. Seidemann  Louisiana Department of Justice, Baton Rouge, LA, USA Susan  White  Member of the Advisory Board, UCL Centre for the Forensic Sciences, London, UK

About the Editors

Kimberlee Sue Moran  has been a forensic consultant and educator since 2002. She holds an undergraduate degree in Classical and Near Eastern Archaeology from Bryn Mawr College and a Master of Science in Forensic Archaeological Science from the Institute of Archaeology at University College London. Her archaeological research includes ancient fingerprints; artificial cranial deformation; the Whispering Woods site in Salem, NJ; and the First Baptist Church of Philadelphia cemetery also known as “The Arch Street Project.” Kimberlee has worked on a number of forensic cases in a range of capacities. She has provided forensic services to legal professionals in the UK and regularly runs training workshops for local law enforcement. She helped to launch the JDI Centre for the Forensic Sciences in 2010 and has run an educational organization, Forensic Outreach, since 2004. Her forensic research includes taphonomic studies, fingerprint development and enhancement, postmortem toxicology, and the interface of forensic archaeology and crime scene investigation. Kimberlee serves on the Crime Scene Investigation Subcommittee of the NIST-led Organization of Scientific Area Committees (OSAC). Kimberlee is passionate about outreach and science education and is a regular participant and speaker for the Philadelphia Science Festival. She often works in collaboration with the College of Physicians of Philadelphia and the Franklin Institute. Kimberlee is an active member of the Society for American Archaeology, the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, the Association for Women in Forensic Science, and Forensic Archaeology Recovery. Claire L. Gold  received a Master’s degree in Biological Anthropology from the State University of New  York, Binghamton, in 1998. She completed her undergraduate degree in Anthropology at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, in 1995. Gold has taught as a lecturer in Biological and Forensic Anthropology since 2005 at the University of Massachusetts, Clark University, and Bay Path University. Gold is dedicated to researching and developing effective teaching strategies for Anthropology and Archaeology. Of particular interest is the introduction of anthropological concepts to the K-12 classroom that reinforce current science and history xvii

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About the Editors

curriculum standards. She developed a traveling anthropology workshop in 2010 that has visited local Massachusetts public schools to teach younger students about the subjects of Paleoanthropology, Archaeology, and Forensic Anthropology. She has served as site photographer and researcher on several forensic archaeology projects. Currently, Gold serves as the Northeast director of a nonprofit organization dedicated to human rights of the missing and unfound, Forensic Archaeology Recovery, and as a consulting physical anthropologist, assisting with the excavation, photographic analysis, and reinterment of the skeletal remains of 500 individuals recovered from the First Baptist Church of Philadelphia cemetery, also known as “The Arch Street Project.” She continues to visit K-12 schools in Massachusetts with The Human Origins Workshop.

Part I

Theoretical Frameworks

Chapter 1

Different But Equal: The Philosophical Foundations of Forensic Archaeology Kimberlee Sue Moran

In the autumn of 2014, an exhumation took place in a cemetery in West Philadelphia. The body under investigation was that of a teenage boy who died in the 1920s under suspicious circumstances. A forensic anthropologist from out of state had requested access to the remains to ascertain whether the injuries described in the death certificate were consistent with any skeletal trauma. State police investigators had assisted in  locating the grave, liaising with the district attorney and medical examiners’ offices, and would be on hand to oversee the excavation. The goal of the anthropologist was to fly in to conduct the exhumation and examine the remains in 2 days. A colleague had told me about this interesting excursion and offered that I tag along. We could watch the exhumation as long as we didn’t bother anyone or get in the way. We were guests. I jumped at the chance and invited another three colleagues with whom I regularly collaborate, all of us seasoned excavators with both forensic and traditional archaeological experience. It was a cool, gray day. I brought donuts. When we arrived there was quite a crowd of people there to watch and possibly assist. Most were from the state police and other law enforcement agencies. The anthropologist was there along with a graduate student. A photographer from their university’s PR department had also made the trip. All of the equipment on site had been provided by the state police, and much of it was new  – shovels, tarps, and buckets. Shame, I thought, if I had known, I would have gladly brought equipment. One important piece of equipment that was missing, though, were screens. Small, handheld sieves were present, but no shaker screens or other equipment appropriate for large amounts of soil were available. The other worrying thing was the backhoe. Backhoes typically strike fear into the hearts of archaeologists, particularly those that work in forensic science. However, there are times when a backhoe is appropriate. In the case of this exhumation, the cemetery had good records indicating that the burial was 6 ft from the surface with no burials on top of it. With the limited time K. S. Moran (*) Department of Chemistry, Rutgers University – Camden, Camden, NJ, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_1

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K. S. Moran

available, the extremely dense clay we were to encounter, and the lack of anything of investigative use in the burial’s overburden, employing mechanical assistance made sense. What was worrying, however, was that this backhoe had teeth, meaning that the bucket was shaped like a claw rather than having a straight edge. A toothed bucket tears at the soil and can damage something delicate like a decades-old wood coffin. Sadly, though, this appeared to be the only backhoe available. The exhumation commenced. The backhoe made quick work of the soil, a very thick silty clay, impossible to screen in the flimsy sieves that were on site. When the toothed backhoe began to tear up wood, we knew the burial had been hit. The anthropologist jumped in the pit and tried to trowel away the clay from the top of the burial. Seeing that this was a struggle, I gingerly asked if we could be of assistance. After all, we were guests; I didn’t want to impinge on anyone’s turf. The help was accepted, and I jumped in the hole, too, to trowel and brush. The clay was thicker than anything I had ever worked in, but planks of wood slowly became visible, and we started a bucket brigade to try to remove as much loose soil as possible. At this point, I was expecting the work to pause as a sketch was started, measurements were taken, and photography was done. To my surprise, though, the anthropologist did not do any of this nor showed any interest in doing so. When asked if we could screen the soil, the response was a shrug of the shoulders. It was clear that there was no intention to screen soil (but we were welcome to do it if we wanted to). The wood planks didn’t resemble a coffin, but I assumed their size, dimensions, and arrangement were of relevance. Instead of documenting them through photography and a scaled drawing, they were torn from the ground. The objective was to get at what was under them. Wood was brought up out of the pit and dumped into a pile. Soil was removed mainly by shovel and hauled out by the police officers present. My colleagues and I took turns “screening” the soil. There was no way the clay1 could be sieved, so we opted to spread out the removed soil onto tarps and pick through it, breaking apart the clumps into smaller and smaller pieces until we were relatively confident there was nothing in them. Unsurprisingly, we found things. Thumb screws used to secure what was probably a box, not a coffin; a small cross pendant; the remains of a fabric bow, possibly from a burial wreath; and vegetative material that looked like straw were all recovered, though out of context since they were found in the spoil. Throughout the process, no measurements were taken and no drawings, and while there were copious amounts of photography, it was all done by the PR person without a scale or north arrow. None of the finds were photographed.

1  The clay we encountered was truly unlike anything I had seen. Not only was it incredibly dense, it was also a strange color. I remember the first time I ever saw a Munsell Soil Color Chart. I found the gley pages to be really odd. Could soil actually be any of those colors? Fifteen years later, I got my answer: the clay at this exhumation was the strangest blue color. But for all the remarks made by those at the exhumation about the clay, no Munsell Soil Color Chart was available, and no soil samples were taken.

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Strangely though, nothing resembling human remains or even a recognizable coffin had turned up. The digging continued. Eventually long vertical planks of wood, painted brown appeared. Finally, a coffin! Again, no measurements or proper photos were taken. The wood was simply taken out and thrown on the pile. Soil continued to be removed, and my colleagues and I started finding strips of black fabric, resembling black taffeta. Still no bones. One of my colleagues that had accompanied me began to inspect the woodpile and noticed a plank with a metal plate attached to it. It was smeared with clay. She took a bottle of water and poured it over the plate revealing engraved letters. The plate contained a name and date… that of the individual’s great-grandmother. We all realized in an instant that the burial under investigation had been dug right through and that we were now digging into the burial underneath. The anthropologist was visibly rattled. Apparently it was not unheard of for a container for remains to be sent home empty. However, the exhumation had been a waste of time, and without any remains to examine, there was nothing for the anthropologist to do. We were instructed to dump everything back into the pit. The backhoe filled everything in and we went home. This experience illustrates an instance where a forensic anthropologist and archaeologist can severely differ in their approaches to burial excavation and the value of different types of evidence. Sadly, though, this example is not an unusual one. From the anthropologist’s point of view, the human remains were of singular importance. The questions at the start of the exhumation were focused entirely on the remains and could only be answered by the remains. There was no way to anticipate that the excavation would produce far more questions than answers. The result of the remains-focused approach was that many alternative types of evidence, such as the soil, the construction of the container, and the other objects identified, were left undocumented, unexamined, and unable to aid the investigation. Without a record of what was unearthed that day, we will never know what was or wasn’t buried at that site.

American Anthropology In the United States, forensic anthropologists have long dominated as the experts in charge of the recovery of human remains, specifically buried remains and/or surface skeletal remains. But why is this? As human bone experts, what does forensic anthropology have to do with excavation techniques, particularly if the remains to be excavated are still fleshed? The answer first lies in the American approach to archaeological education and the four-field approach to anthropology (Anderson 2003; Kehoe 1998). Franz Boas has long been seen as the father of American anthropology and the four-field approach, but some evidence suggests that the holistic, integrated study of humanity preceded Boas’ efforts (Hicks 2013). Students of linguistics, cultural anthropology, physical anthropology, and archaeology in the United States simply study in an anthropology department and receive an

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anthropology degree much in the same way that ecologists, geneticists, zoologists, and botanist might all study under a biology department and receive a biology degree. Only in large universities or in some specific cases related to institutional history might any one of these fields be broken out into its own separate department or degree program. There is a connection between subdisciplines, and there is benefit from shared knowledge. An ecologist/zoologist/botanist depends on aspects of genetics to understand the relatedness of species and their evolutionary origins. The geneticist requires an understanding of botany, to know whether knocking out a specific gene will have positive or negative effects on the plant, and of ecology to understand how that effect ripples across food webs. Yet there is no doubt that each of these fields is distinct with different knowledge sets, applications, and skills required for practice. The same holds for the subdisciplines of anthropology. However, in US anthropology “four-field” degree programs, the educational approach can mean that a cultural anthropologist is also well trained in linguistics; the archaeologist may be well trained in physical anthropology. It muddies the waters with regard to titles and labels. While some graduates may be well cross-­ trained, others may not. An archaeologist who takes one osteology class is not instantly transformed into a bioarchaeologist. A cultural anthropologist who participated in a field school cannot claim to be an archaeologist after 4 weeks. Like botany is more than a single class on plant physiology, so, too, are archaeology and physical anthropology. Truly to be an expert in either field, one must take multiple classes, understand a range of concepts, and develop specific, practical skills. Physical anthropology is much deeper than creating a biological profile, and archaeology is more than just digging. The second answer to how forensic anthropology came to dominate the excavation of human remains lies in the history of how physical anthropology came to be used by law enforcement. Initial testimony of physical anthropologists in court addressed the identification of human remains rather than the recovery of them (Ubelaker 2006b, 2018; Black 2013). Early pioneers of forensic anthropology such as Aleš Hrdlička and Thomas Dale Stewart worked regularly with the FBI, but both of their degrees were in medicine (Schultz 1944; Ubelaker 2006a). Stewart’s successor both at the Smithsonian and as an FBI consultant was John Lawrence Angel. Unlike Hrdlička and Stewart, Angel graduated with a PhD in anthropology and studied under several eminent academic archaeologists and anthropologists (Buikstra and Roberts 2012; Buikstra 1990; Yaşar İşcan 1987; Ortner and Kelley 1988). As a graduate student, he had firsthand exposure to field archaeology working on a site in Greece. His role there was to analyze skeletal material, but it is likely that the four-field education he received at Harvard along with his field experience gave him, at the very least, a solid appreciation for archaeological methods and techniques. His research thereafter emphasized the importance of combining cultural and biological data for the purposes of analysis and interpretation. He continued archaeological collaborations throughout his life. His influence extends across the fields of bioarchaeology, paleopathology, and bio-

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anthropology, all subdisciplines that blend and blur the lines between archaeology and cultural and physical anthropology. Also in contrast to Hrdlička and Stewart, Angel embraced media attention. Angel happily took interview requests and relished his moniker  – “Sherlock Bones” (Buikstra and Roberts 2012; Ubelaker 1989). This exposure thrust forensic anthropology into the public consciousness. His personality combined with his extensive and interesting casework made forensic anthropology extremely popular and probably inspired many careers. Like an early version of the “CSI effect,” Angel defined forensic anthropology in the minds of the public as well as influencing law enforcement and legal professionals. Forensic anthropology became synonymous with bones and mysteries. But what about the digging? How did forensic anthropology evolve from “bones” to “digging up bones”? The answer likely lies in the specific academic and experiential background of Dr. Angel. As a researcher, a forensic investigator, and a media personality, Angel was firmly planted in both archaeology and physical anthropology. He proudly, and rightfully for his research interests, blended the two fields. This blend would have also exhibited itself in his forensic casework. His representation of what a forensic anthropologist is and what a forensic anthropologist does, magnified by the lens of popular media, essentially defined the field in the United States. Without a forensic archaeological counterpoint, this version of forensic anthropology went unchallenged until relatively recently. In 2002, at the Society for American Archaeology (SAA) annual meeting in Denver, Colorado, the Student Affairs Committee hosted a panel discussion titled “Interdisciplinary Research and the Future of Graduate Education in Archaeology” (Fitzpatrick and Carus 2002). The forum featured several well-known anthropologists and archaeologists such as Drs. Jane Buikstra, Ian Hodder, and Richard Leventhal, among others. The abstract for the session stated: Archaeological research has historically been divided among different academic disciplines, and there has been a corresponding variation in intellectual traditions and methodological approaches between disciplines. Increasingly, graduate programs seek to educate a new kind of research scientist who is broader, more flexible, more collaborative, and more adept at linking issues in the humanities and the life, earth, and social sciences than heretofore. Participants will contribute their thoughts and answer questions on the interdisciplinary nature of archaeological research and the steps that are currently being taken by graduate programs to integrate method, theory, and data from different academic disciplines. (ibid)

The discussion that afternoon ended with whether anthropology and archaeology are distinct fields or whether archaeology was still a subdiscipline of anthropology. To say the discussion was heated is an understatement. There were very strong views on both sides. What was clear, though, was that in the minds of many in the room, archaeology was slowly drifting out on its own. The drive to be “broader, more flexible, more collaborative” and resolutely multidisciplinary was somehow setting archaeology apart as its own distinct field of study. In addition, the increased globalization of that time as the Internet and e-mail had become ubiquitous in

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academia facilitated more oversees collaborations. It is possible that the changing American mindset toward archaeology and anthropology could also be a result of influences from the UK and Europe.2 Since the early 2000s archaeology has continued to grow more comfortable in its identity as its own discipline. Academics and practitioners make conscious choices as to which associations they join and which conferences they prioritize, choosing archaeological ones over other options. Professionals easily self-identify as “archaeologists.” This evolution, however, hasn’t yet translated into degree programs. Archaeology is still found within anthropology departments in the United States, but this probably has more to do with sustaining an independent, specialist program than attitudes toward archaeology’s “place” within disciplinary taxonomy. The lack of archaeology-specific programs and departments, however, has driven many US students to seek their education abroad. Particularly in the UK, the range of program concentrations, field opportunities, and the integration of the natural and physical sciences with archaeology programs make them very attractive to students seeking a graduate experience. Archaeologists who have worked in CRM and are looking to progress to the next stage in their career may choose a master’s degree that will develop in them a specific and marketable skill set. In this way, many prospective students were attracted to degrees in bioarchaeology, osteoarchaeology, forensic archaeology, and paleopathology. The idea of combining “bones” with archaeology sounded both interesting and practical. Sadly, though, for those that returned to the United States, they found that “forensic archaeologist” didn’t exist as a job title. This is just one route that took US archaeologists into forensic science. Other archaeologists were co-opted into forensic work at the request of law enforcement or a medical examiner’s office in need of an expert who could excavate a suspected clandestine grave. Once their involvement in the case concluded, the archaeologist went back to their day job, either in academia or at a CRM firm. If the experience was good for all involved, the archaeologist might see future work come their way. For those that entered the forensic world through experience rather than training, they learned the ropes as they went along. Often it was a lonely experience since a community of experts in this field didn’t formally exist. The group of foreign-trained forensic archaeologists and those pulled into forensic work at the request of law enforcement has slowly grown since the early 2000s. Finding the forensic community dominated by anthropologists and somewhat closed off, this fledgling group of archaeologists gravitated together within archaeological circles. Only very recently have the forensic archaeologist begun to venture  Also at this time there was a lively debate within the community as to the status of those within the Cultural Resource Management (CRM) sphere of archaeology. CRM is largely where the majority of archaeologists are employed, but this practical, applied, commercial version of archaeology was very much looked down upon by the academic elites. In the early 2000s CRM archaeology was gaining acceptance and today, while many would argue, that it is still not seen as equal to academic archaeology, it has become a strong voice within the community. CRM archaeology is very field-focused and therefore deviates from more traditional anthropological archaeology. This rise of CRM might also be a contributing factor to the view by some that archaeology and anthropology are separate fields of practice.

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into the forensic associations. Among “their own” forensic archaeologists have had no difficulty justifying their existence as a distinct and necessary specialty of archaeology.3 Less easy is the justification of forensic archaeology within the forensic community, especially within forensic anthropology where archaeologists can be seen as “just diggers.” Indeed, a 2013 paper argued that the nature of outdoor scenes, namely, their limited sedimentological stratigraphy, reduced the role of a forensic archaeologist to that of a technician (Dirkmaat et al. 2013). This view demonstrates a misunderstanding of or a lack of experience in basic archaeological theory and methodology – what archaeology is, how an archaeologist thinks, and what an archaeologist does.

Forensic Archaeology: A Distinct Discipline Part of the struggle between forensic anthropology and archaeology is that forensic anthropology has always been easy to define, while forensic archaeology has been less so. In the context of human remains recovery and clandestine burial excavation, the phrase “archaeological methods/methodology” is often cited in papers and presentation abstracts. This relegates forensic archaeology to a mere series of techniques, thus echoing the sentiments of the archaeologist as technician. Forensic archaeology does contain a methodology – a robust one – that offers best practice for crime scene processing of all sorts.4, 5 Forensic archaeology is also a set of theoretical approaches to human behavior, site formation, and site transformation that offer a framework for search, recovery, and interpretation. The remainder of this chapter will examine four key principles on which forensic archaeology, as a stand-alone forensic discipline, is built. A disclaimer: these premises are offered in the context of clandestine burials. A clandestine burial is the disposal and/or concealment of human remains. The remains may be dumped, buried at any depth, covered, or left exposed. The remains may be the result of a homicide, suicide, or accidental death. The following principles may be extrapolated to any human remains recovery effort as well as to crime scene investigation generally, but for descriptive ease, the term “clandestine burial” will be used.6

 What has been the challenge within the archaeological community is defining “forensic,” a subject discussed later in this chapter. 4  See the chapter in this volume dedicated to the forensic archaeologist as crime scene investigator for a fuller discussion. 5  Many excellent books outline the “how to” of forensic archaeology, namely, burial excavation. Two recommendations for further reading on this topic include Dupras and Schultz (2011) Forensic Recovery of Human Remains: Archaeological Approaches and Connor (2007) Forensic Methods: Excavation for the Archaeologist and Investigator. 6  These principles also apply to crime scene examination. “Crime scenes” can be used in place of “clandestine burials.” 3

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 landestine Burials Are Products of Human Action C and Decision-Making (Human Behavior and Agency) The first tenet that defines forensic archaeology addresses site formation as a product of agency and rational choice. Clandestine burials are not random or products of chance. Perpetrators are influenced by a range of factors and select a location based upon their weighing up of options. Their choices and actions are intentional. This is no different than predicting the likelihood of traditional archaeological sites using qualities such as access to raw materials or sources of water. Some of the elements that influenced ancient activities, such as the landscape, also influence forensic actors. Humans behave predictably, and an understanding of the factors influencing site selection and site creation guides a forensic archaeologist in the search and location of a clandestine grave. • Time – Time is a variable in several forms. Time can mean how much time is available before the perpetrator is detected and can, therefore, cause duress. Time could also mean the amount of time it takes to conceal/dispose of the remains due to the availability of tools and/or the perpetrator’s physical ability. Ultimately the perpetrator will want to dispose of the remains as quickly as possible. • Landscape  – The perpetrator’s relationship and interaction with the landscape will greatly influence site selection. Familiarity with the landscape may facilitate disposal. The converse is true: perpetrators unfamiliar with the landscape may opt to dump remains or may opt to transport them to an area that is more familiar. Landscape features may act as reference points for a perpetrator looking to merely conceal remains. Reference points facilitate the ability to check up on the clandestine burial as a detection avoidance strategy. Features such as pathways that provide access or vegetation that provides cover may make one area more desirable than another. • Physical capability – A dead body is difficult to move, and digging a shallow grave is much more arduous and time-consuming than one might assume. The ability of the perpetrator to carry weight over terrain will influence site selection. Burial in a backyard may be easier than trying to get a body into a car. Or a body dump off the side of the highway may be easier than trying to dig a 5 ft long, 3 ft deep hole. Even if the perpetrator opts to find a secluded spot in the woods, their adeptness at digging and encounters with tree roots will determine how deep the grave is likely to be. • Availability of tools – Shallow grave creation is rather difficult without the right tools, and not everyone has access to a shovel. Tool availability will influence whether a body is dumped from a car or buried, dismembered, or disposed of in other creative ways, such as a wood chipper. A suspect’s vocational background and/or current employment may provide access to tools or other unique means of disposal or concealment. • Environmental conditions – Some environmental conditions, such as soil composition, are products of the landscape and are, therefore, fixed. Others, such as

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weather conditions, ground cover, or available light, are transient in nature and require knowledge of timing of the crime and subsequent body disposal in order to factor them into the burial search efforts. Frozen ground, for instance, would seriously impede the efforts of a ground burial, while heavy leaf coverage might make a body disposal possible without the effort of digging. • State of mind – Finally, a suspect’s state of mind not only drives decision-­making, but it can become a confounding factor that causes a perpetrator to operate outside of the model of prediction. If the perpetrator is under the influence of drugs or alcohol, this can cause irrational or uncharacteristic behavioral choices. For instance, methamphetamine can cause an otherwise unfit individual to be overcome with the energy and desire for a repetitive task such as digging. The amount of duress the suspect is under can influence a burial choice toward a more expedient method rather than one that would better avoid detection. Another variable that influences behavior is whether the perpetrator is motivated to simply dispose of the remains or whether the remains are merely being concealed. Disposed remains are those where the suspect has no intention to ever have contact with the remains again. It could be in situations where the decedent has served his/her purpose and is no longer of use. It could be the result of some sort of disgust. It could be a case where the victim is a stranger to the perpetrator, and therefore, the perpetrator has no sense of relationship with his/her victim. Concealed remains are those where the perpetrator has some desire to check on the clandestine burial. This could be because of fear of detection or because of some sort of relationship with the victim. In such instances, site selection is very intentional because the “right” site must both protect the remains from discovery and at the same time offer a means for the perpetrator to find the site in the future. None of the described elements is independent; each influences or is influenced by the others. The perpetrator’s state of mind may influence the landscape chosen for remains disposal. Environmental conditions can influence the tools required for burial creation. All these factors can be simplified to “ease and speed.” The perpetrator will be driven to the easiest, quickest way to dispose of the remains. This understanding of agency-driven site selection is a foundational tenet of archaeological, and forensic archaeological, practice. It helps create a predictive model to be leveraged during the search and location phase of a forensic investigation. One such model worth noting is that of “winthropping,” also known as the Winthrop Method (Morewitz and Colls 2016; Humphrey et al. 2010). This search and location system was developed by the British Army to help detect caches of weapons concealed by Northern Irish paramilitaries. It is based on identifying primary and secondary reference points that ultimately lead to the site of the concealed object. Published information on this method is scant as it had, for years, been classified information. A few decades ago, forensic archaeologists in the UK began to incorporate elements of the Winthrop Method into their searches, realizing that it dovetailed with archaeological theory of human/landscape interaction. More research on this method is needed, including validation studies to determine the predictive power of winthropping.

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 Clandestine Burial Represents a Series of Events A (Depositional History) It is easy to become hyper-focused on the recovery of human remains. After all, “bones are cool!”7 For those with specific training in the identification and analysis of human remains, it is only natural to be driven toward the crux of their expertise. The next foundational principle of forensic archaeology recognizes that a clandestine burial is more than the human remains. In the case study discussed at the start of this chapter, the remains were unexpectedly absent. There were other objects and elements in the burial pit that may have provided useful information. Those items, sadly, were not properly documented or removed from the excavation and thus their usefulness was lost. In the process of producing a clandestine burial, a huge range of processes and actions take place to transform a location into a crime scene. Site selection has already been discussed. Once the site is selected, it must be entered. Just that action alone alters the site as new elements are introduced. If a shallow grave is chosen as the method of concealment, the ground will be disturbed. Objects will be deposited either in the ground or on the surface. Once the perpetrator is finished, bits of the site may be taken away with the perpetrator. To illustrate this, suppose a homicide has taken place. The perpetrator (we’ll call him “Bob”) has had a dispute with his buddy in his home over drugs and killed his friend with a kitchen knife. Bob’s car is in the shop, so he decides the best idea is to bury his friend in the backyard. His yard has a tall fence, shielding him from prying eyes, and Bob has a shovel in his shed. Bob goes out to the yard, transferring some blood from his shoes onto the paved walkway. He gets a shovel and selects a spot along the fence. He proceeds to dig a hole, which he makes rectangular in shape. He piles the soil from the hole to one side on the grass. Bob decides to throw the knife in the hole since it’s the murder weapon. He covers it with some soil from the backpile. Bob goes inside and drags his friend from the kitchen out the backdoor. He drags him across the lawn. As he does, more blood gets on the grass, and his friend’s shoes and clothing pick up dirt and grass stains along the way. One of his friend’s shoes comes off. Bob pulls his friend into the hole, goes back for the shoe, and throws it in the hole, too. Bob begins to fill the hole back in. It’s tiring work. Bob stops for a beer. He drinks the beer, smokes a cigarette, and throws both into the hole. He finishes filling the hole but there is still a small pile of dirt. He stomps on top of the grave to try to compact the soil and adds some more soil on top. He tries to arrange the dug-up grass back on top of the hole. The remaining soil he kicks about to try to scatter it around. He puts the shovel back in the shed and goes back inside. Anyone who has taken an Archaeology 101 class will be familiar with the concepts related to depositional history. Human action at a site will be represented by strata deposited in temporal succession. The law of superposition, another foundational concept of archaeology, states that the oldest action is deposited first and the  A very funny video on the “coolness” of bones was produced by The Onion in 2014. It is currently available on You Tube, https://youtu.be/QDlCW7FROtI.

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most recent action will be the last deposited (Hamblin 1978; Harris 1989). In the hypothetical case described, there is an order in which things are deposited into the grave. First the knife, then some soil, then the friend, then his shoe, then more soil, then a beer can and a cigarette butt, and finally the rest of the soil. An archaeologist excavating the grave will find each deposit in reverse order. A better term to use than “strata” is “archaeological context” or just “context.” Strata are often associated with geological strata or soils. In forensic settings, such as the one above, the soil encountered is usually unstratified grave fill, hence, the assertion that an archaeologist’s skills are unnecessary for forensic excavations. An archaeological context is the evidence of any human action. It may be a deposit, such as the grave fill, but it may also be a negative context – something removed – like soil removed to create the burial. It may also be an action, like the cut of the burial or the compaction of the soil. It may be a positive context – something inserted – like the body into the burial cut or the other items tossed into the hole as it is being filled. The excavation process is more than just the recovery of these actions; it is the documentation of the actions so that an interpretation of the order in which these actions took place can be assembled. One way of depicting this is through the Harris matrix, a graphical representation of depositional history (Harris et al. 1993). Also, plan and profile drawings are essential in the reconstruction of the excavation results, the physical proximity of evidence, and the final interpretation of what happened. Depositional history facilitates another interpretive tool common in archaeological fieldwork: relative dating. Relative dating is the ability to “date” an action or item in relation to the things around it. If older layers are further down, then items deposited in a clandestine grave exhibit the same principle: older actions are further from the surface; more recent actions are closer to the surface, like in the shallow grave scenario described above. By excavating a grave in layers, the items discovered therein provide a sequencing of events. A case from 2015 provides a real-world example of relative dating in practice: a group of volunteer archaeologists conducted a search to locate the remains of a young girl who went missing in 1989.8 The area to be searched was a backyard associated with the homicide suspects. Cadaver dogs were employed and one dog “indicated” in an area of overgrown vegetation. Volunteers began clearing the vegetation and hit a large slab of concrete. Many cases exist where human remains are concealed under concrete or a patio, so the discovery energized the search party. The vegetation and overlying soil were quickly removed. It was, indeed, a concrete slab, probably the pad for a shed or similar structure. As the concrete was being brushed, one of the volunteers noticed something embedded in it: a coin. Coins are superb for relative dating because they are stamped with the date of their minting. The coin was cleared and the date revealed: 1987 – 2 years before the girl’s disappearance.9 Anything under the slab  This case is still active and further details cannot be provided at this time.  Also embedded in the concrete was a figurine: a “Kermit” from the series “Muppet Babies.” The volunteer instantly recognized the figurine as coming from a McDonald’s Happy Meal from sometime in the 1980s. An Internet search produced similar figurines that provided a date – 1987. The coin and the figurine were contemporaneous. 8 9

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would predate 1987, disassociating the concrete from any involvement in the case. While the discovery was disappointing for the team, it ultimately saved time and resources. The area could be eliminated from the search. This case provides another example where no human remains were found, but the information gathered through archaeological methods were still of value to the investigation.

 Clandestine Burial Is Changed over Time by A Range A of Processes (Taphonomy) Archaeological sites and crime scenes are not static entities. Just as a series of forces and factors influence site selection, so too, are there forces and factors at work transforming the site from its original state to that in which it is found. These processes are collectively known as taphonomy. Originating from the field of paleontology, taphonomy was first used to understand the means by which a living creature, such as a dinosaur, was transformed into a fossil to be excavated millions of years after the creature’s last breath. What had to happen was complex and involved geophysical, biological, environmental, and chemical processes. Archaeology was quick to recognize that the theory behind taphonomy was well suited to describe how and why an excavated site or an artifact changed from antiquity to present day. Forensic science, specifically forensic anthropology, has only just recently adopted taphonomy into its toolbox. Human remains that were initially buried can later be discovered as surface scatter. Taphonomy is a handy way to explain how this can happen. Taphonomy can also be used as a predictive model to inform search and recovery methodology. As taphonomy has become more embedded into forensic anthropology and anthropological research, it has begun to veer toward a body-centric application. It is often cited in a limited sense, as referring to human decomposition. In fact taphonomy is sometimes treated as a synonym for human decomposition. It is true that decomposition is a series of processes, biological and chemical, that are impacted by internal and external variables. But to remove an understanding of taphonomy from the scene as a whole is to examine one piece of evidence out of context. In a way, taphonomy is a good illustration of the difference in perspective between forensic archaeology and forensic anthropology. For the forensic anthropologist, human decomposition and the taphonomy that affects it is the end game. Establishing a postmortem interval and analyzing bone is the focus of their work. For the forensic archaeologist, site taphonomy will affect human decomposition, and human decomposition is one of the taphonomic processes transforming the site. In the earlier example of “Bob,” his clandestine grave had more dirt than it could contain once the body was deposited. Over time, however, as the body decomposes, volume is lost, and the soil will slump, creating a depression and thus altering the clandestine grave from its original form.

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 Holistic Approach Is Necessary When Investigating A a Clandestine Burial (Context and Association) Crime scene personnel have very specific protocols when processing a crime scene such as a residence or a vehicle. Some units have a strict sequence of actions to be performed known as standard operating procedures (SOPs). Deviation from the (SOP) is not allowed unless a reasonable justification is documented along with documentation of the form in which the deviation manifested. The aim of the SOP is to ensure proper and thorough documentation of all aspects of the scene, not just the decedent found there or the obvious items of evidence, such as a firearm. Indeed, decades ago, it was not uncommon for a responding officer to enter a scene, spot something like a firearm and immediately collect it. Once the body was removed, the scene would be reopened. Today, as crime scene investigation, analysis, and reconstruction have become formalized professions, those that perform these functions understand that the scene must be processed, documented, and interpreted as a whole rather than as a series of isolated objects. The firearm on its own will have some forensic value in terms of fingerprints, DNA, and the tool marks it can produce on a cartridge. However, its spatial relationship to other items of evidence and its position within the crime scene provide information of equal or even greater importance. Consider three scenarios: (a) A firearm is found on a table across the room several feet from the decedent. A spent cartridge case is found on the floor immediately adjacent to the decedent. (b) A firearm is found in the hand of the decedent. A spent cartridge case is found on the floor across the room from the decedent. (c) A firearm is found in the hand of the decedent. A spent cartridge case is found on the floor immediately adjacent to the decedent. In scenarios A and B, the spatial relationship between items suggests homicide. Scenario B suggests the attempt to stage the homicide as a suicide. Scenario C suggests a suicide, but even then, information as to whether there are signs of forced entry or the presence of another person in the room at the time of the incident could point to homicide. In all three scenarios, the entirety of the scene, not each individual item is what informs the investigation. Like the early days of evidence collection, the earliest form of archaeology was not much more than treasure hunting. The goal of archaeological expeditions of the nineteenth century was to bring back interesting artifacts to populate museums or the parlors of landed gentry. As archaeology evolved, the focus shifted to an interest in sites and cultures. Artifacts were recognized as a tool along with stratigraphy and other analyses through which the history of a site and its inhabitants could be reconstructed. While artifacts were and are still of interest, the context of the artifact is what really provides information. Typical crime scene protocol is sometimes abandoned in instances of clandestine burials. Certainly in the exhumation scenario at the start of the chapter, there was no

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consideration for anything other than the human remains which were ultimately absent. The holistic approach offered by modern archaeological excavation methods enables the conservation of context which, in turn, maximizes the information available from the scene, site, or burial. Nontraditional crime scenes 10are no less worthy of proper crime scene procedure. In fact, nontraditional scenes often have added complexities that make it even more essential to follow standard photography, documentation, search, and recovery protocols.

Better Defining Ourselves The four principles outlined above help to define the unique contribution forensic archaeology can make to the forensic community. Perhaps the ability to better define forensic archaeology is what is needed in order to establish the field as separate but equal to forensic anthropology. Starting with “forensic,” though, archaeologists need to first be sure that they use it correctly. Many factors work against the proper use and understanding of the term “forensic.” Archaeologists love to label themselves, and with so many flavors of archaeology, it is understandable that descriptors can help provide distinction among one’s peers. With the popularity of all things forensic, it is tempting to tack on the forensic adjective to describe anything related to dead bodies, mystery, or just in an attempt to reference the connotations relating to the term when describing a particular project. Often the application of modern forensic techniques, such as DNA sequencing or fingerprinting, to archaeological research results in the erroneous use of “forensic.” Archaeology, at its core, borrows methods from other disciplines. Utilizing ancient DNA no more makes an archaeologist a forensic scientist than examining ancient tooth wear makes one a dentist. Reports of interesting archaeological work by the media, such as cases of potential homicide found in the archaeological record, routinely cite the researchers as forensic archaeologists. Often the label sticks, and the researchers continue to be known as such. A final factor that muddies the definition of “forensic” among archaeologists is fieldwork that straddles the worlds of historic archaeology and forensic archaeology. Such projects include excavations of the wrongfully killed that are more than 70 years old and the recovery and repatriation of US service personnel killed in foreign conflicts. While such projects are of high humanitarian importance and draw on some forensic archaeological methods, neither will result in prosecution or litigation, the defining factor as to whether a discipline is forensic. Perhaps this sort of archaeology would be better defined as “historic humanitarian archaeology.” Currently, the definition of “forensic” is limited to criminal and civil proceedings, investigations that end in a court decision, rather than a broader legal mandate such as the identification of the deceased for the purposes of providing closure to  Some examples of “nontraditional” crime scenes include outdoor scenes, buried scenes, scene spanning large areas like an arson-initiated forest fire or a mass fatality scene, multiagency incidents, bodies found in water, etc.

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families. While repatriation might not truly be “forensic” within today’s understanding of the term, the investigation of recent (less than 70 years old) mass graves attributed to human rights violations would certainly be forensic. Indeed, forensic archaeology as a discipline was birthed through the excavation and evidence collection of graves from the conflict in the former Yugoslavia that convicted the likes of Slobodan Milošević along with 89 others in the International Criminal Court.11 Also to be included as “forensic” would be any archaeology related to mass fatality incidents as this work includes a litigious component.12 Suspected terrorism will involve a criminal investigation, and transportation crashes or building collapses may involve both civil and criminal proceedings. Even in a natural disaster context, questions of liability concerning the deceased will require data collection. As the forensic world evolves and better defines itself, more applications will arise that can truly be called forensic archaeology. Once the archaeological community better grasps the legal line that separates traditional from forensic archaeology, archaeologists can begin to reach outside of their community to law enforcement and legal professionals. The forensic world currently views archaeologists as diggers with a level of meticulousness and speed that is inappropriate for the demands of a criminal investigation. It is necessary to dispel these myths and to explain the “value added” that archaeology brings to all forms of crime scene processing, not just buried remains. In addition, archaeologists are well suited to a range of tasks outside of digging: ethnographic work such as interviewing family members or those who claim to know about the death or location of remains; advanced historical and documentary research to gather information on the history of a case such as historic map searches for cold cases; site surveys and test excavations; cataloging, preservation, and reconstruction of evidence; sampling methodology; and the analysis of samples, especially samples that are environmental such as soil, pollen, and microscopic remains. Finally, forensic archaeology must establish for itself a robust body of research and publication in order to claim its own unique academic space and to further distinguish itself from forensic anthropology. Forensic anthropology has a firm foundation in the academic literature that includes federally funded research and graduate programs with well-defined research agendas. Forensic archaeology, on the other hand, is lacking in both graduate programs and in research projects in the United States. However, there is plenty of research to be done. Forensic anthropology research is, rightfully, focused on skeletal remains – identification, measurement, 11  This number comes from the website of the International Tribunal of the Former Yugoslavia (ITFY). The activities of the ITFY have now concluded but the website remains “as a monument to those accomplishments” (http://www.icty.org). 12  Human-induced mass fatality scenes require the same activities as crime scenes: search, location, recovery of remains, recovery of associated evidence, and scene reconstruction. In addition, mass fatality scenes also require an accounting of all victims, correct association of victim and personal effects, repatriation of remains to next of kin, victim identification, interpretation of human activity (cause of incident, motive of the perpetrator(s), the series of events leading up to the incident), and the correcting of the historical account in cases of human rights abuses, genocide, or other restorative/reparative justice scenarios.

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and analysis techniques; pathology and trauma; and taphonomy. The crime scene community has identified several research needs, many of which intersect with archaeology.13 Topics such as taphonomy offer opportunities where anthropologists and archaeologists could work together and learn from each other, collaborating in a way as to expand anthropology’s understanding of taphonomic processes and to better address the excavation needs of fleshed versus skeletonized remains. Perhaps the greatest rationale for establishing forensic archaeology in a foundation of research is to avoid a common pitfall of other forensic fields such as the pattern disciplines. Ipse dixit is a legal phrase meaning, “trust me, I’m an expert.” Without peer-reviewed publications to which to point or methodology that has been validated through research, that is what we are asking the courts and law enforcement to do. It ultimately undermines our credibility to be called a science. It is an issue with which many forensic subjects are struggling. Fingerprinting and firearms analysis are working to address their scientific inadequacies. Other fields such as blood pattern interpretation and handwriting lag behind. Forensic science spans a multitude of disciplines from chemistry, biology, computer science, pattern evidence, and more. No one is a “do-it-all” expert. We all have specific skill sets, though there can be some overlap. Forensic anthropology and forensic archaeology are different but of equal importance to the excavation of human remains. Rather than compete, these disciplines complement each other, and professionals from each should strive to form collaborative teams. In this way, we can serve the best interests of the investigation, maximize the evidence available, and optimally use our specific skill sets for the cause of justice.

References Anderson, E. N. (2003). Four-field anthropology. Anthropology Newsletter, 44, 3. Black, S. (2013). History of forensic archaeology. In M. M. Houck (Ed.), Forensic anthropology. London: Academic Press. Buikstra, J. E. (1990). A life in science: Papers in honor of J. Lawrence Angel. Kampsville: Center for American Archeology. Buikstra, J., & Roberts, C. (2012). The global history of paleopathology: Pioneers and prospects. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Connor, M. A. (2007). Forensic Methods: Excavation for the Archaeologist and Investigator. Rowman Altamira. Dirkmaat, Adovasio, Cabo. (2013). SAA conference paper. The two faces of forensic archaeology. Dupras, T. L., & Schultz, J. J. (2011). Forensic Recovery of Human Remains: Archaeological Approaches. CRC Press. Fitzpatrick, S. M., & Carus, A. (2002, January). Student affairs events at the SAA annual meeting. The SAA Archaeological Record, 2(1), pg 18.

 Each subcommittee within the Organization of Scientific Area Committees (OSAC) has been asked by the National Institute for Science and Technology (NIST) to publish research needs for their fields. The research needs identified by the CSI subcommittee can be found on the NIST OSAC website under “Research and Development Needs.”

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Hamblin, W. K. (1978). The Earth’s dynamic systems, a textbook in physical geology. Minneapolis: Burgess Publishing Company. Harris, E. C. (1989). Principles of archaeological stratigraphy. London: Academic. Harris, Edward C.; Brown III, Marley R.; Brown, Gregory J. (1993). Practices of archaeological stratigraphy. London: Academic. Hicks, D. (2013). Four field anthropology: Charter myths and time warps from St. Louis to Oxford. Current Anthropology, 54(6), 753. Humphrey, N., Masters, P., Harrison, K. (2010). Archaeologically informed forensic search techniques: Towards an open discussion  – the case of winthropping. Poster presented at Environmental & Criminal Forensics, Geological Society of London, Burlington House, Piccadilly, London 16th December 2010. Kehoe, A. B. (1998). Humans: An introduction to four-field anthropology. New York: Routledge. Morewitz, S.  J., & Colls, C.  S. (2016). Handbook of missing persons. Switzerland: Springer International Publishing. Ortner, D.  J., & Kelley, J.  O. (1988, March). J.  Lawrence Angel (1915–1986). American Anthropologist, New Series, 90(1), 145–148. Schultz, A.  H. (1944). Bibliographical Memoirif Ales Hrdlicka 1869–1943 (Vol. 23). National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America Bibliographical Memoirs. Washington, DC: National Academies Press. Ubelaker, D. H. (1989). Obituary: J. Lawrence Angel. American Antiquity, 54, 5–8. Ubelaker, D. H. (2006a). Thomas Dale Stewart June 10, 1901–October 27, 1997. Biographical Memoirs Volume 88. Washington, DC: National Academies Press. Ubelaker, D.  H. (2006b). Introduction to forensic anthropology (pp.  3–12). In A.  Schmitt, E. Cunha, & J. Pinheiro (Eds.), Forensic anthropology and medicine. Totowa: Humana Press. Ubelaker, D.  H. (2018). A history of forensic anthropology. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 165, 915–923. Yaşar İşcan, M. (1987). John Lawrence Angel, Ph.D., 1915–1986, a tribute and remembrance. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 32(5), 1484–1484.

Chapter 2

Four-Field Forensic Archaeology Derek Congram

Introduction Despite forensic archaeology becoming a more familiar part of our lexicon, confusion about what it is and who does it abounds. Is the cause of King Tutankhamun’s death to be answered by the forensic archaeologist? If we rely on television for the answer – and even the academics and practitioners who live off the avails of some of the tawdrier TV productions – then the answer is yes. Academic journals are falling into this trap too, with “forensic” articles about medieval vampires (Nuzolessi and Borrini 2011). Although some scientists help sieve the forensic from the fantastic (Minozzi et al. 2012), the battle for ratings, publicity, funding, and impact leave the uninitiated in a muddle. Woe is the young student who enrolls in a forensic archaeology/anthropology program with the idea that upon completion of undergraduate study they will be commuting in a Hummer with model-caliber co-workers in the course of saving the world. Instead, however, they will much more likely be disappointed having to chase seasonal contracts as shovelbums with people who smell and look just as one might expect after a full day in the muddy trenches (which, at least for a couple of years, is a fair and professionally healthy rite of passage). Fortunately, alongside this volume are other recent publications, which do much to clarify the state and form of forensic archaeology (e.g., Crossland 2013; Márquez-Grant et al. 2012; Groen et al. 2015). When I presented on this topic at the Society for American Archaeology meeting in Vancouver in 2007, I talked about four contexts that are seen as exemplifying forensic archaeology, classified as, domestic, international, repatriation, and mass fatality. I argued that work in two of the four contexts (repatriation and mass fatality) did not meet the definition of forensic. My opinion has changed somewhat since

D. Congram (*) Munk School of Global Affairs, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_2

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that time – in part by having worked almost 6 years doing repatriation work – and this chapter reflects my evolving opinion. The loosest definition of forensic archaeology incorporates two principal criteria: a legal mandate and archaeological methods (and from these methods, necessary though oft neglected archaeological interpretation, (Dirkmaat et al. 2013, see also Crossland 2013). More specifically, the legal mandate is almost always medicolegal, concerning questions of death, and this marries the archaeological expertise required with bioarchaeological methods and interpretations.1 The four contexts discussed here all address important issues of law but are distinguished by their primary mandate. Nevertheless, in the two contexts where the principal objective is not medicolegal investigation, there are often unanswered questions of potential criminal acts, so a forensic approach is often adopted by archaeology and bioarchaeology experts. I argue that what ties these four fields together under the forensic archaeology umbrella is that the people being sought and exhumed usually have living relatives who seek them. In fact, in all of these, it is often the families of the missing who call upon the authorities and archaeologists to assist with the search, recovery, and repatriation. It is the element of these families – the primary stakeholders – and the objective of the work on their behalf that distinguishes forensic archaeology from historic and prehistoric archaeology. While it is true that archaeologists could very easily be serving law enforcement in searches of buried caches of illegal arms or drugs, I am not aware of any such actual cases, and if they exist, they must be few. Archaeologists could offer opinions about the destruction of cultural heritage sites in wartime (a war crime), although a survey of available literature and my own experience working in several active or immediate post-conflict countries indicate that this type of “forensic archaeology” remains hypothetical.

Field I: Domestic The domestic forensic context typically calls upon archaeological expertise for the search, mapping, and interpretation of surface remains and associated evidence or the excavation of buried human remains. In North America, this work is commonly initiated by the unwitting discovery of remains by, for example, a person walking their dog or by construction crews. Despite “forensic” often denoting criminal investigation, the cause and circumstances of death are seldom known before analysis (although they may be suspected, as when a person has left a suicide note). Death investigators (e.g., a coroner or medical examiner) show due diligence by treating the scene and evidence as suspicious until proven otherwise. In other instances, archaeologists are called upon to help with the search for a person who is missing and presumed dead (and buried) and so may assist with different types of 1  This distinction is exemplified by American (in the continental sense) and British definitions of forensic archaeology. For an analysis of these two approaches, see Cabo and Dirkmaat (2015).

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survey including geophysical, pedestrian, or aerial. Nevertheless, despite decades of publications and practice alongside the general availability of advanced technological methods, there is no guarantee of their use (Congram 2015; chapters in Groen et al. 2015). The jurisdiction of domestic investigations can range from municipal to national and typically involves the investigation of remains from a single person at one scene. In some places, it is more common that discovered human remains are not those of a person recently deceased. This is where local archaeological knowledge is particularly important to help distinguish archaeological/historic from modern remains. This is another reason why bioarchaeological expertise is necessary: those trained in skeletal biology are best suited to interpret the taphonomic condition of remains relative to the geographic context in ascertaining forensic significance. Even when remains are suspected or determined to be modern, criminal activity may be the least common explanation. Especially in low-crime jurisdictions with large, sparsely populated areas, people die in the course of getting lost in the woods, by accident or by their own hand (i.e., suicide). In some jurisdictions archaeologists are called upon to monitor or assist with cemetery exhumations for follow-up investigations (e.g., cold cases or the reinvestigation of a past death). A forensic approach is usually adopted until criminal acts can be ruled out, but the domestic forensic archaeologist’s case load over their career might actually involve few criminal deaths, which contrasts with the mass media-inspired image. Over the past few decades, there have been many publications illustrating this context and emphasizing the need for an archaeological approach to domestic death investigation (e.g., Bass and Birkby 1978; Congram 2008; Dirkmaat and Adovasio 1997; Hunter et al. 2001; Morse et al. 1976; Sigler-Eisenberg 1985).

Field II: International The key element that defines international forensic archaeology is the legal objective: violations of international law such as war crimes, crimes against humanity, or genocide. This is perhaps the most public face of forensic archaeology, thanks to relatively well publicized work of international teams of archaeologists and anthropologists in the former Yugoslavia. The range of publicity covers the spectrum of academic (Scott and Connor 2001; Haglund 2002; Skinner et al. 2003; Wright et al. 2005), popular and personal (Koff 2004; Stover and Peress 1998), and media accounts. Just about every year for the past 10  years, one or another newspaper publishes a headline announcing the discovery of what might be the biggest mass grave ever discovered in Bosnia. In fact, the largest known grave, in terms of victim numbers (and which was touted as such at the time) was at Crni Vrh and was excavated in 2003. With the distraction of other contexts of mass tragedy such as Iraq, Darfur, and Syria, those working in Bosnia need to work harder to garner waning attention (and funding). Despite great popular and professional interest in this context, there are few governments and organizations who are very committed to

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sponsoring it. Nevertheless, archaeologists employed by the United Nations (including many Latin Americans with decades of experience in their own countries) and the International Commission for Missing Persons have revealed important evidence from the controlled excavation of many of graves during the investigation of atrocity crimes and have assisted with the identification of thousands in Bosnia alone. More than a decade after many of these excavations, reports and data are becoming available as court records of the UN International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. These records, along with reports by monitors who worked for Physicians for Human Rights in Bosnia-Herzegovina and Croatia, give archaeologists today the opportunity to critically examine the work and to develop guidelines and theory for better forensic archaeological practice. There are variations within this category. I include here much of the work by Latin American forensic anthropology teams who, as pioneers in the field, have spent several decades investigating the violent disappearances and deaths of tens of thousands of victims of political violence in their own countries. The jurisdiction of investigations is generally domestic (or simply repatriation, see below), but the nature and scale of killings best reflects the international work and in most instances constitutes violations of international law. By categorizing this work here, I hope not to appear ethnocentric, things as seen by the North American eye. Instead I believe that this classification is best considered as optimistic, where routine forensic archaeology/anthropology work – also active and fairly well-developed in Latin America – involves the investigation of a proportionately small number of deaths with various causes over time. In contrast, mass killings requiring the excavation of common burials of those who have been violently killed in contravention of international laws of war should seldom be necessary. To think that these events will cease to occur, however, is probably naïve. Similar in the material sense to (though politically, remarkably distinct from) the Latin American work are the excavations of mass graves in Iraq under the administration of the United States’ Regime Crimes Liaison Office of 2004–2006 (Trimble and Malin-Boyce 2011). The work in Iraq has the appearance of international forensic archaeology but was performed to serve Iraqi courts which merely “have elements of international law” (Alvarez 2004). The deaths that were investigated in Iraq constituted violations of international law, but no such investigation has taken place. The lack of United Nations sanction for military intervention in Iraq in 2003, the failure of the United States and Iraq to ratify the statute of the International Criminal Court, and the ongoing war-related deaths in Iraq all gave both countries good reason to exclude investigators with international jurisdiction. Although these investigations allowed a sort of indigenous solution to the mass killings, they also permitted the political cherry picking of deaths that discredit the legitimacy and fairness of the work. There has been a decline of forensic archaeological work in this category due in part to the ending of the mandate of the International Criminal Tribunals for the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda (although very little archaeological work was ever done in the latter, Jessee 2012). The Latin American work continues, in some places it fits and starts according to political climate. The increasing activity of the

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International Criminal Court, however, is a positive sign for the use and development of international forensic archaeology.

Field III: Repatriation The objective of repatriation archaeology is the exhumation of human remains from one geographic place for the purposes of transport to a “home” location for reburial with culturally appropriate funerary rites. This work is termed here as a form of forensic archaeology in large part because these repatriations deal with modern (e.g., twentieth/twenty-first century) dead, rather than archaeological remains. The people being sought for repatriation are known individuals (or identification is believed to be known), a reflection of the shorter time period between their deaths and the search for their remains. Here, I distinguish the repatriation work from much older “cases,” which are often confused by the popular media and literature by adding a forensic tag to a title. Only in extremely rare instances are archaeological remains discovered and identity established, but relatives were not the driving force behind the search (e.g., English King Richard III, University of Leicester online, http://www.le.ac.uk/richardiii/). Repatriation archaeology often seeks out combatants who went missing during armed conflict and who are presumed dead. The primary mandate is not criminal-­ legal, but relates to legal questions of identification and as a matter of course often results in the documentation of cause of death. Preeminent among organizations involved in this work is the US Department of Defense’s Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command (JPAC). Author’s note: when this chapter was drafted, the organization was known as JPAC.  It has since been renamed as the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency, or DPAA). JPAC dedicates astonishing resources toward the location, recovery, identification, and repatriation of mostly military personnel missing from WWII, the Korean War, and the war in Southeast Asia (“The Vietnam War”). Recovery sites test all range of archaeological skills and include plane crashes on Alaskan glaciers, in coastal waters, and battlefield burials (Emanovsky and Belcher 2012; Pietruszka 2015). What makes JPAC unique, and what enforces their inclusion in the forensic sphere, is their accreditation by the American Society of Crime Laboratory Directors/Laboratory Accreditation Board (ASCLD-LAB). This accreditation ensures that JPAC recovery and analysis are conducted to high US criminal investigative standards. This also instills confidence for local and other state death investigative bodies who rely on JPAC-CIL to assist with forensic cases (the “domestic” category here) or in mass fatality contexts. In 2010, experts from member countries of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC) excavated a mass grave of 250 British and Australian WWI soldiers in Fromelles, France. This was a major break from CWGC tradition, which generally only excavates graves that are disturbed by activity such as farming or construction and recovered remains are not repatriated. Unlike JPAC’s commitment to return remains to family members, the soldiers from Fromelles were reburied at

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a military cemetery about 1  km away (Commonwealth War Graves Commission 2012; Loe and Brady 2010; Summers 2010). Other countries have teams or standby experts that range in activity from actively searching for combat losses to attending to the chance discovery of victim remains of historic conflict. For the Japanese, nongovernmental organizations conduct this work although their lack of archaeological and anthropological expertise has resulted in tragic misidentifications and consequences (Japan Times 2010, 2011). The ramifications of cremating non-Japanese (including potential victims of Japanese military violence) and interring them at Japanese war shrines are extremely alarming. Clearly there is a need for greater involvement of archaeologists and biological anthropologists at the policy and fieldwork level. Despite the lack of a criminal-legal investigation mandate, a forensic archaeological and bioarchaeological approach ensures that potential evidence of criminal death is documented. In the rear guard of the Spanish Civil War, over 150,000 people were executed extra- or quasi-judicially (Preston 2012). Similar to several Latin American countries, most of these deaths were at the hands of agents or proxies of the state. As such, little or nothing was done to investigate the deaths. In Spain, the dictatorship, fragile subsequent democracy, and enduring fear among the population of “digging up the past” left the dead lying in their unmarked places of mass execution (Armengou and Belis 2004; Ferrándiz 2008; Juliá 1999). Since the year 2000, however, there has been a civil movement to locate, exhume, identify, and repatriate these victims, typically using volunteer archaeologists and anthropologists (Congram and Fernández 2010; Ferrándiz 2013; Silva and Macías 2003). Importantly, the most prolific work in this context has been done by a small team of scientists from the Aranzadi Society of Science lead by Professor of Forensic Medicine and anthropologist Francisco Etxeberría Gabilondo (e.g., Etxeberría Gabilondo 2012). Like JPAC, the participation of forensic professionals, the objectives of the work and the methods used in Spain warrant that it be deemed forensic work. In support of this, there have been several investigative judges in Spain (Baltasar Garzón) and abroad (Argentine Servini de Cubría) that have attempted or continue to pursue charges of crimes related to the war and dictatorship despite great political opposition (El País 2010; Junquera 2008; Peregil 2013). As such, despite the absence of formal forensic investigations of Spanish Civil War victims of execution (mostly civilians and prisoners of war), they are being located, trauma is being documented, and identification toward repatriation is being fulfilled. This repatriation-focused context strays from an official criminal-legal mandate but without dispute addresses other important legal questions, principally that of identity (and all that springs from this, such as inheritance) as well as confirmation of death. Confirmation of death is extremely important not just legally (for in many cases of prolonged absence, people legally can be considered presumed dead) but also socially and emotionally, especially for families. Repatriation archaeology is in many ways closer to conventional archaeology than other contexts discussed here because it demands of archaeologists and anthropologists’ several activities over a more extended time frame, mainly, ethnographic interviews (e.g., of witnesses and families, those who claim to know about the death

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or location of remains), advanced historical and documentary research, site surveys and test excavation, analysis of finds, and, ultimately, repatriation. This last element was often not part of conventional archaeological research plans but has become necessary (appropriately) in contemporary archaeology. The work of the Latin American teams serves as the pioneering model of this more holistic forensic anthropology (which includes different stages of archaeological inquiry) and also demonstrates how the use of the work can change according to sociopolitical demands and opportunities.

Field IV: Mass Fatality This category of forensic archaeological practice is probably the least uniform and least practiced. The pressures put on governments and communities in times of often unexpected and unmanageable mass fatality incidents usually result in the fast and undocumented mass burial of the dead with no plan for future identification. Mass fatality events include disasters of both human (e.g., mass transit accidents, terrorist acts) and natural origins (e.g., landslides, tsunamis). Of course, elements of both culture and nature influence the occurrence and degree of a disaster as when clear cutting of forest provokes a landslide or poor building construction results in collapse during earthquakes. During the Indian Ocean tsunami in 2004, retainer walls collapsed, water reservoirs were filled by sediment and rubbish, and buildings were swept up, changing the biocultural stratigraphy of coastal areas. To my knowledge, only one archaeologist was employed in recovery operations following the tsunami, and had he not also been an active civilian crime scene officer in the United Kingdom, he might not have been sent at all. In 2005, Hurricane Stan triggered landslides across Central America. In Panabaj, Guatemala, hundreds were killed and buried by shifting earth. The indigenous population refused the assistance of the military to help search for their missing because of traumatic memory of previous massacres committed in the area by the armed forces during their civil armed conflict (Associated Press 2005). One to 2 years after the disaster, the Guatemalan Forensic Anthropology Foundation (Fundación de Antropología Forense de Guatemala), a nongovernmental organization, directed search, recovery, and anthropological identification of victims (Black 2013). This case emphasizes the need, in certain contexts, for civilian forensic experts. Gould (2007) refers to this work as “disaster archaeology,” although his book on the subject discusses other contexts that contribute to the confusion illustrated at the beginning of this chapter. Gould leads the uninitiated reader to believe that he was at the forefront of a new breed of forensic (“disaster”) archaeology, but many archaeologists have worked and published on similar activity for decades prior to the cases on which Gould was initiated (e.g., Stratton and Beattie 1999; Ubelaker et al. 1995). Dirkmaat, in particular, has been an active researcher and advocate of archaeological recovery following mass fatality events, specifically aircraft crashes (e.g., Dirkmaat et  al. 2010, 2011). During the excavation directed by Gould in

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New York City following the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the team recovered bone fragments, which they could not distinguish as either human or nonhuman. Subsequent analysis by anthropologists of the New York City medical examiner’s office showed them all to be nonhuman (Gould 2007:42). We do not know if Gould’s team had the necessary bioarchaeological experience to make in-field assessments of human versus nonhuman remains (with some very small fragments, this may only be possible through histological or, more certainly, DNA analysis), but their work emphasizes the need for bioarchaeological expertise given the nature of forensic archaeological work in all of the contexts described here. Dirkmaat et al. (2013) put it this way: The high density of materials and the severe time and personnel constraints associated with these types of scenes increases exponentially the importance of establishing forensic significance rapidly and in situ… mass fatality scenes require the presence of the main types of analysts [e.g., biological anthropologists] in the field…similarly, fatal fire scenes require the two key elements of accurate and timely assessment of forensic significance, as well as the ability to recognize and make decisions about extremely altered and commingled biological tissues. As in mass disasters, implementation of some archaeological techniques is absolutely critical. However, the relative weight of advanced archaeological and anthropological skills demanded by these scenes is overwhelmingly tilted toward the latter.

Warnasch et al. (2013) presented work on the search and recovery of remains following the attacks on the World Trade Center. Despite a thorough investigation following the 2001 attacks, fragments were found in the area surrounding the former trade center buildings in 2006. Archaeological investigation since this time has resulted in the discovery of 1900 pieces of human remains and 13 new identifications. Central to the discussion here was the archaeological expertise that enabled the determination of why these remains were missed previously: they were generally below base areas used by first responders or under staging platforms for cranes used to search through and clean up wreckage immediately following the collapse of the buildings. Archaeological interpretation of the stratigraphy of pre- and post-­ disaster events allowed the authors to define the context that required further investigation, which in turn led directly to the discovery and identification of further victims.

Conclusion Archaeologists, especially, know that context is critical for proper interpretation. Regional differences in academic structures and programs, applied opportunities, and experience account for some of the confusion about what forensic archaeology is and who does it. Mass media and in some situations competition among academics and their programs have broadened and skewed what is defined as forensic. Crossland (2013) analyzes forensic archaeology according to evidential regimes: archaeological practice; criminal investigation and legal testimony; and of relatives, survivors, and their advocates. She notes that the categories are both homogenous

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and fragmented. My categorization of forensic archaeological fields (or contexts) likewise groups activities in a non-exclusive way but makes primary mandate a dividing point. I emphasize that there are many common elements that tie together these four fields and that what often distinguishes them is really beyond archaeology: sociopolitical circumstances. As best demonstrated by the work of the Latin America forensic anthropology teams but also in grave excavations in Spain and in Iraq, politics can determine whether missing persons are being sought with a repatriation mandate, for criminal-legal investigation under a domestic scheme or for trials of violations of international law. The events leading to the deaths and disappearances of the victims, however, can be the same in all instances. Mass fatality archaeology presents a unique situation because of the acute onset and death that is often massive in scale, overwhelming resources and expertise. Nevertheless, the same general skill sets and methods can be applied to resolve cases of missing persons. As forensic archaeology matures, literature is developing beyond the simplistic and misleading “humanitarian/human rights forensic” dichotomy,2 case studies, and technical trials of prospection methods (what forensic archaeologists do) to research-oriented and theoretical aspects (how forensic archaeologists understand evidence). This is a very positive development that will help bring forensic archaeology – in all its forms – from its current status as a sporadic and poorly understood activity into a stable applied and academic discipline.

References Alvarez, J. E. (2004). Trying Hussein: Between hubris and hegemony. Journal of International Criminal Justice, 2, 319–329. Armengou, M., & Belis, R. (2004). Las fosas del silencio. Barcelona: Random House. Associated Press. (2005). Guatemala halts recovery effort after mudslides. Available at: http:// www.nbcnews.com/id/9588034/#.Usw24vRDt-4. Accessed: 7 Jan 2013. Bass, W. M., & Birkby, W. H. (1978). Exhumation: The method could make the difference. FBI Law Enforcement Bulletin, 47(7), 6–11. Black, C. (2013). Personal communication with forensic archaeologist and anthropologist, former volunteer with the Fundación de Antropología Forense de Guatemala. Cabo, L. L., & Dirkmaat, D. C. (2015). Forensic archaeology in the US. In W. J. Groen, N. Márquez-­ Grant, & R.  C. Janaway (Eds.), Forensic archaeology; a global perspective (pp.  255–270). London: Wiley-Blackwell. Commonwealth War Graves Commission. (2012). http://www.cwgc.org/news-events/news/ fromelles-identification-ceremony.aspx Congram, D. (2008). A clandestine burial in Costa Rica: Prospection and excavation. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 53(4), 793–796. Congram, D. (2015). Canadian forensic archaeology: Ad mari usque ad mare, ad hoc. In W.  J. Groen, N. Márquez-Grant, & R. C. Janaway (Eds.), Forensic archaeology; A global perspective (pp. 223–229). London: Wiley-Blackwell.

2  Rosenblatt (2012) provides a thoughtful analysis on the origin of distinctions between criminallegal (aka “forensic”) exhumations and those coined “humanitarian/human rights.”

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Congram, D., & Fernández, A. (2010). Uncovering trauma: The exhumation and repatriation of Spanish Civil War Dead. Anthropology Newsletter, 51(3), 23–24. Crossland, Z. (2013). Evidential regimes of forensic archaeology. Annual Review of Anthropology, 42, 121–137. Dirkmaat, D. C., & Adovasio, J. M. (1997). The role of archaeology in the recovery and interpretation of human remains from an outdoor forensic setting. In W. D. Haglund & M. H. Sorg (Eds.), Forensic taphonomy. Boca Raton: CRC Press. Dirkmaat, D.  C., Symes, S.  A., & Cabo, L.  L. (2010). Forensic archaeological recovery of the victims of the Continental connection flight 3407 crash in Clarence Center, New York (Vol. 16, p.  387). Proceedings of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, Annual Scientific Meeting, Seattle, WA. Dirkmaat, D.  C., Cabo, L.  L., Kenyhercz, M.  W., Nesbitt, A.  M., Kales, A.  R., & Chapman, E. (2011). Improving evidence and victim recovery protocols at the mass fatality incident. Proceedings of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, Annual Scientific Meeting, Chicago, IL, 17,300. Dirkmaat, D. C., Adovasio, J. M., & Cabo, L. L. (2013). The two faces of forensic archaeology. Paper presented at the 78th Annual Meeting of the Society of American Archaeology, Honolulu, HI. El País. (2010). Cronología: Garzón y la causa por los crímenes del franquismo. Available at: http:// elpais.com/elpais/2010/04/07/actualidad/1270628220_850215.html. Accessed 7 Jan 2013. Emanovsky, P. D., & Belcher, W. R. (2012). The many hats of a recovery leader: Perspectives on planning and executing worldwide forensic investigations and recoveries at the JPAC Central Identification Laboratory. In D. C. Dirkmaat (Ed.), A Companion to Forensic Anthropology. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. Etxeberría Gabilondo, F. (2012). Exhumaciones contemporáneas en Espana: las fosas comunes de la Guerra Civil. Boletin Galego de Medicina Legal e Forense, 18, 13–28. Ferrándiz, F. (2008). Cries and whispers: Exhuming and narrating defeat in Spain today. Journal of Spanish Cultural Studies, 9(2), 177–192. Ferrándiz, F. (2013). Exhuming the defeated: Civil war mass graves in 21st-century Spain. American Ethnologist, 40(1), 38–54. Gould, R. A. (2007). Disaster archaeology. Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press. Groen, W. J., Márquez-Grant, N., & Janaway, R. C. (2015). Forensic archaeology; a global perspective. London: Wiley-Blackwell. Haglund, W. D. (2002). Recent mass graves, an introduction. In W.  D. Haglund & M.  H. Sorg (Eds.), Advances in forensic taphonomy: Method, theory, and archaeological perspectives (pp. 243–262). Boca Raton: CRC Press. Hunter, J. R., Brickley, M. B., Bougeouis, J., Bouts, W., Bourguignon, L., Hubrecht, F., de Winne, J., Van Haaster, H., Hakbijl, T., de Jong, H., Smits, L., Van Wijngaarden, L. H., & Luschen, M. (2001). Forensic archaeology, forensic anthropology and human rights in Europe. Science and Justice, 41(3), 173–178. Japan Times. (2010). NPO accused over grave robbery. Available online at: http://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2010/10/17/national/npo-accused-over-grave-robbery/#.Usb2wvRDt-4. Accessed 3 Jan 2013. Japan Times. (2011). War remains may contain Filipino bones. Available online at: http://www. japantimes.co.jp/news/2011/09/26/national/war-remains-may-contain-filipino-bones/#. VqZFbCorLIU. Accessed: 3 Jan 2013. Jessee, E. (2012). Promoting reconciliation through the exhuming and identifying victims in the 1994 Rwandan genocide. CIGI Africa Initiative Discussion Paper, No. 4. Juliá, S. (1999). Víctimas de la guerra civil. Madrid: Temas de Hoy. Junquera, N. (2008). Cuatro historiadores y un forense. El País, Oct. 21. Available online at: http:// elpais.com/elpais/2008/10/21/actualidad/1224577029_850215.html. Last accessed: 7 Jan 2013. Koff, C. (2004). The bone woman. New York: Random House.

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Loe, L., & Brady, M. (2010). Remembering Fromelles. British Archaeology, (111). March/April 2010. Available online at: http://www.archaeologyuk.org/ba/ba111/index.shtml. Márquez-Grant, N., Litherland, S., & Roberts, J. (2012). European perspectives and the role of the forensic archaeologist in the UK. In D. C. Dirkmaat (Ed.), A companion to forensic anthropology. Malden: Blackwell Publishing Ltd.. Minozzi, S., Fornaciari, A., & Fornaciari, G. (2012). Commentary on: Nuzzolese, E., Borrini M. Forensic approach to an archaeological casework of “vampire” skeletal remains in Venice: Odontological and anthropological prospectus. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 57(3), 843–844. Morse, D., Crusoe, D., & Smith, H. G. (1976). Forensic archaeology. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 21(2), 323–332. Nuzolessi, E., & Borrini, M. (2011). Forensic approach to an archaeological casework of “vampire” skeletal remains in Venice: Odontological and anthropological prospectus. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 55(6), 1634–1637. Peregil, F. (2013). La juez que grabó a Garzón. El País. 29 Sept. Available at: http://politica.elpais. com/politica/2013/09/27/actualidad/1380309749_442474.html. Last accessed: 7 Jan 2013. Pietruszka, A. (2015). Forensic archaeology underwater. In M.  Groen, N.  Márquez-Grant, & R.  C. Janaway (Eds.), Forensic archaeology; a global perspective (pp.  453–461). London: Wiley-Blackwell. Preston, P. (2012). The Spanish holocaust: Inquisition and extermination in twentieth-century Spain (1st American). New York: W.W. Norton & Co. Rosenblatt, A. (2012). Humanitarianism and human rights in the context of post-conflict forensic investigations (Vol. 18, p. 223). Proceedings of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, Annual Scientific Meeting, Atlanta, GA. Scott, D.  D., & Connor, M. (2001). The role and future of archaeology in forensic science. Historical Archaeology, 35(1), 101–104. Sigler-Eisenberg, B. (1985). Forensic research: Expanding the concept of applied archaeology. American Antiquity, 50(3), 650–655. Silva, E., & Macías, S. (2003). Las Fosas de Franco. Madrid: Temas de Hoy. Skinner, M., Alempijevic, D., & Djuric-Srejic, M. (2003). Guidelines for international forensic bio-archaeology monitors of mass grave exhumations. Forensic Science International, 134(2), 81–92. Stover, E., & Peress, G. (1998). The graves; Srebrenica and Vukovar. New York: D.A.P. Stratton, S.  U., & Beattie, O.  B. (1999). Mass disasters: Comments and discussion regarding the Hinton train collision of 1986. In S.  I. Fairgrieve (Ed.), Forensic osteological analysis (pp. 267–286). Springfield: Charles C. Thomas. Summers, J. (2010). Remembering Fromelles. London: CWGC Publishing. Trimble, M. K., & Malin-Boyce, S. (2011). CRM and the military: Cultural resource management. In T.  F. King (Ed.), A companion to cultural resource management. Chichester: Blackwell Publishing. Ubelaker, D.  H., Owsley, D.  W., Houck, M.  M., Craig, E., Grant, W., Woltanski, T., Frm, R., Sandness, K., & Peerwani, N. (1995). The role of forensic anthropology in the recovery and analysis of Branch Davidian Compound victims: Recovery procedures and characteristics of the victims. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 40(3), 335–340. University of Leicester. (online). The discovery of Richard III. http://www.le.ac.uk/richardiii/?uol_r. Accessed 5 Feb 2018. Warnasch, S., Rainwater, C., Crowder, C. (2013, online). The application of archaeological methods to crime scenes and mass disasters in New York City. Abstracts of the 78th Annual Meeting, Society of American Archaeology. Honolulu. Wright, R., Hanson, I., & Sterenberg, J. (2005). The archaeology of mass graves. In J. R. Hunter & M. Cox (Eds.), Forensic archaeology: Advances in theory and practice (pp. 137–158). London: Routledge.

Chapter 3

Professionalism in Forensic Archaeology: Transitioning from “Cowboy of Science” to “Officer of the Court” Melissa A. Connor

Introduction Anthropologists study what makes people human and what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom. The four subfields of anthropology – archaeology, biological, cultural, and linguistic anthropology – each address this question from their own data sets. Archaeologists in the United States are grounded in four-field anthropology as first described by Franz Boas in the early portion of the last century (Stocking 1974). Some scholars add a fifth subdiscipline of anthropology – applied anthropology. Applied anthropology is sometimes considered a method more than a discipline (Stanford et al. 2013). It is the application of anthropological methods to the goals of other disciplines. In many ways, forensic archaeology is an applied field, applying the methods of archaeology to a forensic case. But paradigms matter. So in using the methods of archaeology within another discipline, it is irresponsible not to understand the paradigms of the other discipline. In forensic science, it is particularly irresponsible not to thoroughly understand the field. In states with a death penalty, a misapplication of the science can literally be the difference between life and death. An archaeologist could be party to incarcerating someone – perhaps the wrong person –for a long period of time. The consequences of poorly applied techniques are immediate and impact people in a manner that misinterpreting historic or prehistoric sites cannot. This chapter will discuss what forensic archaeology is as a discipline, outline some of the methods both similar and different to standard archaeological practices, and work toward defining what an archaeologist needs to know to work within the forensic paradigm. M. A. Connor (*) Forensic Investigation Research Station, Colorado Mesa University, Grand Junction, CO, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_3

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Paradigms in Forensic Science According to the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, forensic science is science applied to the law. A slightly narrower definition is that “Forensic science is the application of science to the criminal and civil laws that are enforced by police agencies in a criminal justice system” (Saferstein 2009: 5). It is clear that there are two components to the definition. First, a forensic science is a science. Second, that science is applied to a legal setting. In most cases there is a base science. For forensic DNA, the base science is molecular genetics or biology. For forensic toxicology, the base science is toxicology or chemistry. For forensic anthropology, the base science has been physical anthropology, although the definition is changing to encompass all fields of anthropology. There are a few fields of forensic science, notably fingerprints, which have no application outside of the legal setting. But generally, a forensic science was developed outside the legal application and then applied to the law. In the case of forensic archaeology, the base science is anthropological archaeology. Because of the modern material culture at forensic sites, historic archaeology is arguably the most applicable subdiscipline. Forensic science is also a discipline with its own history, paradigms, theory, and methods (Inman and Rudin 2000). The history of forensic science encompasses names such as Francis Galton, Alphonse Bertillon, Edmond Locard, and Sir Alec Jeffreys – men who identified physical evidence that could be collected at a crime scene and created or substantially improved ways to tie that evidence to those who left the scene, such as the perpetrator. The paradigm of forensic science was initially stated by Edmond Locard in what has become known as Locard’s exchange principle – when two objects come into contact with each other, each will leave material on the other in a way that can connect a criminal to a scene and to a victim (Locard 1928, 1930). As a young science, the theories of forensic science are still being defined. Inman and Rudin (2000) proposed a theory based on the need for individualization and Locard’s exchange principle. They point out that cross-transfer of material is constantly ongoing. Most is of no interest to the forensic scientist. The moment a crime occurs is the moment forensic evidence is created. The evidence needs to be identified, and for some evidence, that is all that is needed. Illicit drugs, for example, cocaine or heroin, may only need to be identified. That identification, and the attributes, such as how much of the material is present, is the information needed for charging and sentencing. However, other categories of evidence, such as fingerprints, DNA, and cartridge cases, can be identified not just to category but “individualized” – associated with a particular person or weapon. The evidence that can be individualized not only needs to be recognized and collected from the scene, but “exemplars” – potential matches from other sources – also need to be collected from potential suspects, witnesses, and victims. This is the evidence that can be used to tie a suspect to a victim or a scene and used to reconstruct what occurred at the scene and thus has the highest probative value.

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Probative value is a legal concept of use to anyone who aspires to work in the forensic arena. This is the value of the evidence in proving something important in trial. Crime scenes abound in potential evidence. There may be hundreds of fingerprints at a scene, but most have little probative value. For instance, most graves are a single feature, dug within a short time span; artifacts within the backfill are a result of a single activity. Thus, the depth of an artifact within the backfill is likely to have little probative value. However, tool marks seen on the side of the grave, which can be tied to a specific tool, may have extremely high probative value. This concept of using probative evidence to tie together the crime scene, the suspect, witnesses, and the victim are what Inman and Rudin (2000) have put forward as a unifying paradigm of forensic science. Inman and Rudin define five stages to their paradigm, which include (1) the transfer of material to a crime scene, (2) the identification of the material, (3) the classification or individualization of the material, (4) the association or using that material to link a person (victim, witness, or perpetrator) to the scene, and (5) the scene reconstruction or understanding the sequence of past events (Inman and Rudin 2000: 76). Archaeology trains us to be strong in recognizing artifacts and features in the ground and in scene reconstruction. Archaeologists tend to be less strong in identifying and preserving evidence, which given modern technology, can be used to tie an individual to the scene. Archaeologists are generally not trained in recognizing materials from which DNA can be extracted or fingerprints lifted and in preserving and packaging the material. Most would be hard pressed to separate many of today’s illegal “designer” drugs from over-the-counter medicines. An archaeologist may document an assemblage of modern debris but fail to recognize it as consistent with debris from a meth lab. Thus, there is a serious weakness in basic evidence recognition that needs to be acknowledged when working with law enforcement.

Methods of Forensic Science Disciplines are defined by both their theories and their methods. Forensic science is no different. The end result of a forensic case is likely to be a trial. The methods of forensic scientists are geared so there can be as little question or debate about the results of the analysis as possible. Many of the methods of forensic science do stem from the base science. DNA analysis has many of the same steps whether confirming the genealogy of a prize rose or the paternity of a child to determine child support payments. However, the legal nature of a forensic case places the analysis in a specific framework. Most archaeologists will work primarily in the field, on scenes that include a buried body or scattered remains. Archaeologists, also however, become forensic investigators in investigations to vandalized archaeological sites, violations of the Archaeological Resources Protection Act.

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In the field, the scene needs to be secure. Crime scene investigators, who process scenes, are a specialty within both law enforcement and forensic science. The International Association of Identification (IAI, www.theiai.org) certifies crime scene investigators. The IAI exam for the Certified Crime Scene Investigator I (CCSI) is based on two texts, Gardner (2012) and Robinson (2010). Robinson (2010) is a text on forensic photography. Gardner (2012) is a text on scene processing methods. The two texts provide an overview of established methods in the same way that basic archaeology texts on excavation provide an overview of archaeological excavation methodology. Gardner contains a chapter that includes buried bodies and scattered remains – the types of scenes where archaeologists are most often likely to be asked to assist. The methods outlined are those which every certified crime scene investigator will have learned as “the correct methods.” This puts the professional archaeologist – who undoubtedly has a wider range of technical tools at their disposal – in the position of needing to know that if they deviate from those methods that they will probably be asked to explain why the deviation occurred. First, the scene will have to be defined and physically secured. Those working on the scene should be the only ones in the perimeter, and they will have signed a log showing when they entered the scene and when they left. Any potential piece of evidence will be documented in place, generally both with and without a scale before being picked up. The evidence will be numbered, the location placed on a sketch map, and then placed in a bag that will be labeled and sealed. This sounds similar to the procedure archaeologists use and, in fact, is. One difference is that on a forensic scene, the workers have to respect the limits of their own expertise. If they will not be testifying as to the firearms material found at a site, they may label a bullet as “ammunition” rather than a “spent 9 mm cartridge case.” Should the analyst who identifies the ammunition not agree with the technician on scene, the technician has opened up a question for the defense, who can ask the analyst – on the stand – either what happened to the 9 mm cartridge case found on the scene or why there is a disagreement. Both may detract from the importance of the evidence and place the onus on the practitioners to show they know what they are doing. In the case of skeletal material, this also pertains. While some elements, like a femur, may be obvious, it may be more difficult to separate, say tarsals from carpals in the field, and the phrase “skeletal element” may be more appropriate. Parsing material that could be individualized is important. Material that may contain fingerprints, DNA, or impressions such as the ballistic material needs to be packaged such as to preserve that material. Labeling the container(s) is similar to the archaeological standards with the addition that many jurisdictions add to the label the time that the material was placed in the container. Then, the container is sealed with tape and the initials of the person who placed the material in the ­container written over the tape in such a manner as to displace the writing when the tape is broken. The date is often also written on the tape.

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Many jurisdictions will keep a videotape running on an excavation, using a camera on a tripod. Many will not mute the audio unless asked, and the field worker should ask. Otherwise any irreverent comment is available to both attorneys for use at trial. I have also worked on scenes where the camera is fed to a remote location so that attorneys, the police administration, and others interested in the excavation can watch without being in the way. Most archaeologists, I believe, need only to think back to their last excavation to be grateful this is not common archaeological practice. At the end of every day in the field, overall photographs of the site need to be taken. A similar series is repeated in the morning. These are used to show that the site (scene) was not disturbed overnight or to document the disturbance if there was any. When the time comes to examine the evidence, generally, the bag – with the seal intact – is photographed before the container is opened. This is used to document the fact that the material in the container was not contaminated since placed in the bag. The bag is not opened at the seal, but elsewhere, allowing a new seal to be placed on the bag when it is closed, clearly showing the new person and date that closed the bag a second time. When opening a bag, it is important to realize that it may be opened and closed multiple times and each time the old seals need to be unobstructed and the writing visible. The procedure argues many times for using a larger bag than absolutely necessary.

What Is Forensic Archaeology? Because of the importance of being consistent within a forensic discipline, the Department of Justice initiated working groups for forensic disciplines called “Scientific Working Groups” or SWGs. There is a SWG for anthropology, SWGANTH that took upon itself to define forensic archaeology: Archeology is the systematic study of human societies and behavior from the past using surviving physical material culture (artifacts) and biological materials left behind by human activity. Forensic archeology is the application of archaeological theory and methods to the resolution of medico-legal issues. Specifically, forensic archaeologists may assist scene investigators by performing controlled searches, aiding in  location, survey, sampling, recording, interpretation, recovery and identification of human remains and associated relevant evidence at forensic scenes, usually where human decomposition or substantial time has passed since events created the scene. They assist crime scene investigation by identifying human remains and other evidence; dating evidence; reconstructing events particular to the buried environment and landscape; interpreting taphonomic change over time; developing recovery strategies; undertaking 3-D survey; assessing remote sensing techniques applicability to a scene; advise on evidence conservation from the buried environment and assessing relevance of artifacts and anomalies to investigations. (SWGANTH 2013)

SWGANTH also defined best practices for scene detection and processing (SWGANTH 2013). The best practices as defined by SWGANTH suggest that health and safety issues be addressed and the scene be assessed prior to processing; communication is key between the practitioner and agency; specific scene protocols should be adhered to; the data should be collected in a manner such that an

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independent review can be conducted; spatial documentation should collect all probative information; efforts should not to negatively impact future investigations; remains and evidence should be recovered in a manner that minimizes destruction; techniques should proceed from the least to the most destructive; and that context is pertinent. Generally, the recommendations for processing burial scenes and surface scatters are standard archaeological techniques and leave the details of the techniques to the practitioner. There are recommendations for numbering materials and procedures to assist in keeping the materials consistent with medicolegal protocols. However, to return to the Gardner text mentioned earlier, Gardner (2012: 400) does suggest that law enforcement agencies request assistance with grave location; he does not recommend toward engaging professional archaeologists. Gardner suggests a two-level screening, using first a ¼ in. mesh screen and secondly a 1/16 in. mesh screen. Actual excavation, he says, is to be conducted in arbitrary levels, unless a natural level is uncovered. According to Gardner, “the grave usually represents an artifact created during a single episode with distinct edges” Gardner (2012: 403). At no time is the grave ever referred to as a feature, or are there any citations as to where this information was found. His end to the section: “ …buried bodies demand a level of expertise that cannot be fully explained in such a short section of a single chapter. There are a variety of references available to the crime scene technician that effectively demonstrate and teach this subject in depth” (Gardner 2012: 405). At no point does Gardner suggest assistance from archaeologists, bio-­ archaeologists, or physical anthropologists with an exhumation. This is the text that all certified crime scene investigators must know in depth for the exam. The excavation of a grave and all the potential evidence it contains, the text infers, are well within the capacity of a crime scene technician who has consulted a few select references. This is a general attitude in law enforcement and one that an archaeologist needs to overcome. The end result is that Gardner defines set forensic methods for archaeological recovery of remains (right down to the screen size!). CSIs on the scene are more likely to be familiar with Gardner than with SWGANTH. Thus, the onus is on the archaeologist if there is a deviation, to explain the deviation. The freedom that the professional normally has, to adjust the methodology to the scene, is not present. Particularly important to know and understand are the rules of evidence and the protocols involving the chain of evidence outlined above. Archaeologists usually do not have to account for artifacts in as detailed a manner as law enforcement accounts for evidence. But in a forensic case, not doing so can cause the evidence to be tossed out of court. Material cannot be taken to an unsecured laboratory for analysis. If the archaeologist is to look at remains or associated material, it is best to leave the material in the police laboratory and conduct the analysis there, rather than take it to the archaeological lab. Few archaeological labs have the security required to secure the chain of custody and assure the court that the evidence has not been tampered with (Connor and Scott 2001). Differences in documentation between archaeological and forensic note-taking need to be taken seriously as well. Field notes, and certainly the reports, will be

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given to the opposing side during discovery. Any speculation in the documents beyond the expertise of the archaeologist will be used to discredit the archaeologist and the side for which they testify. This can include graveside notes referring to the gender and age of the skeleton – this needs to be sufficiently generic that they will not be contradicted by the results of the more detailed osteological or dental analyses. If the archaeologists and the police technicians are both producing maps of the area, they need to coordinate to ensure they are consistent, as any inconsistencies are likely to be exploited by the opposing attorney (Connor and Scott 2001). This conservatism needs to extend to conversations on the scene (Crist 2001: 46). As noted above, scene processing is usually videotaped. If the archaeologist does not have the training in osteology to complete the analysis that will be submitted to court, they should not be making statements about the skeleton. They will probably be asked to make estimates of the skeleton’s age, sex, and identifying characteristics, so that the law enforcement personnel can use the information for identification. However, these statements may well be recorded into the notes of the scene made by the investigators and be available to the attorneys. Discrepancies between these graveside autopsies and the official analyses may need to be explained in court, which will leave the archaeologist looking less than expert. The court experience itself is something that many archaeologists have not witnessed. It is the job of the opposing attorney to find flaws in the expert’s testimony. If they can also unnerve the expert, that makes the expert appear unsure of their findings. This is the attorney’s job and most are very good at it. Many forensic institutions hold seminars in expert witness testimony and expose the student to testifying in a mock court. This type of seminar is an excellent experience for anyone who may need to testify, but has not yet done so. Dealing with adipocere or fleshed remains is different than working with skeletal remains and has health issues most archaeologists do not encounter. As Crist (2001) pointed out, blood-borne pathogen training is a must for those dealing with recent remains. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) issues guidelines for workers who may come into contact with blood-borne pathogens and the use of personal protective equipment (PPE). Training courses are commonly available on blood-borne pathogens. Diseases that can be transmitted after death include tuberculosis, human immunodeficiency virus (HIV), and hepatitis B (HBV) (Crist 2001; Galloway and Snodgrass 1998). All remains must be assumed to be virulent. Immunization against HBV is critical and annual testing for tuberculosis important. Prion diseases include Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, Kuru, and Gerstmann-­ Straussler-­Scheinker syndrome. Prion diseases are rare progressive neurodegenerative disorders affecting both humans and animals (Centers for Disease Control 2014). They have been shown to spread in medical procedures involving ­contaminated corneal and dura mater grafts, neurosurgical equipment, and cadaverderived human growth hormone, and there is a very probable case of blood-borne, person-­to-­person transmission from a blood transfusion (Belay and Schonberger 2005). While rare, prion diseases are another solid reason for always using PPE and decontaminating equipment used with fleshed remains.

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Training for a Forensic Archaeologist Forensic work requires a moral and ethical commitment. “One cannot ‘dabble’ in forensic science or treat it as a hobby” (Crist 2001: 45). Archaeologists who work in forensics without appropriate training open themselves to personal liability and charges of professional negligence (Crist 2001: 47). Most archaeologists who work today on forensic cases in the United States have done so without dedicated forensic training and currently have varied backgrounds. But the next generation of forensic archaeologists will need better credentials to testify in court. The now defunct British Council for the Registration of Forensic Practitioners had criteria for the registration of forensic archaeologists. Two referees comment on the nominee’s professional qualifications and background information provided by the nominee including training, membership in relevant professional bodies, teaching/lecturing, relevant research publications, professional archaeological experience, and “fitness to practice.” The “fitness to practice” section consists of the applicant’s certification that they have read the Code of Conduct for Forensic Practitioners, are physically and mentally healthy, have never been disqualified as a forensic practitioner, have never been convicted of a serious crime, nor have legal actions pending against them (Connor and Scott 2001). The forensic archaeologist first of all must be an experienced field archaeologist. This should include experience at the supervisory or field director level with a breadth of site experiences (Connor 2007). Minimally, a forensic archaeologist should have the experience to become a Registered Professional Archaeologist (RPA) and actually, in fact, be registered. Field experience should include historic or prehistoric burials. In addition to the RPA credentials, to engage in forensic work, the archaeologist should have a demonstrated knowledge of human osteology and osteological techniques. As mentioned before, the practice of historic, as opposed to prehistoric, archaeology is significantly more appropriate to forensic practice due to the overlap in material culture types. Historic archaeologists may have previous experience with firearm components, modern clothing, caskets and funerary objects, etc. that proves useful for interpreting the forensic context. William Bass tells a story of how he misjudged the age of the burial of Lt. Col. William Shy by 112 years. He estimated the age of the burial based on the condition of the remains. He identified the clothing the corpse was in as “a tuxedo of some sort” (Bass and Jefferson 2003: 61). The corpse was initially investigated as a ­modern murder, with Bass estimating the postmortem interval (PMI) as “two months to one year.” While Bass had significant experience with prehistoric burials, his training as a historic archaeologist was minimal. Thus, the historic clothing went unrecognized. Also, preservation that is common with iron coffin burials went unrecognized. Now, the flip side of this story is that the poor PMI estimate is what spurred Bass to create the decomposition research facility at the University of Tennessee. So, had Bass been better at the recognition of historic material culture, the “body farm” might never have been born!

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The diseases discussed above are also serious, and blood-borne pathogen (BBP) training should be required of all forensic archaeologists. In addition, hepatitis A and B vaccines should be required. Tuberculosis can survive for long periods, and TB testing should be completed on a regular basis. While archaeologists have a vast reservoir of expertise that relates to forensic investigation, they will always be part of a team. Teamwork is hard to teach and harder to evaluate in a person until they are part of your team. There is no professional credential for teamwork. But for the cranky individualists often drawn to archaeology, there is no more important realization than that they will be a part of the process that includes a number of people each with vital skills. Be aware of the adage “we hire for skills, we fire for behavior.” The end goal of forensic investigations is to have evidence that will stand up in court and speak to the jury. Training in trial testimony is also a must for forensic practitioners. Teaching is good practice for testifying. But there are courtroom rituals in the way that the witness must request to look at their notes “to refresh their memory” or introduce pictures into evidence, affirming that they “are a real and accurate depiction” that is unique to the courtroom situation. Being a good expert witness, however, does not start with court preparation. It starts with the notes taken when the call comes in requesting help and continues throughout every step of the process. A good expert witness is an excellent scientist in their field and someone who has followed forensic protocols and methods throughout the investigation.

Conclusion Forensic archaeology is more than applying the methods of archaeology to a forensic case. It is a multidisciplinary field that also includes osteology, law, and forensic science. It is simply unethical to become a part of a forensic investigation without a basic understanding of the method and theory of forensic science in addition to solid field archaeological skills. The best field archaeologist is a liability on a forensic scene without an understanding of the limits of their knowledge. The consequences of naïvely attempting to assist law enforcement without a thorough understanding of their discipline can literally mean life or death to a defendant.

References Bass, B., & Jefferson, J. (2003). Death’s acre: Inside the legendary forensic lab the body farm where the dead do tell tales. New York: Berkley. Belay, E. D., & Schonberger, L. B. (2005). The public health impact of prion diseases. Annual Review of Public Health, 26, 191–212.

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Centers for Disease Control. (2014). Prion diseases. http://www.cdc.gov/ncidod/dvrd/prions/. Retrieved Jan 9, 2014. Connor, M.  A. (2007). Forensic methods: Excavation for the archaeologist and investigator. New York: Altimira Press. Connor, M. A., & Scott, D. D. (2001). Archaeologists as forensic investigators: Defining the role. Historical Archaeology, 35(1), 1–6. Crist, T. J. (2001). Bad to the bone?: Historical archaeologists in the practice of forensic science. In M. Connor & D. D. Scott (Eds.), Archaeologists as forensic investigators: Defining the role. Historical Archaeology, 35(1), 39–56. Galloway, A., & Josh Snodgrass, J. (1998). Biological and chemical hazards of forensic skeletal analysis. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 43, 940–948. Gardner, R.  M. (2012). Practical crime scene processing and investigation (2nd ed.). Florida: CRC Press. Inman, K., & Rudin, N. (2000). Principles and practice of criminalistics: The profession of forensic science, Protocols in Forensic Science. Florida: CRC Press. Locard, E. (1928). Dust and its analysis. Police Journal, 1, 177. Locard, E. (1930). The analysis of dust traces, Part I–III. American Journal of Police Science, 1, 276 401,496. Robinson, E. (2010). Crime scene photography (2nd ed.). Amsterdam: Elsevier Science & Technology Books. Saferstein, R. (2009). Forensic science: From the crime scene to the crime lab. New Jersey: Pearson. Stanford, C., John, S. A., & Anton, S. C. (2013). Biological anthropology (3rd ed.). New York: Pearson. Stocking, G. W. (1974). A Franz boas reader: The shaping of American anthropology, 1883–1911. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. SWGANTH. (2013). Scene detection and processing. http://swganth.startlogic.com/Scene%20 Detection%20and%20Processing%20Rev%200.pdf. Accessed 07 Jan 2014.

Chapter 4

Forensic Archaeologist or Crime Scene Investigator? Kimberlee Sue Moran

In 2009, the National Research Council, part of the US National Academies of Science (NAS) issued a report that shook the world of forensic science to its very core.1 Strengthening Forensic Science in the United States: A Path Forward was commissioned in response to the erroneous fingerprint identification by the FBI during the Madrid bombing investigation. That incident coupled with the highly publicized embarrassments of the OJ Simpson trial had called the credibility of forensic science into question. In commissioning the report, the NAS sought to address whether these cases were isolated, unfortunate episodes or whether they were symptoms of a larger problem. The results of the study sent shockwaves through the forensic community as the report stated that there were systemic failures across all forensic disciplines. At its core, the report questioned whether any science existed within forensic science. Since 2009, only a handful of the report’s recommendations have been addressed. In an effort to establish standards and best practice across forensic science, a National Forensic Science Standards Board was created in 2014 through a partnership between the US Department of Justice and the National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST). NIST attempted to implement a uniform structure to forensic science which had previously self-organized into an ad hoc system of Scientific Working Groups (SWGs). NIST dissolved the SWGs and instead created the Organization of Scientific Area Committees (OSACs). NIST divided forensic science into five disciplinary divisions or committees: 1. Biology/DNA 2. Chemistry/Instrumental Analysis  National Research Council. Strengthening Forensic Science in the United States: A Path Forward. Washington, DC: The National Academies Press, 2009. The full text of this report is available online and is worth reading. 1

K. S. Moran (*) Department of Chemistry, Rutgers University – Camden, Camden, NJ, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_4

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3. Physics/Pattern Interpretation 4. Crime Scene/Death Investigation 5. Digital/Multimedia These committees would be populated with specialists representing law enforcement, academia, and the practitioner and legal communities. Each disciplinary division was then further divided into subcommittees of specific fields of practice.2 Each subcommittee was tasked with creating standards of best practice. Proposed standards would be sent up to the governing disciplinary committee for approval and then ultimately to the National Forensic Science Standards Board for inclusion into a registry of approved standards. In 2014, when the Crime Scene/Death Investigation Committee was formed, the subcommittees that were created to draw up standards for this discipline were: Medicolegal Death Investigation, Odontology, Anthropology, Disaster Victim Identification, Dogs and Sensors, and Fire and Explosion Investigation. Something, however, was overlooked when these subcommittees were created, something very basic… there was no subcommittee assigned to crime scene investigation! Yes, all the specific types of scenes were covered; all the specialties related to human remains were covered, but somehow NIST forgot to address fundamental crime scene best practice.3 The crime scene is the opening chapter to every criminal investigation and its importance cannot be overstated. Just as a thorough autopsy examination is essential to correctly determining cause of death, so too is thorough and proper crime scene examination essential to all forensic analysis conducted downstream. If a medical examiner fails to take certain samples or fails to store samples properly, lab tests such as DNA, toxicology, or histology will not be possible. If photographs or diagrams depicting injuries are not created, the medical examiner’s results cannot be peer reviewed, and a reconstruction of the body is not possible. If the medical examiner fails to search the body and its personal effects in a systematic manner, vital evidence could be overlooked. The same holds for crime scenes. Search methodology, documentation, sampling strategies, and evidence collection and preservation all affect investigative outcomes including the identification of a suspect, the ability to charge the suspect with a crime, and a successful verdict at trial. On the surface, it may not appear as though crime scene examination has any bearing on archaeology. What could a pit house and a crack house possibly have in

 The NIST OSAC website is a very useful resource for anyone interested in forensic science standards and best practice. The full OSAC structure and list of subcommittees is available there. 3  That has now changed. In 2015, NIST announced the formation of a CSI subcommittee. The subcommittee first met in 2016 but has lagged behind the other subcommittees in terms of work product. The reasons are twofold: first, the late start of the subcommittee. The other subcommittees had been formed and working together for almost a year and a half by the time the CSI subcommittee was formed. The second was that many of the subcommittees had been derived from previously existing SWGs. Those SWGs already had drafted a number of standards and guides for their fields. Reformed as OSAC subcommittees, they were able to repurpose existing documents into new drafts of standards. Crime scene investigation never had a SWG so the new subcommittee was starting from zero. 2

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common? A closer examination, however, illustrates several interesting parallels between crime scene investigation and archaeology that are instructional to both.

Crime Scene Examination and Processing A crime scene is anything that yields evidence. It may be a geographic location, but it may also be an object, such as a vehicle. A person can be a walking crime scene. The type and characteristics of the scene will dictate how the scene should be treated, documented, and processed. One crime can produce multiple crime scenes. If a person is found dead in an abandoned house from a gunshot wound, the scene is not limited to the house alone. The body of the victim is a crime scene as it contains possible evidence related to the firearm used and traces of contact with the perpetrator such as hairs and fibers. If the firearm is found discarded, that becomes a crime scene. The perpetrator’s car could be a crime scene if the victim sat in it prior to the assault. While the abandoned house with a dead body is an obvious crime scene, and is the scene that starts the investigation, the other scenes might be less obvious or only discovered in the course of the investigation. At each scene, some sort of activity took place, and traces of the individuals involved may be left behind. The goal of the crime scene investigator is to locate, document, and recover the remains of human activity. “Evidence” refers to anything that can provide information regarding the who, what, where, when, why, and/or how of an incident under investigation. Evidence may be physical such as tool marks, blood spatter, or a weapon. Evidence may be individualizing, meaning that it can be traced to a specific person, such as DNA or fingerprints. Forensic scientists in the lab will look at each piece of evidence in isolation. The crime scene investigator, however, looks at the scene in its entirety together with all of the evidence documented. The aim is to form a hypothesis about the scene. Lab test results may confirm the hypothesis or require a new hypothesis to be formed. Ultimately, that hypothesis is what will be argued in court, and the evidence will be presented to a jury in support of it. “Crime scene investigation” and “...examination” and “...processing” all refer to the same set of activities that must be conducted at a crime scene. The person responsible for those activities may be called a crime scene investigator or examiner, an evidence technician, a detective, a scenes of crime officer, or some other job title. Regardless of the terminology, the methodology is the same. The basic set of activities begins with an initial assessment of the scene to formulate a processing strategy. The scene is documented through photography, sketches, videography, and/or laser scanning. The scene is searched, and evidence is identified, photographed, and documented. The evidence is then collected and packaged appropriately based on evidence type and preservation requirements. It may be necessary to take samples of substances, such as soil or maggots. In some instances, it may be appropriate to conduct limited presumptive tests or chemical treatments. For all items removed from a scene, whether samples or evidence, it is essential that there

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are multiple means of cross-referencing: photographs, notes, sketches, information on evidence labels should all interconnect so that the context of each item is maintained. A final assessment of the scene is made before it is reopened. Evidence may be sent for laboratory analysis. The crime scene examiner will produce a final report containing all scene documentation, a narrative of what was done and found at the scene, and a log of all items removed from the scene. The examiner may be required to reconstruct the scene either as a virtual or a physical 3D model. Finally, the examiner may produce an interpretation of what is believed to have happened at the scene based on the evidence recovered. While a crime scene examiner is not always called to testify in court, it is essential to always keep the possibility of a trial in one’s mind while processing the scene and assembling the final report. Crime scene investigation is a multidisciplinary pursuit. To be an effective crime scene investigator, an awareness of the whole range of forensic fields is necessary in order to identify evidentiary possibilities as well as the packaging and preservation required to realize its potential. University training is not required for entry into crime scene work. In the United States, rarely are crime scene technicians specialized personnel. Rather, they are often uniformed police officers, and sadly in some jurisdictions, the underperforming officers are relegated to the crime scene unit. For those forces that treat crime scene work as second class, the only skill required is the ability to take photographs. Forces that better understand the value of good scene processing will require that new technicians undergo training under the supervision of experienced staff for a period of time before allowing new hires to process scenes on their own. Some crime scene personnel opt to develop additional areas of expertise, and some forces are supportive of staff acquiring additional skills. In the United States, most fingerprint enhancement and some comparison work are done within crime scene units. Other fields of pattern evidence such as footwear, tire marks, and firearms evidence may be processed by crime scene personnel who have received additional training. Even some digital evidence recovery may be the purview of a member of the crime scene team. The most forward-thinking crime scene units will hire civilian staff, require a bachelor’s degree or some level of formal post-­secondary education, send staff to external training courses, seek certification and/or accreditation for their unit, and maintain a program of continuing education for their staff.4 Regardless of whether a police force ignores or embraces the importance of crime scene personnel, most US crime scene units are very small if they even exist at all. Besides the shortage in staff and inconsistent educational and training requirements, several other factors challenge crime scene investigation’s ability to deliver results with professionalism and scientific rigor. The usual challenges of funding and limited resources plague crime scene units as much as any other forensic science service provider. But unlike forensic laboratories, crime scene units rarely include mechanisms for quality control and quality assurance. Crime scene processing requires a series of autonomous decisions and judgment calls even if an agency maintains standard operating procedures (SOPs). Scene examination is a one-shot 4  One of the documents currently being drafted by the OSAC CSI subcommittee is a standard for the education and training of CSI personnel.

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opportunity. It is destructive by nature so results are not reproducible. Crime scene examiners, like all forensic professionals, are subject to cognitive biases. The information the examiner receives upon arrival may greatly influence how they proceed and the decisions they make. In a lab setting, information about the case can be withheld without affecting the analyst’s ability to perform a test. However, a crime scene examiner needs a certain amount of background information before entering a scene in order to avoid hazards and develop an effective processing strategy. The point at which information begins to negatively impact their methodologies is difficult to determine.

Parallels in Archaeology Archaeological sites vary widely in nature and definition. Like crime scenes, an archaeological site is the remains of human activity, the evidence of which comes in many forms ranging from the tangible such as artifacts, structures, and middens to the suggestive like fire pits, post holes, or other discernible features within soils and landscapes that signal human intervention. An archaeological site may be buried, unburied, or both. It may be fully outdoors or it may be contained within a space, such as a cave dwelling. The aim of the archaeologist is to document and collect the evidence of human activity in all its many forms to reconstruct the who, what, when, where, why, and how of the past. In addition to examining artifacts, archaeologists may require laboratory analyses ranging from geological, to chemical, to DNA, to further define and characterize recovered materials. Archaeologists may approach an archaeological site with prepared research questions, or research questions may percolate out as work is done on a site or an artifact. Ultimately, the archaeologist will use the evidence and the information gathered to establish a set of hypotheses regarding the site, the activities that took place, and the individuals involved. The process of archaeological research varies according to the nature of the investigation underway. In the case of site excavation, prior to any earth-moving work, an archaeologist will conduct background research to understand the particulars of the site and be as informed as possible when developing an excavation strategy. The site will be surveyed and documented before being altered in any way. Throughout the excavation process, detailed documentation is maintained. This is done through field notes, measurements, photographs, and plan and profile drawings. Any artifacts recovered are recorded in such a way as to ensure their context is preserved. Once the field work is complete, artifacts, samples, and other finds are analyzed. An interpretation of the site, its use, and significance will be produced. A final report will be drafted to disseminate results to the client and/or the wider archaeological community. Archaeological research requires a multidisciplinary approach, and most excavations involve a team of participants. Besides field methods, most archaeologists have some sort of specialized knowledge either in the material culture of a particular geographic region or in osteology, lithics, sediments, or any number of different

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areas that intersect with archaeology. One of the exciting things about archaeology is that every field of study imaginable can have an application within archaeology. Despite the team approach, usually these teams are very small in comparison to the demands of the site which is why some sites can be a work in perpetuity. Archaeologists operate under a range of job titles from field tech, to cultural resource specialist, to principal investigator, to professor. Entry-level field archaeology requires at least a bachelor’s degree, but most practicing archaeologists have a graduate degree. Because many archaeologists work in academia, those that do usually have a PhD. Due to graduate research requirements, many have developed some sort of specialized skill set. Most archaeologists participate in some sort of field school as students and receive their practical training in an apprentice-like manner. Styles and techniques, for better or worse, are picked up from their mentors. Firms that hire archaeologists don’t usually provide additional training or continuing education. Archaeologists that seek certifications, inclusion into professional associations, or join the Register of Professional Archaeologists (RPA) do so out of personal motivation not because of company requirements or initiatives. The parallels between crime scene examination and archaeological research are many (see Table 4.1). The professions only differ in terms of the client, educational/ training requirements, and chronological context. Crime scene investigation and archaeology both process sites of past human activity. They both recover evidence of that activity, and they both require copious amounts of documentation to reconstruct that activity. They both are required to disseminate the information gathered, information that is subject to interpretation. And they both work under constraints and challenges that can hinder their effectiveness and the quality of their results. Table 4.1  The parallels between archaeological investigation and crime scene investigation Archaeological site

Crime Scene

Documentation & Excavation

Documentation & Examination

Recovery of artifacts

Recovery of evidence

Analysis & interpretation

Analysis & interpretation

Dissemination

Expert witness report

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Important Differences Before anyone decides to rush out and join their local CSI unit, some words of caution are in order. While the methods employed by crime scene examination are largely the same as those of archaeology, there are some key differences that should be addressed. The first, and most important, is the concept of contamination. To contaminate, in a forensic context, means to add to or remove from evidence. If an investigator picks up an object, a beer bottle for instance, without wearing gloves, that bottle has been contaminated. The investigator has just added his or her fingerprints and DNA to the bottle. At the same time, he or she may have removed fingerprints or DNA or other evidentiary residues that were already on the bottle. That beer bottle is no longer evidence; it is now garbage. Its evidentiary integrity has been compromised, and it cannot be of use to the investigation. Along with contamination is the danger of cross-contamination. If that beer bottle is placed in a bag along with clothing from the suspect, both items have been contaminated. DNA on the clothing may have been transferred onto the bottle and vice versa. In archaeology it is common practice to put all items from the same stratigraphical layer or feature or context into the same bag. That absolutely cannot be done in forensic work. Also, forensic work requires the use of personal protective equipment (PPE). Gloves, masks, and sometimes full Tyvek suits with shoe covers must be worn. Tools must be new or cleaned with a 10% bleach solution prior to use to prevent cross-contamination between sites. Another key difference is the level of precision required when working within a litigious environment. The consequences are much higher; someone’s liberty could be at stake or a family’s ability to find closure. Also, investigations take years to reach a conclusion. It is routine to be called to testify in court two or more years after an investigation took place. Therefore, the level of documentation is ramped up. More photographs, paperwork, and accountability is required than that of traditional archaeological work. The “good enough” approach is anything but that. Beyond reasonable doubt is the bar that is set in forensic work. The final word of caution is a matter of culture. Law enforcement in the United States has a very particular culture that some may find challenging to navigate. To be sure, CRM has a culture as does academia. One of the biggest stumbling blocks to advancements in crime scene examination is the law enforcement culture of “sworn” versus civilian. Civilian staff are sometimes treated as second-class citizens, and there is huge resistance to the civilianization of crime scene units. There is also resistance surrounding shared services. Unlike the United Kingdom where policing is county-based and auxiliary services such as crime scene officers are pooled across a geographic area, the United States prefers to maintain individual police forces for each town in addition to a county prosecutor’s office, sheriff’s office, and medical examiner’s office as well as statewide agencies. The unfortunate result is redundancy in some areas and under-resourcing in others. So many tiers of authority can cause territorial disputes during incidents that cross agencies or jurisdictions. With such an organizational structure, it is not practical for every town to

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have a crime scene unit, particularly if it diverts officers from other duties. The solution could be a county-wide crime scene unit staffed with specially trained civilian technicians. Civilian staff offers the opportunity to bring in a range of educational levels as well as different fields of education. Those with degrees in biology, chemistry, criminal justice, psychology, archaeology, and other fields would have much to contribute to a professional CSI force. County-wide crime scene units do exist in the United States, but their structure, size, functionality, and agency under which they operate varies not just state by state but even by county within each state.

Forensic Archaeology and the Crime Scene Broadly speaking, forensic archaeology splits along two lines of application: archaeological crimes such as looting, vandalism, and the illegal trade in antiquities and forensic cases that involve human remains such a clandestine burials, disaster victim recovery, and surface remains (which may include a search and recovery component). Typically the excavation of human remains is, by far, the most obvious and published application of archaeological techniques in a forensic setting, but it is a narrow view of what archaeology has to offer. Limiting forensic archaeology to the mere excavation of human remains is responsible for the current state of forensic archaeology in the United States. Forensic archaeology is all but invisible, dominated by forensic anthropology. It is no wonder, though, when the role of an archaeologist is watered down to that of a field technician leading some to question the distinctiveness of archaeological skills (Dirkmaat et  al. 2013). Additionally, the simplification of archaeological methodology contributes to the erroneous idea that forensic archaeology can be learned in a week-long workshop. While workshops are a useful tool to build bridges into the law enforcement community, they should be used to generate awareness rather than be a replacement for an experienced archaeologist. Archaeological methodology should not be limited to the excavation of human remains but should be expanded to encompass the whole of crime scene processing regardless of whether the crime scene contains a dead body and regardless of whether or not the crime scene is indoors or outside. As previously discussed, the tasks completed by crime scene personnel and traditional archaeologists run extremely parallel. Besides the similar overarching methodology of search, document, recover, and report, what more could archaeology offer crime scene investigation? Part of the answer lies in theoretical approaches to a crime scene as discussed in Chapter One. Taking a more practical view, archaeological techniques can be applied to searches, to reconstruction, and to the development of standards and best practice. Archaeologists know that humans make rational choices when deciding where to conduct a particular activity and what tools will be needed. Humans learn quickly what sorts of environments and resources are required for the successful completion of a task. This concept has direct application to the search and location of evidence, a crime scene, and/or a clandestine burial. Archaeologists are adept at the study of

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culture. Criminology is the study of the culture and sociology of crime. By harnessing theories from criminology in combination with situational knowledge, predictive models can be built of where and how evidence has been concealed. Such models can help investigators include or exclude an area to be searched. For instance, Crime Pattern Theory explains that crime happens when the activity space of a victim intersects with the activity space of an offender (Wortley and Mazerolle 2011). “Activity space” is a series of nodes that represent the routine activities that make up daily life. These nodes are home, locations of work, and locations of entertainment. Crime can happen at a node or in the spaces of transit between nodes. If an archaeologist working with investigators is looking for an area to search, for a homicide victim, for instance, the archaeological skill of mapping these activity spaces for both the victim and the offender can lead to the identification of where the activity spaces intersect – the location of the crime. If the investigators know that the suspect has access to a car but does not have the tools or skill to create a clandestine grave, rational choice theory would suggest that the offender likely dumped the remains rather than buried them. Again, a map with the suspect’s likely routes between nodes may present sites that would facilitate a dump. A search strategy can then be devised and executed. In addition to aiding in the development of a search strategy, archaeological methods of conducting searches can and should be applied to crime scene work. Surface surveys are a routine part of pre-excavation undertakings. Surveys include a methodological search, the documentation of finds, and the collection of finds – exactly what should happen at a crime scene regardless of its location or size. Regardless of whether a crime scene is buried or not, the scene resides in three-­ dimensional space. Archaeologists routinely document both the horizontal and vertical location of artifacts and features. The same approach should be taken while processing a scene to ensure the context of each item is maintained. Human actions happen in a chronological sequence. In archaeology, that sequence is known as the depositional history and it provides the ability to reconstruct the events that took place at a site. Usually, this is at a macroscopic level. The same process, however, can be applied at a smaller time scale to a crime scene. There is a series of activities that took place at a scene, the remains of which are represented by the evidence deposited. Using archaeological practice, that evidence can be identified and documented in such a way as to facilitate a chronological reconstruction of events. It has not been lost on some in the crime scene community that archaeological methodology dovetails with that of crime scene reconstruction. Tom Bevel and Ross Gardner of Bevel, Gardner & Associates, a well-recognized provider of forensic consultancy and training, offer in their book on crime scene reconstruction that, “There are four principles applicable to crime scene reconstruction (CSR). Three of these principles are found in the discipline of archaeology… Although this association is not often described and some may question the correlation, crime scene investigation as a whole (both processing and analysis) shares distinct similarities with the field of archaeology…” (Gardner and Bevel 2009:15–16). First, why would “some…question the correlation”? To the average CSI, archaeology has to do with the ancient past. Also it conjures up images of working with

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small tools and brushes. It’s work that is done outside, in the dirt. These stereotypes can be difficult to combat. Take a look, though, at the principles referenced by Gardner and Bevel and discussed in both their book and their in-person training programs: 1 . Steno’s law of superposition 2. Steno’s law of lateral continuity 3. Absolute and relative chronology 4. Locard’s principle of exchange Indeed, principles 1–3 are taught in every introductory class of archaeology. They are utterly fundamental to archaeological practice. Further, the laws of superposition and lateral continuity provide the basis for absolute and relative chronology which is the goal of crime scene reconstruction  – the ability to reconstruct the sequence of events. Again, the idea of “context” is at the core of both archaeology and crime scene investigation. Another aspect that crime scene reconstruction should adopt from archaeology is the use of taphonomy. Taphonomy is all the processes that alter a site or scene from the time it is created to when it is processed or excavated. Taphonomy has begun to gain followers in the forensic community, mostly among forensic anthropologists. However, research and publication within forensic taphonomy is usually limited to human remains and, specifically, to human decomposition. Taphonomy is much wider than that and should be applied to the scene as a whole. An abandoned drug den, a victim of sexual assault, and an item of evidence discarded in a ditch all change and are altered by a range of variables and processes between the time the crime is committed and the scene, person, or item is attended to by investigative personnel. Understanding taphonomic processes can account for the presence or absence of probative information. Archaeology actually co-opted taphonomy from the field of paleontology. The fact that the same methodology is applicable at a range of time scales, from millions of years, to hundreds of years, to a few months, weeks, or even hours, demonstrates that time is a matter of perspective. It is true that most archaeologists work with material from the ancient past, but their methods and techniques are of equal value to the recent past.

Archaeology as Best Practice The goal of the OSAC subcommittees organized by NIST was and is to establish standards and best practice for forensic science, addressing the chief criticism of the NAS report and a facet of the Daubert criteria.5 Archaeological methodology does 5  The Daubert criteria is derived from three cases, often known as the “Daubert Trilogy.” Together they define the standards under which expert witness testimony must operate in order to be called “science.” Prior to Daubert, experts operated under the Frye rule that considered a technique “science” if it was “generally accepted” by the relevant scientific community. The Daubert criteria

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just that for crime scene examination and reconstruction. As crime scene units draft their standard operating procedures (SOPs), they would find that archaeology sets a firm foundation. For units that seek to hire civilian stock, they could find no better candidates than from the ranks of archaeologists. In an effort to integrate crime scene investigation and archaeology, the obvious starting point is in instances of human remains recovery. SOPs should be written that explicitly reference archaeological methodology and utilize recognizable archaeological terminology. As ground is gained, archaeological strategies and theoretical concepts should be applied to all outdoor scenes. Finally, indoor scenes should be incorporated into a framework of best practice derived from archaeological theory and practice. In addition to hiring archaeologists as crime scene technicians, other employment opportunities are well suited to those with archaeological education, training, and experience. Death scene investigation is a natural extension of crime scene work; indeed, medicolegal death investigators (MDIs) often precede crime scene examiners. Again, the focus is context: Does the scene suggest that the decedent died of natural causes, accidentally, as a result of suicide, or from homicide? Archaeologists have been and should be used in the investigation of mass graves. Stratigraphy and context are essential in the identification and association of commingled remains. Reports from recent countries of conflict such as Libya, Syria, and Iraq suggest that they likely contain a large number of mass graves. As these areas open to the international community and human rights organizations, sites will be identified. The archaeological community will need to advocate for involvement. It is essential that excavations are conducted to the highest standard in order to bring closure to families and justice to those responsible. Search, location, documentation, and recovery efforts are also a component of mass casualty/fatality incidents. Archaeologists have been deployed as DMORT (Disaster Mortuary Operational Response Team) members but not routinely. Archaeological field craft has much to offer in such complex environments. DMORT should aim to have at least one archaeologist on each regional team. Finally, as documentarians of human behavior, archaeologists could be called upon by investigators as consultants, both to create investigative leads and in the reconstruction of events. Perhaps a key reason why archaeologists are not better integrated into forensic work is that current degree programs do not sufficiently expose students to nontraditional career paths, do not intersect with potential employers, and do not offer adequate training in the practical skills and forensic awareness necessary to effectively contribute to medicolegal casework. If law enforcement ventures to request the assistance of an archaeologist in a case and that person demonstrates a clear lack of familiarity with procedure and protocol, at the very least it’s embarrassing; but in actuality, it is unlikely that the agency would risk working with an “outsider” again. In order to realize the full potential of what archaeologists can offer the forensic community, better training and degree programs are necessary so that a­ rchaeologists raised the bar and includes the concept of “reliability” to scientific evidence. The elements of the Daubert criteria are more thoroughly discussed in the chapter by Susan White in this volume. Under both Frye and Daubert, archaeological methodology fully meets all requirements.

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can pursue forensic positions but also so that, if included on a case, the archaeologist presents with competency. No program in forensic archaeology exists in the United States. Programs in the United Kingdom vary widely in content from institution to institution. In the United States, forensic anthropology programs may or may not contain an archaeological component and certainly do not include general forensic science awareness.

Training and Degree Programs What does a forensic archaeologist need to know? First and foremost, a forensic archaeologist needs to be a competent, professional archaeologist. Archaeological theory, field methods, mapping, writing, lab techniques – all the basics that make a good fieldwork-focused archaeologist – are the foundations for a forensic archaeologist. Second, forensic archaeologists need to have demonstrable knowledge of police policies, procedures, protocols, and paperwork. These include cordon control, evidence integrity, contamination prevention, chain of custody, chain of command, witness, and expert statements. It would not be unhelpful to understand the overall process of crime scene to court for one’s legal system and who the major players are. Next, a forensic archaeologist should have training on the adaptation of their excavation skills to human remains recovery, both fleshed and skeletal. They should have basic training in human anatomy and osteology. They should be able to recognize the markers used to build a biological profile, but they should be taught to defer to the forensic anthropologists for any analysis and interpretation of skeletal remains. Along with scene excavation, training on taphonomy, the decomposition process, and sampling strategies should be included. It would be useful to attend an autopsy and to have some exposure to partially decomposed remains (and maggots). That alone has the power to either convince an archaeologist that this is the right career choice or that one less smelly is in order. In this volume, Melissa Connor states: Archaeology trains us to be strong in recognizing artifacts and features in the ground and in scene reconstruction. Archaeologists tend to be less strong in identifying and preserving evidence…. Archaeologists are generally not trained in recognizing materials from which DNA can be extracted or fingerprints lifted and in preserving and packaging the material. Most would be hard pressed to separate many of today’s illegal “designer” drugs from over-the-counter medicines. An archaeologist may document an assemblage of modern debris but fail to recognize it as consistent with debris from a meth lab. Thus, there is a serious weakness in basic evidence recognition that needs to be acknowledged when working with law enforcement. (Connor 2018:pg 35)

To that end, future degree programs in forensic archaeology must include basic forensic science education. Forensic chemistry, toxicology, serology, DNA, fingerprinting, pattern, and trace evidence should all be included. As a forensic archaeologist and a crime scene investigator, one must be able to recognize what is evidence, what analysis could be conducted, and how to properly collect/sample, package,

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and preserve evidence so that it is of use downstream. In order to truly marry archaeology with crime scene examination, this is absolutely essential. While forensic awareness is certainly of use during the excavation of human remains, the skill set it provides allows archaeologists to expand beyond burials and into any type of crime scene. One opportunity for forensic archaeology that has yet to be explored by any program is that of environmental, geological, and geophysical evidence. Traditional archaeological work routinely intersects with these areas and most archaeologists have varying degrees of expertise in these fields. Soils, pollen, and micro plant remains are a largely untapped sources of trace evidence, particularly in the United States. The potential to harness this as a niche could lead to a greater role for forensic archaeology, but the techniques of pollen collection and analysis must be incorporated first into an archaeological program of study before it can be adopted. Finally, the end of every investigation is the judicial system. Degree programs need to train archaeologists on appropriate report writing for legal professionals. An expert witness statement certainly has similarities to a field report, but the language and the way findings are presented need to be adapted for the audience and to avoid any suggestion of bias. If a case does go to court, forensic archaeologists need to be prepared to provide clear testimony. Cross-examination is an environment unlike any other than an archaeologist would normally encounter. Mock trials and courtroom training remove the mystery and create a safe place where students can learn from mistakes. Adequate preparation leads to professionalism and the ability for an archaeologist to be a credit to his or her discipline.

 he Future of Crime Scene Processing and Forensic T Archaeology New technology offers many exciting opportunities to create a dialog between archaeologists and crime scene personnel. Three-dimensional scanners, LIDAR, remote sensing, and the use of tablets and smart devices for documentation are being introduced to both professions. It is just as true in forensic science as it is in archaeology that different people have varying levels of technological savvy and that some enjoy new technology more than others. Archaeologists, who embrace these advances and can demonstrate their use, should reach out to crime scene units to offer services, training, or just to play with some “toys.” Conversely, some crime scene units are very open to providing free 3D scanning to archaeologists. For them, it provides an opportunity to practice and/or train some of their newer team members.6 The priority for archaeologists should be to extend themselves to their local law enforcement. Fruitful partnerships can grow!

 As noted in the chapter by Mires in this volume, the Quincy, Massachusetts police dive team was open to lending there side-scan sonar in exchange for an opportunity to train their divers.

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Returning to NIST and the CSI subcommittee within the OSAC, two archaeologists were inaugural committee members. At the time of this publication, only one of them remains. It was forward-thinking of the CSI and Death Investigation committee to appreciate the skills and perspective archaeologists could bring as they were selecting from the pool of applicants. As members of these subcommittees cycle out, more archaeologists should throw their hats into the ring and apply to join the OSAC. As standards are drafted, they are open to public comment prior to submission to the Forensic Science Standards Board. Archaeologists should want to be part of the conversation, sign up for notifications, read the draft standards, and provide feedback. It is only through making archaeology visible that we get a seat at the table. Finally, the United States is slowly civilianizing crime scene units, but perhaps not for the best reasons: civilians can be paid less and there is a lower pension burden. Regardless, archaeologists should pay attention to job openings and apply. The successful use of archaeologically trained staff will eventually lead to opportunities for further archaeology/crime scene integration. Change from within is ultimately more effective than trying to proselytize from the outside. In summary, the parallels between archaeological field craft and crime scene processing are many. Archaeologists that work forensically do so in a CSI-like capacity. However, current crime scene practice lacks a standardized approach and is searching for a scientific foundation to bring it in line with other forensic disciplines. Archaeology has the ability to provide best practice methodology to fill CSI’s deficits as well as a range of practical skills and new technologies that could make crime scene examination more efficient and effective. In order to do so, the two fields need to start a dialog. While many archaeologists enthusiastically want to embrace forensic work, law enforcement is not always so keen. Speaking each other’s languages is a starting point and one that can begin with university programs that train archaeologists in the knowledge and skills to help them translate into the forensic community. As time detectives, archaeologists have the practical know-­ how to be a real asset to any criminal investigation. The hope is that, eventually, detectives, prosecutors, and law enforcers will come to realize that an archaeologist is the best CSI of all.

References Dirkmaat, D., Adovasio, J. M., & Cabo, L. L. (2013). SAA conference paper. The Two Faces of Forensic Archaeology. Gardner, R.  M., & Bevel, T. (2009). Practical crime scene analysis and reconstruction. Boca Raton: CRC Press. Wortley, R., & Mazerolle, L. G. (2011). Environmental criminology and crime analysis. London: Routledge.

Chapter 5

The Human Side of Forensic Archaeology Ann Marie Mires and Randi Scott

Introduction Archaeology is generally thought of as being concerned primarily with the past. The Indiana Jones perception of archaeology and anthropology is now rapidly changing to “Bones” and “CSI.” Although professional archaeologists know these perceptions are Hollywood fantasies, there is one area that these programs highlight that we, in the field, have seldom, if ever, had to address. The interaction, or lack thereof, between the archaeologist and friends and relatives of the recently deceased has rarely been a major issue. Do we as forensic archaeologists have a moral or ethical responsibility to have direct contact with individuals left behind due to any type of fatality or mass casualty event? Until relatively recently, archaeologists were primarily concerned with digging up human remains, personal effects, and material culture without having to think or worry about what type of repercussions our behavior, attitudes, procedures, or findings would have on the living. We never had to question whether or not we had a responsibility to the family and friends of the recently deceased, because there was always a buffer. Arguably, it is human morality that is the foundation of forensic archaeology, in that we have a societal need to identify a victim. Obviously, the process of identification not only aids in the factual, criminal, and judicial process, but it also has the ability to assist in the emotional and psychological healing and the closure process of the living. While there are nonprofit agencies set up to give emotional and psychological counseling, they do not have access to information that becomes so vital and critical to those left behind. It may not be legally appro-

A. M. Mires (*) Molly Bish Center, Forensic Criminology, Anna Maria College, Paxton, MA, USA e-mail: [email protected] R. Scott Independent Archaeologist, Benicia, CA, USA © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_5

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priate for us as scientists to divulge this information, but can we assist families during the process? The inclusion of forensic archaeology has provided police, investigators, and other criminal justice authorities with credible evidence to aid in prosecution. More and more, the forensic archaeologist is looked upon to provide evidentiary and contextual data critical for the reconstruction of the possible who, what, when, and where of a crime. Within this context, however, do we have a responsibility to concern ourselves with the people left behind, or do we just hand over evidence found, documentation taken, or information gathered and leave? Is there a need, responsibility, or even desire to address what can be called the “human factor”? This chapter contends that we as anthropologically trained archaeologists cannot only assist in the mediation of these events by providing alternative narratives, but we can also assist the families and public in understanding what happened and what is being done in the criminal justice process to move the case/investigation forward. As archaeologists, we have always had to deal with moral and ethical issues. In North America, the issue of repatriation of Native American relics, grave goods, and human remains is currently one of the most debated issues. Although the North American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) was legislated and enacted in 1990, the debate of the moral obligation and the ethical stance on who should receive and take possession of these articles still continues. As Poirier and Bellantoni (1996) remind us, forensic archaeologists serve as a bridge between past and present populations because we work with descendant populations. While forensic archaeologists are scientific partners in the medicolegal community, of equal importance is the emotional closure for descendants, concerned friends and neighbors, and related ethnic, cultural, and religious groups. As anthropologists, we recognize the humanistic nature of our work while still providing practical scientific applications to sensitive human issues. Therefore, each practitioner must find that balance between research on human remains and the application of that research for recovery and emotional closure of those impacted. With more and more anthropologists and archaeologists being called upon in criminal situations, we must now consider the psychological component to these moral and ethical issues never experienced before or by only a few (Blau 2009). The emotional and psychological impact to the family and friends of the deceased seldom crossed our minds previously. We are now recovering individuals and personal effects whose families and friends may be witnessing and scrutinizing every move, comment, or action taking place at the time of recovery. This can be characterized as the “fishbowl” effect. We now must come to grips and rationalize what we do, why we do it, and how we do it, sometimes only for our own peace of mind. Should we have to rationalize these things to the family, friends, and the living that have been affected by the crime? To address these questions, we will explore these issues within the context of human rights archaeology, domestic mass fatality identification and recovery, theoretical perspectives, and investigations of active and inactive homicide investigations.

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Human Rights Archaeology Within human rights archaeology, anthropologists have had to face these questions for many years. Can we or should we isolate ourselves within the academic discipline and not tend to the psychological and emotional needs of the living when given the chance? This is a relatively new dilemma for forensic archaeologists to consider. In the past, archaeologists were rarely put into situations where victims, family members, or friends watched as personal effects and remains were recovered in front of their eyes or as the “whole world watched.” In Clea Koff’s book, The Bone Woman (2004), she mentions that during her tour with the UN excavating mass graves in Argentina and Bosnia, the archaeologists were told specifically not to interact or speak to individuals that watched as the excavations took place. Soren Blau (2014) looks at the professional responsibilities associated with forensic archaeology/anthropology working in post-conflict contexts as it relates to work opportunities and choices, communication with families of victims, and standards regarding local capacity and occupational health and safety. She concludes that unlike the practitioners of traditional archaeology, those whose work interfaces with the struggles of living people are significantly influenced by the living in where, why, and how they work. Additionally, the wide range of needs of the surviving families and wider communities constitute a significant part of the forensic archaeologist/anthropologist’s professional responsibilities. Using the example of the former Yugoslavia and the disappeared, Sarkin (2017) examines the ways in which missing persons have been dealt with to show that the technological advances made in this field have had a positive impact on the ability of families to advocate for and ultimately find their loved ones. The increased attention given to this field of study has aided issues connected to the missing/disappeared in general in many places around the world. Contemporary methods for dealing with people who have gone missing or disappeared have impacted the processes. These technological improvements should be seen within the context of government or states being more willing to deal with the past in a more holistic way. Governments are recognizing that only in the states that do this will peace and stability follow. If states have dealt sufficiently and acceptably with their contested histories, then accountability ensures the preservation of rights including the right to the truth about what happened to their family members. Sarkin (2017) contends that this process can promote healing and reconciliation. Scientific developments allow the work to be carried out more economically, efficiently, and with more certainty than in the past. These improvements have had a positive impact on the justice process by being able to prove a crime has occurred and that it can be shown how a person died. Developments in science are spurring on the practical advancement of the rights of victims, whose needs are often overlooked, or at least given little priority. Victims of human rights abuses know that this type of work is being carried out all over the world and are demanding that their needs be addressed. The right to the truth requires a state to carry out a rigorous investigation to disclose what happened, why it happened, and who is responsible.

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Certainly, the identification process is for many what the “right to the truth” is now about. Without access to this information, reconciliation processes can falter, and people can doubt the intentions and commitment of the government/state and others to move forward in positive ways (Sarkin 2017). Fondebrider (2002) reflects on these issues as well and cautions that families of victims cannot often trust the government even if a new regime is in power. Under these situations, it is advisable for families to work with local organizations (NGOs, nonprofits, etc.) that take into consideration family needs as part of the process and not an afterthought.

Domestic Approach to Families of Disaster The Aviation Disaster Family Assistance Act of 2006 is the foundational legislation that laid the groundwork to address the needs of families of airline passengers involved in airline accidents. After a series of airline accidents, one area that needed improvement was communication with families. Family and friends of victims of airline accidents had been so disappointed in the way they were treated by government organizations, airlines, the media, and lawyers that they began to organize and demand better information and treatment. The act mandated that the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) shall designate and publicize a director of family support services who is a member of the NTSB and is responsible for acting as a point of contact within the federal government for families to liaison between the air carrier and the families. The act is clear on the responsibilities of the nonprofit toward the families and includes providing mental health and counseling services in a suitable environment for the families to grieve in private. Additionally, the nonprofit will meet with the families who have traveled and those who have not to communicate the roles of various agencies. Provisions ensure family involvement in the disposition of common tissue and to arrange suitable memorials for families. Disaster victim identification happens for two reasons, legal and humanitarian. The human remains must be identified for legal reasons including issuing a death certificate and to settle wills, insurance claims, and remarriage. The second is humanitarian and involves the empathy and compassion that compel us to aid those affected by disaster (Sledzik 2009). Forensic anthropologists have taken on responsibilities that go beyond identification and delve into the management of the scientific response, interaction with families, and the needs of society. Forensic anthropology facilitates the medicolegal landscape to allow for human interaction with a broader definition of the environment that includes the physical, social, and emotional. This trend that began on behalf of the families of disaster victims started to extend out and influence the larger post-disaster community of first responders and their emotional and psychosocial needs during and after responding to disasters. This gave strength to the movement toward a more humanistic science and consideration for the impact of post-traumatic stress from these events, not only on families but also practitioners.

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In the book Catastrophe and Culture: The Anthropology of Disaster, Hoffman and Oliver-Smith (2002) state that a synthesis of disaster knowledge can significantly contribute to efforts to aid disaster victims. This line of thinking should pertain to any crime scene, from a single murder to a mass casualty event. The model of family assistance is enabled as a response to disaster events, and nonprofits have developed to extend this model out to affected families, communities, and beyond. Can this model serve as an impetus to create broader, more synergistic responses to these traumatic events, as it pertains to families and communities?

Theoretical Perspectives As we develop a better understanding and awareness of violence at the local, regional, and global level, many anthropologists are choosing to look at the impact of violence on people and the way that they perceive and operate within those environments. In Time to Destroy: An Archaeology of Supermodernity by Alfredo Gonzalez-Ruibal (2008), we see an important subfield of the archaeology of the contemporary past. The author states that its mission is to tell alternative stories but also unveil what the “supermodern” power machine does not want shown to the public. The period that began with World War I, “supermodernity,” is characterized by increasing devastation of humans and things and the consequent proliferation of archaeological sites including battlefields, industrial ruins, mass graves, and concentration camps. When embarking on archaeology of the recent past, many common themes in archaeology emerge, such as memory, history, time, evidence, ruins, decay, materiality, narrative, and politics. Gonzalez-Ruibal (2008) looks at the reluctance of archaeologists to participate in the archaeology of supermodernity due to our inability to study what we or our relatives have directly or indirectly experienced. It is because we have a living memory of the recent past and are personally involved in it that we have avoided it. The archaeology of supermodernity is the archaeology of us who are alive, which is the archaeology of trauma, emotion, and intimate involvement. This theoretical perspective contains four subtopics: mediation, materiality, place and memory, and politics. The first is mediation which includes storytelling and making manifest. When we focus on destruction and the abject, we look at the true face of the world and allow for alternative accounts of these realities. The stories that forensic archaeologists produce have to do with circumstances of death and documenting the scene of a crime or reconstructing a story from the human remains: all the surviving traces of a destroyed village, a battlefield, an abandoned home, or a nightclub after a devastating fire (Gould 2007). In many cases, mass graves are excavated for restitution, which is the need for presence, not meaning (Gonzalez-­ Ruibal 2008). The difference between forensic science and archaeology is that the latter is interested not only in reconstructing the event but contextualizing it in the wider political and social panorama, as well as for the long term.

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Archaeology can do more than produce alternative stories: it can also tell stories in an alternative way. It can highlight the unconscious in our culture, the things we know or care little about. Narration, as the privileged means of mediation, tends to overlook other possible modes of engagement with the materiality of the recent past. We need alternative ways of translating the remains from the past due to the risk of saturating memory with a proliferation of narratives and details which may eventually neutralize and trivialize the past. This often happens because the evidence itself is rift with abject detail and traumatic political implications. Gonzalez-Ruibal (2008) suggests that the mission of archaeology with regard to the recent past is not to provide more narrative, alternative accounts or more data but to make manifest. Manifestation implies remembering things and being less a historian than an archaeologist and working with material remains that are not reducible to text. The archaeology of the recent past works with the unsayable, the un-­ constituted, what lies outside discourse. This constitutes a type of archaeological disclosure, which summons up the past in a vivid way that is both frightening and traumatic in its abject detail. Gonzalez-Ruibal (2008) engages the metaphor of using photographs instead of text, because images can haunt the observer far more than narrative text. In order to mediate the recent past in ways that make presence manifest and keep memory alive, archaeologists must work in the gray area between revelation and concealment. The second subtopic is materiality. The archaeology of contemporary past has to do justice to the enormous relevance of things in our recent history and taking into account the materiality of the world we live in. The third subtopic is place and memory. The realm of the abject engages the definition of place vs non-place. Sites are erased from collective memory intentionally because they are too recent, conflicting, and repulsive to be shaped as collective memory. The example of a Nazi concentration camp as a place of abjection is beyond social remembrance – where memory is erased. Archaeology chooses to deal with landscapes of death and oblivion which have become a virtual no man’s land. Mnemotopoi(s) are the material foundation of collective memory and are constituted to instill group identity and include monuments and memorials. The memorial at Ground Zero in New  York City represents such a place that allows keeping memory in place, but not contributing to saturation or dissolution of memory. Lastly, the fourth subtopic is politics as part of the narrative. Most archaeology of the recent past is political, independent of the archaeologist’s intentions. Archaeology has and will continue to be the original critical voice in the social sciences because it is about memory and presence. Summoning presence is perhaps the strongest political act that the archaeology of supermodernity can perform. Political acts that lead to mass extermination and the disappeared are a form of public erasure. The traumatic nature of the recent past, our intimate implication in its events, the disturbing nature of its record, and whose historical proximity makes it so raw and traumatic creates a privileged space for reflection. Do we as archaeologists help to perform a therapeutic task by making manifest what cannot be said? It can be about healing but also about critique, exposing dark genealogies and destructive

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operations in our contemporary world. Archaeology should provide peace and ­reparations for the victims and no truce with the perpetrators of crimes against humanity (Gonzalez-Ruibal 2008). Growing literature on the anthropology of suffering and violence reflects the interest in the intersection of the living and dead, the dying and the assassinated, the lost and the found, and the privileged and the silenced. Forensic anthropologists and archaeologists through their work often bring relief sought by surviving family members by addressing family and community concerns through finding bodies, excavating them, and reburying them. Many forensic professionals who contribute to this work feel that it is so important and so “under the radar” that continuing the work is more important than getting individual credit or attention.

Ethnographies of Violence and Human Rights Rapid response ethnographies in turbulent times represent a field of study where the researcher is grossly outpaced by the dynamism of the research being undertaken. Ferrandiz (2013) looks at the complex global and local issues that intersect around the disinterment of mass graves in Spain as a result of the Civil War. By choosing to study the impact of violence and terror on the people who are living there, the researcher produces knowledge that allows for social and political debate to go beyond the academic discipline and also the academic setting. Although they consciously developed a strategy of public engagement, the researchers were often overwhelmed by events and caught up in fast-moving power games that they had no control over. Three distinct areas emerged where the researchers had to adjust and respond to changing circumstances: NGOs, the media, and public institutions. In Tidball-Binz (2006), a book about the forensic investigations of the missing, the author addresses family and community involvement in an exhumation and/or the identification process. He believes that all investigations into the missing resulting from armed conflict or internal violence must be carried out in constant interaction with impacted communities and families. They should be consulted and kept fully informed of the process. Communities and families are deeply traumatized when members go missing, and the process of exhumation and identification can add to the trauma, especially if undignified or unskilled handling of the remains occurs. The social and psychological impact on communities and families should be assessed as part of the planning process, and preventative measures should be adopted accordingly. Psychological support must be systematically planned and provided for in order to help avoid retraumatization. As mentioned previously, the Aviation Disaster Family Assistance Act of 2006 took into account that families were being retraumatized if asked repeatedly for information. The act sought to implement a best practice model when dealing with families that led to alleviating the suffering of the families. By talking about aviation disaster considerations for domestic disaster and how we seek to mitigate these, culturally appropriate strategies were successfully employed.

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Tidball-Binz (2006) contends that the relationship between forensic specialists and families is always complex in human rights work. The forensic specialist has to consider the following questions and issues which have a direct impact on whether that relationship is constrained or empowered. 1. How is information about the investigation transmitted to the community and the families? 2. What is the purpose of the investigation? Does it focus on identification or on a criminal investigation? 3. What is the extent and time scale of the investigation? 4. Who is conducting the investigation – the police, the government, a nonprofit, or NGO? 5. Are the perpetrators still at large? 6. Do the families believe the information resulting from the investigation will be used for their benefit or in the genuine interest of justice? 7. Do the forensic specialists interact with the community and families of the victim whose remains have been identified? These issues are the same on the domestic front, but there is more social and political structure to mitigate it. Families and community involvement must be decided on a case-by-case basis and should take into account numerous issues. First, researchers must consider whether the families would suffer further trauma by participating, especially when the investigation may take a long time or the remains may be treated in unprofessional or undignified ways. The families may also wish to be present or to be represented by a spokesperson. Lastly, consideration should always be given to personal security and political instability and its impact on the families (Tidball-Binz 2006).

Humanistic Case Study Approach The application of broad anthropological training in search, recovery, identification, management of familial grief, societal impact, memorialization, and community recovery informs inquiry and broadens the impact of studying cultural processes. Several case studies are presented here that highlight when practitioners take a humanistic approach to the study of specific disasters that have resulted in mass fatality; they are able to address broader cultural issues facing impacted survivors and their communities.

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Case Study: The Station Night Club Fire On February 20, 2003, in the small town of West Warwick, Rhode Island, the 1980s band “Great White” played at the Station nightclub. Shortly after they took the stage at 11:00 pm, the band opened its performance with a pyrotechnic sparkler fountain display across the stage. This display immediately ignited the sound-insulating foam on the low ceiling and sent the panicked crowd to the emergency exit doors which were either blocked with band equipment or locked. Limited exit strategies then funneled the crowd to the main entrance doors and hallway. A total of 100 people died trying to get out through the main entrance and over 200 suffered injuries and suffocation from the noxious fumes created by the burning insulation. This event constituted the highest mass fatality event for the state of Rhode Island since the 1938 hurricane (Gould 2007). Richard Gould, a prominent archaeologist at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island, became involved with this historic event on two very different levels. The first was as a responder with the Disaster Mortuary Operational Response Teams within the National Disaster Medical System under the authority of the Office of Homeland Security and FEMA. As a team member, Gould was activated and deployed to assist the RI Office of the Chief Medical Examiner with the identification of decedents. While fulfilling this role, Gould was contacted to activate Forensic Archaeology Recovery (FAR) to assist the State Fire Marshal’s Office in the location, documentation, and recovery of victims’ personal effects at the Station nightclub fire scene. Forensic Archaeology Recovery (FAR) formed as a direct result of the World Trade Center disaster in New York City, September 11, 2001 (Gould, R.A., 2004, Standard operating procedures for Forensic Archeology Recovery, personal communication, Standard Operating Procedures). It was recognized soon after that event that human remains and significant debris were widely scattered over areas of lower Manhattan out from the center of the collapse (known as “Ground Zero”) and efforts were initiated to notify authorities and to initiate archaeologically controlled forensic recoveries of these remains in order to place them in the hands of authorities. Eventually an invitation was issued by the New York City Office of the Chief Medical Examiner for a FAR team to perform a trial recovery excavation at a location close to “Ground Zero.” Although the immediate results of the trial were inconclusive, this effort provided a demonstration of FAR’s ability to train, deploy, and conduct forensic recoveries according to acceptable standards required by the OCME. Gould established FAR as a nonprofit (501(c)3), volunteer organization of Brown University students and staff whose primary mission was to assist authorities to locate, record, and recover human remains and associated personal effects at mass-­ casualty disaster scenes. Gould recognized that a need existed at these types of large-scale scenes to document and recover evidence using archaeologically controlled methodologies. Evidence obtained from these recoveries was then entered into a valid chain of custody for identification that could ultimately bring a measure

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of comfort to relatives and friends of victims and resolve issues pertaining to the nature of the disaster. Appropriate methods of archaeological and forensic science were used to ensure medical and legal credibility for all recoveries. Traditional evidence response teams were not necessarily equipped to provide controlled archaeological excavations at these large-scale fire and disaster sites. Very often the size of these scenes, as well as the ensuing chaos, precluded careful, systematic recovery. After the New York deployment, FAR volunteers continued training at Brown University, and a year later FAR was activated by the RI State Fire Marshal’s Office to perform forensic recoveries at the Station nightclub fire scene in West Warwick, RI. The RI fire marshal’s main concern was that after the fire investigation was complete, private investigators and other interested parties would comb through debris looking for any evidence or materials left behind and would remove them. To ensure that all personal items of the victims were recovered and that no evidentiary material would be left behind, the fire marshal engaged Gould and his team (Gould 2007). The FAR team had a dual mission to facilitate the recovery of personal items of the victims and to align the grid/baseline coordinate system with ATF excavations at the fire scene. FAR’s involvement in the recovery effort began on February 20 and culminated on March 9, 2003. Volunteers worked in conjunction with emergency services, law enforcement agencies, and community-based assistance groups creating an effective local response that had positive results for victims’ families and for the community. The original expectations for what FAR could provide in these types of situations were met and exceeded in some cases as the work progressed. The Station nightclub fire and its aftermath provided an opportunity for a nonprofit, FAR to respond to a local disaster situation and assist authorities in the recovery of vital information that might otherwise have been lost. The small size of the state of Rhode Island and of the scene itself helped to facilitate this community approach but also created situations of overlap that may be seen as conflicting. Gould mentions that several of the police responders knew victims of the fire and had not disclosed this information when they were working the scene with FAR. One officer found and removed personal property belonging to his friend during a hiatus in police control of the scene. All other property and materials had been entered into a valid chain of custody, handed over to the fire marshal, and repatriated to the families through the OCME. Another issue that developed was the “fishbowl” effect felt by the FAR volunteers as they negotiated performing their tasks in the frigid cold within the site perimeter, while the media and hundreds of people peered in over the 10-day period. Most of the volunteers were traditionally trained archaeologists with no real forensic experience. To be immersed in a disaster scene in these conditions was emotionally and physically exhausting for the FAR team members (Gould 2007). The benefits, however, outweighed the negative effects. The highest concentration of personal effects (with associated human remains) was recovered by the FAR team in the vicinity of the entrance passageway. These items consisted of wedding rings, necklaces, jewelry, guitars, keychains, and other personal items.

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Gould frames the recovery of these items into two separate definitions of recovery. The first is recovering the item as in regaining possession of that item and how that was facilitated through the archaeological methods. The second form of recovery is more symbolic and refers to getting over or ceasing to feel the effects of something (Gould 2007). For the families, many who were known in the community by Gould and police at the scene, the work done by FAR members helped the families move emotionally through the aftermath of the fire because they knew that the work was being conducted professionally and compassionately on their behalf. The cardinal rule is not to become personally involved with families of victims, as this might impact the professional integrity of the work. In small-scale disaster site work like this, much of the local initial response will be by the local authorities and volunteers, and involvement cannot be avoided. With proper training and preparation, volunteers can effectively negotiate this dilemma and actually assist in the recovery process at both levels of the definition. Simultaneous with the recovery effort at the Station nightclub, Gould and his team observed the initial appearance of messages along the perimeter fence inquiring about the whereabouts of missing people, similar to the initial days and weeks at “Ground Zero” in New York but on a much smaller scale (Gould 2007). As the identification process concluded, these inquiries were replaced with spontaneous memorials of flowers, messages, trinkets, and personal items. Once the recovery effort was concluded by the Fire Marshal’s Office, the site was bulldozed and closed out so that no traces of the nightclub were observable. By May 2003, the owners of the land where the Station nightclub stood donated the land for a memorial. Informal memorials and signs continued, and by the last week in June, an unidentified woman had driven 100 wooden crosses into an oval pattern that roughly coincided with the footprint of the nightclub. These crosses were all painted lavender, and paper images and stickers of butterflies were placed on the crosses. Eventually, solar lights were placed at each cross. By July 1, 48 of the 100 crosses had names inscribed on them. At this time, Randi Scott, the logistics coordinator for the FAR team, set about inventorying, photographing, and recording the memorialization process at the site of the nightclub fire to create a detailed historical record. Using an ethno-­archaeological approach, Gould and Scott (2007) set about to understand the process of memorialization, the variability in the memorials over time, and how this process assisted survivors in coping with and coming to terms with that grief. The main questions posed included: Did the families derive comfort from these displays? Did the process of listening to and bearing witness to these survivors provide help in some way? When and how does closure come for people affected by a disaster like this? The memorials were studied from the period of July 1, 2003, to January 24, 2005, with a total of 64 site visits occurring roughly once a week within the time period. No systematic, formal interviews were conducted, but the FAR team members discussed changes to the displays with visitors. This led to free-flowing conversations about their relative or loved one, memories, and associations. Visitors flocked to the site, and 20–30 visitors per hour were normal foot traffic through the memorial. The archaeologists listened to the stories of the families of the deceased

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and found the outpouring of emotions to be intense and emotionally draining. This in turn prompted FAR team members to rotate personnel out to these site visits. The predominant symbol used in the individual and generalized memorials was the butterfly. By August 20, 2003, an unofficial memorial concert was held at the site, and families were vaguely aware of how their actions (some families had placed an injunction on the land owners for damages) had slowed down, establishing a permanent memorial. This was a local event that impacted people who lived and worked in the surrounding communities. Negligence led to the disaster, and within 46 days of the fire, a special legislative Fire Safety Commission was appointed to hear testimony and review the existing fire code. During these hearings, fire survivors and relatives of victims spoke of their experiences and vented their feelings. Raw expressions of grief were mixed with a growing sense of anger. FAR members had observed expressions of anger while the recovery was taking place, but now the anger was overcoming the emotional display of grief. By mid-September, a crisis had developed at the memorial site. Two crosses for the lead guitarist Ty Longley of the Great White band, who was killed in the fire, were removed from the site and reported to the police as stolen property. There was a growing consensus obtained from interviews with families, that the site was sacred ground (Gould and Scott 2007). The diffuse anger displayed at the hearing was now becoming focused on the physical items displayed at the memorial site. The woman who had removed the crosses confessed to doing so, and the police had no grounds to prosecute since items displayed in the public domain cannot be stolen. Her reasoning was that someone who was responsible for the fire, a band member, should not be memorialized along with the other victims. Eventually, Ty Longley’s display was restored, but this time it was an iron cross welded into the ground. What these researchers observed was a battle between grief and anger as families tried to come to terms with all that had happened, and often these emotions focused on the physical items of memorialization or on the placement of these items. After the first year, the memorials served as a venue for personal connections between the families impacted by the event and reflected the immediacy of dealing with the present moment of disconnection from their loved one. At the end of the second year, changes to the displays were evident, and the interviews focused on changes the families were making with the memorial displays. The researchers chose to keep these conversations confidential, due to their emotionally intense nature, but noted that the earlier connection between the FAR team members and the families during the recovery effort had given them the special status of being participant observers to the families’ grief. The families appreciated the work done, especially the repatriation of personal items of the deceased, but also appreciated answers to rhetorical and tortured questions such as: Did they suffer? Why not me? By being participant observers, FAR team members learned how their work had impacted survivors and families and, equally important, that by bearing witness to their grief, they validated the open-ended emotional distress of survivors and families. FAR’s involvement in the Station nightclub disaster was an integral part of the community response and recovery process.

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 Criminal Justice System and Families: Victim Witness A Advocates Restorative justice seeks to restore dignity to the victims of crime, whereas the criminal justice system focuses on the prosecution of criminals and restoration of their legal rights. Within the criminal justice system, people affected by reported and prosecutable crimes are considered victims, and the Victim Witness Advocate services within the district attorney’s offices have developed to deal specifically with these individuals as they negotiate through the criminal justice system. Many states have a victim bill of rights which informs victims of their legal rights and allows them to understand what services to expect from the state. A significant shortfall of this process is that if the crime is unreported or not able to be prosecuted for lack of evidence linking a perpetrator to the crime, these victims do not have the benefit of being recognized by the system, and therefore the deceased victims’ relatives and friends do not receive any services and, worst yet, remain unrecognized. In missing person cases and inactive homicide investigations, there are numerous families that go unrecognized by the criminal justice system and fall through the cracks in terms of any type of services. Without the proof that a crime has occurred, these families are not only having their criminal but civil rights unrecognized. Forensic archaeology can provide an opportunity for surviving victims of sudden death due to homicide, mass fatality, disaster, and terrorist incidents to meet the criminal justice or forensic system with or without formal recognition, by assisting to move these cases forward in some way. In Chap. 8 of this volume, Mires explores several case studies where a nonprofit, Forensic Archaeology Recovery, worked on behalf of families of missing “unfound” cases utilizing forensic archaeological techniques to move those cases forward after a long period of inactivity.

Conclusions: The Role of Forensic Archaeologists Ian Hanson in Psycho-Social Issues and Approaches in Forensic Archaeology (2007) addresses whether archaeologists should get involved with modern atrocities and forensic casework and whether their training and temperament allow for this type of extreme work as it applies to the investigation of crime. The work involves not the remote past, but the recent and disturbing past that is still part of the present. Forensic work means encountering recent death and corruption, working with relatives and survivors, and receiving potential threats. Forensic archaeology has earned its place within the broader archaeological discipline (Morse et al 1976; Blau and Ubelaker 2009). Hanson (2007) acknowledges that forensic archaeologists must appear as expert witnesses in a court of law or an international court and muses how this fact would affect the average archaeologist if they habitually risked public cross-examination on the methods and results of their work. What is considered harmless supposition, inference, and interpretation

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from limited ­evidence in any excavation are absolutely forbidden for the forensic archaeologist testifying on the results of an excavation resulting in contemporary human remains. Traditional and forensic archaeologists share commonalities in that they are both detectives of the past and recover data from contexts that the excavation destroys and once data is removed, it can never be replaced (Hanson 2007). The differences between the two are significant and include that most traditional archaeologists have no formal training in criminal investigation, in working with survivors, or in the social impact of criminal events on families and communities. Forensic archaeologists must develop an ability to communicate with survivors, including victims, perpetrators, and communities. This task can have significant psychological impact, and Hanson (2007) reminds us that those who enter into recent historical and forensic work without such training do so at their own peril. It will become mandatory as these types of studies move forward and that psychosocial support is made a part of the planning process not only for victims’ families and survivors but for the forensic archaeologists that will interface with these parties during their work. Forensic archaeologists have a substantial responsibility to understand, record, and protect evidence and remains (Hanson 2007). They investigate matters of life, death, and suffering for contemporary people, families, and communities. These investigations have implications of revenge, justice, and closure for survivors, communities, and the perpetrators. While some aspects and forms of archaeology interface with political issues, the events are remote enough to have dulled the emotional impact of the event. The forensic archaeologist often is immersed in emotionally and culturally sensitive issues, guaranteeing that they are somehow part of the experience. The importance of applying archaeological methods and techniques to forensic cases is recognized, and its strength lies in applying best practice to forensics. Of equal importance is demonstrating that archaeology meets the standards required for the presentation of scientific evidence in the courtroom and legal proceedings (Hanson 2007; Blau and Ubelaker 2009; Steadman and Haglund 2005). The archaeology undertaken may be normal, while the circumstances of criminal events and the emotional and social impact of undertaking work on these events is anything but normal (Hanson 2007). Normal archaeological work in difficult circumstances and unusual contexts can lead to problems for archaeologists as the reality of forensic work contradicts their expectations (Hanson 2007). Most cases deal with death, often in a violent form; people have been murdered and killed, possibly even tortured. After death they may have been mutilated and dismembered to aid in disposal and to prevent identification. At a disaster scene, high-velocity impact and shearing forces may contribute to burning fragmentation and incomplete remains. This type of experience can be new and unusual to traditional archaeologists. They can deal with it in two ways, by understanding the dead as objects or understanding the dead as people. The tissue of the body can be viewed as the only remnant of the person, and this remains significant for the family and the community after death (Hanson 2007). People who come in contact with the death as part of their work share a feeling of empathy for the dead. The scientific process, its neu-

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trality, can be disturbing to families as it is seen as sanitizing but can helps establish distance for the practitioner between the deceased and the living. Hanson (2007) commented that in Guatemala involvement of victim communities in exhumations and identification of their family members from clothing and personal effects raised concerns for the safety of family members if suspected perpetrators were still living among the communities. Successful forensic fieldwork should have a psychosocial element (Hanson 2007). Factors that cause stress must be understood including team interaction (fitting into the management structure of scene), the chaos of the scene (international scenes, weather events, politics, witnessing violence), and working with unfamiliar cultures. Constraints on workers at domestic homicide scenes include keeping identities hidden from media and control of information by law enforcement. The dead are neutral at these scenes; it is the interactions of the living with the team and between team members that cause the most stress. The methodologies of science and crime scene recovery at the site itself are vital but so are codes of conduct and ethics both on- and offsite, procedures for health and safety, and team security (Hanson 2007). A team of forensic archaeologists succeeds in difficult conditions by employing the scientific process, which creates a structure to the complex crime scenes and team management. The way to moderate the spectacle and emotional impact of a scene (community involvement, grief, media exposure, public scrutiny) is by relying on the scientific process to organize and control the investigation. Managing teams working on human rights scenes is similar to emergency response and disaster management at the field level; the same strategies work here. Acceptance of the normality of the extraordinary is no different for the forensic archaeologist. By providing basic team activities, meals together, access to email, and social support/ debriefing activities, the workers were able to mitigate the stress of the situation. Some archaeologists may feel detached from friends and families upon returning home and may resort to attention-seeking behaviors. Successful forensic archaeologists understand the stress issues involved and accept difficult circumstances. They must deliver the evidence of criminal activities and identify the dead irrefutably and are caught in a medicolegal net of procedural integrity and evidential challenge, as well as in the difficult social and emotional circumstances of death. Forensic archaeology is not for everyone, and one must understand the psychosocial issues underlying applying archaeology to the disturbing and recent past (Hanson 2007). Hofmeister and Navarro (2017) suggest that for forensic investigations to be restorative, their ultimate humanitarian objective, they must take into account additional conditions apart from those of scientific quality and ethics. Respect, information, and coordination are among the ingredients for forensic action with a psychosocial emphasis and approach. To be truly successful, humanitarian forensic investigations should take into account psychosocial needs. Not only can this contribute to the healing process but a psychosocial approach can improve the outcome of forensic investigations. This will require the coordinated interaction of forensic and psychosocial fields of inquiry.

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References Aviation Disaster Family Assistance Act of 2006 (2006). House of Representatives, 104th Congress, 2d session, Report 104–793. Blau, S. (2009). More than just bare bones: Ethical considerations for forensic anthropologists. In S.  Blau & D. H. Ubelaker (Eds.), Handbook for forensic archaeology and anthropology (pp. 457–467). Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Blau, S. (2014). Working as a forensic archaeologist and/or anthropologist in post-conflict contexts: A consideration of professional responsibilities to the missing, the dead and their relatives. Ethics and the Archaeology of Violence, 2, 215–228. Blau, S., & Ubelaker, D.  H. (2009). Forensic anthropology and archaeology: Introduction to a broader view. In S.  Blau & D.  H. Ubelaker (Eds.), Handbook for forensic archaeology and anthropology (pp. 21–25). Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Ferrandiz, F. (2013). Rapid response ethnographies in turbulent times. Anthropology Today, 29(6), 18–22. Fondebrider, L. (2002). Reflections on the scientific documentation of human rights violations. IRRC, 84(848), 885–891. Gonzalez-Ruibal, A. (2008). Time to destroy an archaeology of supermodernity. Current Anthropology, 49(2), 247–279. Gould, R. A. (2007). Disaster archaeology. Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press. Gould, R. A., & Scott, R. (2007). Ethnoarchaeology and the aftermath: The process of memorialization. In R. A. Gould (Ed.), Disaster archaeology (pp. 69–92). Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press. Hanson, I. (2007). Psycho-social issues and approaches in forensic archaeology. Archaeological Review from Cambridge, 22(2), 1–19. Hoffman, S., & Oliver-Smith, A. (2002). Catastrophe and culture: The anthropology of disaster. Santa Fe: School of American Research Press. Hofmeister, U., & Navarro, S. (2017, November). A psychosocial approach in humanitarian forensic action: The Latin American perspective. Forensic Science International, 280, 35–43. Koff, C. (2004). The bone woman. New York: Random House. Morse, D., Cursoe, D., & Smith, H. G. (1976). Forensic archaeology. Journal of Forensic Science, 21(2), 323–332. Poirier, D. A., & Bellantoni, N. F. (1996). Forensic archeology a humanistic science. CRM 10. Sarkin, J. (2017). How developments in the science and technology of searching, recovering and identifying the missing/disappeared are positively affecting the rights of victims around the world. Human Remains and Violence, 3(1), 71–89. Sledzik, P. S. (2009). Forensic anthropology in disaster response. In S. Blau & D. H. Ubelaker (Eds.), Handbook for forensic archaeology and anthropology (pp. 374–387). Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Steadman, D. W., & Haglund, W. D. (2005). The scope of anthropological contributions to human rights investigations. Journal of Forensic Science, 50(1), 1–8. The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act. (1990) (Public Law 101–601; 25 U.S.C. 3001–3013). Tidball-Binz, M. (2006). Forensic investigations into the missing: Recommendations and operational best practices. In A. Schmitt, E. Cunha, & J. Pinheiro (Eds.), Forensic anthropology and medicine. Totowa: Humana Press.

Part II

Forensic Archaeological Contexts

Chapter 6

The Language of Forensic Archaeology: Discourses in Field and in Court Anna S. Chaussée

Testifying at trial has long been considered a linguistic event (Gibbons 1994b, p. 3); yet it should be remembered that forensic archaeologists may have communicated their observations in several consecutive spheres of discourse before ever being called to testify at a trial. The nature of forensic discourse highlights the performativity of speech and written acts conducted by the forensic archaeologist at various stages of an investigation. Here ‘forensic discourse’ is taken to mean semiosis in practice and is recognized as operating in the field, in court, and beyond. Currently forensic archaeological reporting, in whatever guise, assumes that a codified lexicon exists and is accepted within the wider forensic archaeological community. Forensic archaeology has incorporated standard terminology (e.g., ‘stratigraphy,’ ‘layer,’ ‘feature,’ ‘context’) from the conventional discipline, and the majority of technical terms appear to be wholly appropriate for redeployment in the forensic context (see Lyman 2012). However, nontechnical but familiar words have also been appropriated and are perceived as possessing a similar standing as technical terminology because other forensic archaeologists have come to use them. It has become clear from peer reviews of forensic reports, case examples, and during cross-examination that linguistic diversity exists within the discipline. Moreover, practitioners may not currently possess a full awareness of the reasons that account for, and the difficulties created by, apparent linguistic diversity across the linguistic genres forensic archaeologists engage with. The following argues for greater standardization of oral and written evidence within forensic archaeology in the UK and USA. It also demonstrates that a greater understanding of the epistemological identity of forensic archaeology would benefit the development of a clear and communally accepted lexicon that seeks to represent all the activities taking place within this field of study. It is hoped that this preliminary review, focusing on criminal investigations,

A. S. Chaussée (*) University of Winchester, Winchester, UK e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_6

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stimulates discussion on reporting practices and might assist in considering new directions for case examination strategies within forensic archaeology. Whilst some researchers are chasing more accurate search and recovery methods (see Evis 2016), practitioners also require stronger national and international leadership in the recording and reporting phases of investigations. The use of language remains an issue that many forensic disciplines are yet to fully engage with or acknowledge despite the introduction of the Case Assessment and Interpretation (CAI) model in the UK which aims to strengthen the literacy of statistics and responsible expert reporting (Jackson et  al. 2015). In a similar vein, the Federal Judicial Center in the USA published the Reference Manual on Scientific Evidence (2011) dealing with a range of issues relating to the presentation of scientific evidence, but it too falls short in dealing with empirical disciplines that operate at the fringes of a traditional scientific model and which may not be appropriate to provide specifics beyond the capability of the specialism (Hunter and Cropper 2015, p. 194). Direction has been provided by the European Network of Forensic Science Institutes (ENFSI) which calls for a common forensic language (Willis et  al. 2015) which may be understood within the context of the promotion of a forensic culture as described by Mnookin et  al. (2011), Cole (2013), and Roux et  al. (2015). These authors recognize the need to strengthen the scientific basis of peripheral forensic disciplines to achieve their aims of a common set of forensic principles. Even though ENFSI has made great strides in overcoming the disciplinary practices that have been responsible for fragmentation, it assumes that forensic specialisms possess coherent ‘dialects’ that can be easily transposed into a common forensic language. The nature of forensic archaeology as a discourse community is that it is far more eclectic than is currently realized within the academic and professional literature. Through necessity, the forensic archaeologist has operated using its current lexicon which it has inherited from conventional archaeology (the UK and USA, respectively), and it has integrated forensic terminology to form a functional hybrid language. This can be described as the incorporation of a ‘folk’ terminology (Kempton 1981; Taylor 2003, p. 72–75) and, to date, forensic archaeology has done this without a full review of the terms used to describe familiar phenomena. Certainly, within commercial archaeology in the UK, reporting archaeologists make use of controlled vocabularies, and excavators will make use of classification systems to describe finds and features. Munsell Color Charts are still utilized to code colors of soil to define soil profiles (for discussions on the recognition of color, see Bachy et al. (2012)). While these can be, and in some cases, utilized within archaeology’s forensic counterpart, it is done without enjoying the confidence brought by community acceptance and without a critical understanding of the use of language in the criminal justice system (Gibbons 1994a, pp. 195–198). Forensic archaeology is not simply a reinvention of Anglo-American conventional archaeology; instead it has embraced those principles and techniques that have proven to be successful in theory and in practice (Hunter et  al. 2013, pp.  12–14). However, since the aims, requirements, and audiences of forensic archaeology are different to those of conventional archaeology, the adoption of terms is not always appropriate and risks

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opening the forensic archaeologist to external scrutiny over the uncritical use of culturally-laden terminology. Such problematic terms shall be discussed below. The functional hybridity offers a rendezvous point for academics and practitioners to consider methods for making the forensic archaeological lexicon more practically suitable for its discourse communities. As forensic archaeology has developed into its own distinctive sub-discipline, its practitioners have developed methods of investigative and evidential communication adapting to the dynamic challenges faced in the field and in court. An obvious way to attain greater precision is through the development of accepted terminology. Despite all definitions being valid under Lockean principles (Locke and Wynne 1700), only those that are justified and that can be practically applied retain the most value and strength. Productive definitions have the power to influence disciplines and stimulate new modes of inquiry and, conversely, a lack of clear and precise terminology may lead to a stagnation in conceptual development. Even though forensic archaeology has refocused its research efforts into improving field techniques, its conceptual and theoretical position is significantly underdeveloped. The deliberate rejection of theory by some does little to promote the perception of forensic archaeology as a science and does more to encourage a detrimental attitude that forensic archaeology is unable to provide material insights to the contemporary world (see Groen et al. 2015, pp. 525–532 for a full discussion). Clear and precise communication is facilitated through usable and rationalized definitions. Expert definitions provide a form of quality assurance for the discourse community (Taylor 2003, p. 76). The receiver has the power to accept or reject definitions according to whether their needs are met, and so definitions are frequently renegotiated through the academic and professional literature. It is common that when terms are defined within the context of a specific application, they are redefined if that application changes. As forensic archaeology continues to discover novel applications and as the academic field grows, forensic archaeology has produced and reproduced a very narrow set of definitions usually relating to the role and scope of the field. The originator and receiver mutually benefit from definitions; not only do they enable the production of clear and concise points, they also crystallize thought. Precise language facilitates logical sequencing of ideas which is an essential tenet of archaeological interpretation. Poorly defined terminology, on the contrary, obscures the ideas behind what the word stands for leading to ambiguity and misunderstanding. The forensic archaeologist is currently at liberty to select a favorable definition to support his or her position without the court knowing if it reflects a consensus of the specialism. There is no system currently in place, in the UK or USA, for a regular review of controlled vocabulary or some official criteria of acceptance supported by professional societies such as the Chartered Institute for Archaeologists, the Chartered Society of Forensic Sciences or the Forensic Regulator in the UK, or the American Academy of Forensic Sciences in the USA.  Without addressing this weakness, forensic archaeology is vulnerable, and concerningly, evidence is at risk of not being communicated effectively. This issue has remained latent partly because of the comparative infrequency of the forensic

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archaeologist being called to testify in person which, when called, the suitability of methods and the credibility of the expert are examined through its oral presentation (Henneberg 2009, p.  490). Regulation and training are the obvious answers, but greater access to court records to review how forensic archaeology is being communicated in court is needed (Groen et al. 2015, p. 525). The USA benefits from having a wealth of information video recorded, and opportunities are available to review transcripts. In the UK, however, access to this information is short-term and comes at a significant financial cost. Furthermore, forensic archaeology reports are seldom published and are usually subject to strict confidentiality rules. This also means that junior forensic practitioners who are consulting on behalf of forensic providers or are self-employed are not getting the critical exposure to the diversity of forensic written reports. To understand this blind spot, it should be acknowledged that the forensic archaeologist straddles at least two academic and professional cultures. Forensic archaeology has integrated phrases and conventions from forensic investigation (which here is being used to refer to that application of empirical observations to a legal investigation, e.g., continuity of evidence). Many forensic sciences have needed to address the problem of standardization in several key areas of expression: verbal scales of likelihood and similarity, use of cautious language and conditional tenses, the selection of terms to demonstrate an avoidance of bias (reference to a victim, deceased, or complainant), and the avoidance of hypotheticals and speculation (Hunter and Cropper 2015, p. 194; Marquis et al. 2016). There is a growing awareness of the limitations of expert opinion after successful appeals in the UK (e.g., R v Dallagher 2002; R v Clark 2003; R v Cannings 2004; Hainey v HMA 2013). While these concerns may be dismissed as simply semantic, it is precisely semantics (meanings) and pragmatics (the context of meaning) that are the most vulnerable and valuable aspects in expert testimony, reports, and contemporaneous note-taking. Conventional archaeology is not a homogenous discipline, and this is reflected in the way it and its sub-disciplines communicate. Reconstructing the identities of forensic archaeology as an applied archaeological sub-discipline is key to understanding the forensic archaeological discourse perhaps through the concepts of genre (see Swales 1990; Bhatia 1993, 2004), community (see Hoey 2001), and performativity (Butler 1995, 1997, 1999). Here, these interrelated concepts provide a framework to describe and explain the diversity within forensic archaeological discourse.

Genre According to Bhatia (1993, p.  13, 2004, p.  23), linguistic genre is “recognizable communicative event characterized by a set of communicative purpose(s) identified and mutually understood by the members of the professional or academic community in which it regularly occurs.” The operational forensic archaeologist communicates through various written and oral genres which may include contemporaneous

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notes, context sheets and excavation documentation, e-mails and letters, spoken testimony, reports, and statements. Moreover, written and oral evidence may be complemented by photographs, videos, and drawn plans. The investigating forensic archaeologist uses a combination of language, numbers, diagrams, and photographs in their reporting of a case in the confidence that these signs bear some resemblance to the reality being reconstructed. All modes of communication that are produced within a criminal investigation are disclosable to the court, and so conventions have been borrowed from traditional archaeology and forensic watchdogs such as the Forensic Science Regulator in the UK, and the National Academy of Sciences, and the Subcommittee on Forensic Science (SoFS) which sits below the National Science and Technology Council (NSTC) in the USA (see Butler 2015). When writing notes, the forensic archaeologist needs to be aware that anything generated at a scene or in the investigation is disclosable (see Criminal Procedure and Investigations Act (1996) and Criminal Justice Act (2003) in the UK; Crown Prosecution Service 2018). The archaeologist should take care to use cautious language, but he or she must avoid deliberate evasion of interpretation. Forensic investigators are trained to use the word ‘apparent’ to anything that might be perceived to be beyond the expertise of the specialist (e.g., ‘apparent blood’). Forensic archaeology is in the position in that practitioners frequently have some form of formalized training in osteology and can usually competently distinguish bone from non-bone and human bone from nonhuman bone. In the USA this is less of an issue since forensic archaeology is associated more closely with forensic anthropology (Cabo and Dirkmaat 2015, p. 255). In the UK, however, the distinction between forensic archaeology and forensic anthropology has been ferociously maintained by anthropologists challenging the archaeologists’ skills in recognizing bone. The assessment of bone by forensic archaeologists is a contentious issue and can be seen to be encroaching on the expertise of forensic anthropologists who, in the UK, undergo additional rigorous competency testing to ensure skills are maintained. Since many forensic archaeologists are dual trained in forensic anthropology, the ability of the forensic archaeologist to recognize fragmented or modified bone is down to the individual’s qualifications, the archaeological context, and continuous professional development. The forensic archaeologist must be clear about their area of expertise in relation to the work request, and this must be reflected in the language of their note-taking and formal reporting. Cautious language, such as using the word ‘apparent,’ enables archaeologists to describe the recovery of presumed bone material, possible firearms, or the observation of seeming biological staining without making a comment on its authenticity. During reporting and through testimony, the forensic archaeologist will use words they are accustomed to, and it is not always clear when they are using an ordinary understanding or a technical understanding of the word. While archaeological standards on drawing are outlined within professional societies, the written language is not currently governed by a universal clear set of terminology or set of conventions within forensic archaeology. Bhatia’s definition (1993, p.  13, 2004, p. 23) continues on describing genre and stating, “most often it is highly structured and conventionalized with constraints on allowable contributions in terms of their

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intent, positioning, form and functional value.” While forensic archaeology in the UK is bound by reporting guidance upheld by the Forensic Science Regulator, generic guidance that they offer emphasizes the requirement for experts to “ensure that they are able to explain their methodology and reasoning, both in writing and orally, concisely in a way that is comprehensible to a lay person and not misleading” (Forensic Science Regulator 2017, p.  53). Forensic scientists have attempted to standardize the use of verbal expressions of likelihood or similarity within reports by attributing set phrases according to numerical indices. These scales are adopted by several forensic sciences, and questions relating to the difference between scaled categories are a recurrent line of questioning featured in direct and cross-­examination in England and Wales. Recently, efforts have been made to push forensic archaeology in line with these expectations. However, despite forensic archaeology’s seemingly scientific basis, probabilities and expressions of likelihood are generally avoided within forensic archaeological applications because error rates are not universally accepted within the academic literature and data on reliability are based on simulated ‘graves’ as opposed to actual cases. Additional work is needed to demonstrate the ecological validity of such research. While codified conventions and principles are welcomed from forensic regulators, significantly more work could be done within the forensic archaeological community to develop its own subject-­ specific reporting conventions in line with broader forensic expectations.

Discourse Community A discourse community describes individuals or groups working toward agreed goals through communication (Swales 1990, p. 32). The group develops procedures to facilitate communication and knowledge exchange by formulating its own technical lexicon and genres. It provides avenues for peer review to encourage engagement with critical reflection by its members. The forensic archaeological discourse community is diverse and includes forensic practitioners, search professionals, the court, academics from various fields, students, the police, journalists, and other stakeholders. Operational archaeologists have successfully discovered ways to communicate complex findings to a range of expert, professional and lay audiences: police, other forensic disciplines, fellow archaeologists, and juries. This is not an exhaustive list, and as the field develops, the specialism will attract a wider audience, and technical glossaries will need reevaluation. The language used by experts needs to strike the balance between precision and accessibility so that meanings may be communicated effectively. The concept of community helps to outline the extent to which forensic archaeology is distinct from its related disciplines. Furthermore, the concept of community assists the understanding of the discourses in the field to the courtroom by thinking about how forensic archaeology is discussed at an interpersonal level, the cultural aspects that affect decision making and interpretations, the subject knowledge of the communicator, their understanding of the world, and their awareness of conventions for communicating (Hyland 2006).

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For instance, some conventional archaeologists would not think it problematic to use the term ‘probably’ within a forensic report to express a caveat to an interpretation where there is no statistical basis, and yet this would be an anathema to archaeologists of a more scientific background. The processual and post-processual microcultures that dominated debates within conventional archaeology in the 1980s have had a lasting effect on the way in which archaeological observations are reproduced through language. Forensic archaeological reports must maintain objectivity by presenting written observations separately to their interpretations. This is a scientific convention which is followed by processual archaeologists and of great benefit to the court to detect bias and to present expert opinion distinctly, so it is not confused with fact. Processual archaeological writing has been criticized for erasing the archaeologist’s voice and eroding the engaging narrative (Hodder 1986; Joyce 2002, p. 143). Narratives, which are associated with post-processualism (also known as interpretivism), are featured strongly within contemporaneous notes. Such narratives are reconstructed and repurposed within oral testimony, and the use of the first-person singular is favored over the academic third person (Hunter and Cropper 2015, p. 194). Investigating forensic archaeologists are duty-bound to retell their work for multiple discourse communities or audiences functioning for different purposes. These retellings may or may not operate on a linear sequence or within consecutive genre chains (Swales 2004). In these retellings the forensic archaeologist might (inadvertently) elicit the construction of new knowledge and fresh interpretations under direct and cross-examination. This is because the situation provokes the reframing of the written evidence to cater for a variety of levels of understanding in court and after the expert has had considerable time to reflect upon those original interpretations (Joyce 2002, p. 143). A strong written narrative in contemporaneous notes is invaluable when memory fails and assists in maintaining the consistency of the message. Courtroom testimony post-Meadow (see The General Medical Council v Professor Sir Roy Meadow v Her Majesty’s Attorney General 2006) reminds practitioners of the compelling nature of statistics even when they are incorrect. Jurors are faced with an extremely difficult position to critically evaluate the testimony of one or more experts. This is without any additional training in critical evaluation or in archaeology. In some complex evidence types such as DNA and gait analysis, judges (in England and Wales) may now receive an explanatory primer developed by The Royal Society (2017a, b) to assist the understanding of scientific concepts. Whilst archaeological principles are not generally perceived to be as difficult to grasp as genetics (see Berliner 2003), the lack of basic archaeological literacy or, even worse, an assumption of archaeological understanding can erode the role of the expert and the scope of their involvement. Currently there are no immediate plans to make an archaeology primer in the UK. Much to the frustrations of the operational forensic archaeologist, the points at which the archaeologists may provide expert assistance is still not particularly well-understood when compared to the clearly defined involvement of the forensic anthropologist.

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A universal, peer-reviewed, evidence-led glossary would certainly be a start even if it might be out of reach for a few years. One way to address issues of language is through strengthening the peer review system and the role of the defense expert. It may not be the wisest thing to have those familiar with the author’s written style to review reports. This can easily lead to bias and the overlooking of alternative interpretations. The training of peer reviewers to pick up on frequent issues and the sharing of best reporting practices is something currently lacking. The defense expert role is pivotal, and all forensic archaeological case work must be scrutinized from the perspective of the defense. A coherent framework of communication would support the perception of trustworthiness of the discipline. If forensic archaeologists are to benefit from best practice, then a forum is required for open discussion on successful and unsuccessful communication of forensic archaeology without risking confidentiality or antagonizing sub judice. In the meantime, some observations of common language slips from forensic reports have been outlined below. To take a very simple example is the word ‘victim.’ In evidence the forensic archaeologist must take care not to assume the deceased is a victim because it may undermine the defense. The attribution of victimhood by a forensic archaeologist is usually an assumption based upon the circumstances relayed to the practitioner by law enforcement. For many, deliberately not referring to the deceased as a victim is a matter of course based upon wisdom provided by more experienced reporting practitioners. This is often extended by referring to a ‘scene’ as opposed to a ‘crime scene’ for similar reasons. Simple assumptions may betray the objectivity of the forensic archaeologist. The point may be extended through the consideration of this scenario: in a suspected homicide, confirmed human remains are found in very suspicious circumstances and appear to have been deliberately concealed. This provokes the question of what crime is the individual a victim of. There are numerous definitions of ‘victim’ according to different states in the USA. According to the Ministry of Justice (2015, p. 1), Code of Practice for Victims in England and Wales a definition is: A natural person who has suffered harm, including physical, mental or emotional harm or economic loss which was directly caused by a criminal offence; and/or a close relative of a person whose death was directly caused by a criminal offence.

It is beyond the scope of the forensic archaeologist to assess the level of harm and to establish if a crime has been committed including if coronial laws have been broken. The use of words such as ‘victim’ and ‘crime’ attracts an easily avoidable criticism. There can be numerous reasons why a body has been disposed of which does not involve bodily violence. For instance, the motivation for the continuation of welfare/benefit payments may be enough motive to circumvent body disposal laws or may reflect an ignorance of burial processes. Assumptions embodied in the words ‘victim’ or ‘crime’ are gateways for the defense to lead the forensic archaeologist out of the acknowledged area of expertise. The relaxation of ‘no body, no murder’ common law in England and Wales, and developments within forensic sciences has attracted attempts from the prosecution to pursue homicide charges despite not recovering a body. The forensic archaeolo-

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gist may be involved in an investigation where a suspicion exists that a feature was created with the intention of disposing of a corpse. Concerningly these features have been described by forensic archaeologists as ‘abandoned graves.’ Here demonstrated is the biased use of language and logical failures perhaps because of a strong narrative prevailing at the scene. Where the feature does not contain anything to suggest human remains were placed within the feature, then no inference of intent should be made by the archaeologist. In these situations, the forensic archaeologist must resist describing the feature either as ‘abandoned’ or a ‘grave.’ This is even if witnesses testify that the intention was for the feature to be a receptacle for a body. That is the evidence for a lay witness rather than the expert evidence of the forensic archaeologist. The forensic archaeologists must find a way to communicate the absence of evidence objectively and without influence from law enforcement. Legal definitions provide little guidance to forensic archaeologists. No legal definition of the word ‘grave’ exists relating to the features commonly encountered within forensic archaeological investigations. The word ‘grave’ is legally defined within the context of serious misconduct and with a serious sentencing penalty (see entries for Grave, Grave Crime, Gravity in Hay 2007, p. 1058). Where there is an absence of direction from forensic archaeology, it risks the discipline being treated as the handmaiden of forensic anthropology or subject the arbitration of judges on archaeological meanings (Coulthard and Johnson 2007). The word ‘grave’ may be problematic because despite it seeming to be a neutral term, its use in practice is usually accompanied by cultural connotations which may be prejudicial. The word ‘grave’ implies the concealment is purposeful without needing to use an adverbial qualification such as ‘deliberate,’ ‘intentional,’ or, conversely, ‘unintentional.’ For a partial definition to assist the forensic archaeologist, the term ‘concealment’ is instead provided in R v Rosenberg (1906) describing when a body may be understood to be concealed. The interpretation resides within the legal definition for ‘concealing a birth’ which requires proof that the body was subject to secret deposition. This definition was generated within the context of the body of a dead child having been laid upon the mother’s bed. The body had been covered by a petticoat, and the judge defined ‘concealment’ as “anyone coming into the room [where the dead body was] and would not be likely to see the body.” The defendant was acquitted of the charge because the concealment test was not satisfied perhaps given the cultural expectations of covering the dead, in this case with a petticoat. The petticoat was not demonstrated to be a reasonable obstacle to finding the body. It would be wrong to assume that all forensic archaeologists have benefited from sustained study either at undergraduate or postgraduate levels which risks having an operational workforce who have failed to absorb and recognize the limitations of applying conventional archaeological terminology to the forensic context. This may partially account for the apparent linguistic diversity within the specialism. This is not relegated to forensic archaeologists per se; indeed, forensic anthropologists need to take care in applying terms and techniques accepted within archaeology but fail to convince those who are medically trained within their discourse community. An example of this was the application of Harris lines to a case alleging the perpetration of child abuse. On appeal, the application of Harris Lines to a contemporary

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population was challenged by the defense and was successful (Hainey v HM Advocate 2013). There are complex factors at each stage of the communication process according to the individual or group being engaged with in the discourse community, the genre of communication, and at what stage of the process the communication is being performed. The complexity inherent within forensic discourse, knowing that it can be scrutinized under adversarial conditions, means the forensic practitioner needs to be confident in the limits of the technical lexicon and the extent that logical inferences may be made. Forensic discourse occurs in a variety of symmetrical and asymmetrical communication models. A comprehensive review of various communication approaches has previously been conducted by Howes (2015) which explored the dialogue model (Clarke 2001), the participatory model (Röling 2007), and the deficit model (Bucchi 2008) and evaluated their relative powers to describe communication within forensic science communities and through various genres in which knowledge exchange occurs. Howes found the dialogue model which depicts the lines of communication between the sender and the receiver as symmetrical and allows for the two-way flow of information. While this is the case for conference between the forensic archaeologist and the police, it does not adequately assist the description of the asymmetrical and asynchronous communication of the expert, the advocate, and the jury in the context of a courtroom. The participatory model of communication provides a focus on the active construction and exchange of knowledge, and Howes correctly identifies pre-trial meetings as an example of the flow of communication within this model (Howes 2015). His application may be extended further when considering the communication of a range of scene scientists to the police and other stakeholders in the field. For instance, the forensic archaeologist is frequently included in the police briefing, and scene scientists, detectives, the Senior Investigating Officer, and Crime Scene Manager can develop their strategies in light of advice from practitioners. There are of course various informal points within a search for a missing person where the forensic archaeologist is involved in shaping the direction of investigation and in evaluating the priorities in investigating archaeological anomalies. The construction and exchange of knowledge at the scene is dynamic and relies upon the consideration of intelligence when available, but this is necessarily asymmetrical. This of course only works in scenarios where the forensic archaeologist is an active participant. With some acute scenes dealing with mass fatalities where several archaeologists, anthropologists, and other scientists involved communicate according to an implicit or explicit hierarchy based upon social conventions or privileges such as actual or perceived seniority, pre-existing relationships, charisma, or the duration of an individual have invested at the scene. Howes (2015) found the deficit model to be the most applicable model that describes communication with the forensic sciences because it takes account of asynchronous communication within court. The model recognizes the one-way transmission of information from the expert witness to the jury in educating the court matters beyond their knowledge. To extend the point further, some facts and

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expert opinion are elicited rather than freely given when under the pressure of cross-­ examination. While the investigating forensic archaeologist is likely to have been involved in all, or has overseen, the recovery of evidence, he or she is not necessarily partied to all the information that the defense possesses. For instance, the specialist will not necessarily know the results of any further scientific testing making the flow of information uneven. Similarly, the nondisclosure of observations to the forensic archaeologist from other scientists who participate later in the investigative chain makes the foundation of communication hesitant. This may influence the quality of communication causing overconfidence or an unnecessary lack of assurance. The quality of communication and the precision of language are inextricably linked to the information. The value and performance of testimony provided by some witnesses are easy to criticize by those on the sidelines who are not under the adversarial pressures that the courtroom provides. This merely underlines the reasoning to develop greater community resources for expert witnesses to draw upon. It is worth reiterating that no one model can adequately represent all communication within forensic discourse communities, but the deficit model appears to be the most fit-for-purpose to describe courtroom interaction.

Performativity While text and administrative documents such as context sheets and contemporaneous notes are not considered communication, they record the performative role of the forensic archaeologist within the field. Alongside the production of these important documents is the verbal engagement with discourse communities (CSIs, police officers, and other forensic practitioners) that is seldom captured through text-based recording. Performativity is also in the act of signing an archaeological report certifying it as being accurate and true. The diligent following of expert witness reporting conventions seeks to protect the document and enhance its probative value and performative power. The reporting forensic practitioner chooses to outwardly present themselves as an expert which, when recognized by the court, the public perceives a person of authority and trust (Peters 2008, p.  73). The forensic archaeologist may perform several simultaneous roles in court, that of the professional eyewitness, the investigating expert witness, the joint expert witness, or the expert witness on behalf of the defense. Witnesses, lay, professional, or expert, who lack charisma and who are unfamiliar with courtroom discourse, are likely to be disadvantaged under adversarial genres such as cross-examination. Genres are developed to facilitate the performance of a particular sociocultural function, and in court cross-examination is to ward against injustice (Gibbons 1994b; p. 6, 1994a, p. 195). Previous works have rightly focused their attention on lay witnesses and especially the members of society who are socioeconomically underprivileged (Gibbons 1994a, p. 197). The issue of courtroom nescience also may be applied to the inexperienced forensic archae-

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ologist who has not been inducted to language and the law (Henneberg 2009, pp. 490–491). The adversarial nature of the criminal justice systems in the UK and the USA encourages the charismatic performance of forensic rhetoric primarily intended to persuade and impress (verisimilitude) rather than to reveal the objective truth (veracity) (Heffer 2013, p. 459). It is very difficult under the current systems for jurors to know which competing account presented is authoritative. It is the illocutionary and locutionary speech acts made within court by the witness that are performative. The oral evidence is received by the court, tested through cross-examination, and deliberated upon by the judge and jury. It is therefore important that precision of language is part of the performance. Technical and nontechnical terms are not adequately separated which is problematic when the expert is communicating at various audiences with different levels of knowledge. It is often assumed that in choosing a nontechnical word, the receiver, be it detective, advocate, or juror, will produce the identical meaning of the word. Yet distortion of the message frequently occurs between the transmitter and the receiver (Howes 2015). Since 2011, the immunity of expert witnesses in the UK has been removed, and so the forensic archaeologist has even more reason to be careful about the content and communication of their investigation in court (see Jones v Kaney 2011). However, meanings are created beyond the words used, and so the delivery of the message, the length of time for communication, and the use of additional genres (e.g., use of primers, computer presentations, digital images, plans, drawings, and photographs) will impact the clarity and authority of the message. Furthermore, paralinguistic forms of communication such as intonation, audibility, speech patterning, and body language may also affect the reception of the message. The uncritical use of language has left forensic archaeology unnecessarily exposed under peer review and cross-examination. Without institutional intervention, inexperienced forensic archaeologists, those who are self-employed or on casual contracts, may not benefit from the continuous professional development that other forensic practitioners regularly engage with. When combined with the consideration of concepts of community, genre, and performativity, communication models can be understood with forensic archaeology in mind to reveal areas of comparable strength and weakness. To develop research in this area police, practitioners, and forensic providers need to deliver greater opportunities for information exchange outside of investigations so that critical evaluation may take place and lessons learned may be fed back. One of the areas that could be addressed is the apparent coexistence of folk and expert terminologies. A synchronic analysis of language used would be preferable, but the current barriers to accessing data within the UK are currently unreasonable. Access to reports is on an ad hoc basis, and sometimes access to small samples is negotiated, but these provide little evidence for generalized inferences to be drawn. Engaging in knowledge exchange beyond the development and ratification of techniques to consider communication and conceptual development will advance the distinctiveness of forensic archaeology. The concept of identity strikes at the heart of a discourse analysis of forensic archaeological communication. Where forensic archaeology has developed a common

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sense of standards, principles, and techniques, it will be strengthened by a more conscious approach to its communication. A chapter could have easily been written on the how other discourse communities have uncritically used archaeological terminology. Through familiarity with the archaeological lexicon, different disciplines appropriate the same labels and apply them in different ways. Meanings of those terms become distorted, lost in translation, and change over time. Where forensic archaeology has a thriving research community, we need to be mindful that the words used in research outputs do not necessarily translate well to a practical forensic setting. While a forensic archaeology primer for the court and an evidence-led, linguistically informed lexicon would be beneficial, this is likely to take a considerable amount of time. In the interim, a way these issues may be addressed is through the peer review system, the active encouragement of reflective practice across reporting genres, and the sharing of best (and worst) practice.

References Bachy, R., Dias, J., Alleysson, D., & Bonnardel, V. (2012). Hue discrimination, unique hues and naming. Journal of the Optical Society of America A, 29(2), A60–A68. https://doi.org/10.1364/ JOSAA.29.000A60. Berliner, D. (2003). Educational research: The hardest science of all. Educational Researcher, 31, 18–20. Bhatia, V. (1993). Analysing genre. Harlow: Longman. Bhatia, V. (2004). Worlds of written discourse: A genre-based view. London: Continuum. Bucchi, M. (2008). Of deficits, deviations and dialogues: Theories of public communication of science. In M. Bucchi & B. Trench (Eds.), Handbook of public communication of science and technology (pp. 57–76). New York: Routledge. Butler, J. (1995). Burning acts: Injurious speech. In A. Parker & E. Kosofsky Sedgwick (Eds.), Performativity and performance (pp. 197–228). London: Routledge. Butler, J. (1997). Excitable speech: A politics of the performative. London: Routledge. Butler, J.  (1999). Performativity’s social magic. In R.  Shusterman (Ed.), Bourdieu: A critical Reader (pp. 113–128). Oxford: Blackwell publishing. Butler, J.  (2015). U.S. initiatives to strengthen forensic science & international standards in forensic DNA. Forensic Science International Genetics, 18, 4–20. https://doi.org/10.1016/j. fsigen.2015.06.008. Cabo, L., & Dirkmaat, D. (2015). Forensic archaeology in the United States. In W.  Groen, N. Márquez-Grant, & R. Janaway (Eds.), Forensic archaeology: A global perspective (pp. 255– 270). Chichester: Wiley Blackwell. Clarke, B. (2001). Strategies for improving communication between scientists and the public. Journal of Commercial Biotechnology, 8, 51–58. Cole, S. A. (2013). Forensic culture as epistemic culture: The sociology of forensic science. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science Part C: Studies in History and Philosophy of Biological and Biomedical Sciences, 44(1), 36–46. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.shpsc.2012.09.003. Coulthard, M., & Johnson, A. (2007). An introduction to forensic linguistics: Language in evidence. London: Routledge. Crown Prosecution Service. (2018). CPS disclosure manual. Retrieved from https://www.cps.gov. uk/sites/default/files/documents/legal_guidance/DisclosureManual_0.pdf.

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Evis, L. (2016). Forensic archaeology: The application of comparative excavation methods and recording systems. Oxford: Archaeopress Publishing Ltd. Federal Judicial Center. (2011). Reference manual on scientific evidence (3rd Edn). Forensic Science Regulator. (2017). Codes of practice and conduct for forensic science providers and practitioners in the Criminal Justice System, (4). https://doi.org/978-1-84987-624-7 Gibbons, J. (1994a). Language and disadvantage before the law. In J. Gibbons (Ed.), Language and the law (pp. 195–198). London: Longman. Gibbons, J.  (1994b). Language constructing law. In J.  Gibbons (Ed.), Language and the law (pp. 3–10). London: Longman. Groen, W., Márquez-Grant, N., & Janaway, R. (2015). Concluding remarks. In Forensic archaeology: A global perspective (pp. 517–536). Chichester: Wiley Blackwell. Hay, D. (Ed.). (2007). Words and phrases legally defined: Volume 1 A-K (4th ed.). London: Lexis Nexis Butterworths. Heffer, C. (2013). Revelation and rhetoric: A critical model of forensic discourse. International Journal for the Semiotics of Law, 26(2), 459–485. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11196-013-9315-z. Henneberg, M. (2009). The expert witness and the court of law. In S. Blau & D. Ublelaker (Eds.), Handbook of forensic archaeology and anthropology (pp. 490–494). Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. HMSO (Her Majesty’s Stationery Office). (1996). Criminal Procedure and Investigations Act. London: HMSO. HMSO (Her Majesty’s Stationery Office). (2003). Criminal Justice Act. London: HMSO. Hodder, I. (1986). Reading the past: Current approaches to interpretation in archaeology. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Hoey, M. (2001). Textual interaction. Abingdon: Routledge. Howes, L. M. (2015). The communication of forensic science in the criminal justice system: A review of theory and proposed directions for research. Science and Justice, 55(2), 145–154. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.scijus.2014.11.002. Hunter, J., & Cropper, C. (2015). Introduction to forensic archaeology in the United Kingdom. In W. Groen, N. Márquez-Grant, & R. Janaway (Eds.), Forensic archaeology: A global perspective (pp. 189–195). Chichester: Wiley Blackwell. Hunter, J., Simpson, B., & Sturdy Colls, C. (2013). Forensic approaches to buried remains. Chichester: Wiley Blackwell. Hyland, K. (2006). Disciplinary differences: Language variation in academic discourses. In Academic discourse across disciplines (pp. 17–45). Frankfort: Peter Lang. Jackson, G., Aitken, C., & Roberts, P. (2015). Practitioner guide no 4 case assessment and interpretation of expert evidence guidance for judges, lawyers, forensic scientists and expert witnesses. London: Royal Statistics Society. Joyce, R. (2002). The languages of archaeology. Oxford: Blackwell publishing. Kempton, W. (1981). The folk classification of ceramics: A study of cognitive prototypes. London: Academic. Locke, J., & Wynne, J. (1700). An abridgment of Mr. Locke’s essay concerning humane understanding (2nd. ed.). London: A. & J. Churchil. Lyman, R. L. (2012). A historical sketch on the concepts of archaeological association, context, and provenience. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory, 19(2), 207–240. https://doi. org/10.1007/s10816-011-9107-2. Marquis, R., Biedermann, A., Cadola, L., Champod, C., Gueissaz, L., Massonnet, G., et al. (2016). Discussion on how to implement a verbal scale in a forensic laboratory: Benefits, pitfalls and suggestions to avoid misunderstandings. Science and Justice, 56(5), 364–370. https://doi. org/10.1016/j.scijus.2016.05.009. Ministry of Justice UK. (2015). Code of practice for victims of crime. Retrieved June 18, 2018, from https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/476900/code-of-practice-for-victims-of-crime.PDF.

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Mnookin, J., Cole, S., Dror, I., Fisher, B., Houck, M., Inman, K., David, H., Kaye, D., Koehler, J., Glenn Langenburg, G., Risinger, D., Rudin, N., Siegel, J., & Stoney, D. (2011). The need for a research culture in the forensic sciences. UCLA Law Review, 58(3), 725–779. Peters, H. (2008). Scientists as public experts: Expectations and responsibilities. In M.  Bucchi & B. Trench (Eds.), Routledge handbook of public communication of science and technology (2nd ed., pp. 70–258). Abingdon: Routledge. Röling, N. (2007). Towards an interactive agricultural science. European Journal of Agricultural Education and Extension, 2(4), 35–48. https://doi.org/10.1080/13892249685300061. Roux, C., Talbot-Wright, B., Robertson, J., Crispino, F., & Ribaux, O. (2015). The end of the (forensic science) world as we know it? The example of trace evidence. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B, 370, 1–8. https://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2014.0260. Swales, J. (1990). Genre analysis: English in academic and research settings. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Swales, J. (2004). Research genres: Explorations and applications. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, J. (2003). Linguistic categorization (3rd ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. The Royal Society. (2017a). Forensic DNA analysis: A primer for courts. Retrieved from royalsociety.org/science-and-law. The Royal Society. (2017b). Forensic gait analysis: A primer for courts. Retrieved June 18, 2018, from royalsociety.org/science-and-law. Willis, S., Mc Kenna, L., Mc Dermott, S., O’Donnell, G., Barrett, A., Rasmusson, B., Höglund, T., Nordgaard, A., Berger, C., Sjerps, M., Molina, J., Zadora, G., Aitken, C., Lovelock, T., Lunt, L., Champod, C., Biedermann, A., Hicks, T., Taroni, F. (2015). ENFSI guideline for evaluative reporting in forensic science. http://enfsi.eu/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/m1_guideline.pdf.

Cases Cited Hainey (Kimberley Mary) v Her Majesty's Advocate. (2013). HCJAC 47. Jones V Kaney. (2011). UKSC 13. R v Cannings (Angela). (2004). EWCA Crim 1. R v Mark Anthony Dallagher. (2002). EWCA Crim 1903. R v Rosenberg. (1906) 70 JP 264. R. v Clark (Sally) (Appeal against Conviction) (No.2). (2003). EWCA Crim 1020. The General Medical Council v Professor Sir Roy Meadow v Her Majesty's Attorney General. (2006). EWCA Civ 1390.

Chapter 7

Convincing LEO: Successful Interaction Between the Archaeologist and Law Enforcement Officials in Crime Scene Investigations Michael J. Hochrein

Introduction Understanding the differences and similarities between archaeologists and crime scene investigators is not difficult. As mentioned below, Gardner and Bevel (2009) build their explanation of crime scene reconstruction on the tenets of archaeological theory. Congram and Bruno (2007) examine the feelings and attitudes we share as investigators or scientists approaching a crime scene excavation. Like the surgeon who feels excited when faced with a unique procedure, or a physician correctly diagnosing a rare disease, both archaeologists and crime scene investigators typically experience intellectual arousal at the prospect of discovery and interpretation of a crime event. Often, they must check this enthusiasm in processing scenes born of tragedy, for fear it might be deemed inappropriate. Both the forensic archaeologist and the law enforcement officer or “LEO” have experienced the thrill of solving questions posed by particular crime scenes without intending to lose sight of the gravity of the event. As Congram and Bruno (2007:50) point out: It is not wrong to feel good when investigating, discovering, and documenting a mass killing as long as the appropriate respect is given to those who have suffered its impact. Similarly, it is not wrong or abnormal to get attached and affected by the gravity of the situation in which one is working, providing that attachment does not affect one’s ability to produce objective results nor endanger one’s emotional well-being.

However, convincing LEOs of the archaeologist’s familiarity with concepts such as note-taking, inter- and intra-scene contamination, and contextual recovery still requires a concerted effort of introductions and long-term program planning on both sides. Sonderman (2001) mentions some difficulties which can arise when experts and law enforcement investigators meet for the first time to process a scene. An M. J. Hochrein (*) Department of Justice, Law and Security, Special Agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation (retired), La Roche College, Pittsburgh, PA, USA © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_7

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example from our nation’s history illustrates this point: The death of White House Counsel, Vincent Foster in 1993, took place in a National Park near Washington, D.C. According to Sonderman (2001), National Park Service archaeologists, FBI agents, and a Smithsonian Institution forensic anthropologist worked together to attempt to locate a bullet, as well as possible cranial fragments, and gunshot residue, associated with Foster’s death. After 3 days, a large number of artifacts were recovered including 0.38 caliber ammunition. None, however, were found to be related to the death which was ultimately determined to be a suicide. During the search of the National Park, “Balances were struck and one of the benefits of the search included a better understanding of law enforcement techniques and a genuine interest by the law enforcement agents in the application of archaeological field methodologies and techniques to crime scene investigations” (Sonderman 2001: 74). Inter-agency and interdisciplinary training, prior to scene consultations, can be the cornerstone in building a foundation of confidence and trust between non-LEO experts and LEO investigators. Beyond the information learned from each other, training presents an opportunity for rapport to develop into a shared trust. Once that level of rapport is established, it has to be maintained through results and, in some cases, formal vetting procedures required by some agencies. The results-based aspect of the relationship will be born from a disciplined use of archaeological protocols in concert with an adherence to the requirements of the criminal justice system, including its rules of evidence, confidentiality, and impartiality. The application of archaeological protocols calls for the recognition, preservation, and documentation of trace, environmental, and geotaphonomic evidence in crime scene environments which may extend from subterranean to superterranean settings. It is the contextual consideration of evidence which offers the best opportunity to understand the linkage of victim and subject to the scene, one scene to another, and ultimately an understanding of the criminal event. As Milne (2013) details in his work on “forensic intelligence,” the application of forensic science to crime intelligence has to be holistic in terms of the resources used and the enablement of intelligence products toward the ultimate goal of offender and scene linkages. “Forensics is often viewed by crime intelligence analysts as the domain of the crime scene investigators. This compartmentalization of thinking can and has led to disastrous failures in major investigations” (Milne 2013: 3).

Archaeological Field Recoveries vs. Crime Scene Investigation As recognized in Hochrein, et al. (2000), Hunter and Cox (2005), Connor (2007), and suggested in Dirkmaat and Adovasio (1997), the archaeologist and the criminal investigator must understand the needs and capabilities of the other. For Ross Gardner and Tom Bevel (2009: 15–16), members of the Association for Crime Scene Reconstruction, the correlation between crime scene investigation and archaeological theory is well recognized and serves as the basis for crime scene analysis in general and the concept of event analysis:

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A theory is always supported by principles that are applied through a specific methodology. Crime scene analysis is no different. There are four principles applicable to crime scene reconstruction (CSR). Three of these principles are found in the discipline of archaeology, the study of human behavior and culture through the examination of artifacts. Although this association is not often described and some may question the correlation, crime scene investigation as a whole (both processing and analysis) shares distinct similarities with the field of archaeology… It is appropriate that as crime scene analysts we look to archaeology and draw applicable principles from it to apply to our own given theory. These principles include Nicholas Steno’s Principle of Superposition, Steno’s Principle of Lateral Continuity, and a principle shared by both crime scene analysis and archaeology, the concept of chronology.

For example, the crime scene technician may be versed in collecting DNA evidence but would probably not realize substrates on which ancient DNA has survived. Archaeologists rarely, in historic and prehistoric contexts, concern themselves with the recovery of footwear impressions, fingerprints, bloodstain patterns, or ballistic trajectories. Yet, to work on the scene of a contemporary clandestine burial, they should avail themselves of training in these areas of crime scene reconstruction. Not to do so is to risk overlooking, or destroying, valuable data. Reinecke and Hochrein (2008) and Marx et al. (2014) include descriptions of the 12-step crime scene protocol used by FBI Evidence Response Teams toward their approach and examination of crime scenes. Those steps include (1) preparation, (2) approaching the scene, (3) securing and protecting the scene, (4) the preliminary survey, (5) evaluating the physical evidence possibilities, (6) maintenance of a narrative, (7) photography, (8) sketching or diagramming the scene, (9) conducting the search, (10) recording and collecting physical evidence, (11) conducting a final survey, and (12) release of the scene. The mind-set for both the well-trained archaeologist and crime scene investigator involves approaches toward the recovery of the greatest amount of information in the context of the environment and circumstances in which they are found. For the archaeologist without forensic experience, the context may temporally entail decades or millennia. In most forensically significant situations, chronological context is measured in days, months, or perhaps years. Consequently, traditionally schooled archaeologists are required to study a greater temporal span in artifact evolution. For example, crime scene investigators may recover, near a victim’s remains, a glass bottle fragment bearing a manufacturer’s mark. Likewise, historical archaeologists often encounter marked glass artifacts. For both, the markings, be they a manufacturer’s mark or product label, serve to generally suggest when associated artifacts, and by association, features, may have been deposited. However, the limited duration of the illegal causal act in the forensic case may lessen the importance of the markings. The illegal act is usually contemporaneous with the investigation and recovery. The historical archaeologist must be versed in glass container manufacturing and its development over the years. The crime scene investigator’s assessment of glass fragments will probably be more pragmatic in determining if they appear weathered or otherwise consistent with their deposition at the time of the criminal act. Preparation and deployment for both the archaeologist and the crime scene investigator also includes the delineation of personnel assignments. For the

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a­ rchaeological team, the crew chief, much like the evidence team’s leader, assumes the responsibility for logistical concerns such as arranging site security, equipment, personnel safety, and transportation. Both are also responsible for operational efficiency and the final disposition of the artifacts or evidence recovered from a scene. The nature of the recovered material represents the largest difference between these two fields. Academic, or traditional historic and prehistoric subject matter archaeologists, outside of NAGPRA (Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act) (Adovasio 2010) investigations, typically never step foot in a courtroom; whereas the sole purpose of the crime scene investigation is to recover evidence to be presented at trial. The crime scene unit and archaeological crew both include a photographer, scribe or notetaker, mappers or surveyors, and individuals responsible for recognizing, collecting, packaging, and storing recovered items. Although many forensic archaeologists may disagree with the limited abilities, Menez (2005: 313–314) associates with archaeologists who assist at crime scenes; we can agree with the importance she recognizes in liaison and the pivotal nature of applied archaeology in forensic excavation: “It is crucial that the police officers are confidently aware of what the science and technology has to contribute and are updated regularly as the sciences and technologies develop” (Menez 2005: 315). In approaching their scenes, after defining the area to be examined, the archaeologist and the crime scene specialist logically establish interior and exterior perimeters, routes of access and egress within the scene, supply locations, etc. in a manner and place which maximizes crew or team efficiency while minimizing disruption of the evidence/artifacts and collection operations. Search protocols are also more similar than different between the professions. Law enforcement routinely uses search techniques such as probing, coring, and geophysical prospection to locate potential areas for excavation and to limit large search areas. The excavation procedures of formally trained archaeologists are where a large portion of misunderstanding lie between the archaeologist and the crime scene investigator. These differences will only be recognized, understood, and mediated with increased training and working relationships. For example, in a week-long crime scene archaeology course sponsored by the St. Louis, Missouri, office of the FBI, between 1998 and 2002, homicide detectives, crime scene technicians, and other LEOs first received lectures and demonstrations followed by practical mapping experience. The course culminated in their participation in the excavation of mock burials. Throughout the course, forensic archaeologists, anthropologists, entomologists, a medical examiner, and geophysicists emphasized the use of proper tools and techniques to recover subtle evidence in and around the burial features. Tool marks were recognized as being best revealed at the grave boundaries, through the application of vacuums and casting with dental gypsum. Profiling techniques were practiced and realized to be best for recording the in situ relationship between buried evidence and strata or the mock human remains. During that same course, in 2000, some of the attendees participated in the recovery of simulated remains in a mock small airplane crash. Dirkmaat et al. (2001) describes how that single cross-training opportunity positively influenced the recovery of evidence in the tragic crash of Missouri Governor Melvin Carnahan’s airplane about a week after the course.

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Case History I (Lessons Learned) In most endeavors, we tend to learn more from the mistakes we realize than the successes we experience. The most lasting lesson this author received in how to approach crime scenes and interact with law enforcement investigators came at the beginning of his law enforcement career and after working several years on academic and cultural resource management (CRM) projects. Although the transition from academic to investigative contexts was seamless in some respects, one case highlighted the challenges. It continues to provide a reference with which this investigator examines scenes and interacts with fellow law enforcement and experts. In this case, overlooked clues resulted in the delayed recovery of a homicide victim’s remains. For seasoned investigators, the realization of missed evidence which is later revealed during the review of crime scene photographs, or witness and subject interviews, is humbling. However, those experiences make indelible impressions which usually improve the investigator’s skills. For the professional archaeologist, working on ancient or older historic sites, this circumstance is not typically encountered – not because it does not happen but because those who deposited, or witnessed the deposition of, artifacts are no longer present to tell what happened at the scene. During the summer of 1992, in Eastern Missouri, a 58-year-old female was spending the evening with her fiancé in a house which they had put up for sale. The couple went to bed and awoke early the next morning when a 54-year-old, recently released, ex-convict entered their home dressed in black and brandishing a shotgun. He entered the house by stealing a key maintained by the couple’s realtor. Following his release from prison, after serving 11 years for a drug conviction, the subject was taken in by the realtor. She offered him housing in her unoccupied farmhouse located about 80 miles (12.9 km), east of St. Louis, Missouri. Through their relationship, the subject learned of the victim and her financial circumstances. His plan, of which his realtor friend was unaware, was to take the female victim hostage until the money, he believed she had, could be withdrawn from her bank account. The fiancé was left bound in the house. The female victim was driven nearly 50 miles (80.5 km), west of the abduction site to the rural farmstead where the subject was living. The subject blindfolded the victim and walked her approximately 1500  ft (457.2 m) into a wooded area near a small creek. There he repeatedly struck her on the head with a hammer. According to trial testimony, the subject buried the victim’s body and her belongings. A few days later, through a joint investigation by federal, state, and local authorities, the farm property was identified as the subject’s inhabitance. A trail was still visible from the house, through tall grass, to the creek. Next to the creek, an area of flattened vegetation and blood-soaked ground indicated a spot where the victim’s body laid for a period of time. Also near the creek and the bloodstain, there was an in-filled cistern or well. At this point in his law enforcement career, the author had 4 years of experience as an FBI agent. The transition from field archaeologist to working forensically significant scenes was (and continues to be) in process. It is a transition which

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c­ onsiders the similarities between archaeological site management and the crime scene management mentioned above. I was most struck by a paradox between traditional archaeology and forensic archaeology. In academic and some contract situations, we could spend days, if not weeks, excavating and documenting an assemblage of pot sherds or series of post molds; yet in a literal life and death situation of a clandestine grave, an atmosphere of urgency placed pressure on the recovery of evidence. Given this difference, the two avocations have more similarities as pointed out above and by Connor (2007: 1–28) in her introduction of forensic science to the archaeologist and archaeologist to forensic scientists. Archaeological method and theory, like crime scene management, emphasize the destructive nature of the process. Once moved, or removed, the artifact or evidence can no longer be placed in its exact original orientation. The goal of both archaeology and crime scene investigation is to record, with precision, the site or scene. In archaeology, as in crime examinations, attention is paid to site and evidence contamination or cross-­ contamination. Both fields necessitate the use of experts from various disciplines. Specialized recovery equipment has been developed for use in archaeology as it has been in criminalistics. Just as archaeology is considered a sub-discipline involving the collection of data to be analyzed by physical anthropologists or cultural anthropologists, so does crime scene processing collect data for the investigator and criminologists, in general, and ultimately the courts. What I did not entirely expect, beyond the often-unwarranted urgency in processing scenes, were the perceptions representatives of each field could develop toward each other. It is not unusual for LEO investigators to be at odds with non-­ LEO experts. Most often this is related to what is perceived as unnecessary delay in recovery. Academic experts might discount the saliency of LEO’s opinion because they are perceived as not having the level of training necessary to interpret the scene. Both sides are wrong. On that summer afternoon when investigators located the farm at which the victim was held, agents and local investigators realized I had a background in archaeology and asked me to join the search for the victim’s body. At that time, a clandestine burial was one possibility, but there were no geotaphonomic indications of a grave feature in the area of the large bloodstain. The in-filled well, or cistern, seemed much more likely a burial feature. In this situation, I was relying on my experience in traditional archaeological settings, such as small dwelling sites, historic cemeteries, or other areas in which the original construction of subterranean features was not typically intended to be secreted. So, when a more seasoned agent, who was also a hunter and outdoorsman, pointed out a small accumulation of branches along the inside edge of the creek bed; this archaeologist’s “expertise” unfortunately superseded the agent’s observations. I discounted the branches as a natural accumulation resulting from fluvial deposition along the water’s edge. I learned through this experience that when voices reinforcing one’s alleged expertise combine with the “expert’s” limited experience in crime scene environments, the results of a search can be self-fulfilling. In this case I decided to show the non-expert his error by sampling beneath the concentration of branches with a soil

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core device. When the core sample was impeded after a few centimeters by rock, and the core itself lacked any mottling indicative of disturbance, those present were assured there was no grave beneath. Investigators carefully removed debris which filled the cistern to a level where it appeared to have been there for several months or years, instead of days. No human remains were found. They also collected blood samples and other evidence of the victim’s presence on the property. The victim’s partially burned driver’s license was found near the farmhouse, but the victim’s remains were not found. At the end of the day, hope remained that she might be injured but still alive. The subject had not yet been located. He would not for several days, and several states away. A week after the initial search of the creek and well/ cistern site, the county sheriff’s department used cadaver dogs and located the victim’s body in a shallow grave dug at the edge of the stream bed. A layer of rocks had been placed directly over the body. On top of this were a few centimeters of sediment and the pile of branches which had been dismissed by this author. The archaeological training and experience this author had had did not prepare him for the likelihood that a burial feature would be intentionally concealed. It prepared me even less to accept the suggestions of someone not trained in archaeology. The experience of failure that summer was a well-needed lesson in crime scene management, interpretation, communication, and the dangers of hubris. Mostly, it provided insight into the development of relationships between LEOs and the experts they may consult. We learn of each other’s capabilities and the need to develop a rapport first and then approach and analyze the scene together while communicating throughout. Only then should the appropriate techniques, by the respective investigators, be applied. One of the many mistakes this investigator made was not to recognize, as expertise, the seasoned agent’s day-to-day familiarity with the environment in which he hunted and hiked. His observation of a natural versus unnatural accumulation of branches turned out to be, that day, more valuable than years of studying environmental and cultural formation processes. The most successful crime scene investigators are those who want to hear the opinions of anyone who had the opportunity to be at a scene – from the first responders and emergency medical personnel, the rookie patrol officer assigned perimeter security, to the seasoned detective who has worked hundreds of scenes and interacted with many more witnesses and suspects. The most direct way for the LEO investigator and the archaeological investigator to develop the rapport needed to begin an investigative relationship is to meet and cross-train before they might encounter each other at a scene. Given such opportunities they would likely find more similarities than differences in their pursuits. Rebmann (1998) understood this concept in advocating cross-training with law enforcement for search and rescue (SAR) dog units: It is not enough to form a group, train, decide that the group is ready to work on searches and call the local agency (sic)as say ‘here we are, please call us for any searches.’ … The best way to gain mutual respect and trust is to become involved with the SAR Agency and the police K-9 handlers in advance.

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Case History II (Compromise) One June morning in 2006, a 12-year-old girl climbed on her child-sized four-­ wheeled, all-terrain vehicle (ATV) and drove it approximately 1 quarter mile (0.40  km) to a neighboring farm. She often visited the farm to get away from a dysfunctional home life. It was her escape into a menagerie of horses, goats, donkeys, llamas, and other animals. Unwittingly, she also entered the domain of a pedophile farmhand who would rape and strangle her to death. So, a crime scene investigation began where the application of archaeology in a forensic setting became paramount toward the recovery of the victim and evidence associated with here abduction and homicide.   In this case, the subject dug four pits: one for the victim’s body, one for her ATV, and the last two to conceal the girl’s helmet and shoes. In most cases involving buried evidence, one of the first considerations by LEOS has to be whether or not the services of an archaeologist are needed. This decision is usually influenced by how the crime scene was discovered (Was it the result of a pre-planned search or an unexpected discovery?), whether or not the investigating agency will incur costs, and prior experiences the investigators have had with expert consultations. To the writer’s knowledge, no American police agency maintains a staff archaeologist position. This is likely because of the relative paucity of buried evidence crime scenes in any one jurisdiction. The infrequent encounters of evidence in buried contexts do not justify funding such a position. Rather, police may request the volunteered expertise of local university anthropology programs, CRM archaeologists, officers, or agents with training in archaeology. More often than not, they conduct excavations without any expert consultation or consideration toward the recognition and documentation of contextual evidence. Subtle characteristics of the grave such as tool marks, the accumulation of sediments prior to the body’s deposition, or the condition of plant parts within the grave, are lost in the haste to uncover and remove the body or other primary pieces of evidence. The discovery of buried human remains in this case could be classified more the result of a pre-planned search. A pit containing the victim’s ATV was found first by an organized team of civilian searchers. Its handles and seat barely protruded above the surface of the ground (Fig. 7.1). Its discovery provided additional information with which the subject was approached and interrogated. Ultimately, he led investigators to the site at which he buried the victim. Later, he would take them to two small holes he dug to secret the girl’s belongings. The situation allowed for some planning and the use of formal archaeological techniques by this author. What transpired later, after the victim’s grave was indicated, would reinforce my opinion that evidence would have been lost if no one was present who had had archaeological training. Concern over the amount of trace and geotaphonomic evidence is typically lost in buried body cases which is magnified when one considers that most reports of buried body finds describe their discoveries as being by accident rather than organized searches (Hochrein et al. 1999: 9).

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Fig. 7.1  General view of the victim’s buried all-terrain vehicle (ATV) during its forensic excavation

This case of the missing and murdered 12-year-old served as another lesson in recognizing the opportunity for, and importance of, developing a working relationship with law enforcement. The victim’s recovery occurred in three stages. It began with the ATV being located by the team of volunteer searchers. The subject then confessed to the location of the victim’s clandestine grave on the opposite side of the property. Finally, he took investigators to where articles of clothing were buried near the ATV. Five days had lapsed between the girl’s reported disappearance and the discovery of her body. Throughout that time, state and federal investigators joined resources and incorporated civilian searchers in combing over 300 acres of rural farm and coal mine property. On the 4th day of the investigation, civilian searchers alerted law enforcement of what appeared to be a partially buried ATV. Once probed to confirm its depth and orientation, the feature containing the ATV was excavated using standard profiling or “part-exing,” or sectioning, techniques in which a vertical wall or profile of feature fill is established above the buried evidence and/or forensically significant strata. The profile was systematically removed across the evidence or strata interface(s)  – in effect “thin-sectioning” it across the feature. As this was accomplished, the archaeologist explained to participating investigators and a prosecuting attorney how the technique of sequentially exposing, photographing, and mapping stratigraphic profiles through the pit feature served to document the relationship of artifacts, or evidence, to the pit’s construction and its infilling events.

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The class of tool used to originally dig the pit was also determined through friction marks left in the walls of the feature and cut marks on roots running along the edge of the pit. The tool marks were among six classes of geotaphonomic evidence which should be considered in this and all subterranean concealments. The other five classes of evidence include stratification, bioturbation, sedimentation, compression/depression, and internal compaction (Hochrein 1997, 2002). Approximately 40 ft. (12.2 m) south of the ATV burial, two small holes were dug by the subject to bury a bike helmet and shoes worn by the victim. These small pit features likewise demonstrated tool marks consistent with those left by a rounded digging implement such as a rounded point shovel or spade. Stratigraphically, the fill in all three of these subterranean features were consistently mottled, lacking indications of layers, or horizons, which could be indicative of delayed infilling or the addition of foreign fill. The relatively short amount of time between the construction and infilling of the pits and their discovery precluded recognizable signs of bioturbation. Likewise, the weather was dry throughout the search period, so sedimentation could not have occurred within any of the three features. The short depositional period, and non-­biological nature of the burial items, further precluded the settlement of fill which is considered in examinations for compression/ depression. Although forced compression through stomping of the fill may have occurred, there were not any recognizable shoe print patterns over any of these pits. Finally, internal compaction was not applicable in the three pits, as it was considered in the clandestine grave described below. In either crime scene, the experience of seeing, first hand, the types of evidence which exist in the context of a burial pit can have a profound impact on LEOs responsible for investigating future buried evidence scenes. In the case of the 12-year-old victim, the brief introduction to forensic archaeology and geotaphonomic evidence at the site of the buried ATV had an immediate result in influencing how the excavation of the victim’s grave was approached. As the ATV was being excavated, investigators notified the evidence team that the subject had revealed the site where he buried the victim’s body. They also announced that the local township’s backhoe was on its way to begin the excavation of the clandestine grave. Not only was the archaeologist horrified, but also his new converts who had worked nearly 6 h on the forensic excavation of the victim’s ATV. Together, they approached their supervisors and struck a compromise in using heavy equipment at the site of the victim’s interment. Both archaeologist investigator and the non-archaeologists used their experience in excavating the ATV, combined with admissions from the subject, to affect the compromise. In working side by side, a rapport had developed so that information gleaned by interrogating officers or agents was disseminated to the evidence team. The archaeologist was briefed on information the subject offered concerning the manner in which he claimed to conceal the victim’s remains. In his description, the subject spoke of using a small backhoe, also known as a “terramite,” to dig the clandestine grave. This was a key point used by the evidence team to convince supervisors to allow the modification and limited use of the township’s heavy equipment in the forensic excavation. Geotaphonomically, LEO’s use of the same

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type of instrument as that employed by the subject would be tantamount to investigators walking through a bloody crime scene in the same style of shoes worn by a suspect. In this case, the revelation of the clearly defined tool marks from the bucket of the subject’s backhoe would further convince noncrime scene personnel of the utility of applied archaeology in forensic settings. The compromise in excavation strategies at the alleged site of the girl’s burial first involved the agreement that the use of heavy equipment would only be used to remove geological overburden and undisturbed soil matrices to that level at which the outline of a burial feature could be clearly defined. Then the use of the equipment was refined further to thin scrapes across the features’ outline to within approximately 5–6 in. (15 cm) of remains or a forensically significant stratigraphic interface within the grave. Another important condition which was set between the evidence team and supervisors involved the modification of the “forensic backhoe” bucket. A straight-edged metal plate was tack welded across the teeth of the bucket (Fig. 7.2). Forensic and non-forensic personnel at the scene understood the reason for this alteration when they witnessed the location and distinction of the burial feature edges through a series of smooth, controlled scrapes. The equipment modification also prevented the contamination of questioned tool marks, within the feature, with those introduced by the forensic excavation. A second detail of the subject’s account of the crime which was important in its influence on the forensic excavation strategy involved his description of how he added lime over the body to hasten decomposition and dissuade animal scav-

Fig. 7.2  Modification of the “forensic backhoe” to create a straight, scraping edge rather than teeth which could obliterate the signature of a grave’s outline and add tool marks to the scene

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enging. In this case, and others in the author’s experience, the subject erroneously believed that lime would somehow dissolve or hasten the decomposition of the remains. This may be the result of hearing or reading fictional accounts of buried body scenes, or the common treatment of adding lime to mass burials throughout history. Perhaps he considered the agricultural practice of adding crushed limestone to soils in order to raise pH levels which, in turn, increase bacterial activity. More probable is that the subject confused lime with caustic soda or lye (sodium hydroxide [NaOH]), which is used to digest tissues in processing farm animal or roadkill carcasses (alkaline hydrolysis) (Thacker and Kastner 2004: 27–29). Not all lime is the same. Quicklime, or burnt lime, is calcium oxide (CaO) produced by heating limestone to remove carbon dioxide. Calcium hydroxide (Ca(OH)2), also known as slaked lime, hydrated lime, builder’s lime, or pickling lime, is produced by mixing quicklime with water. In the long term, the addition of lime does not seem to matter. Schotsmans et al. (2014) found that after about 3.5 years, both limed and un-limed porcine analogues were skeletonized. Shorter lengths of burial were found to exhibit the strongest differences between buried remains covered with lime and those without. Experimental burials of short duration, 6–17 months, demonstrated that lime slows decomposition but does not preserve soft tissue and that although lime may act as a desiccant, the complete desiccation of a carcass is unlikely (Schotsmans et al. 2014: 141.e1–141.e13). The white color of the lime also became another feature attribute which the archaeologist used to explain the geotaphonomic principle of stratification. The crime scene personnel first witnessed how soil core sampling was used to preview the strata within the grave fill and compare it to the undisturbed horizons outside the feature. During the pre-excavation phase, or location of the feature, this stratification was used to monitor the removal of fill by heavy equipment. After each scrape of the backhoe bucket, a core sample was removed and measured to determine depth above the interred remains. During the excavation, the advantage of using a protocol of profiling or part-exing to reveal stratification for photo-documentation and total station mapping became apparent as it had in the forensic excavation of the ATV. Here, again, LEOs who participated in, or observed, the excavation remarked that they could see how the use of heavy equipment, rather than conventional archaeological tools and vacuums, could have obliterated the geotaphonomic evidence of stratification within the grave. Verifying the subject’s description of how he layered lime and its commercial packaging over the body could have been overlooked or not clearly documented. The final lesson in proper excavation technique was illustrated as the victim’s body and the burial feature boundaries, including tool marks, cleaned in situ (Fig. 7.3). This scene helped to demonstrate the significance of preserving the position and context of evidence. In this case the subject insisted that he had not sexually assaulted the victim before or after her death. However, the position of the victim’s clothing within the grave clearly suggested peri- or postmortem sexual activity with the child’s breasts exposed and her pants and underwear pulled down her legs. A less disciplined approach toward excavation (i.e., the random use of hand tools or

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Fig. 7.3  Plan and elevation view diagrams of the victim’s clandestine grave feature

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heavy equipment) would likely have destroyed surrounding geotaphonomic features indicative of context. It could have disturbed the position of the clothing, creating a possible defense argument that their recorded position was the result of the investigator’s excavation and not the subject’s actions. Instead, proper recovery techniques impacted subsequent forensic analyses and findings. When asked during her testimony whether or not she determined the victim had been sexually assaulted, the forensic pathologist opined that she had and added, “In fact that seemed likely given the way her clothes had been arranged when her body was presented for autopsy” (Fuoco 2008). The in situ position of the victim and her clothing spoke for her. Similarly, Dirkmaat and Adovasio (1997: 50) point out that the precise documentation of spatial relationships in the field will assist laboratory researchers in their analyses of the evidence. The application of archaeological techniques also allowed for the confirmation of other pathological findings under the principle of internal compaction. Autopsies of the bodies of the recently interred usually include the examination of airways for evidence of inhaled soil. The presence of sediment, or other fill, in the airway of an unwrapped or non-contained victim can be an indication that the victim was buried alive. Typically, coughing and the structure of the larynx and trachea stop larger particles from being aspirated. Sand and smaller diameter sediment, however, are less restricted. “During the aspiration process, a layer of dry sand covers the tracheal and bronchial mucosa forming a centripetally growing tubular to cylindric hollow body” (Kettner et al. 2008: 501). Geotaphonomically, the compaction of fill around the knees and heels may be the result of movement within the grave as the conscious victim struggles to escape the burial (Hochrein 2002: 62–63). In this case, neither inhaled grave fill nor internal compaction was present. In addition to the locations of the ATV burial, victim burial, and the small pits dug to conceal her shoes and helmet, the property also had several sites where the evidence team could reference trenches known to have been historically dug by the subject. During the early days of the search, a requested tour of the farm property with the owner, investigators, and the archaeologist revealed several open trenches dug as disposal pits for waste from the farm’s dog kennels. The owner explained that the subject farm hand used the small backhoe, or “terramite,” to dig the waste pits. These known features provided opportunity for the archaeologist to take photographs and measurements for comparison with the clandestine grave dug in the same fashion to conceal the victim’s remains (Fig. 7.4). The comparison resulted in further verification of the technique and tool used by the subject (Fig. 7.5). Again, communication and interaction with the criminal investigators enhanced the quantity and quality of recovered evidence and ultimately the interpretation of the scene. In the absence of the subject’s excavator, or its bucket, photographs, measurements, and dental gypsum casts of the known trench boundaries and their tool marks could be made. They could then be compared to the tool marks within the clandestine grave, thereby establishing another link between the subject and the burial of the victim.

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Fig. 7.4  General view of the terramite excavator tool marks at the interface of the disturbed and undisturbed matrices along the east edge of the burial feature

Fig. 7.5  Comparison of the tool marks in the clandestine grave with the terramite excavator bucket and teeth

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Conclusions The author has presented examples of typical buried evidence cases in light of how the archaeologist interacted with law enforcement officials. This interaction, beyond the collection of evidence in context, provided an opportunity to learn as well as to educate. In these cases, I had the advantage of being both an archaeologist and a LEO. The success of civilian expert consultation and continued requests for assistance requires both sides to understand their respective capabilities, needs, and mind-sets. It necessitates they introduce each other to the intricacies and idiosyncrasies of each other’s work and, preferably, to make those needed introductions between experts and investigators in a controlled training environment prior to meeting at a crime scene. Short courses in forensic archaeology have been offered for years by various institutions. These present excellent opportunities, at a minimum, to provide LEOs with tours of sponsoring program facilities and course offerings and to discuss the potential for liaison. Applied archaeology programs, which should include cross-registration, or exposure to criminology courses and internships with law enforcement agencies expose students to a field which archaeological method, and theory may be applied on multiple levels. It also exposes them to the legal requirements of forensic searches and trial preparation, which academic and CRM archaeologists typically do not experience. Yet, relatively recent articles and commentaries on Applied Archaeology Curriculum, such as Neusius (2009), Snow (2009), Gumerman and Smiley (2009), Sandweiss and Delcourt (2009), Doelle (2009), Resnick et al. (2009), Anfinson (2009), and Childs (2009), surprisingly do not contain a single reference to forensic or crime scene archaeology. Griffen et al. (2014: 11), on behalf of LEOs, endorse the “ScholarPractitioner Model” which “serves to increase the ability of the investigator to remain vigilant of the advances of the technology era that is taking place and apply the results to the criminal justice profession.” It also promotes trust, and sharing among the criminal justice community which this author would argue includes academic experts in the forensic sciences. At the outset of this chapter, I mentioned three things law enforcement agencies consider in using civilian experts at crime scenes, based on my experiences. The first, cost, is not typically a concern when LEOs realize that many university archaeology programs volunteer staff and students. The opportunity to apply skills they have been learning for months or teaching for years becomes, if effective, a mini-­ internship for students and necessary empirical experience for the supervising educators. Often, the cost of feeding the archaeological crew becomes the only expense incurred by the criminal investigators. The second and third concerns in using qualified outside help can easily be addressed through regular cross-training or demonstrations and lectures. Assessments of the archaeologist’s skills will quickly become apparent to attending criminal investigators. The LEOs, in training settings, can see, or ask questions, of the crew’s knowledge of forensically important topics such as geotaphonomy, forensic entomology, forensic botany, geophysics, etc.

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The position of forensic archaeologist will likely never become a dedicated position in American law enforcement; yet, archaeologists, and especially applied archaeologists, should have a greater likelihood of being employed as crime scene technicians or specialists given the inherent similarities and approaches of crime scene investigation and archaeological investigation. When LEOs understand that archaeological method and theory do not only apply to prehistoric, historic, or solely subterranean settings, they will realize the utility of employing crime scene personnel who have had formal archaeological training. On the flipside, if applied archaeology programs include forensic training in the identification, recovery, and documentation of geotaphonomic evidence, in concert with education on the rules of evidence, ethical conduct, and courtroom testimony, they will open yet more doors to students. Ultimately, convincing LEOs of the application of archaeological theory and science to crime scenes, below and above ground, depends on ability – ability to perform as trained, ability to adapt to widely diverse scenes and conditions, and the ability to communicate and build rapport with criminal investigators. The author’s academic training and professional employment in archaeology have been invaluable in applying organizational, investigative, and documentation skills used each day in criminal investigations. For those reasons, qualified and trained archaeologists have a place among the forensic experts with whom law enforcement routinely consult. Their access to, and understanding of, those services, however, will not be realized until academic programs make their presence known to LEOs by developing training and working relationships with law enforcement agencies in their communities. Correspondingly, LEOs need to become more open to reviewing, vetting, and accepting archaeologists as regular consultants. Law enforcement must also understand that academic specialists or civilian experts may work for criminal defense attorneys and that it is not, if accomplished with objectivity and honesty, in some fashion traitorous. Rather, it should be admired when the services of a forensic expert offer impartial, and unbiased, results based solely on scientific methodology regardless of who they might favor. The position of evidence, if uncovered using rigorous attention to proper excavation techniques, is what it is. The explanation for the position of evidence may require knowledge of soil migration, bioturbation including faunal turbation or even farming techniques; however, even in that explanation, the expert’s interpretation of the scene is limited by his training, experience, and empirical observations. The expert, like the law enforcement investigator, must be willing to admit when there are multiple or inconclusive explanations for an artifact’s/evidence item’s provenience due to the lack of contextual information. Archaeologists and criminal investigators have an affinity toward each other and their work. The same interests which drew them to their respective professions underlie a desire to solve scenes of questioned activity. The more puzzling or difficult the investigation, the more driven the archaeologist and his law enforcement contemporary become in their respective environments. For one to view the other as not scientific enough, or too theoretical, to approach crime scene processing is wrong and overlooks research and experience both investigators of human activity can bring to an investigation. As Nawrocki (2008) notes, there may be legitimate

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concerns in teaching LEOs just enough archaeology to “make them dangerous;” however, it has been the author’s experience that most LEOs with whom working relationships develop, better recognize and appreciate the skills and expertise of formally trained archaeologists, as they would other specialists such as botanists, entomologists, geologists, et cetera. Aside from the earlier suggestion for both sides to join in training exercises, opportunities also exist on college campuses and in police agency training venues for LEOs to express their investigative needs and for educational institutions to hold the means of research and development. In his commentary, Rowe (2006: 87) offers an academic perspective on how professors and students in science and engineering departments would love the challenge of solving technical issues encountered during crime scene investigations if they only knew of them and understood the contexts within which they were encountered. Rowe suggests inviting LEOs to periodic seminars that most chemistry, biology, engineering, and even anthropology, departments sponsor. By the same token, police would be better served to publish, in academic circles, their needs or the technical impediments they encounter. Mutual respect and understanding will result in more complete programs for both investigators and teachers. More importantly, shared knowledge and a cooperative atmosphere will make available more and improved resources toward the examinations of criminal events.

References Adovasio, J. M. (2010). Forensic sedimentology: Past, present, and promise. A paper presented at the Symposium, “ARPA at 30: Lessons Learned for the Future,” 75th Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology, St. Louis, Missouri, April 14–18, 2010. Anfinson, S. (2009). Commentary: It takes more than the right classes. The SAA Archaeological Record, 9(1), 34–36. Childs, S. T. (2009). Commentary. The SAA Archaeological Record, 9(1), 37–39. Congram, D., & Bruno, D. A. (2007). [Don’t] smile for the camera: Addressing perception gaps in forensic archaeology. Archaeological Review from Cambridge, 22(2), 37–52. Connor, M.  A. (2007). Forensic methods: Excavation for the archaeologist and investigator. Lanham: AltaMira Press. Dirkmaat, D. C., & Adovasio, J. M. (1997). The role of archaeology in the recovery and interpretation of human remains from outdoor contexts. In W. D. Haglund & M. H. Sorg (Eds.), Forensic taphonomy, the post-mortem fate of human remains (pp. 39–64). Boca Raton: CRC Press. Dirkmaat, D. C., Hefner J. T., & Hochrein M. J. (2001). Forensic processing of the terrestrial mass fatality scene: Testing new search, documentation and recovery methodologies. A paper presented before the 53rd Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, Seattle, Washington, DC, February 19–24, 2011. https://www.academia.edu/7687403/Forensic_ Processing_of_the_Terrestrial_Mass_Fatality_Scene_Testing_New_Search_Documentation_ and_Recovery_Methodologies. Accessed 12 Feb 2018. Doelle, W.  H. (2009). Commentary: Will this degree get me a job with your firm? The SAA Archaeological Record, 9(1), 29–30. Fuoco, M. A. (2008). 12-year-old assaulted, Wecht tells courtroom. Pittsburgh Post Gazette, May 03, 2008. http://www.pittsburghpostgazette.com/pg/08124/878826-85.stm. Accessed 12 Feb 2018.

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Gardner, R.  M., & Bevel, T. (2009). Practical crime scene analysis and reconstruction. Boca Raton: CRC Press. Griffen, P., Kocher, C. J., & Stocker, D. K. (2014). The school practitioner model and the investigator. Investigative Review, 6(1), 11. Gumerman, G., IV, & Smiley, F. E. (2009). Commentary. The SAA Archaeological Record, 9(1), 24–26. Hochrein, M. J. (1997). Buried crime scene evidence: The application of geotaphonomy in forensic archaeology. In P. Stimson & C. Mertz (Eds.), Forensic dentistry (pp. 83–99). Boca Raton: CRC Press. Hochrein, M. J. (2002). An autopsy of the grave: Recognizing, collecting, and preserving forensic geotaphonomic evidence. In W. D. Haglund & M. H. Sorg (Eds.), Advances in forensic taphonomy, method, theory, and archaeological perspectives (pp. 45–70). Boca Raton: CRC Press. Hochrein, M. J., Gabra, J., & Nawrocki, S. P. (1999). The buried body cases content analyses project: Patterns in buried body investigations. Proceedings of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, V, 212–213 http://academia.edu/7482972/The_Buried_Body_Cases_Content_ Analyses_Project_Patterns_in_Buried_Body_Investigations. Accessed 12 Feb 2018. Hochrein, M. J., Dirkmaat, D. C., & Adovasio, J. M. (2000). Beyond the grave: Applied archaeology for the forensic sciences. A paper presented before the 52nd Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, Reno, Nevada, February 23, 2000. https://academia. edu/7687456/Beyond_the_Grave_Applied_Archaeology_for_the_Forensic_Sciences#1. Accessed 12 Feb 2018. Hunter, J., & Cox, M. (2005). Forensic archaeology: Advances in theory and practice. New York: Routledge/Taylor & Francis Group. Kettner, M., Ramsthaler, F., Horlebein, B., & Schmidt, P. H. (2008). Fatal outcome of a sand aspiration. International Journal of Legal Medicine, 122, 499–502. Marx, R.  J., Hochrein, M.  J., & Fasano, A. (2014). More pieces of the puzzle: FBI evidence response team approaches to scenes with commingled evidence. In B. Adams & J. Byrd (Eds.), Commingled human remains: Method, recovery, analysis and identification (pp. 57–85). San Diego: Academic. Menez, L. L. (2005). The place of a forensic archaeologist at a crime scene involving a buried body. Forensic Science International, 152, 311–315. Milne, R. (2013). Forensic intelligence. Boca Raton: CRC Press. Nawrocki, S.  P. (2008). The University of Indianapolis archeology and forensics laboratory. In M. W. Warren, H. Walsh-Haney, & L. E. Freas (Eds.), The forensic anthropology laboratory (pp. 65–91). Boca Raton: CRC Press. Neusius, S.  W. (2009). Preparing archaeologists for careers in applied archaeology. The SAA Archaeological Record, 9(1), 18–22. Rebmann, A. (1998). Bonding with the badge working effectively with law enforcement. Response, The Journal for Search and Rescue, 16(2), 25–27. Reinecke, G.  W., & Hochrein, M.  J. (2008). Pieces of the puzzle: FBI evidence response team approaches to scenes with commingled evidence. In B. J. Adams & J. E. Byrd (Eds.), Recovery, analysis and identification of commingled human remains (pp. 31–55). Totowa: Humana Press. Resnick, B., Berkin, J., & Trocki, P. (2009). Commentary. The SAA Archaeological Record, 9(1), 31–33. Rowe, A. (2006). Speaking to the scientists. Law and Order Magazine, 54(1), 87. Sandweiss, D., & Delcourt, S. (2009). Commentary: The M.A. in applied archaeology and current trends in graduate education. The SAA Archaeological Record, 9(1), 27–28. Schotsmans, E. M., Fletcher, J. N., Denton, J., Janaway, R. C., & Wilson, A. C. (2014). Long term effects of hydrated lime and quicklime on the decay of human remains using pig cadavers as human body analogues: Field experiments. Forensic Science International, 238, 141.31–141. e13. Snow, D. R. (2009). Commentary. The SAA Archaeological Record, 9(1), 23–24.

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Sonderman, R.  C. (2001). Looking for a needle in a haystack: Developing closer relationships between law enforcement specialists and archaeology. Historical Archaeology, 35(1), 70–78. Thacker, H. L., & Kastner, J. (2004). Alkaline hydrolysis. In Carcass disposal: A comprehensive review. Report prepared by the Agricultural Biosecurity Center Consortium, Carcass Disposal Working Group for the USDA Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service, per Cooperative. Agreement 02-1001-0355-CA. http://krex.k-state.edu/dspace/bitstream/handle/2097/662/ Chapter6.pdf?sequence=13. Accessed 04 Oct 2014.

Chapter 8

The Use of Forensic Archaeology in Missing Person Cases Ann Marie Mires

Introduction Forensic Archaeology is a scientific discipline that applies archaeological techniques to recover, analyze, and interpret human remains from a variety of medicolegal and contemporary circumstances. By providing practical scientific applications, the forensic archaeologist facilitates some of the most sensitive issues in modern society including identification and recovery of victims of war and disaster, criminal activities, and missing persons (Poirier and Bellantoni 1999; Obledo 2009; Nawrocki 1996; Koff 2004; Gould 2007). Forensic archaeologists are scientific partners within the medicolegal system. While forensic investigations concern themselves with inquiry into the specific context of a crime and the manner in which it was committed, forensic archaeological inquiry offers significant insights concerning the identification of remains, the interpretation of past cultural actions, and the recognition of taphonomic alterations (Poirier and Bellantoni 1999). Archaeological methods often enhance and complement the data gathering investigations of local, state, and federal police in the recovery, analysis, and interpretation of human remains from death scenes where considerable time has elapsed. This expertise is brought to bear on a variety of clandestine recovery situations of human remains and in the process assists law enforcement with the proper documentation and more effective recovery of materials. In this chapter, I will argue that both the practical and theoretical aspects of forensic archaeology that seek to reveal patterns in locational and contextual data can be applied to provide predictive modeling for recent missing persons and remote, unfound cases. As the Forensic Anthropologist for the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner (OCME) in Boston, Massachusetts (1985–2009), I was able to provide both anthropological and archaeological expertise to Medical Examiner personnel and law A. M. Mires (*) Forensic Criminology, Anna Maria College, Paxton, MA, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_8

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enforcement throughout the state on forensic cases. Throughout this period, numerous human remains were recovered from primary and secondary crime scene contexts, as well as accidental and natural depositional circumstances. Forensic archaeological techniques were implemented at these various death scenes, thus enhancing the recovery of human remains and associated personal property/evidence. Documentation of the crime scene and interpretation of taphonomic variables affecting the remains and evidence proved useful to law enforcement in the investigation and resolution of these crimes. A portion of the cases that came into the OCME were from older missing person cases where no body was found at the time the person went missing. In most cases, these skeletonized remains were found by accident as people walked their dogs or explored remote areas in the woods. Large-scale searches and police investigations had been conducted at the time the person was reported missing, but no human remains were found, stifling investigations and relegating the case to an unfound status. It became increasingly perplexing to respond to the incidental discovery of missing persons or unfound cases many years after their initial disappearance. Not until the disappearance of Molly Anne Bish in 2000, from her lifeguard post at Cummins Pond in Massachusetts and her subsequent discovery on a hillside within the same town in 2003, did the idea begin to formulate of using the known data about recovered, missing persons in predictive models. These data compiled from past cases could be used to inform inquiry into the process of search and recovery of current missing persons and also on past unfound cases. The remains of Molly Anne Bish were found scattered over a 35-acre area called Whiskey Hill in Palmer, Massachusetts. Figure 8.1 displays the locational relationship between the abduction site, Cummins Pond, and the recovery site, Whiskey Hill. SAR (search and rescue) teams had been working this case since her abduction in 2000 but had been unable to locate evidence or the site of her remains. Personal consultation and instruction to SAR teams encouraged a systematic exploration of areas within a 5-mile radius of her abduction site, but the implementation of a systematic recovery strategy was never realized. Despite the substantial energy that was invested in the search, not until 2003 did a local hunter find the remnants of a bathing suit consistent with the suit Molly was wearing at the time of her disappearance. A full-scale recovery was conducted by the Massachusetts State Police with the supervision and assistance of the Forensic Anthropologist from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. The 35-acre area was subdivided into transects which were arranged in a spiral search design. SERT (Special Emergency Response Teams) of the Massachusetts State Police were deployed into each transect to conduct arm-to-arm search techniques using hand tools and rakes of the wooded hillside. Upon the discovery of evidence or skeletal material, the Forensic Anthropologist was alerted to determine if the skeletonized remains were of human or animal origin. Once a human determination was made, a GPS recorded the longitude and latitude points which were relayed to the command post and put into GIS software. The locational mapping of human remains allowed for real-time maps to track the progress of the search but also highlighted the pattern of scattering of the remains by the scavenging carnivore(s) responsible for the distribution across the hillside. The

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search effort took 3 weeks and resulted in the recovery of the skull and 27 additional bones of the postcranial skeleton, as well as the location and mapping of the area where the body had originally been deposited (Mires and Giordano 2004). In order to highlight the efficacy of the 5-mile radius hypothesis, the abduction and recovery sites for Molly Anne Bish were mapped using GIS software (Fig. 8.1). Figure 8.2 displays the two sites again, but this time the distance is calculated in nonlinear miles, as if travelled by road. The distance between the abduction and recovery sites is at 4.5 miles. Figure 8.3 shows the abduction site as the centroid and the recovery site in linear miles, as if travelled in linear miles (straight distance); the recovery site is within a 3-mile radius. These figures highlight that this deceased individual was deposited within close proximity of her abduction site. While one case provides only anecdotal support, documented data sets lend support to this hypothesis and provide the impetus to develop predictive models that can be used in recent missing person cases and unfound cases. There are two sets of data that can be drawn upon to inform these models. The first set comes from current research on missing persons at the national and local

Fig. 8.1  Comparison of abduction site to location site of human remains

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Fig. 8.2  Nonlinear distance between abduction site and recovery, under 5 miles, if travelled by road

Fig. 8.3  Linear distance between abduction site and recovery location, band equals a 1-mile radius, total distance under 3 miles

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level. These data suggest that missing persons, from both intentional and accidental means, are often found within a 1–0.5  mile radius (Fundamentals of Search and Rescue 2005) or in more rural areas within a 5 mile radius of where they were last seen (Mires and Giordano 2004). The second set of data consists of the death scene itself which reveals patterns in the manner of death, or information pertaining to “by whose hand.” There is an abundance of behavioral information which is codified into the death scene in the form of body deposition, location, presence of weapons, and the injuries to the body itself (DiMaio and DiMaio 1993). A great deal can be learned about the particular circumstances that lead to body deposition, manner of death, and the perpetrator in modern death scenes. This information when assembled reveals trends in the data that assist in creating a series of correlates that can be used as predictors of a particular manner of death. By taking these two overlapping data sets, the goal is to provide predictive models that use systematic testing and locational strategies. These testing strategies can be implemented at the time a person goes missing in order to more efficiently locate this missing person. The systematic examination of locations within a 5-mile radius from the abduction site will either locate the deceased individual or rule out these locations as viable disposal sites. If the decedent is found within this 5-mile radius, then at least the time between death and recovery is reduced, thereby increasing the chances of recovering fragile biological material that could link the perpetrator to the victim. Additionally, this type of modeling and systematic testing can be applied to cold cases or unfound missing persons in an attempt to locate them after long periods of time have elapsed.

Application of Science to Missing Persons When working with law enforcement, the application of science in informing search strategies can be challenging. The goal of utilizing and incorporating scientific thinking into the process of searching, locating, and recovering endangered individuals can result in practical results that have direct consequences for the families and loved ones of the missing, no matter how much time has elapsed (Gleason 2008). Time and again, law enforcement will put shovel to ground without any archaeological training or knowledge and without a clear strategy as to the guiding principles that can assist them in locating the missing person. The goal of working with law enforcement is to take them through the systematic review of information about the case in a logical and deductive process. The first step is to begin with inductive knowledge, which includes all gathered information or intelligence about that particular missing person. The second step is to formulate trends and patterns in the data that allow for the development of correlates or postulates that use the information deductively and arrange it into scenarios. It is important here to define the parameters to test with each scenario. The final step is to create a testing strategy, using a set sequence of tools, which will test the scenarios put forth. As each scenario is tested, so is the predictability of the knowledge base.

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Modeling the data sets mentioned earlier, missing persons and death scenes, can assist in the process of formulating clear and definite strategies to be used in the field to locate missing persons. A current crisis that faces this nation are all of the missing persons who remain unfound, not to mention the thousands of new missing persons each year (Ritter 2007). These include abducted persons, endangered individuals, unidentified persons, and unfound cold cases (Finkelhor et  al. 1990). Current research on missing persons at the national and local level suggest that the majority of all missing persons, from both intentional and accidental means, are found within 1.5  miles of place last seen (PLS) (Fundamentals of Search and Rescue 2005). In this study, data was compiled from 279 cases nationwide where all found persons were recovered deceased. Within the sample, 50% died within the 1st day, 92% died within 4 days, and 100% of those missing more than 4 days were found deceased. These cases display distinctive patterns by manner of death, namely, homicide, suicide, accident, natural, and undetermined. It is these patterns in the data which have been used as predictive indicators in search and recovery operations to find these endangered individuals (France et al. 1997; Fundamentals of Search and Rescue 2005; Land Search and Rescue Addendum to the National Search and Rescue Supplement 2011). Current research from skeletal recoveries from the last 20 years in Massachusetts confirms the national data and the distinctive patterns of death scenes by manner of death (homicide, suicide, accident, natural, or undetermined). Mires and Giordano (2004) compiled these data on recovered skeletal cases, and it suggests that the majority of Massachusetts cases are found within a 1.5-mile radius of place last seen (PLS), with some being found up to a 5-mile radius from PLS. Fig. 8.4  Scientific testing process

APPLICATION OF INFORMATION TO PREDICT STRATEGY AND LOCATIONS CREATE TESTING STRATEGY TEST OF KNOWLEDGE

GATHER INFORMATION INDUCTIVE PROCESS

DEVELOP POSTULATES, CORRELATES, AND SCENARIOS DEDUCTIVE PROCESS

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Apply information from all scenes to locate unfound persons no matter how much time has elapsed Create testing strategies for each scenario Use set sequence of tools in testing strategy

Look at gathered information about the crime: Police reports Crime scene location Eye-witness accounts Community response Newspaper and media coverage

Examine variables across numerous death sites through time Highlight trends in death scene data Create scenarios that are supported by the information trends

Determine what variables are known and unknown about the case: Person last seen with Site and Circumstances of disappearance Police response Intensity of search Known suspects

Fig. 8.5  Predictive modeling utilizing missing person behavior and death scene patterns

These cases include all manners of death, and the manner is very often apparent from the death scene investigation by the Forensic Anthropologist and later confirmed by law enforcement investigation. The scientific approach can be applied to locate death scenes after considerable time has passed, by taking information from known cases and using that to predict an appropriate testing strategy to locate these remains (Fig. 8.4). Further analysis of death scenes combined can be applied to the forensic science inquiry to understand patterns in death scene deposition and to predict where these unfound cases may be located (Fig. 8.5). Additionally, these data can be used to provide specific scenarios that can be implemented at the time a person goes missing in search and recovery attempts, in order to reduce the time between death and discovery.

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 issing Person Behavior and Distinctive Patterns in Manner M of Death Koester (2008) and others (Syrotuck 2000) have compiled a Search and Rescue Incident Database on lost and missing people. The data provided suggests that people tend to exhibit characteristics that can be categorized by age, sex, vulnerability, etc. Lost person behavior statistics are a useful tool for initial and extended search efforts (Gleason 2008). The statistics give probabilities of where the subject might be located and an overview of the types of behaviors, likely actions, and intentions of a lost person. These can help determine areas where search planners may focus search efforts and assist in determining a desired search area. It is important when using these data to concentrate on the most likely behavior that is determined by statistical research, but researchers should be prepared for exceptions, such as medical problems which can influence subject behaviors. Table 8.1 illustrates the different behavioral correlates associated with each manner of death category. For suicide, the first manner of death considered, there are distinct behavioral correlates that characterized this manner. The individual is often found outdoors, in remote locations. The past history of the subject suggests previous attempts at suicide and often a history of depression, although not always. Initial search and rescue attempts may bypass the site or area for environmental reasons. In one instance, a man was found hanging from a tree at a golf course 1 year after his disappearance. He was not found initially, even though his car was in the parking lot of the golf course and a search was conducted of the golf course using scent-detection dogs and police personnel. Did the updraft and prevailing wind currents make it impossible to find this person at the time he went missing or did the search teams overlook this one area? Several examples of suicide offer a variety of circumstances that are instructive. A young male was witnessed jumping off a bridge but was not found until several months later, washed up in a low tide area along an estuary channel. People who hang themselves in an outdoor context may not be found right away. When found, the ligature and posture of the body are intact with the weapon of choice clearly ­visible (Fig. 8.6). Despondent persons, who are suicidal, can be seeking solitude and may choose to take their lives while engaged in hobbies and favorite activities. A middle-aged male took a ride in his kayak with a shotgun to end his life. Initially, the kayak was recovered with a shell casing in the seat of the kayak. Days later, the body was found floating in the harbor with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head which is distinctive and recognizable trauma (Fig. 8.7). The shotgun was never recovered. The following general characteristics are consistent behaviors exhibited by persons with suicidal intentions: (1) will not respond to searchers, (2) within sight and sound of civilization, (3) found near prominent location such as scenic areas or favorite spots, and (4) occasionally, note is found on person at scene, at home, or on computer at work (Syrotuck 2000). Very seldom are victims of suicide found under house features or in underbrush; if these are the circumstances, it may point to a different manner of death, namely, homicide and intentional body deposition.

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Table 8.1  Behavioral correlates to manner of death: suicide, homicide, accident, natural, and undetermined Manner of death Suicide

Homicide Natural Accidental

Location Outside Remote locations Surface Buried Outside Surface Outside Surface Buried

Circumstances Cause of death often visible Location is significant to person, either from past or favorite activities Trauma to body often visible Location is convenient or significant to perpetrator No trauma to body Location is in close proximity to person’s life and activities Cause of death may be visible Especially traumatic causes Related to circumstances of discovery of person, i.e., erosion of the area containing human remains

Fig. 8.6  Mechanism of injury visible in suicide by hanging and body posture elongated from prolonged exposure

The second manner of death, homicide, is characterized by the following variables. The individual is found weeks, months, and years after initial disappearance/ abduction. The body is either buried or deposited on the surface. Buried bodies are better preserved due to the delimiting of access to scavenging carnivores and

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Fig. 8.7  Symmetrical fracturing of cranium in self-inflicted gunshot wound to head

environmental variables (Fig.  8.8). Buried bodies can remain undetected for extended periods of time if the area is remote or not likely to be disturbed by development, which may have been the original intention of the perpetrator. Bodies that are left on the surface are scavenged by a variety of animals and birds (Gleason 2008). The longer the time that has elapsed between death and discovery, the more destructive the environmental degradation process; therefore the more difficult it will be to recover fragile biological evidence that will link the perpetrator to the victim. The third manner of death, accident, is characterized by the following behavioral correlates. The person is often found right away due to the sudden nature of death within a witnessed context. If the death is not witnessed and in a remote area, the individual may not be found right away and only fragments may be found. It can often be difficult to distinguish what happened if the trauma is not obvious. In one case, a young male was recovered from a dry quarry where his bike went off a trail propelling him down the quarry slope and inflicting multiple blunt force traumatic injuries to his torso and right leg (Fig. 8.9). Natural death scenes share the following behavioral correlates. They are often found near and around frequented places, often residential. There is no attempt to hide/disguise the location of the body, and there may be no obvious signs of trauma or cause of death. The death scene has no weapon; the body is not buried; and generally the scene appears peaceful (Figs.  8.10 and 8.11). Figure  8.10 illustrates the scavenging from carnivores or other animals that can happen when a body is left on the surface, or in natural death. Figure 8.11 illustrates a submerged body in a natural death context. Missing person behavior will often exhibit patterns by age (Koester 2008; Syrotuck 2000). Elderly, ages 65 years and above, may be suffering from some type of dementia. They may be attracted to something that strikes their fancy. Orientation

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Fig. 8.8  Human remains recovered from buried context: homicide

Fig. 8.9  Traumatic injury to body in accidental death, bilateral fractures of ribs, scapulae, humeri, pelves, and right distal tibia

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Fig. 8.10  Natural death scene; body scavenged

Fig. 8.11  Natural death scene; body submerged in seasonal accumulation of water

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is more toward past environments than present. They may overextend themselves physically and 69% perished in bad weather. Mentally compromised of all ages may act much the same as children aged 6–12. They generally will not respond to their name and quite often hide from view due to a fight or seeking shelter. These individuals may hold up in the same location for days. Children, 6–12  years, have greater navigational and directional skills than the mentally challenged. They may intentionally run away to avoid punishment, gain attention, or sulk and often will not answer when called. Darkness usually brings about a willingness to be found.

Predictive Modeling for Locating Missing Persons Comprehensive search plans require that the investigator accumulate and review all pertinent information on the missing person case (Gleason 2008; Killam 2004). Four categories of information that inform the plan are (1) the incident precipitating the search, (2) the environmental conditions at the time, (3) resources available to the search agency, and (4) the political environment. The circumstances under which the person goes missing are the incidences precipitating the search and must be examined. The researcher should focus on the behavior of the missing person and the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of that person in order to develop a profile. Information derived from the police investigation will inform searchers about the plausible likelihood that this person was either a danger to themselves, victimized or vulnerable to others, or medically or psychologically compromised in some way. Understanding the victims’ condition at the time of disappearance will assist in predicting the possible cause of the disappearance of this individual. For example, if a person has had suicidal ideations in the past and has recently displayed signs of depression to family and friends, a possible scenario for the disappearance is that this person is a danger to themselves. This “profile” information can be used to ­create plausible scenarios suggesting alternative interpretations about what happened. These scenarios are used to predict and model the person’s behavior and then to implement a search methodology to locate them. Using scenario modeling is highly recommended, and the archaeologist can be of great assistance to search and rescue/recovery personnel and law enforcement in the execution of search procedures (Gleason 2008). Predictive modeling allows for the consideration of a wide range of variables in order to try to locate that missing person within the critical period. The information available to the researcher should be reviewed in a systematic format and arranged into plausible scenarios that incorporate knowledge from current information on the missing person and data from previous cases into a standard testing strategy for missing persons’ searches and recoveries. As this process is implemented, researchers can add to existing knowledge with new cases, learn from past mistakes, and more importantly, reinforce successful strategies and techniques into new searches and cold case searches.

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Profile of a Missing Persons Case France et al. (1997) provides a checklist of information about the missing person that allows researchers to conceptualize all of the information that can contribute to locating the missing person. Gleason (2008) in The Search for Human Remains in the Search and Rescue Environment provides the steps that researchers need to take, as well as the effects of environmental conditions and perpetrator behavior on locating clandestine graves. To begin the process of implementing a search, the information compiled on a missing or unfound person will provide researchers with the foundation for creating plausible scenarios that can guide investigation. Scenario A: The first scenario should begin with the question: What is the presumed manner of death? Based upon the incidents that precipitated the search, researchers can guide investigators into predicting what the possible manner of death could be. Given that the behavior of the missing person will vary by manner, the researcher must alter their approach to the problem based upon their expectations. If the person is believed to have been abducted, then homicide is the manner of death and the approach will focus on body disposal sites within a radius proximity of place last seen or on the possibility that the person was removed entirely from the area. If the person is elderly with dementia issues, the search will focus again on place last seen but will take into account mode of travel, personal capabilities, and environmental variables. Once a firm grasp of the presumed manner of death is achieved, then the researcher can develop a search strategy that will include various modes of deposition. For instance, in a presumed child abduction and murder, searchers should be prepared to look for either a buried or surface deposit based upon statistical information about offenders. The abduction and murder of children by sexual predators are most often crimes of opportunity, rather than related to a prior relationship with the victim. The majority of perpetrators seek to dispose of the body, as quickly as possible, and when they cannot dispose the body right away, it is kept at the offender’s residence. Disposal sites for bodies are deliberately selected (49%), chosen at random (37%), or forced by circumstances (Eggeman 2005). The disposals can vary to include concealment to prevent discovery (52%), placed without consideration to being found (39%), or placed in a manner to insure discovery (9%).Very often the body is recovered within 200 ft of the murder site (72%) (Gleason 2008). While these data may represent a norm, one should not eliminate other possibilities and consider the radius of the offender’s activity. By demarcating a radius on a map, searchers can consider areas reached easily by car, accessible low-use areas, or areas that may offer privacy from being detected. The search should begin with aerial and topographic maps demarcating the radius of the search area. The search strategy (grid search utilizing a radiating, spiral, or directional method) should be determined, and the first step would be to use scent-detection dogs. Look for signs of struggle, blood, fresh soil disturbance, etc. Probe areas that look recently disturbed; open areas discreetly for dogs. The time element of the case, how far into the past, is important to consider. If the case is greater than 7 years and is believed to be buried, the remains will be skeletal and

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therefore harder for the dogs to detect. Soil probing increases the likelihood that something will be found. It is important to keep working sites on the grid with these locational tools until the area has been thoroughly tested and can be excluded as containing human remains. Each sector should be explored in this systematic manner. Utilize topographic maps and cover areas in two directions, marking off areas covered and the level of intensity of the search. Utilize some form of subsurface testing such as ground-penetrating radar in areas of dog interest to determine if subsurface disturbance exists. Then follow with excavation of the anomalies to determine if human remains are contained in the anomaly. Scenario B: The second scenario would explore if it is likely that the individual was removed from the area. In the case of an elderly person whose mode of travel is on foot, the expectation is that the person should be within a relatively close proximity to where last seen. In cases of child abduction and murder, the second scenario should consider that the person will not be found within a radius of place last seen but has been removed from the area entirely. In one case example, the informant was traumatized as a child and recounted as an adult that he had seen another boy murdered. This was alleged to have happened at a camp, and in this case, it is likely that the victim was removed entirely from the area after the event. The investigative strategy changes if researchers think that the person was removed from the area. Ground truthing of information is not possible until a likely scenario for deposition is revealed through more comprehensive investigative work. When working on temporally remote cases of unfound persons where no remains were recovered, the reconsideration sequence must begin with basic questions that will guide and direct scenario building and the use of search tools. These questions should include: 1. Did the original search cover all of the localities presented in the 5-mile radius around the area where the person was last seen? 2. What topographic features exist within a 5-mile radius and are these likely deposit areas because of topographic features or because they provide unlikely detection? If the answers to these questions are negative or the area was not systematically examined, then the renewed search should begin with the 5-mile radius around the area where the person was last seen. Reopen these “cold” cases, and develop scenarios and testing strategies that follow the first Scenario A.  Include likely areas within the radius area, set up grid searching, run the scent-detection dogs after substantial probing, and use ground-penetrating techniques in interest areas, followed by excavation of anomalies. Make sure to implement a 100% grid search of likely topographic features within the 5 mile radius. Utilizing this methodology will either result in the location of the human remains or will satisfy searchers, law enforcement, and families of the missing person that the missing individual is not in this area. If, on the other hand, it appears that Scenario B more accurately describes the missing person’s situation, then researchers should review the case details with law enforcement to determine if there is sufficient evidence to suggest where this miss-

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ing person might be or have been deposited. Many cases of unfound missing persons remain in a liminal state between ineffective searches which yielded nothing and no real idea of where that person may be at this point in time. Families of these types of missing person cases are often looking to engage nonprofit agencies or private investigators to assist in the location of their loved one or conduct searches on their own because of a lack of confidence in the police investigation (Woolnough et al. 2015)

Case Studies for Forensic Archaeology Recovery Richard Gould established Forensic Archaeology Recovery (FAR) as a nonprofit (501(c) 3), volunteer organization of Brown University students and staff whose primary mission was to assist authorities to locate, record, and recover human remains and associated personal effects at mass-casualty disaster scenes. Gould recognized that a need existed at these types of large-scale scenes to document and recover evidence using archaeologically controlled methodologies. Evidence obtained from these recoveries was then entered into a valid chain of custody for identification that could ultimately bring a measure of comfort to relatives and friends of victims and resolve issues pertaining to the nature of the disaster. The 2003 Station Nightclub fire in Warwick, Rhode Island, and its aftermath provided an opportunity for the nonprofit, FAR, to respond to a local disaster situation and assist authorities in the recovery of vital information that might otherwise have been lost (see chapter “Looking Back: 10 Years After “the Station” Nightclub Fire, West Warwick, Rhode Island” in this volume for a full discussion of FAR’s role in the Station Nightclub recovery). The small size of the state of Rhode Island and of the scene itself helped to facilitate this community approach but also created conflicting situations and exhaustion of volunteer team members in this type of large-scale scene recovery. Since that time, the role of FAR has shifted away from disaster response to providing forensic archaeological assistance on a much smaller scale. In New England, FAR has provided expertise in the search, location, documentation, and recovery of evidence in unsolved cases, particularly missing and unfound children, adults, and the elderly. The following case studies present the expanded role of FAR personnel in working with law enforcement in training exercises and practical field testing strategies to apply forensic archaeology knowledge to search and recovery operations of missing and unfound cases. Many states have a victim bill of rights which informs victims of their legal rights and allows them to understand what services to expect from the state. A significant shortfall of this process is that if the crime is unreported or not able to be prosecuted for lack of evidence linking a perpetrator to the crime, these victims do not have the benefit of being recognized by the system, and therefore the deceased victims’ relatives and friends do not receive any services and worst yet, the “crime” goes unrecognized.

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In missing person cases (unfound) and inactive homicide investigations, there are numerous families that are not recognized by the criminal justice system and as a result do not get any services provided for victims of crime. Without the proof that a crime has occurred, these families are not only having their criminal but civil rights unrecognized. Forensic archaeology can provide a series of useful tools to assist surviving victims’ families (homicide, suicide, natural, accidental, or undetermined death) to move these cases forward in some way. The following case studies explore how a nonprofit, Forensic Archeology Recovery, can work alongside law enforcement and private investigators on behalf of families of missing “unfound” persons to move those cases forward after a long period of inactivity. Case One involves a District Attorney’s commitment to return the remains of a murdered woman to her family. In this case, the perpetrators had already been convicted of the crime based upon the recovery of large quantities of blood in duffel bags that had contained the dismembered remains of the woman and were used to transport the remains to the burial location. These bags were later discarded in a public car wash area and subsequently turned over to the police. During the prosecution, the perpetrators revealed the location of the burial. Several attempts were made initially to recover the remains with no positive results. Over 10 years had passed since the trial, and the District Attorney wanted to give closure to the family and agreed to put state police resources forward to locate her remains. During this final attempt, information was reviewed on the case with state police detectives using the deductive modeling approach outlined earlier. It was concluded that the perpetrators/informants had led the police to the correct area but that these individuals were quite compromised (excessive drug and alcohol consumption) when burying the body and their landmarks to “relocate” the grave were unreliable. Working with the state police, the area was expanded to include not only where the informants indicated but also the rest of the hillside away from the original area. By systematically excavating the area using a small bobcat over a period of 3 weeks, the remains were finally located. The remains were not in the area of the scent-­ detection dog alerts but a distance of 30 yards uphill from where dogs had indicated. This type of misdirection can happen due to drainage patterns. Additionally, the detection of the remains was hampered by the lime that was placed on the dismembered body (Fig. 8.12). After the remains were located, scent-detection dogs were brought back out and showed no interest in the open grave area. The remains were excavated and ­documented and placed in a body pouch. At that time, the family was brought out to the scene accompanied by the Victim Witness Advocate to view where there daughter had been buried. It was an emotional moment, not only for the family but for the state police crew that had worked so hard to recover these remains. The family expressed their gratitude to these men in restoring their loved one to them so that they could give her a proper burial. Forensic archaeological expertise was essential in assisting the police with implementing and maintaining a systematic search strategy despite contrary indications that the body was not there.

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Fig. 8.12  Use of garden lime to reduce smell of human remains which acted as deterrent for scent-­ detection canines

Case Two involves Angelo Puglisi, age 10, who went missing from a public swimming pool in Lawrence, Massachusetts, approximately 100  yards from his family’s home, on August 21, 1976. His mother told investigators that he called home at 3:30 p.m. that day and did not indicate that anything was wrong. The last report of anyone seeing Andy was at 5:45 p.m. Andy weighed 65 lbs and was 4′0 ft tall. In the days following Andy’s disappearance, there was a search of the neighborhood, the abandoned dump, and the wooded area adjacent to the pool. Andy was never found. Melanie Perkins, a childhood friend of Andy who had been with him that day, has compiled documentary and investigative information on the case into a documentary film entitled Have you seen Andy? Her efforts to locate her childhood friend, which began in 1999, included various testing strategies that were implemented in an area near the Lawrence pool. In 1999 Massachusetts State Police scent-detection dogs worked the open fields and wooded area near the pool (and later named), “Andy Puglisi Square” (Fig. 8.13). The dogs alerted in one locality near a stream where there was extensive erosion (Fig. 8.14). Not until 2004 was that area examined using ground-penetrating radar that identified several areas of anom-

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Fig. 8.13  Andy Puglisi Square; named for the missing person case from 1976. (Photo credit: Claire L. Gold)

alies (Fig. 8.15). An excavation of those anomalies was conducted by the Forensic Anthropologist at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner and the Massachusetts State Police (Fig. 8.16). Materials recovered from the excavation were examined and yielded no biological information. Several searches were conducted on small areas near the pool, but no systematic search of the entire area had ever been done since Andy’s disappearance in 1976. Melanie Perkin’s efforts to see a systematic search conducted were critical in bringing experts to the table in 2014. Those experts included local police, state police, and archaeologists from Forensic Archaeology Recovery. The first step was to obtain aerial images of the area and demarcate a number of search areas in addition to the original search area (Fig. 8.17). Then, student volunteers working with archaeologists systematically probed the identified areas. Using a grid, students probed every 10 ft (Fig. 8.18). This data was then recorded and areas with penetration over 18 in. were flagged. Probing served

Fig. 8.14  Area of alert by scent-detection dogs

Fig. 8.15  Use of ground-penetrating radar in area of canine alerts in order to define targets of subsurface disturbance

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Fig. 8.16  Excavation of area based upon location of subsurface targets

to give the archaeologists a chance to survey the entire area visually and flag any anomalies and points of deep penetration while also providing an opportunity for deeply buried scents to escape into the air. Canine handlers from Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut State Police ran their scent-detection dogs in a 35-acre area surrounding the pool. The dogs indicated several areas of interest that overlapped with the areas of deep penetration from probing. These areas were then marked for archaeological testing and indicated some sort of ground disturbance, including an old rotting tree stump, and animal burrows. Despite the negative results, this area was systematically examined and ruled out as containing the remains of Andy. Efforts to locate Andy in the future will focus on locations outside of this area that are recommended through alternative scenarios. Case Three involves a University of Massachusetts’ nursing student who disappeared while travelling along a remote area of highway in rural New Hampshire, in February 2004. Maura Murray was driving her car, a black Saturn sedan, when she was involved in a single-car accident. The car was found up against a snow bank along route 112, pointing west on the eastbound side of the road; the windshield was cracked. When the police responded to the 911 call, the car was locked and Maura was gone. They found her vehicle with minor damage, and there were no footprints leading away from the car. The last person to see Maura was a man who stopped his school bus to see if she needed assistance. He lived across the street from the acci-

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Fig. 8.18  Systematic probing of the identified areas. (Photo credit: Claire L. Gold)

dent scene and was observed by the neighbor who had made the 911 call. The initial police response engaged the bus driver in the search. In a statement he made to the police, he recounts searching for her along French Pond, an area over 2 miles from the crash site. After searching yielded no results, the police classified this as a potential suicide. A week passed and the Murray family compelled local police to initiate a search along the road in both directions away from the crash site. The search yielded negative results. The family desperate for answers, engaged a private investigator to look into the disappearance. Contrary to the police theory of the crime, the private investigator developed a scenario that postulated that the bus driver was the most likely suspect. The private investigator reached out to Forensic Archaeology Recovery to see if we would be interested in assisting to locate Maura Murray. Utilizing the information provided in the police report which highlighted the bus driver’s behavior, we chose to search in and around French Pond where the bus driver had an icehouse in the winter months. The scenario we moved forward to ground truth was that Maura was placed in the icehouse and that the body found its way to the bottom of the pond. In 2010, FAR archaeologists and volunteers made an effort to systematically search the area around the pond and the pond itself. Working in cooperation with the Murray family and local NH police, the perimeter of the pond was surveyed using probes. With the help of the Quincy, Massachusetts Police dive team, the entire pond was surveyed using side scan sonar (Fig. 8.19). There were a series of anoma-

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Fig. 8.19  Use of side-scan sonar to locate anomalies on bottom of pond (Photo credit: Claire L. Gold)

lies, three in total, that were observed at the bottom of the pond. The divers were able to more clearly define the targets using ROV robotic cameras (Fig. 8.20). Due to the poor visibility underwater, the divers were put in the water to explore the anomalies (Fig. 8.21). The divers determined that the anomalies were natural features and not human remains. This area was ruled out and our team moved on to explore other scenarios. Case Four involves Melanie Jo Melanson, who went missing on October 29, 1989, from Woburn, Massachusetts, at the age of 14. There was an initial law enforcement response, but then Melanie’s case went cold. Within the last decade, private investigators have tried to solve the case, and numerous ground searches by volunteers have not been successful in bringing in any new information. Local law enforcement conducted several “digs” using a backhoe with negative results. In 2012, the first systematic search and excavation was led by Forensic Archaeology Recovery. This was the first excavation in Massachusetts performed by civilian professionals on an open homicide case. FAR teamed up with a Connecticut-based K-9 search team and the Woburn, MA police to conduct an excavation in the area where Melanie went missing (Fig. 8.22, 8.23, and 8.24). This area of interest was ruled out. A subsequent excavation in 2015 was coordinated, and another area was thoroughly mapped and excavated by FAR. Ground-penetrating radar (GPR) and

Fig. 8.20  Removal of ROV robotic camera from water after it was used to observe the nature of the anomalies on bottom of lake. (Photo credit: Claire L. Gold)

Fig. 8.21  Divers ready to explore anomalies at the bottom of the lake. (Photo credit: Claire L. Gold)

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Fig. 8.22  Area of interest in missing person case, excavated by members of FAR, Forensic Archaeology Recovery. (Photo credit: Claire L. Gold)

Fig. 8.23  Members of FAR and other volunteer nonprofit groups sifting excavated dirt. (Photo credit: Claire L. Gold)

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Fig. 8.24  2015 gathering of search personnel prior to excavation that focused on one locality believed to be the area where missing person may have been deposited. (Photo credit: Claire L. Gold)

scent-­detection dogs were used in the pre-excavation phase. Future efforts to locate Melanie will focus on locations outside of this area. Case Five involves the recovery of human remains utilizing all of the previously mentioned tools and strategies. First, human remains were found by persons exploring the area and they alerted police. The police in turn contacted the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner and requested the services of the Forensic Anthropologist. The human remains recovered suggested that these remains could have been a surface deposit. Preliminary investigation of the area revealed a shallow, disturbed grave and additional bones and clothing scattered away from this area. A systematic grid search of the area utilizing six teams of scent-detection dogs and handlers was initiated, and the resulting recovery of human remains was mapped using GIS software (Fig. 8.25). This systematic recovery assisted in the documentation of other areas of interest to police and full recovery of two sets of skeletonized remains.

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Fig. 8.25  Aerial view of recovered human remains marked by red flags to document location of recovered materials

Summary In this chapter, the efficacy of using predictive modeling in search and recovery of missing persons is addressed. Working with law enforcement to develop predictive scenarios that then can be tested using a set sequence of tools can further knowledge about unfound cases. More importantly, these predictive models can be used at the time a person goes missing to more efficiently locate that person in a critical window for rescue or recovery. The implementation of these techniques can assist families as they try to answer the question of what happen to their loved ones and provide reassurance that best practices are being implemented.

References DiMaio, D. J., & DiMaio, J. M. (1993). Forensic pathology. Boca Raton: CRC Press. Eggeman, M. (2005). Abducted and murdered children: Searching for the victims of sexual predators. Virginia: Virginia Department of Emergency Management.

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Finkelhor, D., Hotaling, G., & Sedlak, A. (1990). Missing, abducted, runaway and thrownaway children in America. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs, Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention. France, D. L., Griffin, T., Swanburg, J., Lindemann, J., Davenport, G., Trammell, V., Travis, C., Kondratieff, B., Nelson, A., Castellano, K., Hopkins, D., & Adair, T. (1997). NecroSearch revisited: Further multidisciplinary approaches to the detection of clandestine graves. In W. D. Haglund & M. H. Sorg (Eds.), Forensic taphonomy: The postmortem fate of human remains. Boca Raton: CRC Press. Fundamentals of Search and Rescue. (2005). In D. C. Cooper (Ed.) Sudbury: National Association for Search and Rescue, Jones and Bartlett Publishers. Gleason, M. (2008). The search for human remains in the search and rescue environment. Virginia: Search and Rescue Tracking Institute. Gould, R. A. (2007). Disaster archaeology. Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press. Joukowsky, M. (1980). A complete manual of field archaeology: Tools and techniques of field work for archaeologists. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall. Killam, E. W. (2004). The detection of human remains. Springfield: Charles C Thomas Publishers, LTD. Koester, R. J. (2008). Lost person behavior; a search and rescue guide on where to look-for land, air and water. Charlottesville: dbS Productions. Koff, C. (2004). The bone woman: A forensic anthropologist’s search for the truth in Rwanda, Bosnia, Croatia, and Kosovo. Canada: Alfred A. Knopf. Land Search and Rescue Addendum to the National Search and Rescue Supplement to International Aeronautical and Maritime Search and Rescue Manual, Version 1.0 November 2011 (www. uscg.mil/nsarc). Mires, A. M. & Giordano, A. (2004). Using GIS technology to locate clandestine human remains. Abstract/presentation: American Academy of Forensic Sciences Annual Meeting Proceedings, Dallas, TX. Nawrocki, S. P. (1996). An outline of forensic archeology. University of Indianapolis Archeology and Forensics Laboratory. http://archlab.uindy.edu. Obledo, M.  N. (2009). Forensic archeology in criminal and civil cases. In Forensic magazine. http://www.forensicmag.com/articles/2009/08/forens. Poirier, D. A. & Bellantoni, N. F. (1999). Forensic archeology: A humanistic science. In Cultural resource management, No. 10. Ritter, N. (2007). Missing persons and unidentified remains: The nation’s silent mass disaster. In National institute of justice journal no. 256. Office of Justice Programs, National Institute of Justice. Syrotuck, W.  G. (2000). Analysis of lost person behavior: An aid to search planning. Mechanicsburg: Barkleigh Productions. Woolnough, P., Stevenson, O., & Parr, H. (2015). Investigating missing persons: Learning from interviews with families. The Journal of Homicide and Major Incident Investigations, 10(1), 1–13.

Chapter 9

Landfill Searches for Human Remains Brian D. Paulsen and Kimberlee Sue Moran

Introduction Much has been published about forensic archeology and the recovery of human remains (e.g., Connor 2007; Dupras et al. 2006). This discipline is of great value to law enforcement, but the published literature regarding the archeological recovery of human remains in the forensic context is focused on shallow graves and surface remains. Clandestine burials can take many forms. In 2003, a search commenced that was the first of its kind in the state of Nebraska: the search of a landfill for the remains of a 4-year-old boy, murdered by his father on January 6 of that year. The subsequent investigation led law enforcement to the Sarpy County (Nebraska) Landfill in June 2003. Although the victim was not recovered, the experience led to the research presented in this chapter. Two later searches in the state successfully recovered infants in the landfill environment. Landfill searches can and do occur under the remit of crime scene investigation (Luska 1996). If it is suspected that crucial evidence was concealed or disposed of in a trash receptacle whose contents have made their way to the local landfill, investigators will make the effort to search for the item at the landfill site. However, this is not a typical scenario, and protocols specific to landfill searches do not exist. Little is known of the frequency of such searches and whether landfill searches tend to be successful. Just as evidence may be disposed of in the trash, so, too, may human remains. The Environmental Protection Agency states there are 3091 active landfills and 10,000 “old municipal landfills” (www.zerowasteamerica.org). Occasionally media B. D. Paulsen (*) Chief of Police (Retired), Crofton, NE, USA K. S. Moran Department of Chemistry, Rutgers University – Camden, Camden, NJ, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_9

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outlets report on such searches.1 Some cases attract regional attention, while some remain a local event. During the research conducted, no distinguishing factor was discovered to explain the popularity or level of attention a case received. Landfill searches contain a wide range of factors that make them far more challenging than the typical crime scene. Size of area, unfamiliarity with landfill operational practices, complexity of the landfill matrix, and smell – all these elements confound normal crime scene protocols and discourage the search participants. Additional obstacles in a landfill involve psychological, emotional, and physical limitations that officers must overcome. The fact that a body has been disposed of in a trash dumpster is controversial and generates many questions from professional sources and their civilian counterparts. The emotional strain involved in a landfill search for human remains can manifest itself in many ways. Sheriff Daniel Limogess (April 28, 2009, personal communication) expressed that a landfill search in which he was involved produced what he genuinely felt was a miracle. Sheriff Limogess made several comments regarding the spirituality of the search. The sheriff’s self-­ proclaimed religious conversion was a result of the successful recovery of the newborn victim. After the 2003 landfill search described above, the then Chief of Police of Plattsmouth, NE, embarked on a search of the professional and academic literature looking for information on the frequency of landfill searches, the success rates of searches, and search protocols. He found that little information existed and that statistics related to landfill searches appeared underreported. The decision was made to reach out to law enforcement agencies in the hope of gathering information. In addition, the 2003 landfill search demonstrated the striking similarities between landfill operation and archeological site formation. When conducting a landfill search, archeological methodologies are greatly applicable.

Landfill Operations Landfill operations in the United States are fairly standardized and consistent across sites. The Solid Waste Association of North America provides training and an operational manual that is considered the industry standard (https://swana.org/). Trash is collected by private companies and transported to the landfill site. The refuse is weighed and then dumped and spread by bulldozer-like machines called compactors. Compactors are operated by employees known as “operators” who document when and where trash is deposited at the site. Many landfills have a Global Positioning System (GPS) in use to track the location of compactors and the areas of the landfill that are in active use. Reports indicated that some facilities use a transfer station during the refuse process. The station is the initial stop for the truck, where all the materials are 1  Three landfill searches have garnered national media attention in 2018 in Baltimore, Phoenix, and Georgia.

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dumped and sorted by various standards, the biggest being recyclables. Materials are sorted and transported to respective sites based on their composite, i.e., glass, metal, paper, or plastics. A number of times during the personal interviews with police agencies, the use of transfer stations, where trash is sorted for recycling purposes, was cited as a major deterrent in locating the remains. During the discussion it was noted that transfer stations had the potential to redirect the remains to a variety of area landfills. Records management within the landfill is remarkable. During the 2003 Sarpy County, Nebraska, search, the landfill management knew the order of the truck (first truck of that day) that brought the boy into the landfill. They also knew the weight of the vehicle and that the dumpster containing the body was the last trash pick-up onto the truck before it headed west to the landfill. Each night the spread trash is capped by 8–10 in. of dirt or a spray-on material. In the Sarpy County search, the nightly coverage changed during the time of the search. At the start of the search, the coverage was dirt, but it changed over to Enviro Cover (http://www.waste-management-world.com), a spray-on material. The best analogy for this spray cover would be a dipped ice cream cone where the coating hardens around the ice cream leaving the underlying product undisturbed. The next day, the entire process is repeated in the landfill. The result of the coverage, whether dirt or spray material, as well as the physical compaction, is that it reduces the rate of decomposition of the underlying material. Oxygen is inhibited; access by scavengers and insects is reduced. Especially in the case of the spray-on material, organic remains were found to be highly preserved. The excavation of the Sarpy County landfill produced a layer of snow that was several months old and a bag of carrots that appeared nearly fresh. The date on the bag of carrots was over 2 years old. These parallels between site formation and landfill formation should be apparent. Landfills are products of intentionally formed stratigraphical layers. These layers represent depositional events and as such provide a means of relative dating. Landfills have advantages to traditional archeological sites in that the depositional history exists within the landfill record management system. The precise date, time, location, and weight of material can be tracked. In addition the preservation of material and especially items that contain dates can help pinpoint which layer is exposed and date surrounding material. This greatly aids investigators if properly leveraged.

A Study of Landfill Searches Research Design  To gather specific information on law enforcement-initiated landfill searches, four research objectives were established. With sporadic media coverage until recently, the first research objective was to determine how often landfills are used to conceal victims of crime. Is it occurring often, or has the media

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created that perception? With three searches occurring in the last 6 years in Nebraska, are other states having similar experiences? The second research objective was to establish broad and specific victimology. This twofold question sought to establish whether one gender had a higher propensity to be placed in the landfill environment. Referring back to landfill searches in Nebraska where all three searches were for infants or children, the author wanted to also determine if this phenomenon was limited to young victims. The third research objective, also twofold, was to establish an average duration for searches and the number of successful search outcomes. Law enforcement was first asked about the duration of the search efforts regardless of success. The results of this objective are of great benefit in determining when to end a landfill search. Combining the results of research objectives two and three can establish several things: first, who is recovered in the successful searches? Male or female? Infant, child, or adult? Second, what is the overall success rate of landfill searches? This can be of great importance in deciding whether to start a search, as well as any consideration of when to end the search. The final research objective addressed who was utilized as searchers. Specifically, were law enforcement officers the only people used in the search, or was the operation opened up to civilian volunteers? If or when civilians participated, did they undertake the actual search within the landfill, did they search refuse, or were they simply used in an ancillary role? The first step of the project was to create a database of actual landfill searches. An online search determined that landfill searches did occur, but very few searches were documented. In reading a professional magazine related to law enforcement, an expert in landfill searches was proclaimed. However, when the organization was called, the respondent could not determine any person within the organization that fit the parameters of the expert described. Letters were used to identify an initial contact within agencies that might have experienced a landfill search. To encompass the entire United States, 96 letters with self-addressed, stamped envelopes were mailed to each state police agency and attorney general offices. Understanding that some State Police have a Criminal Investigations Bureau (CIB), additional letters were sent to each separate entity. The letter was also mailed to the Federal Bureau of Investigations (FBI) and the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC). The letter listed multiple ways to respond: two mailing options, three email options, and two phone numbers. Once a contact was established, at least one follow-up interview occurred. Most of the time, the interview took place as a phone call, but on occasion, emails were used. In hindsight, establishing a point of contact was fruitful to overcome the lack of communication between the tiers of government. In addition to the requests for information from law enforcement, an email was sent to the Solid Waste Association of North America, the organization that supports landfill operations. Responses were made through each of the listed sources. There was a mixed response with the first letter with agencies referring the researcher to state departments of environmental quality. This miscue required a clarification letter to the

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contact, explaining the specific information requested. After verifying contacts, follow-up interviews were conducted via email and phone as required. The final method to gather information from those with landfill search experience was through an email “blast” on an archeology (HistArch.com) website and on the International Association of Chiefs of Police website. Supplemental reports of landfill searches were gained through these electronic requests. The response by law enforcement was problematic based on a number of variables. The election of officials within the justice system creates turnover among the reporters. In Nebraska, the attorney general is elected, and the head of the State Patrol is appointed. Sheriffs are elected, and in some states, police chiefs, which leads to potential turnover as well. This fact became apparent when the author received a letter from the Pennsylvania State Police stating they did not have any landfill searches. In a later interview with the Environmental Protection Agency of New Jersey, a case came to light where the crime was committed in New Jersey and a landfill search was conducted in Pennsylvania. Finally, officers take promotions and different assignments within their respective agencies, taking knowledge of such cases with them. Some states did not respond to the survey, email, or phone contact. Knowing this, the actual cases involving landfill searches should be considered under-reported. According to the United States Department of Justice Fact Sheets for Unidentified Human Remains, five states, Arizona, California, Florida, New  York, and Texas, comprise 75% of the unidentified persons (Hughes 2007). Two states, New York and California, account for 50% between the two of them. However, the information of landfill searches requests only generated the following results for those states as Arizona (1), California (3), Florida (1), New York (1), and Texas (1). In addition, the California Department of Environmental Control (DEQ) and Florida Highway Safety along with their DEQ reported no searches. The author was able to locate four cases in these states via Internet searches. This further lends credence to the assertion that landfill searches are underreported. Study Results  The results are gathered from 46 searches provided by verified reliable sources (Bertram 2008, Birch 2008, Bombadeir 2008, Brudnock 2008, Cross 2008, Derschman 2009, Herrmann 2009, Hillman 2008, Klug 2009, Kronenfeld 2008, Kurgan 2008, Long 2008, Moreck 2009, Pincsak 2009,  Priest 2009, Rechtenbaugh 2008, Rubalcave 2008, Sapp 2009, Sullenger 2008, Townsend 2008, Trent 2008, Virgil 2008, Vance 2009, Willmore 2008). An additional five searches not used in the results were for evidentiary purposes, not the recovery of human remains. Of those five, three were successful. The most sought evidentiary item was a computer or component. Six variables of the landfill research will be discussed: 1 . The frequency of landfill searches 2. Duration of successful searches 3. Rate of success for the searches 4. Manpower used to search, specifically where civilians were used 5. The age and gender 6. Condition of the body when discovered

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1. Frequency of Landfill Searches Whether it is just lack of response or information or records, only 21 searches were reported by the surveys. Between 1999 and 2009, 16 searches have been conducted, with 2006 having 4 such events. Multiple searches occurred in 2007(3), 2001(2), and 2003(2). Prior to 2001 only 1998 had multiple searches with three conducted. Single searches were conducted in 1993 and 1995.

2. Duration of Searches The longest successful search was 60 days, occurring in South Dakota (Clemens, April 27, 2009, personal communication). The shortest search was 2 h in Richmond, Virginia (Hall, November 7, 2008, personal communication). In the Richmond search, the remains were in the landfill only 12–24 h before the search began. The shorter time between the bodies entering the landfill and the start of the search is reflected in the success rate of finding human remains. Landfills should be included in the start of any missing person search because of the associated success rate of recovering human remains if conducted soon after the disappearance.

3. Rate of Success Of the 46 cases, searches were successful in 20 of the cases reported. This provides a 43.5% success rate, an unsuccessful search rate of 30.4%, and an unknown rate of 26.1%. The unknown rate is a product of incomplete or zero communication returned from the police agency. A number of times during the personal interviews with police agencies, the use of transfer stations, where trash is sorted for recycling purposes, was cited as a major deterrent in locating the remains. During the discussion it was noted that transfer stations had the potential to redirect the remains to a variety of area landfills. In 25 searches where the duration of the search is known, 13 lasted 7 days or less. If the timeframe is extended to 30 days, an additional seven searches are added. The average days of searches that ended with a recovery of remains is slightly over 17 days (17.33 days). The mode of transportation to the landfills occurred by placing the remains in a trash dumpster. Only one case was discovered in which the suspects transported the victim to the landfill.

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4. Manpower For chain of custody issues, law enforcement was represented during the searches. On two occasions, landfill employees found the body prior to officers arriving at the site. Civilians were used in two of the searches: Denver and in the latter part of the Sarpy County, Nebraska, search, though these were also supervised by a number of law enforcement representatives. During several of the searches, landfill employees assisted with the search.

5. Age and Gender of Victims Recovered Age was grouped into three categories; adult, child, and infant. To define the groupings, an adult was a victim over 18 years of age; a child was under 18–1 year of age; an infant was defined as birth to 1 year of age. Infants were not categorized as having been alive or stillborn at birth, an important factor needed for criminal prosecution. Of the reported searches, 20 adults were recovered, along with 5 children and 6 infants. In the infant grouping, four of the six were described as newborn at the time of disposal. The respective gender numbers consist of 14 males, 13 females, and 4 unknowns. The unknown category represents an incomplete survey or lack of specific case knowledge by the person supplying the requested information.

6. Condition of Remains Descriptions of the condition of the remains are somewhat ambiguous due to the wide latitude and interpretation of the condition of the body upon recovery. This question also had the most unknown responses. One body was described as being in excellent condition; six were identified as being in good condition. A remaining six were reported as in poor condition. During the interviews, damage by the heavy compactors used in landfills was mentioned. On more than one occasion, the damage done by this piece of equipment was described as being very damaging to the body. In addition to the three-tiered response options cited, additional details were provided. One body was burned, five bodies were mutilated, and one was described as mummified (Sack 1999). This leaves 14 cases where the condition of the body was unknown. This number seems unusual, as the examination of the remains would be crucial in potential prosecution of the case. Furthermore, the personal identification of the remains would be paramount to the family.

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The results of the surveys, despite the low response rate, provide valuable information to law enforcement. In the landfill searches studied, 43.5% were successful, regardless of the duration of time used to search. This rate should be analyzed by any agency considering a landfill search when the time between the body entering the landfill and the start of the search is unknown. Also of great emphasis is the commitment of the agency to search for 30 days or more once the search has been initiated. The data collected supports success in searches lasting up to the 30-day mark. The most important information collected is the correlation between the time the victim was placed in the landfill and the beginning of the search. When this time is short, hours or a few days, the success rate greatly increases. While the average length of a successful search is just over 17 days, it is common to find many searches that lasted 7 days or less. Based solely on the results reported from the surveys, it would appear that a search should not be initiated if more than 60 days had passed between the body entering the landfill and the search being initiated.

Searching Landfills2 As described earlier, the formation of a landfill is much like that of an archeological site. The search of a landfill is just the same, working from the top layer to the lower tiers. When trash enters the landfill, it is placed at the lowest level and is worked in layers until it reaches the top elevation. Once law enforcement enters the landfill, the top layers will be removed. The trash over the victim’s location is called overburden and must be removed before the search truly begins. The amount of overburden to remove will be directly related to the time between the body entering the landfill and the start of the search. The longer the time between the two events, the more overburden. To start a search the information at the landfill must be reviewed. Many questions need to be addressed: how much trash has covered the victim; where should the process begin; can the landfill assist with the operation and the expense? From the investigator’s perspective, how or what will searchers look for to indicate they are close to the specific trash? It’s important to know the sources of the trash on the transporting truck. Bars and restaurants? car dealers? cleaning companies? apartments? The type of trash can provide an association between objects found. Then the dates and address of mail, papers, or circulars should be utilized. These items 2  A better understanding of the process of searching a landfill is offered by Ron Olive of the National Center of  Exploited and  Missing Children (NCEMC). Mr. Olive has developed a  methodology and protocol guidelines for law enforcement. Having assisted with a handful of landfill searches and  then consulting an  additional 20–25 searches, he  has extensive knowledge on  the  topic (December 9, 2008, personal communication). Mr. Olive’s input should be  utilized in  landfill searches.

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should be checked periodically throughout the search to determine if the trash is getting closer to the date of the body’s likely disposal and could determine if the search needs to slow down. It is valuable to relay this information to any new searchers at the landfill in subsequent days. Once the search starts, the material is brought out of the landfill, placed on a cleared platform, and then spread. The spreading of material is accomplished by heavy equipment, by excavators, and then by volunteers using hand tools. Once the material has been searched, bulldozers push the refuse to an area out of the way of the operation. The procedure then repeats itself until the operation ceases or the evidence is recovered. In questioning landfill managers, they believe that the compactor operator would see any bodies before the capping of the material. This was the case in three of the confirmed searches. However, the majority of the cases contest that opinion, as most bodies were recovered by hand searches.

Conclusions Prior to this study, no previous research on this topic was known to exist. Hopefully this study will be a building block for others who chose to search sanitary landfills. The operations of a landfill are consistent; refuse entering the site via trash trucks and dumped, compactors pushing and spreading the material and then capping the site nightly. The capping helps to preserve the items, as little oxygen is present for microbacterial destruction. The research revealed that a victim’s body was most often placed in a dumpster and then transferred to the truck. Better reporting of landfill searches is needed. The details described reveal that the occurrence of searches has increased over the last 15  years, dramatically increasing over the last 10 years. Regarding the duration of successful searches, a majority of the law enforcement personnel commented on the value of the landfill managers and their operators. Without their accurate records, generous assistance, and thorough knowledge of their profession, landfills would not be investigated by law enforcement. The success rate has a direct correlation to the amount of time between the body entering the landfill and the search beginning. At the 30-day mark, the chances of being successful are near even, but they drop precipitously after a month has passed. The data produced in this research indicate that landfill searches for human remains are increasing. The furtive nature of the crime makes it hard for people to understand. Perhaps more important, the increase in frequency of these cases makes it a topic law enforcement needs to discuss.

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References www.nytimes.com/1999/03/05 www.rockymountainnews.com www.thedenverchannel.com/news/1460995/detail.html www.waste-management-world.com www.wcbstv.com/topstories/john.fiocco.jr.w.we5474.html Bertram, R. L. (2008, November 25). Personal communication. Birch, S. (2008, November 21). Personal communication. Bombadeir, T. (2008, November 21). Personal communication. Brudnock, J. (2008, November 6). Personal communication. Connor, M.  A. (2007). Forensic methods: Excavation for the archaeologist and investigator. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press. Cross, L. (2008, November 5). Personal communication. Derschman, M. (2009, April 28). Personal communication. Dupras, T. L., Schultz, J. J., Wheeler, S. M., & Williams, L. J. (2006). Forensic recovery of human remains: Archaeology approaches. Boca Raton: Taylor & Francis. Herrmann, S. (2009, April 30). Personal communication. Hillman, T. (2008, November 12). Personal communication. Hughes, K. (2007). Unidentified human remains in the United States, 1980–2004. Bureau of justice statistics fact sheet. NCJ 219533. 1–2. Retrieved 6 January 2009 from Bureau of Justice database. Klug, D. (2009, February 4). Personal communication. Kronenfeld, J. (2008, November 24). Personal communication. Kurgan, A. (2008, November 12). Personal communication. Long, L. (2008, November 5). Personal communication. Luska, P. (1996). Forensic search of a landfill. Journal Forensic Identification, 46(I), 7–18. Moreck, R. (2009, April 30). Personal communication. Pincsak, L. (2009, April 3). Personal communication. Priest, J. (2009, April 28). Personal communication. Rechtenbaugh, S. (2008, November 24). Personal communication. Rubalcave, A. (2008, November 6). Personal communication. Sack, K. (1999, March 5). 2 confess to killing man, saying he made a sexual advance. New York Times. Sapp, C. (2009, January 1). Personal communication. Sullenger, C. (2008, December 24). Personal communication. Townsend, S. (2008, November 12). Personal communication. Trent, L. (2008, December 1). Personal communication. Vance, N. (2009, April 23). Personal communication. Virgil, T. (2008, December 2). Personal communication. Willmore, J. (2008, November 25). Personal communication.

Chapter 10

The Application of Archaeological Techniques to Forensic Fire Scenes Karl Harrison

The Growth and Development of Forensic Archaeology In recent years in the UK, the forensic archaeologist has become a pivotal member of the multidisciplinary investigation team tasked with the search, location, and recovery of human remains subjected to clandestine burial. The development of the role of the forensic archaeologist in the context of UK major crime with its close association to burial archaeology, and the academic distinctions that hold archaeology and anthropology apart as separate disciplines, have promoted a diversification of interest between the work of the forensic archaeologist and forensic anthropologist (Hunter and Cox 2005). This diversification has grown perhaps more distinct in recent years with the adoption of two separate codes of practice in the UK: those of forensic archaeology falling to the Institute for Archaeology (IFA) and those of forensic anthropology to the British Association for Forensic Anthropology, under the auspices of the Royal Anthropological Institute (RAI) (www.archaeologists.net; www. therai.org.uk) (Archaeologists.net. 2016; Forensic Anthropology 2016). This system contrasts with a general North American understanding, refuted by some, that forensic archaeology is a subdiscipline of forensic anthropology as outlined by Harrison and Schofield (2009) and Gould (2007). The focus of forensic archaeology has been understandably concentrated on the location, excavation, and recovery of human remains from clandestine graves (Harrison and Simmons 2016; Hunter et al. 2013). While anthropology has a long record of considering the modification of body tissues collected from fire scenes (Schmidt and Symes 2015), very little consideration has been given to the archaeology of those sites: the optimum means of recovering those remains, of recording

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them in situ, and of adding spatial interpretation to the work of the fire investigator. This chapter aims to provide such a starting point, with two case studies that suggest a range of operation for the forensic archaeologist on the fire scene.

The Fire Investigation As with forensic archaeology, the management of fatal and suspicious fire scenes differs between the UK and North America, and in both instances the aims of forensic fire investigators are necessarily constrained by their role within the respective legal systems. In the UK, fatal or suspicious fire investigations are conducted via a tripartite arrangement between the police, represented by a crime scene investigator (CSI) with specialist training in fire investigation; a fire brigade fire investigator, who may either be a dedicated fire investigator or a dual-trained officer with other responsibilities; and the forensic service provider (laboratory), who would normally be represented by a forensic chemist. The roles of these three individuals are distinct but complementary: the CSI provides a photographic record, seizes all evidence to ensure entry into an approved chain of custody and provides all core functions related to crime investigation; the fire investigator is primarily concerned with fire origin and spread and will be the individual most conversant with the behaviour of fire, reaction to fuel loads, and fire service action. The forensic scientist will direct sampling for detection of liquid accelerants that might indicate an arson having been committed. A primary concern of this fire investigation team is the identification of the point(s) of origin (‘seats of fire’) and the subsequent development of the fire within the compartment. Completion of this task frequently fulfils a range of necessary investigative criteria; it identifies whether there might be one or many seats, which might in itself be suspicious; it allows the recording of the origin point(s) of the fire, and it facilitates sampling for liquid accelerants. The process of excavation is already recognized as a crucial step when examining the seat of a compartment fire (Redsicker and O’Connor 1997; Cooke and Ide 1985). In the literature of fire investigation, this process of excavation has been explicitly compared with that of archaeology and is inextricably linked with other essential processes of evidence recovery, such as the location and retention of liquid accelerant traces and the identification of areas of lowest burning within the structure, which may be conclusive in locating the origin point of the fire (Ide 1998). In their consideration of the importance of fire seat excavation, Cooke and Ide discuss a concept of qualitative change in the composition of the debris (ibid). They continue to state that the seat of fire should be excavated extremely carefully and that the investigators should note any changes between layers of debris, but these tentative suggestions have not as yet resulted in any more engaged consideration of the point of intersection between the techniques of forensic archaeology and the requirements of forensic fire investigation. Despite this pivotal importance enjoyed by excavation in the context of forensic fire scene examination, there is no clear discussion available in the published litera-

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ture, which either states how best to conduct any such excavation or how any ­information gained through such excavation might best be recorded and communicated. Even where processes of excavation are linked directly to the methods of archaeology, no explicit cross-fertilization of techniques has been developed (Cooke and Ide 1985:109). Similarly, while the application of modified techniques of forensic fire investigation has been recognized as potentially playing a role in understanding preserved structural fires in the archaeological record (Harrison et al. 2013; Harrison 2012), there has thus far been no developed consideration of the manner in which the tools developed by the forensic archaeologist might be of use on the contemporary forensic fire scene. Many structural fire scenes that are fatal, serious, or suspicious will have reached the point of total involvement of the compartment or structure prior to extinction and investigation. Consequently, they frequently present large volumes of stratified debris that would require an extended excavation to record archaeologically. The techniques of locating seats of fire can be used to focus the efforts of the archaeologically aware investigator to prioritize these areas for controlled excavation. As with any form of excavation, the archaeologist requires a detailed understanding of the formation processes that make up the archaeological record, which in this instance are chiefly composed of the processes of combustion and the response of modern building materials (Schiffer 1987). Energy as heat can be transmitted via three mechanisms: conduction, convection, and radiation. Structural fires present a complex of these mechanisms, the traces of which manifest in different ways. Conduction is the direct transmission of associated molecules (Shields and Silcock 1987:25). The effect of conducted heat is most notable in solid materials where molecular contact is closest (DeHaan 1997:26). Convection is the transfer of thermal energy via the upward motion of hot liquids or gases (Hall and Brakhage 1997) and generally plays a much more dominant role in the development of structural fires. Flaming combustion may give off as much as 70–80% of its thermal energy via the process of convection (Shields and Silcock 1987:57). As a consequence the development of flaming combustion within a roofed structure will have a dramatically different effect to a fire started externally. Unlike conduction or convection, radiation is a wave of electromagnetic energy that requires no intervening medium of transmission (Hall and Brakhage 1997). Whereas convection will transmit the vast majority of its heat upwards, radiation will transmit thermal energy in all directions. However a fire is ignited, once initiated and flaming, the resulting convection will act like a pump. As it expels hot oxygen-depleted smoky gases, it will draw in cooler, denser air from its base. Combustion requires access to the ‘fire triangle’ of oxygen, fuel, and heat in order to continue to propagate (DeHaan 1997). Fire scientists refer to blazes that develop in a room or other roofed enclosure of less than 100  m3 as being ‘compartment fires’ (Drysdale 1998; Hinckley and Williams 1986). Regardless of relative differences in compartment geometry, these fires form a distinct type because of changes to their behaviour brought about through their spatial restriction. In the early stages of fire development before the effects of spatial restriction become dominant, both open and compartment combustions dis-

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play very similar patterns of growth (Thomas 1986). If allowed sufficient fuel to continue development, however, the compartment fire will ultimately be altered in development by falling levels of oxygen and its inability to expel partially burnt combustion products, including carbon-rich smoke. Instead, these products will form a hot gas layer at the top of the compartment, which if not vented by structural failure may ultimately reignite in a ‘flameover’ reaction, causing radiant heat transmission downwards from the hot gas layer in the roof space across the lower areas of the compartment. An intense, rapid flaming combustion followed by a flameover reaction may result in the floor of a compartment preserving a relatively even layer of burning across its entirety, other than where obstructing items have served to absorb heat and protect underlying areas. Unlike non-flameover fires, these traces of heating need not relate to the presence of fuel in the immediate area. In contrast with flaming fires, slow-burning smouldering combustion prompted by either restricted ventilation or the burning of carbon-rich fuels, such as charcoal, may lead to significant degrees of localized damage (Cooke and Ide 1985:78).

Fire Indicators: Their Excavation and Reconstruction Point of Lowest Burn  The primary reason for excavation on a forensic fire scene is to search for the lowest points of burning within the compartment, which may represent seats of fire, and to locate related evidence that might link to an action of ignition or fuelling in situ. Due to the dominant effect of convection heating in the development stage of combustion, items low down tend to remain relatively cool and protected, unless they are close to the origin of the fire. These require close observation to ensure that they are separate from general radiant fire damage from flameover, and items falling from higher points in the compartment and continuing to burn must also be identified and discounted as secondary origins. ‘V’ Pattern Analysis  A further technique linked to the upward spread of convection heat is ‘V’ pattern analysis (DeHaan 1997:147). Flaming combustion will tend to expel smoke products upwards and, to a much lesser extent, laterally, forming a plume. This tendency results in the formation of a ‘V’ of deposited smoke, where the base of the ‘V’ indicates the seat of fire. As the fire continues to burn, smoke products are deposited and then burnt off, which can result in the ‘V’ pattern reversing. As with points of lowest burn, ‘V’ patterns can establish locations of concentrations of fuel within a compartment but have the added advantage of providing some sequential information as to whether the pattern is a primary seat of fire or has been the result of later fire spread. Heat Shadowing  Conversely, directional fire indicators also include an assessment of those areas of a structure protected from burning. Observation of these protected or ‘heat-shadowed’ areas can assist the archaeologist in discounting an area of the

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compartment from consideration as a seat of fire. Items or areas of building fabric, that have other elements fall over them very rapidly, may feature no appreciable smoke staining, while whole areas that are protected from radiant heat by a significant obstacle may remain relatively cool in relation to the rest of the compartment. Excavation Methodologies  The initial stages of the process of fire investigation remain unchanged from those already noted as being commonplace within current practice on forensic fire scenes. Such a scene must be assessed with regard to the considerations of the health and safety of individuals working there, as well as other people remaining close to the cordon. Risk management procedure can be put into place in order to minimize those hazards that cannot be eliminated. In addition to the risks posed by the scene, the tools of excavation must be considered; excavators should have had basic safety training with excavation hand tools before any such work taking place (Hester et al. 1997:69). The standard techniques of fire investigation can then be applied to the structure, in order that the seats of fire, concentration of fuel loading, and areas of venting might be identified in an attempt to build an initial hypothesis regarding the likely ignition point and subsequent pattern of development of the fire. This process should identify one or more locations, which would require excavation in order to elicit information from low points within the debris. Once these areas of interest have been identified, areas suitable for the recovery of control samples can be located. These areas should be close enough to areas of interest that they share general characteristics of burning but far enough away that the investigator can be as confident as possible that the control area has remained unaffected by introduced accelerants. Once the areas of interest and control have been marked, they can be photographed with scales to demonstrate their relative proximity. The areas of control can then be excavated; a fixed line, secured with nails into the ground or pins into walls where possible, is used to provide a guide for the section, which should cut across the area of interest. All of the debris on one side of the section line can then be excavated in accordance with any observed stratigraphy. These various stratigraphic layers can be recorded as separate contexts, each with their own completed record sheet, or dedicated scene notebook entry. Solid objects, such as doors, items of furniture, or electrical appliances, may form some debris layers. Where these intersect with the line of the section, they are best excavated around and left in situ, as removal may well disturb more delicate contexts. Rather than being regarded as contexts of debris, such items are best treated as separate features, which have their own stratigraphic relationships noted on a record sheet. By identifying distinctions between layers of debris within a number of control excavations, it is possible to establish a general sequence of destruction across the site as a whole. This same sequence may be uncovered in the excavation of the seat of fire itself, or differences may be observed that could be significant to hypotheses regarding the origin of the fire or the investigation as a whole. Excavation of a control area allows for careful management of background sampling. If distinct differences are evident in the stratigraphic composition of the debris, then samples can be taken from the material of different contexts. Following

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this method would improve the analytical processes following the excavation, as traces of accelerant could be identified in debris that is specific to a particular episode in the development of the fire. Following the excavation of the control area and the retention and packaging of associated samples, the section can then be photographed and recorded, giving a picture of the sequence of events throughout the entire episode of fire and subsequent collapse. All exhibits and context sheets should be clearly marked as being relevant to the control area, and the packaging of the control exhibits should have sufficient integrity to ensure they risk no contamination from the following stages of examination. The subsequent examination of the seat of the fire and other areas of interest is conducted in much the same way as that outlined for the control area. Features of interest can be recorded in relation to any surrounding debris contexts and photographed in situ before being packaged and retained. Unlike the control area, both sides of the seat section must be excavated, to ensure a complete examination of the area. Debris Sifting and the Archaeologist  In the event of an exceptionally serious fire, or where use of an incendiary device is suspected, the fire investigator or CSI may decide to retain a much higher proportion of debris from the seat of fire, or even all of it. Through careful stratigraphic recording and excavation, this debris can be retained and packed as separate contexts, identified with a particular level within the debris when undergoing later analysis. Any excavated material not to be retained must be identified as spoil and disposed of. This would ideally be deposited outside the fire-damaged structure, where it will not confuse any subsequent examination. In situations where outside disposal of spoil would not be possible, a separate room or area might be identified, which the investigator is happy does not constitute a potential seat of fire or area of interest, a spoil heap can then be generated here, preferably on a tarpaulin sheet or suitable sacks, to separate it from the ground and unrelated debris. Should the recovery of particularly small exhibits (e.g. bullets, bones, or fragments of teeth) be required, any retained spoil can be further processed to ensure optimal recovery of evidence. Standard methods of this kind in archaeology include use of a dry filtration system through a series of variously graded sieves (Hester et al. 1997:70), or flotation in a tank of water to locate very light organic or plastic articles from the surface, or heavy metals or bone from the bottom (Renfrew and Bahn 2008). Both systems are frequently used in the field and would not require the removal or transportation of large quantities of debris if used in a forensic context.

Case Study 1: Suffolk, St. Bartholomew’s Barn In November 2011, a UK investigation focused on determining the origin and nature of fire spread in the mediaeval barn of St Bartholomew’s barn, Sudbury, was conducted as a part of a wider archaeological recording of the structure. It was hoped

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that this work might give some information related to the burning of the barn in January 2011. This investigation was conducted by the author at the behest of the county archaeologist’s requirements for the site to be investigated because of its archaeological significance prior to clearance and rebuilding. Prior fire investigation conducted by the local brigade had led to a conclusion of indeterminate point of origin or means of development. Recording of fire characteristics visible on the internal wall faces and excavation through the debris lying within the structure revealed a number of directional and stratigraphic indicators that suggested a focus of low-temperature fire characteristics at a low height in the structure close to the eastern door that would be consistent with an origin point of the fire. Prior to the fire, St. Bartholomew’s Barn was built around an aisled structure, in which a post-and-plate structure of uprights and beams are held rigid with the use of timber cross braces. The exterior structure was then completed with horizontal straked planking to form the walls and thatch secured to battens for the roof. This structure stood on a brick-built dwarf wall, which contained an internal space finished with a concrete screed floor. It was noted that this central floor was stepped higher in the two aisles to the sides of the barn, than along its central nave. Following the fire, the surviving structure was primarily represented by the brick dwarf walls outlining the bases of exterior walls and internal aisles. In addition, the concrete floor appeared to survive beneath the fire debris. Along the north-eastern wall, a few charred timber uprights remained standing in situ. Elsewhere in the structure, large fallen timbers were not in evidence within the structure. By contrast, the lines of char lying outside the building suggested the final deposition site of timbers falling outwards from the walls. Given the high ceiling clearance inside the barn and the full involvement of the structure, it is highly unlikely that the origin point of the fire would have occurred in the centre of the barn. Flame entrainment (the upward movement of flames) is enhanced by the presence of nearby walls and even more greatly in the case of fires started in the corners of buildings. As a consequence, it was decided an examination strategy that looked in detail at the walls which formed the aisled layout of the barn was most likely to reveal patterns related to the ignition of the fire (see Fig. 10.1). The indications preserved across a number of the bays forming St. Bartholomew’s Barn suggest that the fire began in the southeastern corner of Aisle H. A corner location would promote the rapid upward growth of the fire and ensure the early involvement of roofing materials so obvious elsewhere. The initial stages of this fire produced a number of discernible effects: 1. A high temperature rise immediately associated with the plaster render to the south eastern wall caused spalling and discoloration. 2. Smoke stain deposition on the glass pane immediately above the developing fire indicates that the glass was cool when the air was becoming smoky. 3. The temperature then rose sufficiently to allow the glass to soften (c. 700 °C), at which point the pane failed and fell outwards away from the fire, onto the dusty linoleum lining the floor around the eastern doors.

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Fig. 10.1  Plan of St. Bartholomew’s Barn with the locations of numbered points of examination recorded. Letters and dashed lines relate to codes assigned to the respective aisles

4. Flame spread and then began to involve the lower portions of the thatched roof. Initially on involving the roof, the fire moved laterally, causing early thatch collapse in other aisles along the southern wall of the barn, as in Aisle D. Lateral flame spread was ultimately sufficiently powerful to ignite the sill beam close to the south-eastern corner of Aisle H.  Following an initial early phase of flaming combustion, a secondary smoulder combustion results in half of the sill beam being completely burnt, while the rest remains in situ over the brick wall.

Case Study 2: Canal Boat In 2012, a canal boat was reported to have suffered a serious fire while at its mooring. It was discovered the morning following the fire by the resident of a nearby boat, by which time the fire had extinguished itself. It was believed a male and a dog had been present on the boat that night. On initial examination, fragmentary skeletal remains were evident towards the stem of the boat, but the fire had burnt the metal-­hulled boat so extensively that the floor in this area had combusted totally, leaving only the underlying support of the metal grid work beneath. The consequent result of this was the collapse of burnt and fragmented human bone through the floor, into the debris below. The complexity of this scene was such that the investigating police force opted to utilize a forensic archaeologist to record the remains in situ to try to determine the original position of the body as it lay on the floor, working alongside fire investigators who were determining the origin and development of the fire. As a consequence

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of this approach, it was possible to reconstruct an extended supine position that the body had adopted prior to the floor collapsing, based on the preservation of the original position held by some of the bones still balanced on the metal grid. It was also possible to provide a near total (c. 95%) recovery of the fragmentary remains for further analysis at the mortuary by a forensic anthropologist. Ultimately, a combined approach of forensic fire investigation, archaeology, and anthropology succeeded in optimizing the collection of evidence from the scene and reconstructing the events surrounding the fire.

 onclusion: Archaeological Methods and Interpretation C at the Forensic Fire Scene The excavation of a forensic fire scene, however conducted, is a time-consuming and complicated process, which is crucial to any subsequent gathering and analysis of retained evidence. In place of the current, ad hoc approach to the excavation of debris, the archaeological techniques discussed here, if sensitively adapted to meet the needs of forensic fire scenes on an individual basis, may serve to improve the recording and understanding of the complex spatial patterning brought about by the sequential deposition of debris. This chapter has attempted to outline a case for the adoption and adaptation of archaeological methodology in the approach to the excavation of fire scenes of forensic interest, in much the same way as standard archaeology has been adapted to meet the needs of clandestine grave examination. In so doing, it has highlighted the importance of recognizing that compartment fires present a range of bewildering formation processes, which are far removed from those generally encountered by archaeologists, whether excavating ‘traditional’ sites or engaged in the core of forensic work: that of body recovery. Just as a fire investigator seeking to improve his or her sensitivity to contextual excavation and recording would be advised to seek out an archaeologist to facilitate such training and awareness, the forensic archaeologist is reminded of the need to develop their abilities to cope with the new context of operation presented by the forensic fire scene.

References Archaeologists.net. (2016). Forensic archaeology special interest group | the institute for archaeologists. N.p. Web. 5 Jan 2016. Cooke, R., & Ide, R. (1985). Principles of fire investigation. Leicester: Institution of Fire Engineers. DeHaan, J. (1997). Kirk’s fire investigation (4th ed.). London: Prentice Hall. Drysdale, D. (1998). An introduction to fire dynamics. Chichester: Wiley. Forensic Anthropology. (2016). Forensic anthropology. Therai.org.uk. N.p. Web. 5 Jan 2016. Gould, R. (2007). Disaster archaeology. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Hall, R., & Brakhage, C. (1997). Introduction to fire origin and cause (2nd ed.). Stillwater, OK: Fire Protection Publications, Oklahoma State University.

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Harrison, K. (2012). The application of forensic fire investigation techniques in the archaeological record. Journal of Archaeological Science, 40(2), 955–959. Harrison, K., & Simmons, T. (2016). Forensic archaeology & anthropology. In P.  White & J. Millington (Eds.), Crime scene to court. London: RSC. Harrison, K., Martin, V., & Webster, B. (2013). Structural fires. In I. Hodder (Ed.), Substantive technologies at Çatalhöyük: Reports from the 2000–2008 seasons (Vol. 9). Los Angeles: Cotsen. Harrison, R., & Schofield, J. (2009). Archaeo-ethnography, auto-archaeology: Introducing archaeologies of the contemporary past. Archaeologies, 5(2), 185–209. Hester, T. R., Shafer, H. J., & Feder, K. L. (1997). Field methods in archaeology. London: Mayfield. Hinckley, P., & Williams, A. (1986). Ignition and growth of fire in a room. BRE information paper 4/86. Watford: Buildings Research Establishment. Hunter, J., & Cox, M. (2005). Forensic archaeology. London: Routledge. Hunter, J., Simpson, B., & Sturdy Colls, C. (2013). Forensic approaches to buried remains. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Ide, R. (1998). Fire investigation. In P. White (Ed.), Crime scene to court. London: RSC. Redsicker, D., & O’Connor, J. (1997). Practical fire and arson investigation. Boca Raton: CRC. Renfrew, C., & Bahn, P. (2008). Archaeology: Theories, methods and practice. London: Thames & Hudson. Schiffer, M. (1987). Formation processes of the archaeological record. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Schmidt, C. W., & Symes, S. (2015). The analysis of burned human remains. Cambridge, MA: Academic Press. Shields, T., & Silcock, G. (1987). Buildings and fire. London: Longman. Thomas, P. H. (1986). Fire research station, 1951–1986: Selected papers. Garston: BRE.

Chapter 11

An Evolving Problem for Forensic Archaeology: The Involvement of Armed Users of Controlled Substances in Archaeological Crime James E. Moriarty, David E. Griffel, and Martin E. McAllister

“ Traditional” Participants in Looting and Vandalism of Archaeological Sites: Opportunistic Looters and Vandals There are many documented incidents of “opportunistic” looting or vandalism of archaeological sites on public lands or private property without the permission of the landowner. These incidents typically involve otherwise responsible members of the public, often juveniles, who happen to be on archaeological sites in the course of various types of legitimate outdoor recreation activities, such as hiking, camping, hunting, fishing, all-terrain vehicle (ATV) riding, or boating. When artifacts or other archaeological materials are present on the surfaces of sites, they tend to be picked up, examined, and, in many instances, collected and removed, usually out of sheer ignorance of their protected status. When the sites have visible and distinctive surface features, such as rock image panels or boulders or the walls of prehistoric or historic structures, these surfaces tend to be targets for scratching or marking initials, names, dates, symbols, or brief comments. Such looting and vandalism activities are purely opportunistic and would not have occurred if the sites had not been encountered during recreation activities. The typical opportunistic looter or vandal would generally not pose a threat to witnesses of their actions.

J. E. Moriarty · D. E. Griffel · M. E. McAllister (*) Northland Research, Inc., Tempe, AZ, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_11

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Hobbyist Vandals Hobbyist vandals are those who habitually place graffiti on publicly accessible and visible surfaces, such as building walls, flat surfaces of other structures, including bridges, underpasses, sidewalks and subway walls, and the flat surfaces of railroad and subway cars. Unlike gang vandals marking territory, the motivation for hobbyist vandals seems simply to be having their graffiti on places accessible by the general public making heavily visited archaeological sites potential targets. Remote, backcountry sites are much less likely to be vandalized because they are difficult to access, and few people visit them. Another category of hobbyist vandals are individuals who seem to take perverse pleasure in damaging or destroying vulnerable erected features on a regular basis, thus distinguishing themselves from opportunistic vandals. They commonly target standing walls in prehistoric or historic structures and historic period cemetery headstones. The headstones are broken or pushed over, sometimes using vehicles or ATVs. Hobbyist vandals typically are young adult males or juveniles operating either singly or in groups. They tend to engage in vandalism activities when there is little chance of being observed and apprehended, either at night or during other periods when no witnesses are likely to be present. They generally are not a threat to witnesses and are likely to leave the area if they know witnesses are present.

Hobbyist Looters Hobbyist looters engage in unauthorized removal of archaeological materials from archaeological contexts to add them to their personal collections. They do not sell or buy archaeological materials. Hobbyist looters often begin their collecting activities as hobbyist artifact hunters working on their own private property or with the landowner’s permission. Artifact hunters become looters when they begin to participate in unauthorized removal of archaeological materials from protected archaeological contexts (see Fig. 11.1). Hobbyist looters usually have regular jobs and pursue their looting activities during weekends, holiday periods, and other time off from work. Hobbyist looters are probably the most serious threat to the protected archaeological record given the large number of participants involved in this activity. However, they are generally not a threat to those who witness their activities because of their standing as otherwise responsible community members who probably do not commit other crime. Some may carry firearms for self-protection, but it is unlikely they would use these weapons to intimidate or harm others.

“Old School” Commercial Looters “Old school” commercial looters engage in looting of archaeological materials to sell these items as either their sole source of income or to enhance their income from other sources (see Fig. 11.2). They also are often involved in other resource crimes, such as poaching, timber theft, and protected species trafficking. The experience of

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Fig. 11.1  Unauthorized excavation at archaeological site on public land

Fig. 11.2  Unauthorized excavation of archaeological site on public land by old school commercial looter

the authors with “old school” commercial looters indicates the great majority of them will be armed when involved in looting activities. These firearms include handguns, rifles and shotguns, and, in some cases, fully automatic firearms. When confronted by law enforcement officers, they have various explanations for possession of these firearms, such as hunting, protection from animals, and even self-defense against threats posed by other looters. Fortunately, unlike other ­countries where looters routinely kill witnesses to their activities, there are no ­documented incidents of looting related homicides in the United States, though

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there have been threats and near misses. Maintaining officer safety and survival strategies during contacts with these looters has always been the top priority for law enforcement officers, and their likely possession of firearms has been stressed in training for archaeologists and other government employees as well as in public education programs. These looters are certainly the most dangerous of the traditional participants in the looting and vandalism of archaeological sites. Some “old school” commercial looters may consume alcohol while involved in looting activities, but usually only in limited quantities, and typically are not drug users.

Use of Controlled Substances by Looters and Vandals Probably reflecting larger-scale social trends, the use of controlled substances by looters and vandals began to occur in the 1970s. Initially, the most likely controlled substance of choice was marijuana. Younger suspects apprehended in archaeological violations often possessed personal use quantities of marijuana, a characteristic distinguishing them from the “old school” looters who consumed alcohol. Marijuana possession and use by looters and vandals has continued and increased since the 1970s, and it is now a common occurrence in archaeological violation cases. Marijuana also sometimes becomes a larger factor in looting cases. This occurs when violators are engaged simultaneously in the illegal cultivation of marijuana and looting. More recently, looters and vandals have begun to use other controlled substances (see Fig. 11.3). In the 1980s and 1990s, there were documented cases of looters trading collections of artifacts for cocaine, sometimes in fairly large quantities. This suggests, of course, at least some use of cocaine by the looters, although others may have been selling it to cocaine users to make a profit on the drug transactions. There also were reports of looters using other controlled substances, such as heroin.

Fig. 11.3  Controlled substance and archaeological evidence found in service of search warrant

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Fig. 11.4  Large quantity of crystal methamphetamine found in service of search warrant on house also containing archaeological evidence

During the past 10–15 years, methamphetamine use by looters and vandals has become very prevalent (see Fig. 11.4), again following the large-scale social trend of rapidly increasing methamphetamine use and addiction. As its name indicates, “meth” is a form of amphetamine. The University of Arizona MethOIDE (Methamphetamine and Other Illicit Drug Education) website (2014) provides a synopsis of amphetamine and methamphetamine history. Amphetamine was first synthesized in 1887 by a Romanian chemist named Lazar Edeleanu. In the 1920s it was resynthesized by Gordon A. Alles and put into clinical use for the treatment of asthma, hay fever, and colds. In 1932, Smith, Kline, and French Laboratories marketed the first amphetamine product, an amphetamine-­based inhaler (trade name, Benzedrine) to treat nasal congestion. During the remaining 1930s, amphetamines were promoted as treatments for a range of conditions such as rhinitis and asthma by US pharmaceutical companies and hence were put to wider use. Methamphetamine (MA) was first synthesized from the precursor chemical ephedrine in Japan in 1893 by Nagayoshi Nagai. MA was not widely used until World War II. During the 1940s German, English, American, and Japanese governments began giving their military personnel the drug to ward off fatigue and to enhance endurance and alertness. In addition to military usage, Japanese factory workers were known to use MA to work longer hours. After World War II, former Japanese military warehouses had an abundance of the drug in storage. Japanese pharmaceutical companies utilized the surplus to produce large quantities of over-­ the-­counter methamphetamine pills for domestic consumption. It was in Japan that the first MA epidemic occurred. In the United States, amphetamines were better controlled through prescription requirements. Nevertheless, by the 1950s, amphetamine use was on the rise. College students, truck drivers, athletes, housewives, and individuals performing monotonous jobs were all known to use (and abuse) amphetamines. As a result, in 1959 the US Federal Drug Administration banned amphetamine-based inhalers. Despite the

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ban, amphetamines were still being promoted as therapeutic agents for health problems such as hyperactivity, obesity, narcolepsy, and depression. In the 1960s, intravenously injecting amphetamines, including MA gained popularity, especially among individuals already using illicit drugs. Most of the amphetamines available at that time were diverted from pharmaceutical companies. The Controlled Substance Act of 1970 largely ended that diversion. All forms of amphetamines were classified as DEA Schedule II drugs in 1971. Schedule II drugs are drugs that have an accepted medical use but a high potential for abuse and may lead to psychological or physical dependence. Schedule II drugs are only available by a prescription. Educational and treatment programs were also implemented to help address the public health issues related to amphetamine abuse. Despite these efforts, the use of MA made a comeback in the 1980s. Clandestine labs were able to synthesize MA through the use of over-the-counter precursor chemicals. To help counter this resurgence, the federal government regulated the precursor chemicals—ephedrine and pseudoephedrine—commonly used in cough syrups. These efforts did reduce MA production; however, it also opened the door to foreign MA producers who flooded the US markets. Foreign producers now supply much of the MA in the United States, and attempts to bring that production under control have been problematic (2014). The amphetamines.com website elaborates on the use of methamphetamines by Adolf Hitler and the German military during World War II: From 1942, the Nazi leader Adolf Hitler received daily injections of methamphetamine from his personal physician, Dr Theodor Morell … In Hitler’s Wehrmacht, methamphetamine tablets branded as Pervitin were liberally distributed to German fighting troops throughout the War. Amphetamines are “power drugs” that reduce fatigue, heighten aggression, and diminish human warmth and empathy. (2014)

Meth is referred to as “tweak” in both criminal and law enforcement circles because it tweaks the energy, strength, and paranoia levels of users. These users, often called “tweakers,” are well suited to participate in the commercial looting of archaeological resources for several reasons, including: • The drug-induced ability to work for extended periods of time, in some cases up to 72 h, without resting or sleeping • The desire to engage in repetitive behavior making digging at archaeological sites a good way for them to burn off drug-induced energy • Controlled substance-induced paranoia conducive to working alone or in small groups in remote locations where there are few people Other factors aggravating this situation are: • The abundance and easy accessibility of archaeological resources using appropriate types of transportation • The locations of many of these resources in remote rural locations with little or no law enforcement presence where paranoid meth looters are happiest to work • The possibility of engaging in looting day or night • The ease of transporting and concealing archaeological resources • The high demand for archaeological resources and the ease of selling them

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Law enforcement officials coined the term “twiggers” for looters or “diggers” under the influence of meth or tweak because its use has become so common by these violators. The term effectively captures the combination of meth use and looting. Lower-level traffickers in archaeological materials have become increasingly aware of this trend, and some are more than willing to exploit it by buying what is procured by meth looters. They may pay the meth looters in cash to use to buy more meth, or, if they have or can obtain access to supplies of the drug, they may “pay” directly with meth, an increasingly common occurrence. As a result, a mutually beneficial and symbiotic criminal relationship has developed between these buyers and the meth looters. The lower-level traffickers sell the archaeological materials obtained from meth looters to collectors or to higher-level dealers who sell them to more wealthy collectors. The consequence of the meth looter relationship with dealers is a vicious cycle of increased destruction of archaeological sites at an ever-­ increasing rate as looters’ use of meth and demand for archaeological materials continue to escalate. Another dangerous trend results from the proclivity of looters and vandals to be involved in more than one type of substance abuse. There have been a number of cases in which they were apprehended using controlled substances, in some cases more than one type, such as marijuana and meth, as well as drinking alcohol. This “cocktail” of controlled substances and alcohol results in a greater level of impairment and considerably heightens the danger to law enforcement officers and other witnesses to their criminal activity.

Controlled Substance Use by Armed Looters and Vandals Like “old school” commercial looters, looters and vandals who use controlled substances are likely to possess firearms (see Figs. 11.5, 11.6, and 11.7). As noted earlier, these firearms can include handguns, rifles and shotguns, and, in some cases, fully automatic firearms. Although they also will cite a variety of reasons for the possession of these weapons, the primary motivating factor is paranoia resulting from drug use and their involvement in more than one type of criminal activity. This combination creates a dangerous situation for anyone who encounters these looters and vandals at an archaeological site, especially because many violators already have extensive criminal histories. The danger is increased if the archaeological site is in a remote location. Several groups are at risk: 1. Law enforcement officers (a) During field contacts with individuals suspected of being involved in archaeological violations or other types of crimes (b) During crime scene investigation at archaeological sites or the locations of other types of crime 2. Government archaeologists (a) While assisting in crime scene investigation at archaeological sites

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Fig. 11.5  Handgun (revolver) and archaeological evidence found in service of search warrant

Fig. 11.6  Handgun (semiautomatic) found in service of search warrant on house also containing archaeological evidence

(b) While conducting their regular cultural resource management field duties, such as archaeological surveys 3 . Other government employees while conducting their regular field duties 4. Employees of private firms, such as timber, mining, and contract archaeology companies, engaged in field business operations 5. Members of the public during outdoor recreation activities The potential for harm from armed looters and vandals using controlled substances to those who encounter them has to be considered significant for a number of reasons. The most prominent are:

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Fig. 11.7  Military style rifle (semiautomatic) found in service of search warrant on house also containing archaeological evidence

• Their involvement in the illegal activity of looting or vandalizing protected archaeological resources • Their involvement in the illegal activities of possession and use of controlled substances • Their potential consumption of alcohol along with the use of controlled substances • Their possession of firearms, an illegal act if they are convicted felons • Their criminal histories, including felony convictions for offenses such as assault and resisting arrest • Their awareness of the illegality of looting and vandalism and controlled substance use and the potential for imprisonment, fines, and forfeitures if they are apprehended • Their drug-induced paranoia Although there are no known fatalities directly related to encounters with armed looters and vandals, law enforcement officers are regularly shot and killed in the line of duty. According to The National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund Research Bulletin (2013) on “Law Enforcement Officer Deaths:” Firearms-related fatalities were the second leading cause of death among our nation’s law enforcement officers in 2013. Firearms accounted for 31 deaths … (2014:1). Investigative activities were the leading circumstance of officer fatalities in firearms-related deaths. Of the 31 firearms-related fatalities in 2013, seven officers were shot and killed while conducting investigative activities, more than any circumstance of fatal shooting in 2013. (2014:2)

Statistics on the number of firearms-related law enforcement officer deaths involving users of methamphetamine or other controlled substances are not readily available, but it can be assumed this is a factor in many of these deaths. A graphic

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indicator of this situation was provided by the recent murder of two Las Vegas police officers and another individual by a married couple who were anti-­government militants. According to a June 8, 2014 article in the Las Vegas Review-Journal, the murderers were reported to be methamphetamine users.

 olutions to Prevent Harm from Armed, Controlled Substance S Using Looters and Vandals Education is the only tool available to protect at-risk groups from harm by armed, drug-using looters and vandals. The available strategies for this educational process are training for law enforcement officers and other government employees, training for employees of private firms and media-based education for the general public. However, both strategies have limitations to their effectiveness.

 raining for Law Enforcement Officers, Archaeologists, T and Other Government Employees and for Employees of Private Firms The authors’ have regularly presented 3-day or 4-day training entitled “Archaeological Violation Investigation” on the detection, investigation, and prosecution of archaeological violations. Participants include natural resource management law enforcement officers, archaeologists, and other government employees, such as project monitors. This class provides information on the potential dangers posed by armed, controlled substance using looters and vandals and emphasizes the need for safety in encounters with these individuals during the detection and investigation of archaeological violations. Law enforcement officers attending the class are advised to adhere to their standard “officer safety and survival” protocols in these situations. Other non-law enforcement class participants are instructed to avoid contacts with all suspects at the locations of archaeological violations and to immediately report violations to law enforcement officers. Since 2000, the Archaeological Violation Investigation class has been presented 48 times to 1454 participants. This may appear to be a significant number of participants, but compared to the number of employees in these positions in all natural resource management agencies, it must be seen as a relatively small percentage of the total. Also, a significant number of the class participants over the last 14 years are no longer in their positions due to a variety of factors, such as retirement or leaving government service to work in the private sector. Therefore, there are undoubtedly many law enforcement officers, archaeologists, and other field-going employees who need education on the presence of armed, drug-using looters and vandals on public and tribal lands. In addition to continuing participation by their employees in the existing formal training process,

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agencies charged with managing archaeological and other cultural resources should conduct less formal “in-house” training for all field-going employees to make them aware of the potential for harm from this type of archaeological violator. Private firms conducting field business operations on public or tribal lands also need to provide similar in-house training for their employees on this situation and the danger it poses to them.

Education for the Public Because a large segment of the general public participates in outdoor recreation activities on public and tribal lands, often in remote locations, they definitely need to be made aware of the existence of armed looters and vandals under the influence of controlled substances who they may encounter removing or defacing archaeological resources. However, based on the findings of a paper by Mary Beth D. Trubitt entitled “Tweakers ‘N Diggers: Media Coverage of Looting and the Drug Connection,” presented at the 2012 annual meeting of the Society for American Archaeology (Trubitt 2012) and internet and media research conducted by the authors, there has been only a very small amount of mainstream media attention to this problem. As Trubitt notes in her paper, there tends to be some coverage in local and regional newspapers when archaeological violators of this type are apprehended, but, as she (2012:6) and the authors found, an article entitled “Survey: Addicts looters of U.S. archaeological sites” by Dan Vergano published in USA Today in 2011 is the only instance of national-level media coverage of this problem. This article is based on a study by Blythe Bowman Proulx entitled “Drugs, Arms, and Arrowheads: Theft from Archaeological Sites and the Danger of Fieldwork” published in the Journal of Contemporary Criminal Justice earlier that year. Also, a brief article entitled “Drugs, Guns and Dirt” by Samir S.  Patel was published in Archaeology magazine in 2009 and the existence of armed, drug-using looters was addressed in an article entitled “Stealing History: The Who, What, Where and How of Working Archaeological Theft Cases” by Kelly Foreman in the Fall 2012 issue of the Kentucky Law Enforcement magazine. The USA Today article, the Proulx publication and the Patel and Foreman articles appear to be the entire extent of national-­ level attention to this problem and only the USA Today article was readily available to members of the general public who would be unlikely to read the Journal of Contemporary Criminal Justice, Archaeology magazine or the Kentucky Law Enforcement magazine. Clearly, both traditional and the new digital mainstream media should be encouraged to engage in more coverage of the danger posed to the public by armed looters and vandals under the influence of controlled substances. Providing this information to the media should be a priority for natural resource management agency officials, including managers at all levels, public affairs specialists, visitor contact personnel, law enforcement officers, and archaeologists. Failure to obtain the necessary level of media coverage may have serious consequences for the public (Foreman 2012; Patel 2009; Proulx 2011; Review-Journal Staff 2014; Vergano 2011).

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Conclusions Opportunistic and hobbyist looters and vandals of archaeological resources are unlikely to be threats to those who encounter them. They usually do not possess firearms and would prefer to avoid contacts with potential witnesses to their actions. “Old school” commercial looters are more likely to possess firearms and can pose a threat if encountered. Fortunately, although they sometimes consume alcohol, they are not drug users, and this reduces their potential for harm. As has been shown, an evolving trend is for looters and vandals to be armed and under the influence of controlled substances. Drugs used most commonly are methamphetamine and marijuana, but they also may use other controlled substances, often together with alcohol. The possession of firearms coupled with the substance abuse by these individuals while illegally removing or defacing archaeological resources on public, tribal, or private land creates a dangerous situation for law enforcement officers as well as for archaeologists, other field-going government employees, employees of private firms, and members of the public engaging in outdoor recreation. All of these at-risk groups need to become more aware of this situation. Education through training for law enforcement officers, other government employees, and employees of private firms and mainstream media coverage for the general public are the solutions, but, as has been pointed out, these efforts to date have been less than completely effective. Only improved and expanded training and media coverage will reduce the serious threat posed by armed, drug-using looters and vandals.

References Amphetamines.com (2014). Adolf Hitler and methamphetamine. Electronic document. http:// amphetamines.com/adolf-hitler.html. Accessed Aug 2014. Foreman, K. (2012). Stealing history: The who, what, where and how of working archaeological theft cases. Kentucky Law Enforcement, 11(3), 52–55. National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund. (2013). Law enforcement officer deaths. National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund Research Bulletin, 2013, 1–4. Patel, S. S. (2009). Guns, drugs and dirt. Archaeology, 62(2), 45–47. Proulx, B. B. (2011). Drugs, arms, and arrowheads: Theft from archaeological sites and the danger of fieldwork. Journal of Contemporary Criminal Justice, 27(4), 500–522. Review-Journal Staff. (2014). Shooters in Metro ambush that left five dead spoke of white supremacy and a desire to kill police. Las Vegas Review Journal, 8 June 2014. Trubitt, M. B.. (2012). “Tweakers ‘N Diggers”: Media coverage of looting and the drug connection. Paper presented at the 74th Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology, Memphis. University of Arizona MethOIDE. (2014). Methamphetamine overview: Origin and history. Electronic document, http://methoide.fcm.arizona.edu/infocenter/index.cfm?stid=164. Accessed Aug 2014. Vergano, D. (2011). Survey: Addicts looters of U.S. archaeological sites. USA Today, 24 Nov 2011.

Part III

Multi-disciplinary Techniques & Methods

Chapter 12

The Role of Palynology in Forensic Archaeology Vaughn M. Bryant and Mary K. Bryant

Introduction A primary objective of an archaeological investigation is to reconstruct and explain as fully as possible the events that occurred at some location in the past. For an archaeologist working at a forensic site the normal events and procedures of typical archaeological excavations are quite different (Hunter and Cox 2005). At crime scenes, or even suspected crime scenes, the archaeologist is generally working with a team of investigators and crime scene personnel (Connor 2007). As such, the archaeologist is not typically in charge of the work and usually is not given permission to begin work until the crime scene investigation team has arrived. The crime scene group will determine the sequence of their protocols for securing the site, mapping it, photographing it, and often searching for surface clues such as fibers, footprints, blood residue, and other items that may be directly associated with the crime scene. Once the crime scene is secured, then the archaeologist can become involved in the excavation process and can suggest the best ways to ensure an accurate record is being recorded and that the position of recovered items during the excavation can later be precisely attributed to their original location. Not all crime scenes will generally involve some degree of excavation to recover buried evidence, and thus most crime scenes do not request or require someone with skills in forensic archaeology. Nevertheless, the information collected from almost every crime scene can be enhanced by additional trace evidence that could be provided by a forensic palynologist. Those individuals are trained to recover pollen and spore evidence at sites that could help provide important clues for solving a case (Sandiford 2012; Piombino-Mascali et al. 2013). Perhaps the biggest problem, however, is that many law enforcement agencies and even forensic labs are unaware of V. M. Bryant (*) · M. K. Bryant Palynology Laboratory, Department of Anthropology, Texas A&M University, College Station, TX, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_12

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the potentials that could be offered by conducting careful studies of pollen and spore evidence. The second biggest problem is that even when law enforcement agencies do recognize the importance of including pollen and spore evidence, those personnel are usually unfamiliar with the proper protocols needed to ensure that the pollen and spore evidence is collected properly and collected from uncontaminated locations (Walker 2005). The final problem is that all collected forensic pollen samples must be safely stored and analyzed by a skilled palynologist who can ensure, through a chain of custody document, that all samples have been protected and not subject to alteration between the time of collection and the presentation of final results after all analyses are complete (Laurence and Bryant 2013).

Historical Beginnings In most books devoted to the study of pollen analysis, such as the one by Erdtman (1969) and Moore and Webb (1978), and the later textbooks published on palynology by Faegri et al. (1989), the authors gloss over or almost totally ignore the subject of forensic palynology. Each of those major textbooks devotes only one paragraph or one page to the topic. Faegri’s text uses only two sentences to discuss its one and only example of forensic palynology—a case in which an expensive item had been stolen and its space had been replaced with straw. By conducting a forensic pollen study of the straw, the experts were able to determine where the straw was grown and pinpoint the locale where the theft and substitution had taken place. The one textbook exception is the more recent book on pollen studies (Agashe and Caulton 2009) that does devote nine pages to brief summaries of published cases involving forensic palynology. It is uncertain exactly when the first attempt to use pollen in a forensic application might have occurred. The current information suggests that any attempt made prior to the late 1950s, either failed, or was never reported. One of the earliest successful cases occurred in Austria in 1959 (Erdtman 1969). It gained little notice outside of Austria, but it was a dramatic example of how pollen could be used as significant trace evidence in criminal cases. In that case, the solving of a murder and the conviction of the criminal were based primarily on the evidence recovered from a pollen sample associated with the crime. The details of the case are worth noting. A man on a journey down the Danube River on a tour boat disappeared near Vienna, but his body could not be found, and it was presumed he had fallen overboard. Another man, with a motive for killing him, was also a passenger on the boat and was arrested and charged with suspicion of murder. Without a confession or a body, however, the prosecutor’s case seemed hopeless. As the investigation proceeded, mud found on a pair of the defendant’s shoes collected from his suitcase was given to palynologist Wilhelm Klaus of The University of Vienna for analysis. Klaus determined that the mud contained spruce, willow, and alder pollen as well as a fossil hickory pollen grain 20 million years old, which had eroded from an exposed

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Miocene-age deposit. Only one small area 20 km north of Vienna along the Danube Valley had soils that contained this precise mixture of pollen. When confronted with the identity of this location, the shocked defendant confessed his crime and showed authorities where he had buried the body, which indeed was in the region pinpointed by Klaus (Erdtman 1969; Newman 1984). For several decades, after the Austrian murder case demonstrated the value of forensic pollen studies, there were very few other reported attempts to use pollen evidence again in a forensic application. The only exception was the report of an attempt to solve a murder case in Sweden. Pollen recovered from the clothing of the victim did not match the pollen spectrum collected from samples where the body was recovered. These different data suggested that the victim was murdered in one location, and then the body was taken to a different location where it was then discovered (Erdtman 1969). Although not exactly a forensic application, during the 1960s there was great speculation about the authenticity of the holy relic called the Shroud of Turin (McCrone 1999). In an attempt to resolve that question, during the 1970s, Max Frei used pollen as trace evidence to prove the original origin of the Shroud. In that study, Frei used cellophane tape pressed against locations on the Shroud to collect pollen trapped in the weave of the cloth (Frei 1982). His initial pollen results suggested the Shroud was authentic but a later examination called that into question (Bryant 2000). The next apparent application of forensic pollen appears to have been in New Zealand during the early 1980s. In that case, pollen evidence supported a case involving the illegal poaching and selling of velvet from deer antlers (Mildenhall 1989). By the early 1990s, in the United Kingdom, Wiltshire (1993) first brought attention to the use of pollen in helping to solve criminal cases. Because of her initial work, the United Kingdom now leads the world in the routine application and use of forensic palynology at crime scenes as well as in cases where forensic archaeology is conducted. In the United States, there was little interest in forensic palynology until after the events of September 11, 2001, when terrorists using commercial airplanes (Bryant and Jones 2006) destroyed the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. In an effort to determine who had been responsible for the destruction of the World Trade Center, and where the terrorists may have lived, a number of investigations began by agencies of the US government searching for forensic trace evidence that might help identify the terrorists and prevent similar events in the future. Although prior to September 11, 2001, none of those federal agencies had ever used pollen or spores as forensic tools, that terrorist event triggered the interest of federal agencies that were willing to try to use palynology in their investigations. In the years since September 11, 2001, US federal and state law enforcement agencies have relied on palynology to resolve a number of issues including the origin and distribution of illegal drugs, the origin of seized contraband goods, the importation and trans-shipment of illegal goods, and the geolocation of murder victims  (Stanley 1992). In addition, forensic pollen studies have been successful in identifying the origin of illegal artifacts and other items seized or captured at border

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crossings, the potential link between individual criminals and specific geographical locations, and the identity of murdered individuals for which there was no accompanying evidence indicating the person’s geographical origin (Shapiro 2015). The use of pollen and spore evidence has also played an important role in determining the manufactured origin of weapons and explosive devices and the manufacturing and distribution of fake pharmaceuticals (Newton et al. 2008; Nyadong et al. 2009). It can also help identify the original location of various vehicles, airplanes, or boats seized during criminal investigations, especially as related to illicit drug manufacture and use. Forensic pollen studies have also helped determine the geolocation associated with the use of cell phones and laptop computers and a wide variety of similar applications involving military, criminal, and civil cases (Mathewes 2006; Mildenhall 2009). Recently, the US Department of Homeland Security became the first US federal agency to recognize the importance of forensic pollen. DHS now has two forensic palynology specialists working within their network, which includes cases involving the US Customs and Border Protection.

 ollection and Extraction of Palynomorphs from Forensic C Samples When using forensic palynology, the collection and extraction of pollen and spore assemblages from samples are critical aspects. Improper collection of samples and/ or the accidental contamination of forensic samples will produce inaccurate results. Not only can this lead to misinformation, but improper collection and handling of forensic samples can be grounds for dismissing resulting data as being invalid evidence (Wiltshire 2006a). Ideally, a competent palynologist who is knowledgeable in forensics techniques should collect forensic pollen samples (Eyring 1996). Such individuals will know how to collect contamination-free samples. They will also know what precautions must be taken to ensure that samples remain contamination-free and that the proper chain of custody can be assured throughout the storage, laboratory extraction phase, and final analysis process. For these reasons, it is critical that a forensic palynologist should be the “first” person to visit a crime scene and collect appropriate contamination-­free samples for pollen and spore studies. All too often, the integrity of a crime scene is compromised by law enforcement personnel and teams of forensic specialists who walk on, collect materials from, and unintentionally contaminate the crime scene with pollen deposited from their own footwear, clothing, and even their body. Forensic archaeologists should take extra precautions since they routinely come into contact with soils and could carry pollen from other sites into the crime scene. For the forensic palynologist, who arrives at a crime scene after law enforcement and forensic investigators have tramped over the site, and perhaps removed some items, the potential for recovering “true” and uncontaminated samples becomes questionable. As such, collected pollen evidence becomes i­ nadmissible,

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should questions be raised during a trial concerning potential contamination (Wiltshire et al. 2015a). In such cases, regardless of how convincing the forensic pollen evidence might be in linking a suspect or item to a crime scene, or suggesting the innocence of a suspect, the evidence cannot be used. These reasons are why most forensic palynologists plead with law enforcement agencies to secure crime scenes as quickly as possible and not let anyone enter the area until the palynologist can arrive and collect pristine samples that will stand the rigors of cross-­examination and questions of possible contamination (Wiltshire 2016). It is also important to keep accurate records of how each sample is collected and what has happened to each sample from the time of collection until the final analysis by a forensic palynologist. Security should be an essential concern. To ensure the court admissibility of forensic pollen evidence, it will be critical that the palynologist working with crime scene samples be able to state under oath that the materials, the subsequent pollen samples, and the results collected from those materials were all stored in a locked and secure location. If any hint of contamination, either natural or unintentional, can be proven or implied, then doubt can be cast upon the samples and the resulting interpretations (Milne et al. 2005). Sometimes, a major problem concerning the collection and extraction of forensic pollen samples is the amount of material that is available for collection and analysis. In most cases, except for control samples (i.e., comparable samples) collected to provide a baseline of the pollen spectrum at the crime scene, very little dirt, mud, dust, or other debris is usually available for collection and pollen analysis. Therefore, most forensic palynologists face several immediate problems (Bryant et al. 1996). First, he/she will generally not have enough material in a sample to attempt a series of different extraction techniques to determine which one might work best. Second, there will often not be enough material to conduct a second test if something goes wrong during the extraction process (i.e., a centrifuge tube breaks, a beaker spills, the sample is accidentally contaminated, or during analysis a microscope slide is dropped and broken).

Sample Collection When determining what kind of materials one should select for forensic pollen studies, three aspects should be considered: (1) what type of materials can and should be collected, (2) how many samples should be collected and by whom, and (3) how should samples be treated once they are collected (Mildenhall et al. 2006a). The most important consideration, which should always be foremost in the mind of the person collecting forensic samples, is to make sure that all collecting tools and all collection containers are free of pollen contamination (Bruce and Dettmann 1996). Once sampling is complete, samples should be sealed in a container or evidence envelope, and the containers should not be opened again until processing under sterile conditions in a laboratory. If improper sampling procedures are used, or if contaminated tools are used during collections, or if samples are not properly

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recorded and placed in sealed, sterile containers, then the value of collected samples will be compromised and will be inadmissible as evidence in court. A detailed photographic record of the vegetation at and around the crime scene and of each sampling location should be taken either by the palynologist or by a forensic photographer at the crime scene who can take the pictures requested by the palynologist (Wiltshire 2016). The palynologist should also identify the plant taxa at the crime scene and when in doubt take samples of each plant and keep them in a botanical plant press for later identification (Bock and Norris 1997; Sandiford 2012).

The Process of Palynology At a crime scene, the first thing that the forensic palynologist should do is to sketch a drawing showing the location of key elements such as disturbed areas of vegetation, location of the victim, other debris that might be within the crime scene location, and the possible entrance and exit points to and from crime scene. Accompanying photographs are always a wise consideration, but one should also make a sketch of the crime scene. Making sketches will often reveal things that may not be obvious in later pictures (Horrocks and Walsh 1999). Next, the forensic palynologist should put on a clean set of sterile, forensic clothing including shoe and head coverings as well as sterile gloves that must be changed between the collections of each sample. Depending on the crime scene, samples of dirt could be collected from the clothing, skin, shoes, or other items associated with the victim using a moist baby wipe or sticky tape (Wu et al. 2006). If needed, dirt or debris can be loosened with a sterile probe and then collected using a forensic vacuum. Each sample can then be sealed and labeled to prevent misidentification and contamination. Often multiple vacuum samples should be taken of a victim’s clothing in different locations because clothing on the lower and upper part of a body could reflect pollen dispersed by vegetation at different heights before, or during the time, the victim was killed (James King personal communication). Samples from each shoulder area from both the front and back of shirts, on each leg of pants, from each sock if present, and from the lint in pockets all of which are potential types of samples one should consider collecting (Horrocks 2004; Lin 2008). Usually one should collect more samples that might need to be analyzed because once the crime scene is compromised, additional samples might be contaminated and thus of little forensic value as evidence (Bryant 2014). Even sampling each shoe separately can sometimes provide important and separate types of information (Horrocks et  al. 1999; Riding et  al. 2007; Morgan et al. 2009). Sometimes it is not possible to sample the clothing or body areas on a victim while at the crime scene. Instead, sampling may need to be conducted later in the morgue. However, under those circumstances, the chance for pollen contamination is much greater than if samples are collected immediately at a crime scene. Moving a murdered victim, placing it in a body bag, transporting it to the morgue, and then exposing it for examination are all potential places where pollen and spore contamination could occur.

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In cases where a victim has been buried and the crime scene is being excavated by a trained forensic archaeologist, different types of samples need to be considered. For example, surface control samples of the soil surface should be collected not only from the crime scene but also from areas near the crime scene, especially along any road or trails close to the burial site. Other essential samples should come from the dirt in the grave fill at different depths. Analysis of the trapped pollen and spores in burial fill could reveal the origin of the grave fill, whether or not it contains the same pollen spectrum as samples from the victim and if the pollen in the fill matches the pollen from the walls of the burial location (Bryant and Jones 2006). Control or comparable surface dirt samples are an essential part of determining the local pollen rain (total pollen deposited at any one spot) and the types and percentages of pollen accumulation at a crime scene. When collecting control samples, one should consider the following criteria. First, collect a control sample as close to the exact spot where a crime occurred as possible, if that is known. Second, collect additional control samples from areas near the scene of the crime to use for comparisons with pollen on the buried victim (Wiltshire 2009). If the surrounding area within a 1-kilometer radius consists of similar vegetation, then several control samples taken in different areas near the scene of the crime should be sufficient. If the area within a 1-km radius contains different types of vegetation (i.e., open grasslands, agricultural fields, wooded areas, etc.), then one or two control samples should be collected from each of the different vegetation zones (Bryant et al. 1996). The ideal way to collect control samples away from the crime scene is to use the “pinch” method (Adams and Mehringer 1975). This can be done by selecting an area about 50 m2 and walking back and forth collecting pinches of dirt throughout the area. All pinch samples of dirt from one sample location should be combined into a single, sterile, plastic bag and then sealed. The reason for combining all the pinches of dirt from each sample area is to prevent the possibility of overrepresentation of a single pollen type in one location. Tests using the pinch method (Adams and Mehringer 1975) reveal that in most cases more than eight pinches of dirt are needed for each control sample before their combined dirt yields a reliable pollen assemblage of the regional flora. We tend to collect at least 10–20 pinches of dirt per control sampling location to ensure an accurate sample. As with the collection of forensic samples, one should either wear clean, surgical gloves while collecting, or carefully wash one’s hands with detergent prior to, and between, collecting each control sample. Following this procedure will prevent the potential pollen contamination of samples. One method we found that helps prevent contamination is to use a new, sterile, plastic spoon for collecting all of the “pinch” samples at one precise location, then repeating the procedure at other locations with a new, sterile plastic spoon. All control and dirt samples that are collected need to be treated with the same degree of care as ones collected from a victim (Horrocks et al. 1998). All samples should be collected with clean implements, by a palynologist who is properly gowned to prevent contamination, and all samples must be placed in sterile containers and sealed quickly to prevent any atmospheric contamination.

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All sorts of other items might be present at crime scene such as a shovel, other implements, perhaps a vehicle, a blanket or carpet used to wrap up the victim, or discarded items that may or may not be directly related to the crime scene such as cigarette butts, matchboxes, candy wrappers, or tissues. Sampling the dirt from a shovel, for example, might reveal a pollen spectrum from both the gravesite and perhaps from a prior use, which might later be linked to a suspect (Webb et  al. 2018). In addition to items at a crime scene, there is almost no limit to the other types of items that can be sampled in cases involving either criminal or civil crimes. Pollen and spores are produced by the millions and can be deposited on any exposed surface, carried by wind currents into the interior of buildings or vehicles, on the surface of paper documents, in the packing material used for shipping, or remain on fruits and vegetables grown and later eaten by individuals (Stoney et  al. 2011; Wiltshire 2006a; Hugg et al. 2007; Rowell 2009; More et al. 2013; Morgan et al. 2013). From our own studies, we have found there are many places that one could sample in a vehicle that might be linked to a crime scene (Milne 2005; Webb et  al. 2018). A common method is to use collecting wipes (we use special antibacterial, moist “baby wipes”) on seats and from the dashboard and other metal areas, including the outside of windshields. Conducting pollen studies of dirt adhering to the tires, fenders, or other outside areas of a vehicle has often proven helpful. Car air filters, the radiator grills, the upholstery, and carpets are also ideal places to sample for trapped pollen and spores. We recommend the use of sterile plastic bags for wipes and dirt samples and for samples collected by a vacuum. However, one must be careful when using sealed plastic containers whether it is a plastic container or a bag. If a sample of dirt, mud, or other material is moist when collected, it will not dry properly if sealed in a plastic container. Therefore, the solution is to add sufficient alcohol to the sample to kill any microbes that might cause damage to the pollen and spores in the sample. Such precautions are not needed if the samples can be placed in a freezer fairly soon after collection. Neither the alcohol nor freezing a sample will have any adverse effect on the trapped pollen and spores. Plastic, rather than paper containers for samples, is preferred because the plastic containers can be rinsed with alcohol to recover all trapped pollen and spores in the sample. For a partial list of other potential items that could be considered for forensic sampling, one should consult the article by Mildenhall et al. (2006b).

Pollen Production and Dispersion Pollen and spore production is an important consideration in the study of forensic palynology. First, if one knows what the expected production and dispersal patterns of spores and pollen in a given area should be, then one will know what pollen assemblage should occur in items found at a crime scene in that area. If a palynologist examines a sample of material (i.e., mud, soil, clothing, etc.) thought to have

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come from a specific crime scene in a specific geographical region, yet the expected assemblage of pollen and spores is not found, or if other pollen and spore types are present in unusual numbers, then those results suggest something is wrong. In such samples it is the “out of the ordinary” patterns and percentages of pollen types, which provide the forensic palynologist with essential clues (Bryant 2016). When pollen spectra from items or victims do not match control samples at the crime scene, then he/she needs to search for the reasons why the samples are different from the expected pattern. Like any detective, the palynologist must use the knowledge of the discipline to link a specific pollen sample to a precise location or event. Knowledge of pollen dispersal and productivity often plays a major role in helping to solve such problems. For example, there are a number of different methods used by plants to disperse pollen or spores. Many flowering angiosperms that live completely submerged in water release their pollen underwater and rely upon water currents to transport the pollen from the male anther to the female stigma of a neighboring flower. This method of transport, like the wind, is a hit and miss method of pollination. For this reason, these plants tend to have high productivity levels of pollen with each anther producing thousands of pollen grains. However, since these plants produce pollen types that consist only of a single-layered cellulose wall (intine), the pollen is almost never preserved in lake sediments and generally oxidizes rapidly if removed from water. Because of these limitations, these types of pollen are rarely of value for forensic work (Milne et al. 2005). A small group of plants, called “autogamous” because they are self-pollinating, is so efficient that little pollen production is needed. Most plants in this category produce less than 100 pollen grains per anther, such as milkweed (Asclepius). Pollen from these plants is rarely dispersed into the atmosphere even though their pollen preserves well and has durable outer walls, called an exine, made of a stable chemical compound called “sporopollenin” (Shaw 1971). Similar to the pollen produced by submerged plants, the pollen of autogamous plants is generally of little value in forensic work because it exists in minimal numbers in the deposits of most regions (Bryant 1989). The largest group and highest percentage of flowering plants are the “zoogamous” plants, which pollinate by attracting something to transport pollen from the anther of one plant to the stigma of another. There are many types of these pollinators but most are insects (i.e., bee, wasp, beetle, moth, butterfly, ant) and others are animal (i.e., hummingbirds, lizards, nectar-feeding bats, and the honey possum [Tarsipes rostratus]). The pollen from zoogamous plants generally has a thick exine that offers essential protection from humidity changes and possible abrasion during transport (Wodehouse 1935). Because of the efficiency of zoogamous plants, pollen productivity is often low, yet not as low as is found among the autogamous plants. The potential value of zoogamous pollen in forensic work is excellent for two reasons. First, zoogamous pollen grains have the most durable exine and often remain preserved in deposits for long periods because they are less susceptible to destruction. Second, zoogamous pollen is produced in low amounts and is normally only a minor contributor to the pollen rain of an area. This last point is both good and bad.

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It is good because if the pollen of a given species of zoogamous plant is found in a forensic sample, there is a high degree of confidence that the pollen belongs with the sample and is not an atmospheric contaminate. It is bad because each zoogamous plant produces so little pollen that it is rarely found in samples. The last category of pollen is the wind-pollinated (anemophilous plants) group that makes up about 25% of the world’s pollen types. This group includes a wide range of pollen producers such as the gymnosperms and a significant number, but only a minority, of the angiosperms. Included in this group are the spore-producing cryptogram plants such as fungi, ferns, and mosses. Because wind pollination is the most inefficient and most archaic method of dispersion, anemophilous plants must produce vast quantities of pollen or spores that can travel easily in air currents. Some species of wind-pollinated plants, such as marijuana (Cannabis), produce as many as 70,000 pollen grains per male flower. When large fields of these plants grow together, their flowers can produce millions of pollen grains that disperse daily during the flowering season. Thus, there is a high probability that wind-pollinated pollen types will settle on or become mixed with everything in close proximity to their blooming plants. Many of the plants that produce wind-pollinated grains, such as ragweed, grasses, some species of eucalyptus, pine, oaks, chestnut, hazelnuts, pecan, hickory, birch, alder, and elm, produce anthers that each contain between 10,000 and 100,000 pollen grains. Even anemophilous types producing low amounts of pollen (i.e., Plantago) will still produce more than ten times the amount of pollen per plant than almost all species of zoogamous plants. Because of the vast volume of pollen produced by the anemophilous plants, their types are the most common group found in the pollen rain of most regions of the world. As such, these types are the most common ones found in most forensic pollen samples.

Pollen Sinking Speed The “sinking speed” or rate at which a pollen grain falls to earth can determine how much pollen and which types actually become part of the pollen rain or become clues in forensic samples. For example, marijuana, alder, elm, juniper, pine, ragweed, and birch pollen are very small and very light. Their average fall rate is about 2 cm per second (Traverse 2007). On the other hand, maize and fir produce pollen that is large and heavy and have a rate of fall eight times faster than the lighter ones. Using just two examples, one can see that the potential distribution area of maize and fir pollen grains will be much smaller and more restricted to the source area than the dispersion area covered by plants in the first category (Tauber 1965; Jackson and Lyford 1999). From the standpoint of forensic studies, this means that when maize and similar types of large and heavy pollen grains (fir, spruce, Douglas fir, cedar, maize, wheat, etc.) are found in samples, small dispersion areas are indicated, and greater precision in identifying the nearby source region may be possible.

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Pollen Degradation When examining forensic samples, palynologists must consider how much, and which types, of pollen may be missing due to differential preservation and degradation. Studies by Havinga (1964, 1984), Sangster and Dale (1961, 1964), Holloway (1989), Hall (1981), Bryant and Schoenwetter (1987), Bryant and Hall (1993), Campbell and Campbell (1994), and Phuphumirat et al. (2009) have noted that all pollen types do not preserve equally well in sediments. Some pollen types such as grass, goosefoot, composites, oak, pine, and many of the thick-walled insect-­ pollinated taxa are durable and often remain preserved long after other more fragile pollen grains have oxidized or become so degraded that they are no longer recognizable. Often, however, pollen samples used in forensic studies are from modern deposits and thus degradation or differential preservation is not generally a major problem, except in some buried sites.

Pollen Recycling Pollen recycling is yet another problem one must consider when examining forensic samples. Sometimes pollen eroding from earlier deposits will be incorporated into contemporary samples, such as the example of the 20-million-year-old Miocene-­ age pollen grain that became a key factor in the forensic study from Vienna, Austria (Erdtman 1969). In some cases, recycled pollen can provide valuable information about specific locales and can be used to pinpoint regions precisely. In other cases, recycled pollen may be from modern varieties and thus can obscure the accuracy of a study. Depending upon how badly recycled pollen grains have been degraded, they may, or may not, be able to be separated from the original pollen rain, except through the use of fluorescence microscopy (Yeloff and Hunt 2005). If recycled pollen grains cannot be distinguished from the normal pollen rain, the addition of recycled pollen may mask the identity of a target locale. This could occur when the combined pollen assemblage (modern + recycled) suggests a flora quite different from floral reconstructions based on modern pollen control samples collected from the same location. There are several techniques palynologists use to identify recycled pollen in standard samples. In a study of the pollen rain from Arizona, O’Rourke (1990) separated recently released pollen from recycled pollen by staining them with basic fuchsine and then noting which grains contained an intine, and which did not. Those that still had an intine were considered as being part of the most recent pollen rain; those that did not were considered recycled pollen. There is a danger in using this method, however, because the intine, which is the innermost layer and is composed of cellulose, degrades rapidly in most types of environments. Other techniques

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sometimes used to identify recycled or reworked pollen in standard samples are differential staining and/or fluorescence microscopy (Wilson 1964; Horowitz 1975; Hall 1981; Traverse 2007). In a study conducted by Stanley (1966), he noticed that recycled pollen absorbed less Safranin-O stain, which led him to propose this as useful for isolating recycled pollen. However, our experiments confirm that recycled pollen can sometimes absorb less stain and in other cases will absorb more stain in the same samples. According to Rowley and Prijanto (1977), the ability of pollen to absorb stain depends mainly on the amount of protein in the wall; therefore, as degradation occurs, pollen grains will absorb less stain. However, pollen types differ in how quickly they degrade, even in the same environments (Havinga 1964, 1984); therefore, we believe that relying on staining ability to determine the age of a pollen grain is questionable at best. Fluorescence has also been used with some success to recognize which pollen grains are recycled and which are not (Hunt et al. 2007). Pollen and other types of organic materials in different stages of preservation, or in different stages of carbonization, will emit light of varying intensity and wavelengths (Rolfe 1965). These differences can be detected under ultraviolet light during fluorescence studies that make the different pollen grains appear in different color hues. The theory behind using both staining and fluorescence techniques is the belief that recycled/reworked pollen has different depositional histories than the normal pollen assemblage and thus will make the recycled grains appear differently. Finally, Horowitz (1975) in examining sediments from ancient caves in South Africa separated three distinct pollen spectra in a single deposit based on the degree that each pollen grain was corroded, assuming that the most corroded pollen was the oldest and the least corroded pollen was the youngest. We have found that although each of the abovementioned techniques is useful, and each has helped us separate modern from recycled pollen in some forensic samples, in each case we have always proceeded with great caution and with reservations concerning the analytical results. We have found that not all recycled pollen will behave in the ways listed above. In our laboratory experiments, we added “spikes” of modern pollen and spores to pollen samples more than 10,000 years old collected from the Boriack peat bog (Bryant 1977). After processing and counting the pollen in each peat sample, we added modern pollen and spore spikes to other peat samples from the same time periods and same core samples and then processed them. A palynologist, who was not told which taxa were modern pollen then counted prepared pollen slides from each sample. The results of these counts demonstrated that for the peat samples that ranged in age from 2000 to 10,000 years old, only a few of the added or “spiked” pollen taxa could be recognized as different using staining. A similar study by Shellhorn et al. (1964) revealed that when using ultraviolet light both modern and fossil pollen (20,000+ years old) in lake deposits of the Wilcox Playa in Arizona glowed with the same fluorescent color hues.

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Extraction One of the most important parts of a forensic pollen study is the extraction process. The laboratory extraction procedure is a destructive process. In order to concentrate the pollen in forensic samples, it is generally necessary to dissolve or destroy all types of non-pollen detritus. This means in most cases, forensic samples will not be available later for other types of forensic testing. If the same collected sample is to be used for multiple forensic tests, then the other tests should be conducted first, and the pollen test should be performed last. This type of protocol can be effective only if such multiple testing procedures can ensure that no pollen loss or contamination occurred. The pollen extraction process is as important as the collection or analysis phase of a forensic sample; therefore, it is essential to have trained personnel extract pollen from the samples under contamination-free conditions in a laboratory. Extractions of pollen from forensic samples should be conducted by a competent forensic palynologist familiar with the problems of working with small amounts of sampled material. It is also essential that the processor must be familiar with the proper techniques needed for each type of sample since not all samples require the same extraction procedures. The palynologist’s previous forensic experience, professional reputation, and the reputation of the facility used for laboratory extraction are all important factors to consider when evaluating the competency of the individual. In court, these criteria may become an issue and can discredit pollen evidence if work was not completed correctly. A laboratory where forensic pollen samples are processed must be contamination free and must be tested at regular intervals to ensure it remains free of ambient pollen and spore contamination. All glassware and other equipment should be thoroughly cleaned, and only distilled water should be used for each stage of the extraction procedure. Extraction procedures that ensure the maximum recovery of pollen and the minimal chance of pollen loss should be the only ones attempted. In some cases, initial checks of a sample can be conducted using staining and wet mounts to determine if any of the pollen and spores in a forensic sample still has an intine or cytoplasm. As mentioned earlier, those criteria can confirm fresh from fossil pollen. Carefully recorded or written records should be kept for each sample, and precise notations of procedures and wet mount observations for each step of the extraction process should be recorded in a logbook. It is important to remember that each step of an extraction process and each observation may need to be justified, explained, and defended in a court of law. The actual techniques used to extract pollen from forensic samples require skill, patience, and experience. There are many pollen extraction procedures known and utilized by palynologists (Faegri et al. 1989; Brown 2008). Some of these procedures have proven useful in forensic work; others have not. Extraction procedures must be modified and adapted to the type of material examined, with consideration given to the amount of material available in a sample. When there is ample material, normal extraction procedures utilizing standard procedures such as KOH, ­acetolysis,

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Schulze solution, nitric acid, hydrofluoric acid, hydrochloric acid, heavy density separation, bleach, and other techniques work well. However, in most cases very little material is available in a forensic pollen sample for analysis. In those circumstances, the chances of losing pollen while using standard-sized test tubes are often too risky and must be avoided. In such cases, all extraction work can be done in very small, micronized, polypropylene plastic test tubes (2 ml) with 0-ring tops. If more material is available, then use larger 15 ml sterile types with screw-on tops. It is essential that polypropylene plastic tubes, rather than other types (glass, polyethylene, or polystyrene), be used because they resist most acids and organic solvents, are stable at temperatures up to 121 °C, and can withstand centrifuge forces up to 12,000 g. There is a risk of using other types of tubes that can melt, crack, or break during extraction. Forensic samples of clothing can be carefully rinsed in large, glass beakers in a solution of warm water and non-foaming detergent. Using sterile gloves, such items can be gently squeezed and rubbed to loosen trapped pollen and other particles. For some clothing items, a very soft sterile toothbrush might also assist in helping to remove trapped pollen and spores. Once rinsed, the item should be stored in a sterile plastic bag with a small amount of alcohol added to inhibit microbial growth or sealed and then placed in a freezer in case it must be produced in court. The liquid from the washed sample is centrifuged to trap all released pollen and other debris. Other useful techniques for sampling items of clothing and many other types of samples are using tape-pulls where sticky tape is applied to the surface of an item with the hope that it will adhere to pollen and spores trapped on the item’s surface (Wu et al. 2006). We also have had very good success using special, moist baby wipes to sample the surface of clothing and many other types of samples. We found it performed better in many cases than using sticky tape when sampling the same types of surfaces. Once collected, the wipes can be rinsed thoroughly to remove the trapped pollen.

Searching for Precision Using Forensic Pollen Light microscopy (LM) is limited to a precision level of 0.24  μm using an Apochromat objective lens, due to the wavelength of white light (Bryant 2013; Murphy 2001). Some propose forensic samples should be examined with the added resolution and precision afforded by scanning electron microscopy (SEM). Would that make the pollen data more convincing as forensic evidence? In some situations it does, but routinely using SEM is unrealistic in terms of cost and effort. Even using SEM, one cannot assign pollen to a species unless an atlas of “all species” of the genus is available for comparison to prove the pollen sample is truly unique to a single species. The biggest deterrent is that only a tiny fraction of the more than 350,000 pollen types has been thoroughly examined using SEM technology. Unfortunately, the database needed for making precise SEM species determinations of most pollen and spore types does not yet exist (Jones and Bryant 2007).

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Another problem when examining forensic samples, especially from buried settings at forensic archaeological sites, is determining which pollen might be associated with the victim or victims buried vs. which pollen types come from the original sediments or fill used to cover the grave site (Brown 2006). This becomes a significant problem when the victim or victims come from environmental regions that are nearly identical to the burial site. Often, only an extremely experienced forensic palynologist can distinguish the differences in recent pollen from a buried victim vs. recycled or burial fill pollen. To do that, the palynologist must use the degree of abrasion, staining ability, or corrosion of the recovered pollen from a forensic site. However, as we have mentioned earlier, those techniques of identification for types of degraded pollen are often called into question as to their reliability. A better technique to separate recycled or intrusive pollen from the pollen associated with a buried victim is to use UV fluorescence microscopy. When the UV excitation of pollen grains occurs, the result is light emitted in the visible part of the light spectrum. The fluorescence in pollen occurs when the grains are bombarded with UV photons, which cause electrons in the pollen wall to emit energy in the form of photons that are recorded in different colors (Yeloff and Hunt 2005). Generally, pollen and spores of the same age, from the same deposit, and subjected to the same environmental conditions will respond similarly when examined using UV fluorescence. The usefulness of this technique comes from the knowledge that certain natural elements can affect the resulting color spectrum of individual pollen grains in deposits. Pollen subjected to similar types of oxidation or similar microbial attacks in a deposit will generally emit colors toward the red end of the color spectrum, while non-affected pollen from other sources in the same deposits will emit different colors under UV bombardment (Hunt et al. 2007). That type of data can become important in forensic cases where separation of pollen based on similar environmental conditions can be established. When preparing samples for examination using UV fluorescence microscopy, the extraction of the pollen must be conducted very carefully to avoid disruption of the emitted light signatures under UV light. For example, normal extraction procedures used for many forensic samples cannot be used for fluorescence preparation. Heating, acetolysis, nitric acid, hydrofluoric acid, phosphoric acid, and staining can each cause a shift in the normal fluorescence color range emitted for the pollen in a forensic sample (Yeloff and Hunt 2005). Once DNA analysis became routine in many forensic laboratories, some believed that using DNA signatures would finally resolve the problem of precision in forensic pollen identifications (Bell et al. 2016). Successful attempts have been able to recover DNA from a single pollen grain, but it is time-consuming and expensive (Matsuki et al. 2007; Zhou et al. 2007; Aziz & Sauve 2008). Others have proposed that DNA precision in forensic pollen data will present better and convincing evidence than is currently available using light microscopy (Bell et  al. 2016). Unfortunately, the DNA in pollen grains exists only within the cytoplasm inside the walls of a pollen grain. Once that very fragile cytoplasm and the included organelles within the pollen grain degrade or are lost through rapid decay, a pollen grain can no longer reveal its DNA signature.

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We do not presume to infer that we are experts in the rapidly expanding field of DNA identification of pollen, but we feel obligated to point out some of the current successes and liabilities associated with the understanding of where this field is headed. Before DNA studies of forensic pollen samples will become common practice, there are several important limitations that need to be addressed and resolved. To use DNA barcoding of pollen efficiently, one must first develop genetic markers that can be used to distinguish, with accuracy, between individual pollen species within a mixed forensic sample (Bell et  al. 2017a, b). Next, one must determine which type of DNA sequencing method would be the most appropriate to use for a forensic pollen sample. For example, it might include next-generation or high-­ throughput sequencing of a mixed sample to identify individual pollen species. Alternatively, a multi-locus approach might provide better results by using DNA barcoding focused on the use of rbcL, matK, ITS2, and/or TrnH-psbA. According to published results, the identification of pollen to the species level, using only one barcoding marker, is currently approximately 43–69%, while the multi-locus approach to DNA barcoding of plant materials in general has produced resolution rates close to 90% for plants (Bell et al. 2017b). Finally, to be successful in using the DNA of pollen as a forensic tool, one must have available databases containing a wide range of DNA sequences for the various barcoding methods available. Perhaps in the future, the best methods will focus on the use of LM analysis of forensic pollen samples to provide certain details including quantification of pollen taxa, while the DNA analysis of the same samples will identify many of the pollen taxa to the species level (Parducci et al. 2013). Nevertheless, Kraaijeveld et al. (2015) point out that to their knowledge, no other approach to the accurate quantifying of pollen currently exists other than by using the conventional LM counting methods. Another proposed attempt to gain precision in forensic pollen studies focuses on stable isotope analysis. Similar to soils, water, roots, leaves, wood, and other types of materials, individual pollen grains contain recoverable isotopic signatures. In recent decades, scientists have focused on the isotopes recovered from individual fossil pollen grains (Bell et  al. 2017a, b). The resulting data have proved useful and serve as important information about the environmental and climatic variations that existed where a pollen grain was dispersed. Research has also revealed that stable isotopes differ in individual pollen grains from different genera and species, suggesting pollen and spore identification might be possible to the species level. However, like the problem with DNA, this type of study would provide only ubiquity data, not quantitative data for each taxon. Finally, trying to conduct isotope studies suffers from the same problem as DNA and SEM studies: all are costly, all are very time-consuming, and all lack an adequate database (Loader and Hemming 2004). Some scientists have been trying to use Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy (FTIR) to gain species precision in forensic samples. This technique relies on different chemical bonds in pollen grains, which will vibrate at certain known frequencies when exposed to infrared rays (IR). When the surface of a pollen grain is bombarded with an IR beam, the result is a transmittance and reflectance of that IR beam

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at different frequencies, which are then translated into an IR absorption plot. By matching the IR plot of an unknown pollen grain with IR signatures of known taxa, the identity of the unknown type can often be resolved. Another advantage of using FTIR technology is that it does not require a complex sample preparation. When targeting, the IR beam penetrates an average depth of 2–3  μm in the exine. Experiments using FTIR technology for pollen identifications note that individual pollen grains within a single genus and species will produce similar, yet sometimes slightly different, IR absorption plots depending on various factors such as chemical variations in the composition of the pollen wall, and the maturity of the pollen grain (Gottardina et al. 2007). By developing a FTIR database from multigrain spectra for each known pollen and spore species, single pollen or spore types can be recognized. In spite of the apparent advantages, FTIR analysis of pollen suffers from a group of problems. First, the number of IR absorption plots for known pollen taxa in the current FTIR databases is very limited. Second, not enough research has been conducted to determine if pollen grains in various stages of degradation continue to send the same or a different IR absorption signature. Third, there remains the problem of quantification of pollen and spore taxa in a forensic sample (Gottardina et al. 2007). In recent years, Raman spectroscopy has gained a great deal of praise as an effective forensic technique. Raman spectroscopy is a non-contact and nondestructive technique; therefore, forensic pollen samples would not be changed or destroyed during an analysis. Another advantage is that Raman spectroscopy does not require any special preparation procedure, which means pollen identification could be done first without altering other types of forensic analyses of the same item. Finally, because Raman spectroscopy is highly sensitive to slight differences in the molecular and chemical composition of materials, it can potentially distinguish one unique pollen type from all others. Nevertheless, like so many of the other systems, there are drawbacks of trying to use Raman spectroscopy. For example, to conduct forensic pollen studies, one needs a database of spectral maps for many pollen species. Few maps exist, and to construct spectral maps for other pollen species requires an estimated 360–720 h to obtain the type of precision needed to identify each pollen species. Normally, such time and cost expenditures are considered unreasonable because a single forensic sample may contain many pollen and spore types, each of which needs its own spectral map for database comparison. Finally, Raman spectroscopy only provides ubiquity data, not quantitative data needed for matching forensic and control samples (Ivleva et al. 2005).

Case Studies Clothing is an ideal trap for pollen and spores (Wiltshire et  al. 2015b). Clothing made from wool, linen, and cotton are among the best pollen traps, while garments made of leather, nylon, rayon, and other types of materials are less effective as potential pollen traps (Bull et al. 2006; Zavada et al. 2007; Webb et al. 2018). Even

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when clothing is thoroughly washed, it often retains some of the original pollen. A murder case that illustrates this occurred in Brisbane, Australia, where a man killed his estranged wife and then drove her car 50  km to a remote coastal park where he hid her body under some wattle (Acacia) bushes. After returning to town, he parked her car at her home and then thoroughly washed his clothing. Later, when he became a possible suspect, police collected items of his clothing for forensic tests. In spite of the suspect’s attempt to wash and clean his clothing, a few pollen grains from two different species of Acacia remained trapped on his clothing. One species of wattle was quite common in Eastern Australia, but the second species was not native and had been imported to stabilize coastal dunes. The imported species occurred only in the park region but had been planted close to other native Acacia bushes. The trapped pollen from both species of Acacia had already been found in the victim’s car and now both were found on the suspect’s clothing. Eventually, it emerged that the suspect killed his wife and then drove her car to the coastal area where he hid the body under wattle bushes. Unfortunately, for him, he brushed against both species of Acacia growing in the park. Although the pollen evidence did not provide proof of the murder, it did place the suspect and his wife’s car at the crime scene. In spite of his vigorous denial that he had never visited to the coastal park, the pollen evidence placed him at the crime scene and helped convict him of murder (Milne 2005). Another crime and “cold case” in New York was solved by pollen trapped in the victim’s clothing. The unsolved murder case of a young teenage girl, killed in 1979, and then left in an abandoned field near Rochester, New York (USA), became a cold case but was reopened in 2006.1 All clothing labels and items of personal identification were missing. Her fingerprints were not on file because she was too young; she died before DNA studies became routine in forensics. Nearly 30  years after her death, we were asked to examine the collected forensic samples for traces of pollen and spores. Time had not degraded any of the pollen and spore evidence, and wisely, all of her clothing had been sealed in sterile bags and stored for nearly three decades. Our forensic pollen studies conducted in 2006, focused on recovering the pollen spectrum found on her clothing, and included lint from the pockets of her clothing and the inner lining of her jacket. Overall, our data strongly suggested that she visited or had lived in Southern California or Southern Florida because of one of the pollen types.2 Our recovery of pollen from Australian pines (Casuarina) was the major clue. Those imported plants are native to Australia and now grow only in restricted coastal areas including mostly Southern California and Southern Florida. These trees have never grown in New York, and it is highly improbable that even a single pollen grain, much less several percent of the pollen spectrum, could have traveled 1200 or more miles from its sources to the region where the body was discovered. Other pollen found trapped inside the murdered girl’s pockets included species of spruce, oak, and birch that are common in the mountain flora of both the 1  h t t p : / / w w w. t a m p a b a y. c o m / n ew s / p u b l i c s a f e t y / c r i m e / v i c t i m - i n - u n s o l ve d - 1 9 7 9 new-york-homicide-identified-as-brooksville-girl/2215169 2  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murder_of_Tammy_Alexander

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Appalachian and Sierra Nevada Mountains, but those plant types did not grow in the areas near where the body was discovered. Years after our completed study, the victim was identified in 2015, as Tammy Jo Alexander, a 16-year-old girl who ran away in 1979, from her home near Brooksville in Southern Florida.3 This case illustrates that if forensic samples are stored properly, pollen evidence is still useful and can be retrieved and become important clues to an event that occurred even decades earlier. Human and other types of animal hair are ideal pollen traps for pollen from given locales (Wiltshire 2006b). Therefore, when a person or animal travels to another region and their hair is examined fairly soon after their arrival, the analysis of the pollen still trapped in the hair could provide a pollen print (total pollen in one sample) of the previous locations. This concept was applied to a crime scene we were asked to examine in East Texas. The location was in a forested region near a major city, where it was hoped that pollen trapped in hair samples of five women, killed by a serial rapist, might provide clues about where each of the women had lived. Careful excavation techniques revealed that some of the bodies were clothed while others were naked. All were recently buried in shallow graves, several feet deep in the same rural location. Soil from the grave fill was collected as well as additional control samples from areas nearby. The recovered pollen assemblages from the women’ hair samples were compared with the pollen spectra of the control samples and with the pollen from the soils in the graves. Unfortunately, the recovered forensic pollen samples from the women’s hair closely matched the pollen spectra of the control samples and from the grave soils. These results suggested that either pollen or spores in the soils of the gravesite contaminated the hair samples or the women had all lived near the crime scene. No separate origins of the victims could be resolved because the pollen in their hair matched pollen prints from the local flora. As of this writing, the identity and origin of the five women remains unsolved (Bryant and Jones 2006). Determining the time of death of a victim at a crime scene can sometimes be determined by pollen analyses (Montali et al. 2006). One example of using forensic pollen during archaeological excavations comes from a site in Germany. In 1994, during the excavation for a new mall in Magdeburg, Germany, a mass grave containing the remains of 32 young males was discovered and then carefully excavated. An examination of the bodies revealed that they had been shot and executed, but the question was “who did it.” Bits of clothing and other evidence found with the bodies proved inconclusive about who killed them. Some believed they were partisans killed by the Nazi Gestapo in the spring of 1945, before the area was overrun by advancing Soviet troops. Others believed the Soviet Secret Police killed a number of Russian soldiers who refused to kill local German citizens rioting against Soviet rule during the late summer of 1953. Pollen contents rinsed from the nasal cavities of seven skulls revealed high amounts of pollen from plants that pollinate in the late summer, not the spring. Pollen types from the nasal samples did not match fill dirt 3  https://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/girl-found-dead-rochester-1979-identifiedarticle-1.2092784

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at the burial site. This confirmed that just prior to death the victims inhaled late ­summer, not spring pollen types. The pollen study confirmed that the victims probably died in late June or July and were probably Russian soldiers killed by the Soviet Secret Police in the late summer of 1953 (Szibor et al. 1998). A second example of how archaeologically controlled forensic excavations can lead to the detection of war crimes and the prosecution of those who were guilty comes from detailed excavations and forensic pollen studies in Bosnia (Brown 2006). From 1997 to 2002, the United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) conducted a series of exhumations of mass graves created during the Bosnian Civil War, which was an armed conflict between March 1992 and November 1995. During that conflict, there were reports of massacres and subsequent burials of unarmed civilians in the region known as Srebrenica in the Northeastern region of Bosnia. Reports also stated that 3  months after the initial massacres and burials, the fear of retribution for committing war crimes caused the murderers to exhume the graves and rebury the bodies in multiple secondary sites to make it appear as if the bodies were from natural deaths and local burials. Beginning in 1997, the ITCY began excavating 5 major massacre burial sites and 19 secondary burial sites. At each location, the group collected a series of soil samples from the burial fill in areas mixed with the bodies as well as other soil samples away from the bodies but still within the burial areas. Additional samples in the burial sites came from soils between the victims’ clothing and their skin, from cranium samples, and from soil in contact with the bones of some victims. Once the bodies and fill were removed from each site, additional soil samples came from the walls of the burial pits, which reflected the original soil composition of the burial sites. Finally, additional samples were collected from the soil matrix of each body. Control soil samples also came from the surface areas around each burial location and check lists of the vegetation within a radius of 50  m of each burial site was noted. A total of over 240 soil samples were collected of which 65 were subsampled and analyzed for their pollen and spore contents (Brown 2006). Pollen samples were processed using HCl and acetolysis before mounting the remains in silicon oil for analysis. There is no mention of using HF or heavy liquid separation, and no exotic spores (Lycopodium) were added to conduct concentration ratios. The pollen analyses from control samples as well as the pollen data for the fill and original soils of each primary and secondary gravesite confirmed that the bodies had been killed in one location, buried, and then moved from the original mass graves to a large number of secondary graves. The use of X-ray powder diffraction (XRD) analyses of the many soil samples also confirmed the data resulting from the pollen studies (Brown 2006).

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Summary As science continues to provide new avenues for pollen analysis, palynologist will be able to increase the precision of identification and interpretation of pollen that is used as trace evidence in forensic investigations (Mercuri and Travaglini 2009). Reliability in the use of proper protocols in pollen collected for forensic applications rely upon a number of essential aspects. First, a palynologist or someone skilled in the careful and contamination-free collection of essential samples should oversee the collection of samples at a crime scene. Second, the importance of meticulous information gathered at the crime scene, often accompanied by both written and photographic records of vegetation in and around crime scenes and where samples are collected, cannot be overemphasized. Third, complete records of the chain of custody demonstrating the proper storage of forensic pollen samples once they have been collected must be included in any reports of those data. Fourth, complete and detailed examples related to the proper chemical and physical extraction procedures used to isolate pollen in forensic samples must stand the rigors of cross-­ examination that might wish to suggest either contamination or loss of essential pollen data. Fifth, the skill, reputation, and experience of palynologists working on forensic pollen samples may come into question with regard to the careful identification of pollen in forensic samples and the subsequent interpretation of what those data reveal. In the past, most forensic pollen samples have been analyzed and interpreted using light microscopy and occasionally scanning electron microscopy. With the added potentials of enhancing the precision in forensic palynology, there appears to be a great potential for expanding this little-used discipline in forensic archaeological studies and in other aspects related to civil and criminal law enforcement. The current attempts to utilize DNA, isotopes, FTIR, fluorescence microscopy, and Raman spectrometry of individual pollen grains and of forensic pollen samples in general show great promise but still suffer from apparent limitations, which hopefully can be overcome. There are still problems associated with the interpretation of forensic pollen data, regardless of how the data are obtained (i.e., LM, SEM, TEM, DNA barcoding, isotopes, FTIR, etc.). Often it is not enough to resolve pollen identifications to the species level in a sample. Of equal importance is recognizing where each species exists geographically. Different plants evolved and were confined to specific geographical regions prior to the period of rapid exploration by Europeans beginning in the 1300s and extending for more than five centuries. Originally, there were no pine trees in Australia, or eucalyptus trees in North America, or hundreds of other exotic plants, many used as ornamentals, which have been introduced to new habitats around the world (Nguyena and Weber 2015). Thus recognizing where plants grow, whether native or introduced, presents an interpretative challenge for forensic palynologists regardless of how precise the pollen identifications become. In addition, other essentials for making informed interpretations is knowing the potential pollen production, method of pollen dispersal, sinking speed, and durability of the pollen

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in a forensic sample. A final problem that has not yet been fully resolved using the many new techniques such as DNA barcoding, Raman spectrometry, FTIR, or even isotopes is knowing the quantity of each pollen type in a sample. Knowing the presence/absence of certain pollen types is sometimes essential, but often it is more important to know “how much” of each pollen type occurs in a sample. For example, the presence of pine or oak pollen in a forensic sample becomes important data, but even more important is knowing the amount of each of those two types in a sample. Five percent of pine or oak pollen in a sample might suggest one interpretation but 75–80% of either pollen type would imply a different interpretation of the importance of those two taxa in a sample. The future of forensic pollen studies is incredibly bright, but it will depend on training a new generation of palynologists who are familiar with not only the current and traditional methods of analysis but also understand and know how to use many of the newer analysis techniques.

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Hunter, J., & Cox, M. (2005). Forensic archaeology: Advances in theory and practice. London: Routledge. Ivleva, N., Niessner, R., & Panne, U. (2005). Characterization and discrimination of pollen by Raman microscopy. Annuals of Bioanalytical Chemistry, 381, 261–267. Jackson, S.  T., & Lyford, M.  E. (1999). Pollen dispersal models in quaternary plant ecology: Assumptions, parameters, and prescriptions. The Botanical Review, 65(1), 39–75. Jones, J. G., & Bryant, V. M. (2007). A comparison of pollen counts: Light versus scanning electron microscopy. Grana, 46, 20–33. King, J.  (n.d.). Unpublished information about pollen used to apprehend a murderer in Illinois during the 1990s. Kraaijeveld, K., De Weger, L. A., Garcia, M. V., Buermans, H., Frank, J., Hiemstra, P. S., & Den Dunnen, J. T. (2015). Efficient and sensitive identification and quantification of airborne pollen using next-generation DNA sequencing. Molecular Ecology Resources (2015), 15, 8–16. Laurence, A., & Bryant, V. M. (2013). Forensic palynology. In J. Albanese (Ed.), The encyclopedia of criminology and criminal justice (pp. 1741–1754). Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell Publishing Company. Lin, H. (2008). The variation in spatially adjacent pollen assemblages from a potential assault location containing plants common to Taiwan and Perth, Western Australia. Unpublished MFSc dissertation, The University of Western Australia, 74 p. Loader, N., & Hemming, D. (2004). The stable isotope analysis of pollen as an indicator of terrestrial paleoenvironmental change: A review of progress and recent developments. Quaternary Science Reviews, 23, 893–900. Mathewes, R. W. (2006). Forensic palynology in Canada: An overview with emphasis on archaeology and anthropology. Forensic Science International, 163, 198–203. Matsuki, Y., Isagi, Y., & Suyama, Y. (2007). The determination of multiple microsatellite genotypes of DNA sequences from a single pollen grain. Molecular Ecology Notes, 7, 194–198. McCrone, W. T. (1999). Judgment day for the shroud of Turin. Amherst: Prometheus Press. Mercuri, A.  M., & Travaglini, A. (Eds.). (2009). Forensic palynology: Methods and future. European Journal of Aerobiology and Environmental Medicine, 5, 62. Mildenhall, D. C. (1989). Deer velvet and palynology: An example of forensic palynology in New Zealand. Tuatara, 30, 1–11. Mildenhall, D.  C. (2009). Forensic palynology: An increasingly used tool in forensic science. European journal of aerobiology and environmental medicine, 2, 7–10. Mildenhall, D.  C., Wiltshire, P.  E. J., & Bryant, V.  M. (Eds.). (2006a). Forensic palynology. Forensic Science International, 163, 161–248. Mildenhall, D. C., Wiltshire, P. E. J., & Bryant, V. M. (2006b). Forensic palynology: Why do it and how it works. Forensic Science International, 163, 193–172. Milne, L. A. (2005). Grain of truth. How pollen brought a murderer to justice. Sydney: Reed New Holland 175 p. Milne, L. A., Bryant, V. M., & Mildenhall, D. C. (2005). Chapter 14: Forensic palynology. In H. M. Coyle (Ed.), Forensic botany, principles and applications to criminal casework (pp. 217–252). Boca Raton: CRC Press 318 p. Montali, E., Mercuri, A. M., Trevisan Grandi, G., & Accorsi, C. A. (2006). Towards a “crime pollen calendar” – pollen analysis on corpses throughout one year. Forensic Science International, 163, 211–223. Moore, P. B., & Webb, J. A. (1978). An illustrated guide to pollen analysis. New York: Wiley 133 p. More, S., Thapa, K.  K., & Bera, S. (2013). Potential of dust and soot from air-filters of motor vehicle engines as a forensic tool: First experimental palynological approach in India. Journal of Forensic Research, 4, 177. Morgan, R.  M., Freudiger-Bonzon, J., Nichols, K.  H., Jellis, T., Dunkerly, S., Zelazowski, P., & Bull, P. (2009). The forensic analysis of sediments recovered from footwear. In K.  Ritz, L.  Dawson, & D.  Miller (Eds.), Criminal and environmental soil forensics (pp.  253–269). Dordrecht: Springer.

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Morgan, R. M., Davies, G., Balestri, F., & Bull, P. A. (2013). The recovery of pollen evidence from documents and its forensic implications. Science and Justice, 53, 375–384. Murphy, D.  B. (2001). Fundamentals of light microscopy and electronic imaging. New  York: Wiley. Newman, C. (1984). Pollen: Breath of life and sneezes. National Geographic Magazine, 166(4), 490–521. Newton, P. N., Fernandez, F. M., Placon, A., Mildenhall, D. C., Green, M. D., Li, Z.-Y., Christophel, E.  M., Phanouvong, S., Howells, S., McIntosh, E., Laurin, P., Blum, N., Hampton, C.  Y., Faure, K., Nyadong, L., Soong, C. W. R., Santoso, B., Wang, Z.-G., Newton, J., & Palmer, K. (2008). A collaborative epidemiological investigation into the criminal fake artesunate trade in Southeast Asia. PLoS Medicine, 5(2), 0209–0219. Nguyena, P., & Weber, M. (2015). Forensic value of pollen from ornamental indoor plants. Grana, 54(3), 236–246. Nyadong, L., G. A. Harris, S. Balayssac, A. S. Galhena, M. Malet-Martino, R. Martino, R. M. Parry, M. D. Wang, F. M. Fernández, & V. Gilard. (2009). Combining two-dimensional diffusion-ordered nuclear magnetic resonance spectroscopy, imaging desorption electrospray ionization mass spectrometry, and direct analysis in real-time mass spectrometry for the integral investigation of counterfeit pharmaceuticals. Analytical Chemistry 81(12):4803–4812. O’Rourke, M. K. (1990). Pollen reentrainment: Contributions to the pollen rain in an arid environment. Grana, 29, 147–152. Parducci, L., Matetovici, I., Fontana, S.  L., Bennett, K.  D., Suyama, Y., Haile, J., Kjær, K.  H., Larsen, N. K., Drouzas, A. D., & Willerslev, E. (2013). Molecular- and pollen-based vegetation analysis in lake sediments from central Scandinavia. Molecular Ecology, 22(13), 3511–3524. Phuphumirat, W., Mildenhall, D. C., & Purintavaragul, C. (2009). Pollen deterioration in a tropical surface soil and its impact on forensic palynology. The Open Forensic Science Journal, 2, 34–40. Piombino-Mascali, D., Zink, A.  R., Reinhard, K.  J., Lein, M., Panzer, S., Aufderheide, A.  C., Rachid, R., de Souza, W., Araújo, A., Chaves, S. A. M., LeRoy-Tren, S., Teixeira-Santos, I., & Dutra, J. M. F. (2013). Dietary analysis of Piraino 1, Sicily, Italy: The role of archaeopalynology in forensic science. Journal of Archaeological Science, 40, 1935–1945. Riding, J. B., Rawlins, B. G., & Coley, K. H. (2007). Changes in soil pollen assemblages on footwear worn at different sites. Palynology, 31, 135–151. Rolfe, W. O. (1965). Uses of ultraviolet rays. In Kummel, B. & Raup, D. (Eds.), Handbook of paleontological techniques (pp. 350–360). London: W.H. Freeman and Company. Rowell, L. (2009). Palynomorph retention on clothing under differing conditions. Unpublished MSc thesis, University of Western Australia: 99 p. Rowley, J.  R., & Prijanto, B. (1977). Selective destruction of the exine of pollen grains. Geophytology, 7, 1–23. Sandiford, A. (2012). Palynology, pollen, and spores, partners in crime: What, why, and how. In D. W. Hall & J. H. Byrd (Eds.), Forensic botany: A practical guide (pp. 127–144). Hoboken: Wiley-Blackwell. 195 p. Sangster, A. G., & Dale, H. M. (1961). A preliminary study of differential pollen grain preservation. Canadian Journal of Botany, 39, 35–43. Sangster, A. G., & Dale, H. M. (1964). Pollen grain preservation of underrepresented species in fossil spectra. Canadian Journal of Botany, 42, 437–449. Shapiro, E. (2015). Boston ‘Baby Doe’ mystery: Pollen tests reveal break in the case. ABC News. https://abcnews.go.com/US/dead-girl-baby-doe-boston-area-pollen-tests/story?id=33058090. Shaw, G. (1971). The chemistry of sporopollenin. In J. Brooks, P. Grant, M. Muir, P. van Gijzel, & G. Shaw (Eds.), Sporopollenin (pp. 305–350). New York: Academic. Shellhorn, S. J., Hull, H. M., & And Martin, P. S. (1964). Detection of fresh and fossil pollen with fluorochromes. Nature, 202, 315–316. Stanley, E. A. (1966). The problem of reworked pollen and spores in marine sediments. Marine Geology, 4, 397–399 401–405, 407–408. Stanley, E. A. (1992). Application of palynology to establish the provenance and travel history of illicit drugs. Microscope, 40, 149–152.

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Stoney, D. A., Bowen, A. M., Bryant, V. M., Caven, E. A., Cimino, M. T., & Stoney, P. L. (2011). Particle combination analysis for predictive source attribution: Tracing a shipment of contraband ivory. Journal of American Society of Trace Evidence Examiners, 2, 13–72. Szibor, R., Schubert, C., Schöning, R., Krause, D., & Wendt, U. (1998). Pollen analysis reveals murder season. Nature, 395(6701), 449–450. Tauber, H. (1965). Differential pollen dispersion and interpretation of pollen diagrams. Danmarks Geol. Undersogebe., II, 89, 1–69. Traverse, A. (2007). Paleopalynology (2nd ed.). Dordrecht: Springer. Walker, M. (2005). Entomology and palynology: Evidence from the natural world (Forensics: The science of crime-solving). Broomall: Mason Crest Publishers 112 p. Webb, J. C., Brown, H. A., Toms, H., & Goodenough, A. E. (2018). Differential retention of pollen grains on clothing and the effectiveness of laboratory retrieval methods in forensic settings. Forensic Science International, 288, 36–45. Wilson, L. R. (1964). Recycling, stratigraphic leakage, and faulty techniques in palynology. Grana, 5(3), 425–436. Wiltshire, P.  E. J.  (1993). Environmental profiling and forensic palynology: Background and potential value to the criminal investigator. Handbook for the national crime and operations faculty with the British Association for human identification. Wiltshire, P.  E. J.  (2006a). Consideration of some taphonomic variables of relevance to forensic palynological investigation in the United Kingdom. Forensic Science International, 163, 173–182. Wiltshire, P. E. J. (2006b). Hair as a source of forensic evidence in murder investigations. Forensic Science International, 163, 241–248. Wiltshire, P. E. J. (2009). Forensic ecology, botany, and criminal palynology, some aspects of their role in criminal investigation. In K. Ritz, L. Dawson, & D. Miller (Eds.), Criminal and environmental soil forensics (pp. 129–149). Dordrecht: Springer, 520 p. Wiltshire, P. E. J. (2016). Protocols for forensic palynology. Palynology, 40(1), 4–24. Wiltshire, P. E. J., Hawksworth, D. L., & Edwards, K. J. (2015a). A rapid and efficient method for evaluation of suspect testimony: Palynological scanning. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 60(6), 1441–1450. Wiltshire, P. E. J., Hawksworth, D. L., Webb, J. A., & Edwards, K. J. (2015b). Two sources and two kinds of trace evidence: Enhancing the links between clothing, footwear and crime scene. Forensic Science International, 254, 231–242. Wodehouse, R. P. (1935). Pollen grains. New York: McGraw-Hill 574 P. Wu, C.-L., Yang, C.-H., Huang, T.-C., & Chen, S.-H. (2006). Forensic pollen evidence from clothes by the tape method. Taiwania 51, 123–130. Yeloff, D., & Hunt, C. O. (2005). Fluorescence microscopy of pollen and spores: A tool for investigating environmental change. Review of Palaeobotany and Palynology, 133, 203–219. Zavada, M. S., McGraw, S. M., & Miller, M. A. (2007). The role of clothing fabrics as passive pollen collectors in the Northeastern United States. Grana, 46, 285–291. Zhou, L., Pei, K., Zhou, B., & Ma, K. (2007). A molecular approach to species identification of Chenopodiaceae pollen grains in surface soil. American Journal of Botany, 94, 477–481.

Chapter 13

Putting “Science” into Forensic Science: A Chemist’s Perspective on Forensic Archaeology Susan White

It is a personal view and I apologize in advance for what may seem simplistic and facetious arguments. Moreover I crave further indulgence from the reader for going over definitions and facts that appear evident to all. This serves merely as a device to focus on the salient points in the discussion. I do not, however, shy away from an extensive preamble relating to the current “evolution” of the legal framework within which all forensic scientists operate. The advances on determining the admissibility of expert evidence are being made primarily in the UK and USA, albeit at a slow pace. This has ramifications for the profession as a whole. From the onset, my training as a chemist imbued in me a strong sense of “attention to detail” and an ability to communicate clearly and succinctly through written reports with no embellishment. Practical experiments in all branches of chemistry required analysis with the methodology, results and conclusion(s) laid out logically and clearly in a report. This was reinforced in my case by my undergraduate degree incorporating a year of original research culminating in a dissertation. The inference is obvious; two of the main strengths of a forensic scientist became second nature to this chemist.

Prejudices of a Chemist The use of the term “forensic science” has connotations and in my opinion, an error. There is no such discipline as forensic science; rather it is the plural, forensic sciences, given the number of disciplines that are not only sheltered under this general umbrella but also which seem to be multiplying almost exponentially. There may be quibbles also about the use of “science” as a generic description. As will be expanded and expounded on later at some length, the definition of s­ cience S. White (*) Member of the Advisory Board, UCL Centre for the Forensic Sciences, London, UK © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_13

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and its accompanying attributes is central to this debate. It is also worth noting the use of the words “scientific knowledge” as this is a tautology. Science means knowledge.

Statistics and Probability Crucial for a Forensic Scientist To me at the core of any forensic scientist’s skill set is an inherent obligation to understand probability or statistics. Probability is usually at the heart of a trial and the giving of evidence. Perhaps the best examples may be traced to DNA. Comments such as the probability of a defendant’s DNA matching traces found at a crime scene being “one in a million” are often cited. This impresses juries and media alike as it appears simple and damning. If only it was so simple. It is now found that often DNA expert witnesses have a background in probability theory rather than biology or genetics. This focus on probability and statistics arises from the observation that they are often the source of miscarriages of justice. Usually attributed to Disraeli, but with the true author, remaining anonymous comes the oft-quoted, “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics”. The earliest citation found is Arthur James Balfour, 1st Earl of Balfour, as quoted in the Manchester Guardian, June 29, 1892. This quasi-proverb actually underlies just how statistics may be manipulated. Remember that if 30% of accidents are caused by those who drink and drive, the other 70% must be caused by those who do not according to the late Irish comedian, Dave Allen. This may be interpreted as drunk driving is safe and that the sober drivers are actually at fault. Tragically a need not only to understand but also to calculate and interpret probability is accentuated by one infamous miscarriage of justice in the UK. The statistical evidence proffered by Professor Meadow in two cases of suspected infanticide (Angela Cannings and Sally Clark) was accepted only to be overturned at appeal (R v. Cannings 2004; R v. Sally Clark 2003). Multiple cases of sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS) within one family were involved. The particulars arising from the Sally Clark case specifically provide an excellent and sobering example of what happens when an underlying poor grasp of statistics results in flawed analysis finally culminating in erroneous evidence and an injustice. It is worth examining this case in some detail. In the case of Sally Clark which entailed the deaths of two infants, it has been argued cogently that it was Professor Meadow’s evidence which proved to be most decisive in the initial guilty verdict being reached. During the trial he provided both statistical evidence and evidence relating to probabilities (R v. Sally Clark 2003). Meadow’s mantra for murder, as opposed to SIDS, was his assessment that one death was an accident, but each one thereafter only served to increase and heighten suspicion of foul play being involved. His credentials were bolstered by two factors. First he was an eminent paediatrician. The second was that he was the author of a preface to a government-funded multidisciplinary research team, the “Confidential

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Enquiry into Sudden Death in Infancy” (or “CESDI”), entitled “Sudden Unexpected Deaths in Infancy”. This was an extensive study of infant deaths in the UK. The aim of this report was to attempt to identify possible risk factors for SIDS (R v. Sally Clark 2003). At the crux of the evidence against Clark was the damning statement he made which was that there was “approximately a chance of 1 in 73 million” that the two deaths were not natural. In a case where other medical practitioners were providing very complex and contradictory evidence, this was a straw that a drowning jury was able to grasp tightly. Unfortunately so were the prosecution and defence counsel, the trial judge and the three judges at the first appeal. All misunderstood the evidence. However Professor Meadow had strayed into an area where he lacked relevant expertise, namely, statistics. To put it more starkly, it was the equivalent of a statistician not only giving evidence on the results of a post-mortem but also being treated as an expert forensic pathologist. Professor Meadow’s evidence was based on the probability that a second death was equivalent to that of a first. In actuality, the real analysis of the probability was that with one instance of SIDS within the same family, another instance was greatly increased. Meadow was assuming that the instances of the deaths were random and not related. The error that he made is known as Berkson’s paradox where conditional probability is mistaken for unconditional. What makes this even more ironic is that the very report for which Meadow was writing the preface contained the cautionary phrase: When a second SIDS death occurs in the same family, in addition to careful search for inherited disorder, there must always be a very thorough investigation of the circumstancesthough it would be inappropriate to assume maltreatment was always the cause.

In a later step, so apparently exasperated was the Royal Statistical Society that it took the unusual step of releasing a public statement conveying its concern at the “misuse of statistics in the courts” and arguing that there was “no statistical basis” for Meadow’s claim (Royal Statistical Society 2001). A critical contention contained in this statement included a reference to the requirement for empirical data, something that forms part of the entire foundation for the forensic sciences and something that chemistry, and thus chemists, deems basic to its existence. This approach is, in general, statistically invalid. It would only be valid if SIDS cases arose independently within families, an assumption that would need to be justified empirically. Not only was no such empirical justification provided in the case, but there are very strong a priori reasons for supposing that the assumption will be false. There may well be unknown genetic or environmental factors that predispose families to SIDS, so that a second case within the family becomes much more likely.

The 1 in 73 million probability analogy is also a clear example of what has been described as the “prosecutor’s fallacy” (Thompson and Shumann 1987; Fountain and Gunby 2010). This erroneous belief may be traced to the assumption that the odds of some statistical event are the same as the odds of the defendant being guilty. Another way to address the issue is from the perspective of the a priori probability

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of the deaths occurring by all potential factors. Re-examining the Sally Clark case, with two infant deaths, the explanation had to be one of three alternatives. All a priori extremely improbable: 1 . Two successive deaths in the same family, both by SIDS 2. Double homicide (the prosecution’s case) 3. Other possibilities (including one homicide and one case of SIDS) These alternatives would then have to be compared against each other. This was addressed in part by Professor John Emery at the committal hearings, an eminent paediatric pathologist who provided evidence on the subject based on his own observations. His broad conclusions were that repeat deaths were roughly equally split between known but rare natural causes so not categorized as SIDS, child abuse and actual SIDS. Thus only a third were deemed to be related to abuse or murder according to his empirical observations (Gornall 2006). The conflicting probability of a two in three chance of innocence overwhelms even the flawed statistic calculated by Professor Meadow. Some time later a paper published in the Lancet revealed that 87% of the unexpected deaths in a second child were natural (Carpenter et al. 2005). This paper formed part of the evidence at the hearing that led to Professor Meadow being struck off the General Medical Council register for serious professional misconduct. I make no apologies for expending so much time on this topic. Probability is critical to the interpretation of much evidence provided by forensic witnesses of all disciplines. It may even dominate evidence to the extent of determining the actual deliberations and ultimate verdict. It is beholden on the forensic sciences to demand and ensure that all practitioners have a thorough grounding in statistics and probability fundamentals. As a chemist I had to have extensive grounding in mathematics, including quantum mechanics and statistics. This partially entailed a study and use of Monte Carlo simulations, or probability simulation. This is a technique used to understand the impact of risk and uncertainty in forecasting models. Probability thus became a standard tool in determining, creating and interpreting experiments. Turning to forensic archaeology and my training in that field, I was astounded and appalled at not only the lack of time apportioned to the study of statistics, but also at most of the students’ inability to comprehend simple statistics. Here was an area where being a chemist had major advantages.

Movement on Both Sides of the Atlantic Writing this chapter I found initially that it naturally divided into two components. First, there was the simple element of the meaning of “what a knowledge of chemistry brings to forensic archaeology”. Initially I thought that this might be what my understanding of chemical formulae, etc. provided. As just indicated the obvious strengths I possess in statistics through my chemical studies provided a distinct

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benefit in understanding probability theory. In addition I highlighted the ability to write cogent reports from empirical evidence where meticulousness was a paramount. However in investigating this subject further, I found that it extended into other realms. One such was the larger, more philosophical topic of forensic archaeology’s claim to be a scientific methodology that passes muster under the guidelines established through the Daubert trilogy of US Supreme Court decisions (Daubert v. Merrell Dow Pharmaceuticals, General Electric Co. v. Joiner and Kumho Tire Co. v. Carmichael) (Daubert v. Merrell Dow 1993; General Electric Co. v. Joiner 1997; Kumho Tire Co. v. Carmichael 1999). In addition, this also extended as to whether evidence relating to forensic archaeology might be recognized in the trio of legal systems of the UK, namely, those of England and Wales (England and Wales have a single legal system), Scotland and Northern Ireland. As I delved deeper, I discovered that further boundaries were broached. It set me tracing the recent evolution of expert witness testimony and the moves towards potential codification and establishment of more rigorous standards. Science appears to be central to the case.

The USA Starts Although I define these later, for those less familiar, the Daubert et al. judgments have laid out plainly the meaning of the word “scientific” from a legal perspective in the USA. Moreover, the guidelines established initially in 1993, and evolving thereafter, are for the determination of the admissibility of scientific evidence in legal cases. This is after all, as previously stated, the raison d’être for forensic sciences, no matter which discipline as they all relate to the law be it criminal or civil. The implications are discussed at more length later in this chapter. The legal rulings arising from the specified US lawsuits or cases all form part of a larger theme for the forensic sciences and their evolution in the future. A rising focus on forensic sciences and their ability to solve, or hinder, legal cases has also occurred over the past few years. Despite TV shows implying the infallibility of forensic evidence, the US National Academy of Sciences published a report (National Research Council 2009) which focused on faulty forensic analyses and their connection and contribution to a slew of wrongful convictions. Separately the FBI has been reviewing thousands of criminal cases. This is in the wake of convictions based on forensic methods now deemed inadmissible. This has lifted a lid on the lack of scientific support for some of the methods and standards employed. One of the results of the desire to strengthen the US public’s trust in the experts and legal system has been the desire to adopt a Forensic Science Standards Act. One of the champions for the proposed legislation is a Democrat from Texas, Eddie Bernice Johnson of the House of Representatives. She introduced a Bill under this name (H.R. 3064) to the US Congress on September 9, 2013. It was immediately referred to Committee for consideration prior to a possible submission to the

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Senate. This Bill died as the Congress period expired. It was reintroduced as H.R. 5795 in 2016 but no legislation was enacted. There are many hurdles to jump prior to any Bill gaining approval. Interestingly, returning to the subject of statistics, in the 2011–2013 period, only 11% of bills passed the committee stage. With only a 3% chance of entering into legislation, the probability might appear to be meagre. Eddie Bernice Johnson has stated officially that the underlying principle is, “To ensure justice is being served, we want law enforcement and forensic practitioners to work alongside scientists and researchers to make sure that forensic evidence stands up to scientific rigour”. According to the Bill, the stated aim is to establish in the USA a national forensic science research programme to improve, expand and coordinate federal research in forensic sciences. This entails establishing scientific standards and protocols across forensic disciplines. Moreover, it seeks the creation of a central body for the various forensics communities and their disciplines under the combined aegis of the National Institute of Science and Technology (NIST) and the US National Science Foundation (NSF). On July 14, Senator Richard Blumenthal of Connecticut introduced to the US Senate the Forensic Science Standards Act. This was during the114th Congress (2015–2016). The key parts of the Bill/Act sought to: 1. Establish a National Forensic Science Coordinating Office at NIST to coordinate among federal agencies 2. Establish a Forensic Science Advisory Committee to provide advice to federal agencies, NIST and the Department of Justice 3. Develop a unified federal research strategy to enhance the validity and reliability of forensic science disciplines 4. Require the developments of forensic science standards to enhance the validity and reliability of forensic science activities 5. Implement these standards 6. Promote and conduct research supporting the development and dissemination of methods, standards and technical guidance for forensic science measurements More specifically the Bill/Act requires the Director of the NSF to enter into an arrangement with the National Academies to develop a report identifying the most critical forensic science disciplines that require further research to strengthen the scientific foundation in those disciplines and making recommendations: “establishment of a regulator is one of the options to be considered, as is how the courts can be supported in appropriately weighing scientific evidence”. Despite the fact that the Bill/Act has languished in Congress for many years, some of the goals within it are underway to some degree. NIST has taken a lead within the forensic sciences community through the coordination of the Organization of Scientific Area Committees, and the NIJ routinely provides funding for areas of forensic research.

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UK: A Different Approach Separately, in 2009, the UK’s Law Commission issued a consultation paper relating to expert witnesses, their evidence and by implication forensic sciences (Law Commission 2009). The impetus had a long gestation originally arising from various deliberations at the House of Commons Scientific and Technology Committee. As far back as 2003, the Committee had heard evidence of “black holes” in the Home Office’s understanding of forensic sciences. Interestingly it was the evidence relating to the two cases where Professor Meadow had provided flawed statistical analysis, which was critical in this assessment. Further, there was the 1998 case of faulty expert testimony relating to ear prints. It was claimed that Mark Dallagher had left a unique ear print on a window pane at a murder scene. He was found guilty but later released once DNA tests demonstrated that it was not his ear print (R v. Mark Dallagher 2002). In March 2005 the concerns were laid bare in the same committee’s report Forensic Science on Trial (House of Commons Science and Technology Committee 2005), which stated that the: absence of an agreed protocol for the validation of scientific techniques prior to their being admitted in court is entirely unsatisfactory. Judges are not well placed to determine scientific validity without input from scientists.

In 2008 the Forensic Regulator was created with the aim of ensuring that the provision of forensic science services across the UK criminal justice system were subject to an appropriate regime of scientific quality standards. This was to be achieved by: 1 . Identifying the requirement for new or improved quality standards 2. Leading on the development of new standards 3. Where necessary, providing advice and guidance so that providers of forensic science services can demonstrate compliance with common standards Treading a separate path, the Law Commissioner, Professor Jeremy Horder, leading the 2009 endeavour stated in part and echoing the USA (Law Commission 2009): The parties in criminal trials are relying increasingly on the evidence of expert witnesses. Expert evidence, particularly scientific evidence, can have a very persuasive effect on juries. It is vital that such evidence should be used only if it provides a sound basis for determining a defendant’s guilt or innocence. There have been miscarriages of justice in recent years where prosecution expert evidence of doubtful reliability has been placed before Crown Court juries. There may also have been unwarranted acquittals attributable to such evidence. We want to ensure that the criminal courts have the means to authenticate expert evidence and be satisfied that the information before them is sound.

Among a raft of suggestions or proposals, the consultation paper wanted a definition of the term “expert”. The key here was whether experience alone would be sufficient or whether a requirement should be introduced for formal, professional qualifications, study or training. Again with a resonance of Daubert et al. the consultation paper outlined a prerequisite for detailed guidelines containing a list of

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factors to be used in assessing the reliability of expert evidence for the court. Separately there was an ambition that relevant professional bodies should be encouraged to introduce their own regulatory and disciplinary processes for professionals who wish to act as expert witnesses. Moreover it required a set form and structure for expert reports. This was incorporated into 22 recommendations by the Law Commission to Parliament made in March 2011 (Law Commission Report 2011). Chief among these was the introduction of an admissibility test, to be applied in appropriate cases, whereby expert opinion is admissible in criminal proceedings only if it is sufficiently reliable to be admitted (“the reliability test”). This may be considered a relative of Daubert. Moreover the Law Commission recommended that judges should be provided, by statute, a single list of generic factors to help them apply the reliability test. Over 2  years later, on November 21, 2013, the UK Government, through the Ministry of Justice, finally made its formal response (Ministry of Justice 2013). Initial reading may interpret the answer as a flat “no” to the key recommendations outlined previously. However there is no doubt that the UK Government realizes the benefit of a reliability test as its response states quite clearly that: The Government shares the Law Commission’s concern about problems caused by the use of inappropriate or unreliable expert evidence, and is persuaded of the benefits of taking action on this. It recognises the potential value of the proposed reliability test in reducing the risk of unsafe convictions arising from unreliable expert evidence.

However the Government’s reluctance to proceed down the statutory route is based partially on the difficulty of determining the scale of cases where unreliable expert evidence is adduced. Costs are also cited as a key reason not to proceed further as application of the new test would involve additional pre-trial hearings. With formal adoption of the reliability test scuppered, the requirement for judges to be provided with a single list also flounders. Thus austerity takes precedence over potential miscarriages of justice. The UK Government has opted, however, to ask the Criminal Procedure Rule Committee to consider amending the Criminal Procedure Rules. The aim would be to ensure that judges are provided, at the initial stage, with more information about the expert evidence it is proposed to adduce. With this move, the UK Government believes the likelihood of the trial judge and the opposing party, prosecution or defence where appropriate, challenging expert evidence would increase. Concomitant with this would be lowering the risk of unsafe convictions. New rules were introduced in 2014 (The Criminal Procedure Rules 2014). This is not so wishy-washy as it might appear. The Law Commission did recommend that a series of recommendations should be incorporated into common law. Part of this was that the individual claiming expertise in a particular field was qualified. This seems to bring in the prospect of a formal requirement for an expert witness to be qualified by an appropriate professional body. This would also imply the need to have undertaken study and/or training in the discipline. The UK’s Forensic Regulator has not been idle. In August 2013, a consultation document was published “Guidance: Validation Consultation draft” covering pro-

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posed Codes of Conduct and Practices (Forensic Science Regulator 2013). At the core was how to ensure that all methods employed within the criminal justice system are fit for the specific purpose intended, i.e. the results were reliable. The consultation concluded and a formal code of conduct was published in 2014. It has since been updated both in 2016 and 2017 and is available on the Forensic Science Regulator’s website. As yet it is the UK and USA which are leading the way in developing a coherent approach to consistency in standards, albeit at different paces. This should not be taken as a suggestion that the rest of the global forensic community is complacent. It, or rather the individual countries, is looking to scrutinize the outcome of the UK’s and USA’s decisions. The European Union does not appear to have embarked on a similar task. Although there may be observations that attribute this tardiness to the various legal systems that prevail in the countries comprising this diverse entity, these seem unconvincing. Ultimately the objective is to address methodically a state of affairs which has been permitted to evolve almost in a haphazard manner no matter where in the world forensic sciences may exist. This development reflects, in my opinion, the explosive growth not only in the dependency on forensic sciences but also the specializations that seem to proliferate each day.

The Scientific Method Revisited The very term “forensic sciences” implies an element of gravitas. For many lay observers, there is no speculation involved, and techniques and specialists are accorded considerable respect. In fact the deference that has been accorded to these methods and respective professionals has led almost to an air of infallibility. Unfortunately this concept of ultimate perfection has sometimes fed through into the professional. In the past the so-called Father of Forensic Pathology, Sir Bernard Spilsbury, was able to intimidate UK courts, juries and the media by his reputation. There are suggestions that more than one innocent individual may have been hanged based merely on his flawed testimony. Referring to the Law Commission’s consultation paper of 2009, one of the reasons it was deemed necessary was “…there may be those who take the view that the expert – perhaps especially a crime scene expert referring to DNA evidence – must always be right because they are always right on TV programmes”. Lavoisier, a chemist, stated one definition of science succinctly (“... the impossibility of separating the nomenclature of a science from the science itself is owing to this, that every branch of physical science must consist of three things: the series of facts which are the objects of the science, the ideas which represent these facts, and the words by which these ideas are expressed.” As a physical or natural science, chemistry is based on empiricism as stated earlier. Data are gathered and recorded using specific methods under controlled conditions, which may be repeated. Hypotheses are generated, and further experiments are designed with the intention

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of testing these hypotheses. As this process is refined, theories and even laws are determined. This process is known as the scientific method. To reiterate this, the scientific method is generally accepted to have four broad separate components (Oxford English Dictionary 2016). 1. Observation and description of certain phenomena and/or processes with the purpose of formulating a question. 2. Development of a hypothesis to explain the question. 3. Prediction using the hypothesis. 4. Testing of the hypothesis by experimentation. It is this step which determines whether a hypothesis is rejected, modified or accepted. This stage is at the heart of the scientific method. It is worth noting in passing that various terms are bandied about, namely, “hypothesis”, “model”, “theory” and “law”. These all have various specific meanings. The most limited term is hypothesis as it is proposed prior to the testing stage and even prediction. Model is designated when the hypothesis has been demonstrated to have some validity. Theory or law only arise when there has been exhaustive experimental testing. Of course theory or even law are subject to change as more observation and investigation occurs. Ultimately it is critical to remove bias from the results and, more importantly, the interpretation of the hypothesis. All data must be assimilated and not ignored.

The Problem with Archaeology In the USA, archaeology is deemed a subdivision of anthropology. The law enforcement agencies in that country call upon forensic anthropologists who are naturally trained in archaeological techniques as part of their tuition. In the UK, legal authorities draw on what seem to them to be the obvious group: archaeologists. Scientists may be archaeologists but the reverse is not necessarily the case. The difficulty that I have observed with UK-based archaeologists is the tendency to let guesswork become dogma without even the intervening step of speculation, let alone hypothesis. One example is worth noting. It became an almost accepted wisdom for the cremated remains of thousands of children buried at the Tophet at Carthage over the eighth to third centuries BC to be portrayed as evidence of infant and child sacrifice (Xella et al. 2013). This view was promulgated by ancient texts from Greek and Roman sources that such practices did occur. First these revelations were flawed at best and mendacious at worse and heavily reliant on hearsay evidence rather than eyewitness accounts. Both the Greeks and Romans had clashed with the Carthaginians (Punic Wars and Hannibal spring to mind). It was in both their interests to blacken the name of the Carthaginians. These classical views were built on Old Testament scripts. Yet even these biblical sources are mired with the fact that the Carthaginians sprang from the

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Phoenicians, themselves Canaanites, an ancient enemy of the Israelites. Propaganda is not a new event, neither is the case to examine so-called first-hand evidence. Recent research conducted by bioarchaeologists has laid out an argument that these remains are predominantly those of foetal or stillbirths (Schwartz et al. 2010). This is based on the absence of the neonatal line in the teeth of many of the cremated remains examined. The neonatal line is caused by physiological changes at birth and is not present in either foetuses or stillbirths (Dana et al. 1989). This method has been widely utilized in forensic odontology and has been extensively supported by rigorous testing. Contradictory views remain and this research has been challenged. The key argument has been that the neonatal line has been destroyed by the cremation process and that, in fact, the teeth are actually from older infants. This is a hypothesis that lends itself to an obvious experiment of examining what happens to the neonatal line upon cremation. However this is not likely to prove to be as easy to determine as the teeth of infants are not readily available. Nonetheless, it (the hypothesis) is capable of being subjected to the “scientific method”. The rest of the contra-arguments are more specious and based on opinion as they are impossible to test. The main tenets are that the Carthaginians would not have “wasted” wood, preferring to build ships and not cremating infants that were not regarded as forming part of the community. This appears to fall foul of non-­ acceptance of the data and thus the risk of bias under the scientific method. Even Ötzi, the Tyrolean Iceman, was subject to the concept of ritual sacrifice to explain what was the cause and manner of death (Rollo et al. 2002). This was an opinion based on bog bodies such as Tollund and Lindow Man. However it took CT imaging to determine the presence of an arrow head in the shoulder. This implied that the wound caused by the arrow was the cause of his death (Pain 2001). This has subsequently been followed by further blood evidence of a violent death. Whether Ötzi was involved in a murder or just an altercation is subject forever to speculation. Sympathy should be extended to the archaeologists, however. Often there is minimal material available to examine, even to the extent of being non-existent. The quality may also be poor due not only to preservation at a site but also in a museum or other institution. The only point I am making, in what may seem a selected and long-winded manner, is not to let views become entrenched and form doctrines. Scientists are used to their pet views being not only challenged but also superseded.

Adipocere: A Case for More Stringent Research Standards Forensic archaeology as a discipline has emerged and evolved from a social science sphere. Its distinguishing feature is the application of archaeological principles, techniques, and methodologies to a legal context. It was initiated by the need to

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locate, recover and analyse buried human remains and other materials in a systematic manner. Forensic archaeology may trace its beginnings to the USA and UK in the 1970s and 1980s, although the first case may actually be that conducted by the Nazis relating to the Katyn Massacre of 20,000 Polish officers, soldiers and civilians by the Soviets in 1940. In 1943, Nazi occupation forces announced the discovery of several mass graves near Smolensk and launched an exhumation and medicolegal investigation of 925 bodies (Fischer 1999). In my forensic archaeology studies, conducted in the UK, I was constantly struck by the lack of what I considered to be extensive and coherent evidence for oft-stated conclusions in forensic archaeology, even when it overlapped into forensic anthropology. So much of the information was gleaned from individual case studies, often conducted in one country. There appeared to be no empiricism. Data became facts and laws without even the cursory requirements that would be sought by chemists. A lack of consistent research and proper experimentation coupled with absent methodologies and missing classification systems where appropriate were apparent when I looked at the subject. Nowhere were these factors more evident than in the subject of one of my research topics: adipocere. If anything highlights where a chemistry background was an advantage, it is this topic. Soft tissue taphonomy has been ascribed to all the post-mortem processes that alter the decay mechanisms leading ultimately to mummification (Evans 1962; Aufderheide 2003). Adipocere forms one of these processes where decomposition has been reduced radically and soft tissue preservation is manifest (Stewart 1979; Janaway 1996; Nafte 2000). Adipocere is a post-mortem chemical modification of the body’s adipose or fatty tissues that forms a solid wax-­ like or fatty material comprising fatty acids (Evans 1963; Simonsen 1977; Takatori and Yamaoka 1977; Cotton et  al. 1987; Birch, 2004, personal communication; Forbes et al. 2004). Bodies preserved by adipocere comprise a less-recognized third form of mummification, and as such it is deemed a transformation into state of arrested or inhibited decay (den Dooren de Jong 1961; Polson et al. 1985; Dix and Graham 2000; Aufderheide 2003). Adipocere is the most frequent inhibition of post-mortem change in interred corpses and water-borne cadavers (Fiedler and Graw 2003). It is regarded as being of particular importance in forensic cases involving water death and/or immersion. As such it is an important process, and a fuller understanding may help to shape forensic taphonomic interpretations. Death investigations focus on extracting answers to certain invariable questions: identity, cause of death, place of death, time of death and involved parties. Not all unexpected deaths are felonious, but even these may require forensic involvement. In a forensic context, the ability of adipocere to conserve whole or partial bodily remains over a prolonged period bestows major value. Adipocere often retains gross anatomical features forming “adipocere images” (den Dooren de Jong 1961; Cotton et al. 1987; Saukko and Knight 2004). Adipocere is renowned for its inertness and has been reported as being able to resist degradation at least for centuries and, possibly, even aeons. Identification may

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occur even many years later, and cause of death may be ascertained as adipocere often preserves signs of trauma and internal organs (Mant, 1950; Polson et al. 1985; Manhein 1997; Saukko and Knight 2004). Even textiles may be preserved (Janaway 1987). For the non-forensic archaeologist, adipocere is prevalent in Bronze Age burials and medieval inhumations. Adipocere is also present in Homo tyrolensis of Hauslabjoch, Ötzi (Ambach et al. 1992; Aufderheide 2003) and other glacial bodies. Adipocere has also been encountered in a number of more recent vault/crypt internments including Spitalfields in the UK (Molleson and Cox 1993). Bog bodies and the lesser-known bog butters are perhaps the most fruitful source of adipocere. Brothwell has even posed the question as to whether the prevalence and extent of adipocere in bog bodies are providing forensic clues (Brothwell 1996). Despite this, adipocere garners scant attention in the modern forensic world. This may manifest a view that the conditions promoting adipocere formation are sufficiently well documented and understood not to merit further research. This is not the case. Although there is a widely accepted view on adipocere and its formation, an inadequate knowledge of chemistry has led to the promulgation of incorrect views, let alone hypotheses. I doubt whether a case where evidence is based on an understanding of adipocere would stand up to scrutiny under the Daubert guidelines and thus be admitted as scientific evidence. Scientific training imbues a requirement to understand the topic for research. The first stage is to immerse oneself in the topic, examining and understanding the status of research to date prior to formulating any experiment. This, in turn, merits a trawl through the literature, the supposedly standard literature review. As part of the scientific method, it is categorized as forming part of the first stage, formulating a question. In undertaking such an approach, I was dismayed to discover the significant discrepancies, inconsistencies and contradictions that existed in the literature as well as the paucity of research relating to adipocere. The two main sources examined were articles from the Journal of Forensic Sciences and chapters from the authoritative work Haglund and Sorg’s Forensic Taphonomy: The Postmortem Fate of Human Remains (1996). I was even more aghast at the fact that it was evident from some of the comments made that some of the reference cited as endorsements were either misquoted or did not exist or, in many instances, had not been read. The extent to which this occurred was more than statistically significant; it was statistically astonishing in its recurrence. It brings into question that if this is the case for adipocere, is it the same for other topics? Tracing the possible reasons behind this apparent lackadaisical approach led to an over-reliance on three seminal works and their authors: de Fourcroy in 1789 and 1790, Mant in conducting studies for war crimes perpetrated in World War II and Evans in 1963. Indeed it is close to 50 years since the last reviews of adipocere were conducted. Then, as now, these were based on personal experience dominated by information garnered on an ad hoc basis rather than emanating from rigorous and systematic investigations. This meant that most of the approaches taken to the study of adipocere were principally observational rather than analytical. Moreover geography has played a critical role, with most of the research being dominated by scholars and

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researchers in temperate climes, notably North Europe and parts of North America. This led to an unobserved bias creeping into the literature. I was also shocked by the paucity of research. Looking at the research on which the accepted view is based, it was based on climatic conditions in Northern regions. Separately I discovered information relating to adipocere formation in tropical areas as well as other conflicting conditions (dry versus wet). These appeared to be unknown by the forensic community. In the wake of the “Big Three” (de Fourcroy, Mant and Evans), forensic research into adipocere has been the remit of only a few. Interestingly chemistry was the discipline under which auspices most research had been undertaken of that identified. A chemist, Takatori, researched the chemical composition of, and route to, adipocere. Focused just on the role of putrefying organisms, this led to another ingrained opinion developing, namely, that adipocere will not form without microbial intervention. With an over-reliance on Mant, Takatori and, in some cases Evans, interest has waned, permitting entrenched, often erroneous, views to endure. Excluding Takatori, what has been missing has been the dearth of systematic approaches to identifying adipocere prevalence and the associated conditions. I do have some considerable sympathy regarding research, and research alone, as adipocere formation often takes a prodigiously long time, especially in northern climes. However it still remains a parlous state of affairs for a condition representing the most frequent inhibition of post-mortem change in interred corpses. As stated earlier the major forensic value of adipocere is its ability to conserve whole or partial bodily remains over a prolonged period, and a fuller understanding may help to shape forensic taphonomic interpretations. Despite this, too many unknowns persist. Its frequency, rate of formation, factors affecting its formation and physical characteristics remain uncertain. Just digging in the literature unearthed, a potential treasure trove of adipocere-­ related avenues contained with many, often dissimilar disciplines. Quite apart from archaeology, soil scientists, lipids chemists, medical research, food scientists, folklore experts, embalmers and geologists are just a few places where adipocere appears. Yet, overlap between these various groups varies from minimal to non-existent. So where did the chemistry assist my endeavours? Obviously it is mandatory to have a strong chemistry foundation to understand adipocere. All arguments relating to the formation of adipocere commence with the neutral fats stored as triacylglycerols that represent over 95% of adipose tissue (Kagawa et al. 1996). Although relatively simple organic chemistry, without a comprehension of this starting point, following the complex and competing arguments that ensue, let alone tracing other ones, is nigh on impossible. Moreover, some of the threads involved required an understanding of other scientific disciplines. With chemistry requiring a high standard of physics and mathematics qualifications, let alone the way chemistry wanders into biology, geology and other disciplines, it meant that I was already well placed to investigate where adipocere also entered these spheres. A less obvious benefit was derived from the

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subject of my research: bioinorganic chemistry. My particular focus was on peroxidases and their potential roles in breast cancer. All this required a multidisciplinary approach, something that proved invaluable to my adipocere quest. Using these various themes/disciplines, it meant that I was able to identify potential research avenues using the information I had exhumed. Far from the subject that was ostensibly understood, adipocere proved to be, to quote Sir Winston Churchill, “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma” (Churchill 1939). Yet, a multidisciplinary approach has advanced within forensic archaeology as the discipline’s remit extends into investigations of war crimes and genocide cases and mass-casualty disaster scenes sometimes associated with terrorism. It also extends to locating and recovering other materials, such as buried currency associated with robberies and kidnappings. This is also demanding a more extensive knowledge and use of other disciplines in order to enhance and/or evolve techniques within forensic archaeology as well as preserving evidence.

So Does Forensic Archaeology Pass the Daubert Test As insinuated earlier the very appellation “forensic sciences” implies a discipline with a structure, rigorously investigated and documented, generating and imbuing confidence within the general populace. However, as also expounded upon, experience has shown in the UK, USA and elsewhere; this has been and continues to be undermined by miscarriages of justice often based on evidence provided by the very forensic scientists that were designed to elucidate. This has added to questions raised over the reliability of scientific evidence and the focus of the past years to determine this on a more quantifiable basis including not only the proven aspects of any methodology involved but also expanding this to the actual individual acting as a witness. Nowhere has reliability been more tested than in the USA with the culmination being the Daubert v Merrell-Dow Pharmaceuticals Inc. case, later augmented and refined by two further cases (Joiner and Kuhmo) to create the “Daubert trilogy”. The judgement in Daubert quite clearly lays out the meaning of the word “scientific”. It implies grounding in the methods and procedure of science. Whether expert witness testimony is admitted is in the discretion of the judge who is charged with acting as the “gatekeeper” of scientific evidence. It is the judge’s role to determine both the relevancy and the reliability of expert witness testimony. Repeating the main tenets of reliability may be defined generally as follows: • Whether the scientific or technical knowledge can be or has been tested; the aim is to test its falsifiability or refutability. • Whether the theory or technique has been subjected to peer review and publication. • Known or potential rate of error associated with a particular technique. • General acceptance of the particular scientific technique within the relevant scientific community.

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• Whether standards exist for the control of the technique’s operation. Finally there is the implicit Marx standard which relate to whether the technique and its results are explicable to the jury in a clear and simple manner. As indicated earlier the Law Commission of England and Wales has as its chief tenet a reliability test. In the event that the credibility of an expert witness is queried as regards reliability, then the judge must consider a number of points. These are: • Whether the opinion is based on a hypothesis which has not been subjected to scrutiny (including experimental or other testing) or failed to has failed to stand up to scrutiny • Whether the opinion is based on an unjustifiable assumption • Whether the opinion is based on flawed data • Whether the opinion relies on examination, technique, method or process, which was not properly carried out or applied, or was not appropriate in a particular case • Whether the opinion relies on an inference or conclusion that was not properly reached These guidelines are, or should be, “meat and drink” for a scientist. Appropriate research, analysis and the reproducibility of results are fundamental. They ensure that flaws in the methodology are detected through publication and extensive experimentation. Moreover they indicated that the technique is finding its way into use via the literature. None of this would hold for adipocere. Returning to statistics, every scientific idea has statistical error and Type I and Type II error rates; these can be estimated with a fair amount of precision. There are known hazards to validity and reliability in any tests (experimental and quasi-­ experimental) of a theory. As stated, chemists have to study higher mathematics and statistics; it is compulsory. Statistical analysis and, critically, a true comprehension of what the results mean, is standard practice. In forensic archaeology and elsewhere, in-depth statistical analysis is usually deficient. This has led to less rigorous analysis and conclusions. Admissibility of fingerprint analysis was scrutinized severely as it did not meet some of the Daubert guidelines, although it was eventually permitted. Handwriting identification, polygraph evidence, psychiatric evidence and other techniques have failed to meet the Daubert guidelines in some past cases. Again chemistry, or rather a rigorous training in scientific methodology and a healthy dose of advanced mathematics as part of the course, assisted in partially answering the questions posed.

Conclusion In George Orwell’s Animal Farm, one of the seven commandments originally promulgated was that “all animals are equal”. Later, this is whittled down and changed to the oft-misquoted “all animals are equal but some animals are more equal than

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others”. One could say the same of the disciplines comprising the forensic sciences. A scientific method seeks to explain the events of nature in a reproducible way and to use these reproductions to make useful predictions. It is central to the study of chemistry as one of the natural, or physical, sciences. The origin of forensic archaeology from a social science background means that much of its evolution has derived from its ability to co-op applications from other disciplines, almost on an ad hoc basis. With reliability and relevance of forensic science evidence constantly under interrogation, the emergence of the Daubert trilogy guidelines has brought a focus to the various branches. The focus on establishing a more rigorous approach to evidence obtained from forensic sciences continues on both sides of the Atlantic. It has also highlighted the need for a more assiduous and meticulous approach, one that is implicit in chemistry.

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R. v. Sally Clark (2003). EWCA Crim 1020. Rollo, F., Ubaldi, M., Ermini, L., & Marota, I. (2002). Ötzi’s last meals: DNA analysis of the intestinal content of the Neolithic glacier mummy from the Alps. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 99(20), 12594–12599. Royal Statistical Society concerned by issues raised in Sally Clark case (PDF) (Press release). Royal Statistical Society. 23 Oct 2001. Saukko, P., & Knight, B. (2004). Knight’s forensic pathology (3rd ed.p. 71). London: Arnold. Schwartz, J.  H., Houghton, F., Macchiarelli, R., & Bondioli, L. (2010). Skeletal remains from Punic Carthage do not support systematic sacrifice of infants. PLoS One, 5(2), e9177. https:// doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.000917. Simonsen, J. (1977). Early formation of Adipocere in temperate climate. Medicine Science and Law, 17(1), 53. Stewart, T. D. (1979). Essentials of forensic anthropology. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas. Takatori, T., & Yamaoka, A. (1977). The mechanism of adipocere formation 1. Identification and chemical properties of hydroxy fatty acids in adipocere. Forensic Science, 9(1), 63–73. The Criminal Procedure Rules. (2014). Part 33 as in force on 6 October 2014. The Criminal Procedure Rules, no. 1610 (L. 26) legislation.gov.uk. Thompson, E. L., & Shumann, E. L. (1987). Interpretation of statistical evidence in criminal trials: The Prosecutor’s fallacy and the defense Attorney’s fallacy. Law and Human Behavior., 2(3), 167. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF01044641.JSTOR1393631. Xella, P., Quinn, J., Melchiorri, V., & van Dommelen, P. (2013). Cemetery or sacrifice? Infant burials at the Carthage tophet: Phoenician bones of contention. Antiquity, 87, 1199–1207.

Chapter 14

The Use of 3D Laser Scanning in Forensic Archaeology to Document Unauthorized Archaeological Damage Tate Jones and Martin E. McAllister

3D Laser Scanning and What It Produces 3D laser scanning uses high-speed lasers. Long-range scanners (see Fig. 14.1) fire at a rate of 50,000 points per second and close-range scanners at a rate of 2,000,000 points per second. Outdoor scanning situations typically require the use of long-­ range scanners, and close-range scanners are generally well suited for indoor scanning. Both scanner types collect geometric data points that are precisely registered in space in three dimensions. Scanning areas larger than what the scanner can “see” from one location requires multiple scan locations, also called “scan worlds.” Each scan world is shaped in a sphere, and the sphere is the radius of the length of the scanner range. In a typical exterior site, anywhere from 6 scan worlds to 100’s may be required for full target coverage. The product of combining and precisely registering the scan worlds together is called a “registered point cloud.” A registered point cloud can be exported into more than a dozen file types and can be inserted into most modern CAD programs. Autodesk CAD packages after 2012 will allow a point cloud to be inserted and then measured, drawn, and mapped in 2D and 3D. The point cloud contains millions of points that can be measured precisely. In addition, the distances and elevations between the points also can be measured precisely. The accuracy of the points is between one-quarter for long-range scanners and threeeighths of an inch for close-range scanners. Accuracy increases with the number of scan stations utilized and closeness to the target. Scan point geometric coordinates can be determined by controlling the scanning with GPS units or using an existing local datum. T. Jones KCI Technologies, Lawrenceville, GA, USA e-mail: [email protected] M. E. McAllister (*) Northland Research, Inc., Tempe, AZ, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_14

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Fig. 14.1  Long-range 3D laser scanner

In addition to the point cloud, laser scanners also produce high-resolution digital 360-degree horizontal by 270-degree vertical color photos. Normally, seven high-­ resolution photographs are taken at each scan station, six horizontally at 60° each and one directly vertical above the scanner. If any special photographs are needed, the scanner can be removed from the tripod and replaced with a high-resolution camera with a machined camera mount. This allows the camera to be in exactly the same position as the scan center so the scan points can be registered within the photo. Each point in the point cloud is then colored according to the photographic data. This process produces digital color images of what was scanned. Using a free software product called “TruView,” the point cloud and digital color images can then be used to create a “virtual reality-quality” computer model of the entire scan “world” consisting of everything scanned at all of the scan stations. The TruView product has a number of internal markup and measurement tools that are very useful. In addition to TruView’s 2D and 3D products, maps and 3D surface models can be generated using the most current version of AutoCAD software. These AutoCAD products are then normally converted into easily usable PDF documents, such as maps that can be incorporated directly into archaeological damage assessment reports.1 Most 3D laser scanning service providers charge a daily rate of between $1500.00 and $3000.00 for a two-person crew and equipment, plus travel costs. Using 2014 scanning hardware and photographic methods, a two-person crew can easily scan 10–20 scan worlds per hour greatly reducing the time to document a complex site. 3D laser scanning products and the cost and speed of the scanning process make it extremely useful for documenting unauthorized archaeological damage. These benefits have been recognized by the many major metropolitan police departments now using 3D laser scanning to document other types of felony crime scenes.

1  For additional technical information, see the LandAir Surveying Company website, http://www. landairsurveying.com/ or websites of other 3D laser scanning companies.

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Case Studies Because of the advantages of 3D laser scanning, Archaeological Damage Investigation and Assessment (ADIA)2 and LandAir Surveying Company have now used long-range scanners to document damage in five archaeological damage assessment projects. In addition, LandAir Surveying Company has conducted one independent 3D laser scanning test project involving an archaeological resource. Two of these damage assessment projects and the test project will be discussed here.

Red Elk Rock Shelter Case This case involved a large rock art or rock image panel at an archaeological site on US Army Corps of Engineers’ land along the Snake River in Idaho known as the Red Elk Rock Shelter. The site is located just south of Lewiston, Idaho and is an ancestral cultural resource of the Nez Perce Tribe who occupied the area prior to its occupation by Euro-Americans. The details of the case are discussed in another chapter of this volume (see Chap. 17). The images on the panel were painted or carved, “… on columnar basalt in a rockshelter that is approximately 27 … [meters] (89 … [feet]) long, 6 … [meters] (20 … [feet]) high, and 4.6 … [meters] (15 … [feet]) deep” (Boreson 1989:1). There are approximately 120 images located, “… a vertical distance of from 0.47 … [meter] (1.5 … [feet]) to 4.10 … [meter] (13.5 … [feet]) above the rockshelter floor” (Boreson 1989:5). The images “…include around 100 red, three orange, six green, and four black [painted] pictographs and five areas of [carved or] incised lines” (Boreson 1989:5). The average width of the columnar basalt faces on which the images were placed is about 10–15 in. As was subsequently determined (Fig. 14.2): … [Twenty-seven] graffiti defacements … [were spray-] painted over a linear distance of 79 feet and encompass almost the entire length of the rock image panel on the rear wall of the Red Elk Rock Shelter … [The] total length of the rock image panel is 89 feet, so only 10 feet of its length … [was] not damaged by the graffiti defacements. In many cases, the defacements were spray painted directly over the pictographs and petroglyphs that compose the panel. (McAllister 2010:29)

Conventional archaeological documentation of the unauthorized damage to the rock image panel would have involved recording each of the 27 graffiti spray-­ painted defacements using the same measured or scaled drawing and photography method that has been traditionally used to record rock images. The publication entitled A Basic Guide for Rock Art Recording, prepared by the American Rock Art Research Association, describes two methods for making these drawings:

2  In 2015 ADIA became the Heritage Protection and Emergency Management Team of Northland Research, Inc.

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Fig. 14.2  Central segment of graffiti vandalism to rock image panel Using a string grid is …[standard practice]. This requires you to take light cotton string, and using silk or cotton thread, construct 10 cm squares. This can be done by constructing the grid on a 1 m square wooden frame to help you maintain the 90 degrees orientation of each intersection. When completed, the string can be removed from the frame and you have a grid that is lightweight and easily compacted into your pack. In the field, the grid can then be secured over a panel with tape, and a drawing can be done on graph paper partitioned off into corresponding grids. This method is excellent because it gives you numerous reference points to replicate a motif and allows you to control your scale at the same time Another method is to simply measure reference points as you draw. If you consider that 20 cm will just fit on to a 8 1/2″ wide sheet of paper, then if you use a scale of 1 cm = 5 cm you can draw a 1 × 1 m area on a page easily and create any number of subdivisions that are necessary. If you use small pieces of tape to mark those dimensions off on the panel and additional tape markers for 25 or 50 cm divisions, you can in essence create a reference grid. This works best if the panel is not too “busy” (a dense number of elements). (2007:15)

As is also discussed in the guide, the subject or subjects of each measured drawing should be photographed in three formats, black and white prints, color slides, and digital images (2007:20–21). Four factors were considered in selecting the method to document the damage to the Red Elk Rock Shelter rock image panel: 1 . The total size of the panel 2. The total number of images on the panel 3. The location of the images on narrow columnar basalt faces 4. The amount and extent of graffiti defacement of the images on these basalt faces

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A conservative estimate of the level of effort required for the conventional measured drawing and photography method was 2–3 weeks by a crew of three to five archaeologists. Alternatively, it was assumed 3D laser scanning could be used to document the damage much more quickly and cost-effectively. 3D laser scanning of the 27 graffiti defacements quickly validated the decision to use this methodology. Two scanning technicians from LandAir Surveying Company and their equipment arrived in Lewiston, Idaho on the morning of the 1st day of the project. In the early afternoon, they were taken to the site by jet boat where they set up their equipment and began scanning the unauthorized damage to rock image panel at approximately 2:45 PM (see Fig. 14.3). By 5:15 PM, they completed five laser scans of the graffiti defacements. After arriving back in Lewiston at approximately 6:00 PM, they began processing and analyzing the scanning data. This ability to begin data processing almost immediately allows the project to be completed more efficiently. Based on their initial analysis, the scanning technicians decided that two additional scans of the rock image panel would be necessary to completely document the damage. The next morning, they were transported back to the site where they completed the additional scans by 10:15 AM. In addition to the TruView virtual reality-quality computer model of the rock image panel and the graffiti defacements, LandAir Surveying Company also produced various 2D representations of the unauthorized damage, some of which are shown in Figs.  14.4, 14.5, and 14.6. The mapping tools of both the 3D and 2D AutoCAD scanning products allowed the exact spatial positions and sizes of the graffiti defacements to be determined with a high degree of accuracy. Given the

Fig. 14.3  3D laser scanning of graffiti vandalism

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Fig. 14.4  Top view, colorized laser scan data of rock image panel; bottom view, colorized scan data digitally enhanced to bring out and highlight graffiti defacements

Fig. 14.5  Left view, colorized laser scan data with defacements outlined; right view, map of rock image panel with outline of graffiti defacements

relatively low level of effort required to conduct the 3D laser scanning and the associated data analysis, the cost of using 3D laser scanning to document the unauthorized damage to the rock image panel was extremely reasonable. LandAir Surveying Company estimates the current cost to conduct this work would be $14,500.00.

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Fig. 14.6  Map of entire length of rock image panel showing the outlines of the defacements

Track Rock Test Project Following their participation with ADIA in the Red Elk Rock Shelter Case, LandAir Surveying Company conducted 3D laser scanning of a rock image boulder in Georgia as an additional test of the use of this technology to document archaeological resources and unauthorized damage to them. The rock image boulder chosen for this project is part of the Track Rock site complex in the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest in northern Georgia relatively close to where the company

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headquarters are located. The “History & Culture” web page of this national forest describes the site complex as created by the Creek and Cherokee people and dating to more than 1000 years old. It is comprised of a series of petroglyphs carved on soapstone boulders. There are over a hundred carvings representing a wide range of figures. It is considered to be one of the most significant rock art sites in the Southeastern United States and the only such site located on public land in Georgia (Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest 2014). This web page also describes a study of the rock art, conducted by Johannes Loubser, for the Forest Service. Loubser made tracings of the carved figures using plastic that covered the boulders. The tracings were then scanned and converted into digital format. Photography was also conducted with Halogen lamps providing sidelight. This was done at night to provide additional contrast (Loubser 2010).

Track Rock Boulder 6 The results of the study for “Boulder 6” at the site are described below from the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest website (2014). This boulder was scanned by LandAir Surveying Company (Figs. 14.7 and 14.8): A total of 153 cupules were traced on Boulder 6. Fourteen vulva-shapes were recorded, 11 are football-shaped and three are circular. Of the fourteen vulva-shapes, two resemble cross-in-ring motifs. Each of these cross-in-ring designs contain a tiny cupule within the central groove, slightly below the intersection point of the cross lines. An elaborately carved vulva-form, on the central western portion of the boulder, has striations and a row of cupules along its periphery. Another vulva-form, lower down and closer to the southeastern side of the boulder, has striations outside its right-hand edge. Short vertical lines emanate from the bottoms of at least eight vulva shapes. Eighteen foot-like motifs have been traced. The feet vary in proportion and size; a particularly big foot with massive toes near the upper center of the boulder resembles that of a giant being. One track, near the upper central portion of the boulder, resembles the front track of a bear. Four of the six tracks that were traced are bird-like, while the other two are unidentifiable. Of all the footprints and tracks recorded, only one bird track points downwards, the rest point upwards, away from ground surface. Overall then, with the exception of the single downward pointing bird track, the feet and tracks create the impression of humans and animals walking to the apex of the rock, beginning at ground level. Remnants of curvilinear lines can be seen scattered across the boulder.

Fig. 14.7  Laser scan data displayed in 3D reshaper software with data configured to show the average curvature of the triangles in the mesh (This is effective in showing the larger, coarser outline of the object being scanned)

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Fig. 14.8  Laser scan data displayed in 3D reshaper software with data configured using a Gaussian filter to show the tightness of the curvature of the mesh (This is an excellent filter for enhancing smaller details in the surface mesh

A grid-like design occurs near the northwestern corner, while an inverted U-shape can be seen closer to the southeastern side. Four human-like figures can be seen on the boulder, two of which are upside-down. A figure on the eastern slope of the boulder has arms that terminate in cupules. Two cup-in-ring designs can be seen on the boulder too, both occurring west of the center. (Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest website 2014)

Southeastern US Looting Case This case occurred in 2012 but cannot be fully discussed here because it is still in the investigative phase, and prosecution of the case has not been initiated. It involved unauthorized excavation or looting of an early prehistoric or pre-European contact archaeological site on federal land in the Southeastern United States. The site had good access to desirable environmental resources and was apparently occupied seasonally by prehistoric people for thousands of years. As a result of its long-term use, human burials are present at the site, and burials at sites of this type are known to contain certain types of artifacts sought after by collectors. Looters damaged the site with a number of unauthorized excavations targeting burials before they were apprehended by law enforcement officers. As in the Red Elk Rock Shelter case, ADIA again contracted with LandAir Surveying Company to conduct 3D laser scanning of the damage. The scanning was accomplished very quickly, requiring only 5 h of field time to complete. In addition to the standard scans, the survey technicians positioned the scanner to “look down” into each of the unauthorized excavations. This was the first time very irregularly shaped excavations had been scanned. The data analysis phase of the project produced the 3D TruView virtual reality computer model of the site and a highly accurate 2D AutoCAD map of the damaged portion of the site surface showing the exact locations of all of the unauthorized excavations. Most importantly, the data analysis precisely determined the volumes of each unauthorized excavation and a total volume figure of all of the damage. Traditionally, the volume of damage for unauthorized excavations has been difficult to determine accurately using any conventional means of measurement and quantification because they tend be very irregular horizontally and vertically. Figures 14.9 and 14.10 show unauthorized excavations from other cases to illustrate this situation. 3D laser scanning of either of the looter

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Fig. 14.9  Unauthorized excavation in archaeological site

Fig. 14.10  Unauthorized excavation in archaeological site

e­ xcavations shown in these figures would have allowed their exact volumes to be determined. An additional unanticipated product of the scanning in the southeastern looting case was a computer model showing the subsurface shape of each unauthorized excavation. The cost of the 3D laser scanning for this case was $10,000.00, including travel. Conventional archaeological mapping and quantification of the unauthorized damage would have been far more expensive and far less accurate.

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Other Cases ADIA and LandAir Surveying Company also have used 3D laser scanning to document unauthorized archaeological damage on public lands in three recent cases involving: 1. A number of unauthorized archaeological excavations in a large late archaic bison kill site, including one large mechanically excavated area 1435.2 yd2 in area by a maximum of 1.2 yd deep, for a total volume of 1722.2 yd3 2. Unauthorized mechanical excavations in three areas of a large multicomponent mound site 3. Unauthorized all-terrain vehicle damage to components of eight ancestral Pueblo sites of various types The results of 3D laser scanning in five ADIA archaeological damage assessment projects have shown the advantages of its use, and it will continue to be used regularly in future projects.

Conclusions The use of 3D laser scanning to document unauthorized damage to archaeological resources: • Is more accurate than any form of conventional archaeological documentation • Is much less labor intensive and, therefore, more cost-effective • Produces any 2D or 3D product required, including the TruView 3D virtual reality computer model of what has been scanned and 2D AutoCAD products such as maps of archaeological damage locations that can be incorporated directly into archaeological damage assessment reports • Allows surface areas sizes and/or volumes of archaeological damage locations to be generated quickly and precisely 3D laser scanning represents a substantial improvement over conventional archaeological methods used to document archaeological damage and the results these methods produce. It should rapidly become the state-of-the-art technology in this aspect of forensic archaeology. In addition, current 3D laser scanning of resource damage will be augmented by promising new technologies including 3D imaging from the air using small unmanned aerial vehicles and underwater using remotely operated vehicles and autonomous underwater vehicles.

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References American Rock Art Research Association. (2007). A basic guide for rock art recording. Available at: http://www.arara.org. Accessed Aug 2014. Boreson, K. (1989). Documentation of rock art site 10NP287, Nez Perce County, Idaho. Short Report SR-182. Archaeological and Historical Services, Eastern Washington University, Cheney, Washington, Submitted to the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, Contract No. DACW68-­ 89-­M-7489. Copies available from Archaeological and Historical Services, Eastern Washington University, Cheney, Washington. Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest. (2014). History and culture. Available at: http://www. fs.usda.gov/detailfull/conf/learning/history-culture/?cid=stelprdb5221888&width=full. Accessed Aug 2014. Loubser, J. H. N. (2010). The recording and interpretation of two petroglyph locales, track rock gap and Hickorynut Mountain, Blue Ridge and Chattooga River Ranger Districts, Chattahoochee-­ Oconee National Forests, Union and White Counties, Georgia, Forest Service Report, Number R2010-08-03-00002. Gainesville: USDA Forest Service, Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forests. McAllister, M.  E. (2010). Archaeological damage assessment report: unauthorized damage to archaeological resources at the red Elk Rock shelter site in the Vicinity of Lewiston, Idaho. Archaeological Damage Investigation & Assessment, Submitted to the U.S.  Army Corps of Engineers, Contract No. W912EF-10-P-5049. Copies available from Archaeological Damage Investigation & Assessment, Missoula, Montana.

Chapter 15

Forensic Archaeology and the Question of Using Geographic Profiling Methods Such as “Winthropping” Sharon K. Moses

Introduction Forensic archaeology is an applied science utilized for the purpose of systematic and scientific documentation, excavation of human remains, or collection of surface body scatters at a crime scene or a suspicious death, in the context of an outdoor environment. Forensic archaeologists also offer significant assistance in the interpretation of human (offender and/or victim) and animal behaviors at a body disposal site drawing from knowledge of soils and other environmental factors that impact the site formation process around human remains and their attendant artifacts. Forensic archaeologists should not, however, be narrowly defined as specialists called upon only after human remains have been found but included in the search effort as well. Search and rescue agencies that have taken the step of including forensic archaeologists have learned to appreciate them for their analysis of landscapes and understanding of spatial behavior. In cases of found human remains and based upon the postmortem time lapse, forensic archaeologists can also aid in identifying the stages and means of dispersal of the body from the original dump or death site. The unique skill set of the forensic archaeologist can help to differentiate site formation processes from purposeful behaviors that might be missed or misinterpreted by law enforcement personnel less knowledgeable in these factors. Forensic archaeology continues to develop and improve approaches to crime scenes since its inception over 25 years ago (Canter and Larkin 1993; Dirkmaat and Adovasio 1996; Haglund 2001; Hunter et al. 1997, 2013). Gary Ridgway, dubbed the “Green River Killer,” who is considered the most prolific serial murderer in the United States, was convicted of murdering 49 women in the 1980s and 1990s. Most were prostitutes from the Seattle-Tacoma area of Washington. His body dumps and clandestine burials were carried out in varied environments including forested areas, S. K. Moses (*) Northern Arizona University, Flagstaff, AZ, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_15

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in and along the Green River, along rural roadways, and in and around vacant buildings in outlying areas (Haglund 2001; Reichert 2004). Personnel involved in body recovery efforts began to try a more systematic approach, realizing that if and when the offender was caught, it would be imperative that evidence and documentation of the crime scenes be conducted as scientifically as possible for court. Archaeological principles seemed to fit with this objective, and techniques were employed by non-­ archaeologists in a learn-as-you-go approach. Forensic archaeology, or archaeology adapted for forensic purposes and for preserving evidentiary integrity, was still in its infancy at that time (Haglund 2001). Professional archaeologists have since developed specific adaptations appropriate for criminal investigations. The easiest scenario for a body recovery is arguably after the burial or human remains have been found and the recovery process is initiated. But recovering victim remains is not always as straightforward as one would prefer. Law enforcement occasionally face situations when a homicide is suspected but a body has not yet been discovered, which seriously impacts moving forward with legal charges and a court case, or when several bodies have been found in a multiple homicide, but others remain elusive in the recovery process. In these situations, it is a challenge to locate clandestine burials or dump sites with little more than speculation if one does not have the offender in custody (who is willing to reveal body disposition sites). To tackle this problem, forensic archaeologists have begun looking into the viability of geographic profiling and how this might be adapted to help locate undiscovered human remains. Geographic profiling has traditionally been used to locate the offender, but by adapting the model essentially in reverse, based upon known patterns of the offender’s spatial behavior, factoring in the offender’s base (if already determined) and background, it is seen as a methodology that has potential benefit to the field of forensic archaeology. Criminal investigators have utilized some form of mapping crime scenes for over a century, but the formal method of using a structural outline of geographic profiling began in 1989, in the Simon Fraser School of Criminology in British Columbia, Canada (Rossmo 1997; LePard et al. 2015). Profiling as an investigative tool began as a psychological approach to investigative techniques. Geographic or environmental profiling grew as a subfield within psychological profiling.

Search Strategies and Goals for Homicide Investigations Profiling and the Subcategory of Geographic Profiling  Geographic profiling is an outgrowth of psychological investigative research methods begun in the 1980s that became popularly known as profiling. Psychology’s place in criminal investigation was not officially accepted at its conception but came to be legitimized in a gradual and at times begrudging fashion (Groth 1979; Pinizzotto 1984; Pinizzotto and Finkel 1990; Ressler and Burgess 1985; Ressler et al. 1988). Profiling was a technique instituted to create predictive models of violent offender behavior based upon personality characteristics and to gain a better understanding of the so-called

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motiveless crimes. Serial offenders victimizing strangers (in rape, arson, murder) fell into this category and presented a particularly difficult type of offence to investigate. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) estimates that only approximately 1% of homicides in the United States can be attributed to serial killers (Douglas et al. 2013; Miller 2015). Crime scene mapping a.k.a. geographic profiling also relies on psychological understanding of an offender and their spatial behavioral patterns. It involves plotting an offender’s known crime scenes on a map to help define his/her crime scene range to gain a general idea for the location of the offender’s home base. Known as the circle hypothesis, this method is a central concept in geographic profiling and was developed by David Canter, a UK psychologist. Canter’s profiling skills were adapted to narrowing down the location of the offender, based upon a pattern of his activities. Scotland Yard had asked Canter to help provide a psychological profile for the serial rapist/killer who had been terrorizing London area railway stations from 1975 to 1986. Canter’s geo-profile was integral to the capture of John Duffy, the “Railway Rapist.” It was later discovered that Duffy carried out some of these crimes with a partner, David Mulcahy. Canter plotted the crime scenes on a map and devised a calculation based upon the widest distances separating crime scenes that suggested the offender had a home base somewhere within the plotted region (Canter 1994, 2003; Petherick 2014; Rossmo 1997). Canter noted that the offence locations seemed to be spread out from two disparate locations rather than one. After capture, this was confirmed with two different home bases for Duffy and Mulcahy  – and their crime scenes radiated out from each home and overlapped (Canter 2003:124–130). Canter’s spatial behavior theory divides offenders into two groups he labeled marauders and commuters and considered their behavior even in navigating their surroundings to be firmly rooted in their psychological makeup. Each criminal act is an opportunity to glean insights into an offender’s perception of his environment as well as how he/she interacts with their victim. Thus, no crime scene is without an opportunity to learn something of the offender’s spatial behaviors. Even the offender’s “criminal behavior mirrors their noncriminal behavior” (Petherick 2014:10). Canter defined the marauder as one who embarked on targets within certain distances from his home (circle hypothesis), while the commuter purposely traveled outside of his home region into another in order to distance himself and his routine from his crimes (illustrated by two separate circles transected by a travel route between them). Studies have shown that 87% of offenders fall within the “marauder” designation and only 13% are “commuters” (Canter and Larkin 1993). That finding would seem to suggest for proponents of geographic profiling that the circle hypothesis is the most probable model to use when establishing a crime scene region and estimated home base. The circle hypothesis model includes a distance decay principle, which dictates that offenders’ criminal activity diminishes the farther away from their home base they are; therefore, crimes tend to decrease in the outer periphery from an offender’s home base and seriously lessen or disappear outside their established region. In addition to two categories of offenders, Canter (2003) ­outlines

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five principles in his model of guideposts in compiling an offender profile. They include: 1. Interpersonal coherence – meaning that offenders will likely treat their victims much the same way they treat others in their noncriminal activities. Underlying attitudes will govern their interpersonal skills (or lack thereof). 2. A time and place principle – such that the time and location of the crime will have as much bearing on the way the crime is perpetrated and where the victim’s remains (in this case homicide victim) are disposed. 3. The offender’s criminal career – the history and background experiences of the offender leading up to this crime. 4. Forensic awareness – how knowledgeable the offender is of forensic methods in order to avoid detection. 5. The offender’s unique criminal characteristics that influence his/her propensities and patterns of behavior. Canter’s human behavior studies also posit that most criminals do not venture far from their home base to perpetrate their crimes, preferring to operate within their comfort zone. Staying within a known territory reduces risk and minimizes exposure time, enabling the offender to choose quick routes home. Besides human behavior, Canter and other psychological investigators consider animal studies as well, which indicate that most predators will minimize their efforts (the concept of least effort) when hunting prey. Once a hunt area has been identified and has produced successful results, predators will continue to return to it until the prey population is depleted, leaves, or becomes too wary or too difficult to catch (Canter 2003:122). Predators will often try to identify another hunting area of similar distance from their den or expand upon the first one, depending upon their species’ usual hunting range. According to Canter and other psychological investigators, human predators typically operate with similar spatial reasoning (Canter and Larkin 1993; Canter 2003:122). The human animal, however, functions on a different spectrum of reasoning when it comes to serial homicide and other “motiveless” violent serial crimes. Kim Rossmo, a former detective inspector for the Vancouver, British Columbia police department, analyzed unsolved missing women cases that showed a marked increase in 1997–1998 in the Vancouver area. These were later attributed to Robert William Pickton who was convicted in 2007 of murdering 6 women but is believed to have killed at least 49. Pickton kept a farm in Port Coquitlam, which came to be dubbed “The Pig Farm” by the press because of Pickton’s practice of disposing victims’ bodies by feeding most of them to his pigs. Pickton preyed on primarily aboriginal prostitutes from Vancouver’s downtown eastside (Jiwani and Young 2006; LePard et al. 2015). DI Rossmo went on to earn a doctorate from Simon Fraser University in British Columbia and has expanded on the field of geographic profiling (LePard et al. 2015; Rossmo 2000; Rossmo and Davies 2001). Rossmo challenges the least effort principle in that it is too often applied as a one size fits all in geographic profiling such that analysts select the shortest or easiest routes between criminal activities: the crime scene, the body disposal site, and the

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offender’s home base (Petherick 2014; Rossmo 2000). Rossmo believes embracing the least effort principle uncritically is problematic when looking at urban versus rural environments. There are multiple variables affecting spatial behavior in terms of selecting and transporting a body to a disposal site: traffic patterns based on time, season, main and secondary thoroughfares, specifically targeted victim populations, offender’s financial status, opportunity, and other factors that impact how a perpetrator chooses to navigate his urban or rural landscape. Rossmo (2000) also introduces the concept of buffer zones. These areas also vary in dimensions and typically encircle the offender’s home base and may even be found around other locations that hold significance to the offender (their child’s school, a church, etc.). Buffers are consciously and unconsciously chosen; consciously, they may want to avoid places where they may be recognized from frequent routine visits or travel (van Koppen and de Keijser 1997). Unconsciously, an offender may be attempting to maintain a sense of “purity” or separateness for location based upon their own interpretation of their world and what is “appropriate” in their view. “Commuters” establish this cushion at the outset by leaving their home territory altogether, but their central location spatial behavior is often transferred to the site where they initially encounter their target victim population, and crime scenes spread out from there. Scholars that challenge the distance decay principle and its predictive frequency for crime scenes or body dumps point out that there is no accounting for offender impulsivity due to triggers, unexpected opportunities, and opportunities that arise in the course of routine activities (Brantingham and Brantingham 1993b; Cohen and Felson 1979; Rengert et al. 1999). Yet, studies into the diversity of underlying psychological and behavioral processes that dictate spatial behaviors among serial killers indicate they can be widely varied and individually unique (Hammond and Youngs 2011; Holmes and Holmes 2009; Jackson and Bekerian 1997; Lersch 2007), undermining a universal predictive model. Other factors affecting chosen locations for criminal activity besides those already addressed may include symbolic reasoning linked to offenders’ fantasies, which is rarely considered in the literature on search methodologies. Winthropping (a.k.a. Feature-Focused Searching): A Search Technique to Find Undiscovered Caches and Burials  The profiling methods thus far have concentrated upon locating the home base of the offender for the purpose of capture. How do we translate these into useful methodologies and theoretical principles that benefit forensic archaeologists in locating clandestine graves? Forensic archaeologists are tasked with finding serial and single event homicide victims or hidden criminal deposits. Historically, ground searches for burials have been the domain of forensic archaeologists who employ well-established techniques that include search teams working systematically in “walkovers” within a designated gridded terrain, aerial photography, cadaver dogs, auguring, ground penetrating radar (GPR), geographic information systems (GIS), and LiDAR – light detection and ranging – a remote sensing method that pulses laser via scanner to a global positioning system device (GPS) to look for shadowed or depressed areas on the ground that may indicate buried caches or graves. Typically, no single search strategy represents a s­ tand-­alone

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approach but is used in conjunction with others as appropriate for the environment and circumstances. Winthropping is a search technique perfected by the British Army during the conflict between Britain and Northern Ireland, also known as “The Troubles,” that raged from 1968 to 1998. The Irish Republican Army (IRA) and other paramilitary groups considered terrorist organizations, employed protest, and violent guerrilla tactics against British occupiers that included bombing and kidnapping, resulting in over 3600 deaths and thousands more of injured casualties (Kelters 2013). The objective of the IRA and similar groups was the independence of Northern Ireland from British rule. Southern Ireland (The Republic of Ireland) won its independence in 1922, but Northern Ireland remained part of the United Kingdom. A minority population (primarily those subscribing to the Catholic faith) in the North wanted a unified Ireland completely free of the British (primarily of Protestant faith) occupation and rule, and polarization between these groups escalated. During this time, the British military developed winthropping for searching and locating IRA weapon caches, bomb materials, and other hidden deposits (Humphrey et  al. n.d.). Anecdotally, it is said the method was created and implemented by a British military officer by the name of Winthrop, but because of his own criminality later in life, the label fell from favor and was no longer used. Unfortunately, there are no accessible public documents known by this author that provide a provable basis to support this account. Despite the end of the British-IRA conflict, the winthropping model has not been given wide dissemination among nonmilitary institutions. Inquiries to Northern Ireland law enforcement agencies via Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) are met with a formulaic response declaring, “we can neither confirm nor deny” the method or its use. Some British law enforcement and military entities still employ this method to locate illegal caches and clandestine burials, but the approach is not evenly shared, and little to no research has been published on its methodology. Access to archival material is still restricted, and public dissemination of substantive information about it is rare due to a belief that to do so would be compromising its efficacy in law enforcement success. With the plethora of other forensic information publicly available on the Internet, in the literature, and in the media to anyone wishing to research ways of circumventing law enforcement  – secrecy seems unwarranted and only creates unnecessary obstacles for other law enforcement agencies and forensic specialists wishing to learn more about it. The premise of winthropping is that offenders are influenced by their landscapes, including identifiable landmarks and boundaries that promote or preclude them from creating clandestine burials or caches in those places. Geographic profiling components such as least effort, circle hypothesis, and distance decay can be found within winthropping. Winthropping has been renamed a “feature-focused search method,” and a.k.a. “reference point searching” and is founded on pragmatism, such as an offender’s placement of a cache or clandestine burial near landscape features that can be used to aid in relocating it at a later date (Donnelly and Harrison 2017:107). Its modern iteration has also incorporated components of psychological

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investigative profiling in that the characteristics of the offender are also considered and how these, too, influence his/her preferences and choices in selecting body disposal sites. Offenders draw upon their own cognitive maps, experiences, and place memories (Augenstein 2017). Some offenders derive pleasure at driving or walking past landmarks and knowing that their victim is buried nearby; others want their victims found and leave them near access points for public discovery, while still others want their victims hidden for good, never to be discovered by human or scavenger. Feature-focused searches also incorporate geographic information system (GIS) and use environmental reference points (Donnelly and Harrison 2017; Killam 2004; McKinley 2017). These reference points consider the natural environment’s hidden areas (caves, ravines, etc.) that shield clandestine activity from the view of the road, trails, homes, and other places of public access. The least effort principle, also borrowed from geographic profiling, weighs the effort of digging a grave against the amount of work and time necessary; if the soils are too rocky or difficult, a body can be hidden in a natural niche, a tree fall, or covered over with rocks or debris instead. GIS components draw from satellite and aerial imagery, governmental topographic maps and integrates crime scene mapping to identify likely search areas. Faculty at Cranfield University in the United Kingdom have embarked on experimental efforts to help identify human behavior considering environmental factors such as landscape features, seasons, amount of weight being transported, and hour of the day or night when body disposal activities may take place (Humphrey et al. n.d.) and clearly incorporate Canter’s model for the time and place principle. Volunteers are provided diverse landscapes and tasked with choosing hypothetical deposit locations. The Cranfield researchers hope to create a database of human spatial behaviors as they relate to the act of homicide and body disposal. Their experimental field tests include identifying patterned choices of human movement across landscapes under duress and physical ability for clandestine burial placement.

 earch Strategies: Single-Event Homicides and Forensic S Archaeology The majority of forensic archaeologists’ involvement in clandestine burial recoveries, however, will not be focused on serial killer cases, which are rare and account for approximately only 1% of the homicides in the United States in a given year, but on single-event homicides. In that regard, searching for a pattern among already discovered multiple homicide burials would not be an option. There have been a number of studies on spatial behaviors of offenders in an attempt to understand choices and the selection processes that offenders go through in dealing with a body disposal (Brantingham and Brantingham 1984, 1993a; Godwin and Canter 1997;

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Hakkenen et  al. 2007; Lundrigan and Canter 2001; Snook et  al. 2005). Many of these studies consider components such as age, intelligence, and psychopathy as well as relationship (or lack thereof) to the victims. Most striking is statistical evidence from a study done in rural Finland that demonstrates that the most salient predictive variable on the distance between a clandestine burial from the original homicide scene is based upon the relationship of the adult victim to the offender (Hakkenen et al. 2007). In this study of homicide case files for rural Finland between 1994 and 2005, the more familiar the offender was to the victim, i.e., family members, the higher the likelihood that the victim’s clandestine burial would be placed farther away from the murder scene than victims who were only acquaintances or strangers. This might be attributed to psychologically creating a physical expression of emotional distancing from a victim who was close to the offender. This is in stark contrast to the studies on child victims killed by family members, who tend to be disposed of close to home, often within 5 miles (if home was the murder scene), or children abducted from their home, typically by an offender who lives nearby (Hanfland et al. 1997; Netherly 2004). The data on adult mothers with children who are murdered and buried together is primarily based upon serial/sexual homicides; those distance patterns are skewed for that specific group and are not helpful here. In general, most clandestine burials (83%) were placed within 30 miles or less of their murder site. Following this principle, a husband who murders his wife would likely place her body at the outer periphery of that 30-mile radius. Other components influencing distances were familiarity with the landscape in that over 60% of clandestine burials in rural landscapes are locations that were well-­ known to the offender and for whom there were memories associated with those landscapes (Brantingham and Brantingham 1993a; Golledge 1999). In addition, approximately 61% of offenders plan for a body disposal site before committing a murder (Keppel 1997; Netherly 2004). Finally, the older the offender, the closer the dump/burial site tends to be to the murder site (Snook et al. 2005).

Conclusion Are psychological investigative profiling, geographic profiling from criminology, and military “winthropping,” a.k.a. feature-focused search strategies, viable avenues of theoretical and methodological development for the field of forensic archaeology? There are clearly benefits and obstacles that each present. General archaeology has historically adopted other fields’ theoretical bases in the social and technical sciences for the interpretation of past human behavior in addition to anthropological consideration of biology, communication, culture, and material expressions of behavior. It is important to consider how human behavior in the context of clandestine burials and body dumps sites are configured and the influences on where they are located and why.

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Archaeologists are ultimately anthropologists, and unlocking human behavior in the context of social norms is key. It is the opinion of this author that forensic archaeologists should familiarize themselves with these strategies and theories and develop a protocol for designing our own search strategies for locating missing persons’ remains (possible homicide victims) and clandestine burials. These can only enhance our understanding of environmentally located crime scenes and enhance forensic archaeology’s contribution toward finding, documenting, excavating and interpreting them.

References Augenstein, S. (2017). Using GIS to find hidden graves based on killers’ preferences. https://www. forensicmag.com/news/2017/11/using-gis-find-hidden-graves-based-killers-preferences. Brantingham, P. J., & Brantingham, P. L. (1984). Patterns in crime. New York: Macmillan. Brantingham, P. J., & Brantingham, P. L. (1993a). Nodes, paths and edges: Considerations on the complexity of crime and the physical environment. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 13, 3–28. Brantingham, P. J., & Brantingham, P. L. (1993b). Environment, routine, and situation: Toward a pattern theory of crime. In R. V. Clarke & M. Felson (Eds.), Routine activity and rational choice: Advances in criminological theory (Vol. 5, pp. 259–294). New Brunswick: Transaction Books. Canter, D. (1994). Criminal shadows. London: Harper Collins. Canter, D. (2003). Mapping murder: The secrets of geographical profiling. London: Virgin Books. Canter, D., & Larkin, P. (1993). The environmental range of serial rapists. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 13, 63–69. Cohen, L.  E., & Felson, M. (1979). Social change and crime rate trends: A routine activity approach. American Sociological Review, 44, 588–605. Dirkmaat, D. C., & Adovasio, J. M. (1996). The role of archaeology in the recovery and interpretation of human remains from an outdoor forensic setting. In W. D. Haglund & M. H. Sorg (Eds.), Forensic taphonomy: The postmortem fate of human remains (pp. 39–64). Boca Raton: CRC Press. Donnelly, L. J., & Harrison, M. (2017). Ground searches for graves and buried targets related to homicide, terrorism and organized crime. Episodes, 40(2), 106–117. Douglas, J. E., Burgess, A. W., Burgess, A. G., & Ressler, R. K. (2013). Crime classification manual: A standard system for investigating and classifying violent crime (3rd ed.). Hoboken: Wiley. Godwin, M., & Canter, D. (1997). Encounter and death: The spatial behavior of US serial killers. Policing: International Journal of Police Strategy and Management, 20, 24–38. Golledge, R. G. (1999). Human wayfinding and cognitive maps. In R. G. College (Ed.), Wayfinding behavior: Cognitive mapping and other spatial processes (pp. 5–45). Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Groth, A. (1979). Men who rape: The psychology of the offender. New York: Plenum. Haglund, W. D. (2001). Archaeology and forensic death investigations. Historical Archaeology, 35(1), 26–34. Hakkenen, H., Hurme, K., & Liukkonen, M. (2007). Distance patterns and disposal sites in rural area homicides committed in finland. Journal of Investigative Psychology and Offender Profiling, 4, 181–197. Hammond, L., & Youngs, D. (2011). Decay functions and criminal spatial processes: Geographical offender profiling of volume crime. Journal of Investigative Psychology and Offender Profiling. Wiley Online Library. https://wileyonlinelibrary.com.

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Hanfland, K. A., Keppel, R. D., & Weis, J. G. (1997). Case management for missing children homicide investigation. Seattle: Washington State Office of the Attorney General. Holmes, R. M., & Holmes, S. T. (2009). Profiling violent crimes: An investigative tool (4th ed.). Thousand Oaks: SAGE Publications. Humphrey, N., Masters, P., Harrison, K. (n.d.). Online PDF. https://winthropping.files.wordpress. com. Hunter, J., Roberts, C., & Martin, A. (1997). Studies in crime: An introduction to forensic archaeology. London: Routledge. Hunter, J., Simpson, B., & Colls, C. S. (2013). Forensic approaches to buried remains. Chichester: Wiley. Jackson, J. L., & Bekerian, D. A. (Eds.). (1997). Offender profiling: Theory, research and practice. Chichester: Wiley. Jiwani, Y., & Young, M. L. (2006). Missing and murdered women: Reproducing marginality in news discourse. Canadian Journal of Communication, 31(2006), 895–917. Kelters, S. (2013). Violence in the troubles. BBC History. www.bbc.co.uk/history. Keppel, R. (1997). Signature murders: A report of several related cases. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 40, 670–674. Killam, E. W. (2004). The detection of human remains. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas Publisher. van Koppen, P. J., & de Keijser, J. (1997). Desisting distance decay: On the aggregation of individual crime trips. Criminology, 35, 505–515. LePard, D., Demers, S., Langan, C., & Kim Rossmo, D. (2015). Challenges in serial murder investigations involving missing persons. Police Practice and Research, 16(4), 328–340. Lersch, K. M. (2007). Space, time and crime (2nd ed.). North Carolina: Carolina Academic Press. Lundrigan, S., & Canter, D. (2001). Spatial patterns of serial murder: An analysis of disposal site location choice. Behavioral Sciences and the Law, 19, 595–610. McKinley, J. (2017). Application of geographic information system (GIS) in forensics geoscience. Episodes, 40(2), 155–171. Miller, C. T. (2015). The FBI built a database that can catch rapists: Almost nobody uses it. https:// www.propublica.org. Netherly, K. (2004). Non-familial abductions that end in homicide: An analysis of the distances patterns and disposal sites. Unpublished Master’s Thesis, School of Criminology, Simon Fraser University. Petherick, W. (2014). Profiling and serial crime: Theoretical and practical issues (3rd ed.). Waltham: Anderson Publishing, an imprint of Elsevier. Pinizzotto, A.  J. (1984). Forensic psychology: Criminal personality profiling. Journal of Police Science and Administration, 12(1), 32–39. Pinizzotto, A. J., & Finkel, N. J. (1990). Criminal personality profiling: An outcome and process study. Law and Human Behavior, 14, 215–233. Reichert, D. (2004). Chasing the devil: My twenty-year quest to capture the Green River Killer. New York: Little, Brown and Company. Rengert, G. F., Piquero, A. R., & Jones, P. R. (1999). Distance decay reexamined. Criminology, 37(2), 427–445. Ressler, R. K., & Burgess, A. W. (1985). Sexual homicide crime scenes and patterns of criminal behavior [Final Report]. Boston: National Institute of Justice. Ressler, R. K., Burgess, A. W., & Douglas, J. E. (1988). Sexual homicide: Patterns and motives. New York: Lexington Books. Rossmo, D. K. (1997). Geographic profiling. In J. L. Jackson & D. A. Bekerian (Eds.), Offender profiling: Theory, research and practice. West Sussex: Wiley. Rossmo, D. K. (2000). Geographic Profiling, CRC Press, LLC. New York, NY. Rossmo, D. K., & Davies, A. (2001). Stealth predator patterns. Crime Mapping News, 3, 6–7. Snook, B., Cullen, R. M., Mokros, A., & Harbort, S. (2005). Serial murderer’s spatial decisions: Factors that influence crime location choice. Journal of Investigative Psychology and Offender Profiling, 2, 147–164.

Part IV

Case Studies

Chapter 16

The Benefits of a Cooperative Approach: Case Studies from Lancaster County, Nebraska John Oladapo Obafunwa, Karl Reinhard, and Emily Hammerl

There has been a productive interplay between forensic field investigation and lab analysis in Nebraska during the past three decades. Two legal aspects have governed various forms of collaboration. First, because of an unusual state law in Nebraska, each county attorney is that county’s coroner. Therefore, for large counties, such as Lancaster County, the county attorney employs a coroner’s physician. The county attorney performs all of the duties of the county coroner and therefore the ex officio county coroner. Because county attorneys do not have the training of a forensic pathologist, a coroner’s physician provides forensic pathology expertise in death investigations. A second state law, Nebraska Unmarked Human Burial Sites and Skeletal Remains Protection Act, mandates the assistance of an archaeologist at the discovery site of skeletal remains. That brings in expertise from the Nebraska State Historical Society’s professional archaeologists. From 1991 to today, southeast Nebraska has forensic pathologists in the private sector, both in Lincoln and Omaha. Importantly, for skeletal and mummified human remains, the forensic pathologists usually call for assistance from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln’s physical anthropologists. Therefore, the Nebraska coroner system serves as an example of a system that works well in larger counties and cities where legal, medical, archaeological, and anthropological expertise exists.

J. O. Obafunwa Lagos State University College of Medicine, Ikeja, Nigeria K. Reinhard Professor and Fulbright Scholar, School of Natural Resources University of Nebraska – Lincoln, Lincoln, NE, USA e-mail: [email protected] E. Hammerl Department of Anthropology, University of Nebraska – Lincoln, Lincoln, NE, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_16

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Introduction The exact mechanisms through which the cooperative and multidisciplinary coroner system works in Nebraska have varied over the years. For the first criminal case that required forensic anthropologists in 1991, professional archaeologists and surveyors documented the site. Then, with archaeological assistants, larger blocks of prairie turf were moved from the crime scene to the University of Nebraska. There, bones and physical remains such as clothing were recovered in a lab setting and then transferred to the morgue (Reinhard et al. 2013). Smaller sections of turf and individual bones recovered from the crime scene were brought directly to the morgue. Recovery of evidence was supervised by Nebraska State Patrol officials and the coroner’s physician. Especially in winter when the ground is frozen, this system of moving relevant sections of the crime scene to the morgue continued until 2007. Variations on this theme of multidisciplinary cooperation occurred depending on the context and type of remains. For example, an intact, mummified corpse was recovered by the Nebraska State Patrol in a south Nebraska residence. The mummy was transported to the morgue where forensic pollen and diet samples were taken and the forensic anthropology was performed (Reinhard et  al. 2017). In another case, a team of physical anthropologists, coroner’s physician team, and Lancaster County Sheriff unit recovered a decomposing, partly mummified individual from a lake area. Physical anthropologists were especially involved in collected tarsals, carpals, and phalanges that had been scattered by scavengers (unpublished). Sheriff’s deputies were also instrumental in recovering an extensively decomposed body at the periphery of a different park (Myers et  al. 1999). In this case, law enforcement handles the crime scene, and the physical anthropology was done by radiologists and anthropologists with the supervision of the coroner’s physician. However, it has been a general practice between 1991 and 2006 for law enforcement to involve archaeologists, anthropologists, and the coroner’s physician team in the recovery of remains. In 2007, the University of Nebraska-Lincoln initiated a forensic science program. Between the years of 2007 and 2011, faculty participated with the Lincoln Police crime scene team on several cases. The collaboration of police investigators, forensic pathologists, and university faculty proved to be efficient. In the case of a transient discovered at a campsite, the police records of the crime scene, police-­ obtained medical records, forensic anthropology evaluation, and police imaging were reviewed by forensic pathologists to determine possible causes of death (Obafunwa et al. 2018). In this chapter, we are reviewing the methods and collaboration applied in two cases. The first case occurred after the collaboration of university experts, pathologists, and police crime scene investigators became the norm. The second case occurred at a time when crime scene investigators worked independently of morgue investigators.

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Case 1: Expedient “Cremation” of a Homeless Man Cremation as a method of disposal of human remains dates back to at least 30,000 years ago. There was a documentation of the discovery of cremated remains in Australia with ages of over 32,000 years (Bowler et al. 1970). The forensic relevance of this method of disposal has been of interest since the late nineteenth century, considering that it could be employed as a means to conceal a homicide (Lancet 1893). The human body consists of soft and hard tissues; the former includes the skin, muscle, and fat, while the latter is comprised of the cartilage, teeth, and bone. Naturally, the component parts will degrade at different rates when subjected to heat. Indeed, it is virtually impossible to completely degrade a body in fire (Bass 1984). An understanding of the changes that occur in the course of cremation is essential for the forensic investigation of these remains. Factors such as the size of the victim, nature of the scene (indoors or outdoors), maximum temperature attained, use of accelerants, duration of exposure, pre-existing antemortem or perimortem trauma, and falling masonry, among others, would all affect the changes that will be observed on the remains (Fairgrieve 2008). One of the effects of heat on the bone is a change in color, and this reflects the intensity of the fire, the temperature attained, and its duration (Holden et al. 1995; Walker and Miller 2005; Walker et  al. 2008; Ubelaker 2009). The color changes from black through gray to white (calcined), as the temperature increases from 300 °C through 600 °C to 800 °C. Organic components of the bone, such as fat, protein, and collagen fibers, are generally and completely removed when a sustained temperature of 600 °C is achieved. At very high temperatures above 1100 °C, the bone becomes chalky. Accompanying the color change is a drying effect which results in bone shrinkage. The latter will therefore naturally cause a reduction in the calculated stature. As the bone cools, the contraction results in the formation of cracks and fractures. Herrmann and Bennett (1999) showed that the fractures range from patina (surface cracks of flat bones) to longitudinal, curvilinear, transverse, and delaminated (on long bones). Identifying correctly these heat-induced fractures and distinguishing them from antemortem fractures are very crucial (Mayne 1990; Bohnert et al. 1997; DeHaan 2002). It is noteworthy that in the case of the skull, perimortem fractures are relatively easily recognized due to the absence of pressurerelated fractures that follow heat application to an intact cranium (Fairgrieve 2008). The identification of pathological conditions in cremated remains has been the subject of sporadic research over a long period of time (Cataroche and Gowland 2015; Reinhard and Fink 1994; Warren and Schultz 2002; Warren et  al. 1999). Several approaches are evident in these studies, both from archaeology and forensic cases and including experimental approaches. Reinhard and Fink (1994) compared contemporaneous samples of cremation deposits and inhumations from the same archaeological site. They found that evidence of healed trauma, osteoarthritis, and osteophytosis preserved relatively well through soft wood cremation pyres. However, dental pathology is largely lost. Also working with archaeological remains, Cataroche and Gowland (2015) found poor preservation in cremation deposits excavated from a Guernsey Island burial feature. The collections of cremated bones were incomplete and fragmentary.

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However, some pathology data, especially from the axial skeleton, was noted. Warren and Schultz found that modern crematorium practices result in the fragmentation of the bone to a point that forensic investigation is severely hindered compared to the prehistoric remains described by Reinhard and Fink. Warren and his colleagues (1999) discovered calcined plaque tubules from sclerotic blood vessels associated with a cremated individual. Herrmann and Bennett explored the preservation of perimortem trauma through experimentation (1999). They recognized an extensive literature addressing heat-induced fracture from cremated remains. Their experiments revealed that sharp force trauma evidence remained after cremation. The recovery and analysis of cremated remains often attract fire investigators and other forensic specialists like anthropologists, pathologist, odontologists, radiologists, and toxicologists among others (DeHaan 2002). These professionals will ultimately identify the victim, determine the cause and manner of death, time since death, and reconstruct the terminal events leading to the death. It is indisputable that the investigation of cremated remains must commence at the scene; the processing of the latter must be done carefully and systematically in order to map out the site and completely recover the remains. Toward achieving this goal, the role of the forensic archaeologist is of inestimable value. Expectedly, where the fire has been very intense and only bone fragments are recovered, the analysis is largely borne by the anthropologist. The latter is expected to recognize cremated remains and will aid in the proper recovery of them prior to making any deductions. This professional, with other members of the investigating team, should ideally attend the scene and help supervise the recovery process. A variety of scenarios are encountered, ranging from indoor locations such as a house fire or workplace to outdoor locations such as a car, burial site, water, or mass disasters; the remains might severely fragmented or comingled and all will attract modified recovery procedures (Fairgrieve 2008). This section discusses the investigation of a body that was discovered under a bridge in a rather open area during winter. A high temperature must have been required to achieve the observed changes, and this should naturally have attracted attention early enough. The case also highlights the use of computerized tomographic imaging for revealing otherwise undetectable blunt force trauma in such cases. The importance and value of a team approach are emphasized in addressing a common problem associated with the interpretation of cranial trauma in cases with associated thermal damage to the cranium. The partially skeletonized remains of an adult male were discovered under a river overpass in late fall to early winter in Nebraska (Fig. 16.1 showing the scene). The nearly complete remains had been subjected to partial cremation. The police department recovered the human remains during a controlled excavation that utilized some archaeological methodology. The crime scene was gridded off, and all surficial human remains and potential evidence were documented and collected. This greatly aided the subsequent anthropological investigation by ensuring that all skeletal elements were recovered along with contextually associated items. All the biological remains were turned over to the forensic science program at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln where they were stored and analyzed. The victim was identified through dental work and the trauma pattern described against a backdrop of the

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Fig. 16.1  Cremation crime scene from two angles. The upper image shows the decedent as he lay from a lateral view. The corpse rested on its back. The head appears to be elevated and resting on a rock. In actuality, the head was elevated in the air and was supported by desiccated soft tissue and an intact cervical spine. The lower image shows the trash accumulation post deposition. No solid fuel, such as wood, is evident, and it is very likely that an accelerant was used to burn the corpse

partial cremation. The body had apparently been subjected to intense heat over a short period causing severe charring of some parts of the skeleton, while others showed no signs of thermal damage. Some of the bones and tissue of the right arm, forearm, and hand exhibited the “pugilistic attitude,” suggesting that the body was burned prior to decomposition. There was fragmentation of several bones, and some bones still had adherent burned soft tissues (Fig. 16.2). Ubelaker (2009) summarized the challenges that are common to burned remains in the forensic setting including recovery, analysis, reconstruction, trauma analysis, and the use of color change and shrinkage to interpret details of the incineration process. In the case presented here, these challenges were complicated by the fact that drying occurred during the process of incineration. The mummified portions of the body were similar to mummies preserved by heat drying. An assessment of the temperature and duration of the fire was made based on comparison of the remains with data from previous studies (Fairgrieve 2008; Walker and Miller 2005; Walker et  al. 2008; Ubelaker 2009). The cremation fire was of moderate to high heat intensity reaching a maximum of ~800 °C, and its duration

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Fig. 16.2  The remains exhibit variable burning from unburned to blackened to calcined. The inferior view of the skull shows that the tissue of the neck protected the inferior aspect from flames. The exposed soft tissue and bone were blackened by relatively low-intensity fire. The foot image shows calcination of posterior skeletal elements but no heat alterations from the metatarsals to phalanges. The images of two lumbar vertebrae show incomplete incineration of the vertebral bodies with more complete burning of the neural arch and vertebral processes

must have been short, probably less than an hour with insufficient time to burn away large masses of soft tissue. Therefore, the condition of skeletal elements ranged from unburned to calcined and from intact to highly fragmented. The distribution of burning showed that the decedent was cremated on his back with the fuel beneath the body. The absence of wood or other direct evidence of fuel indicates that a liquid accelerant was used. The fire was most intense in the pelvic region. The fire caused the contraction of the arms in the “pugilistic attitude.” This may have occurred with

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the legs as well. The fact that the arms and probably the legs are contracted shows that the body was cremated before decomposition and probably shortly after death. With regard to the head, the posterior is badly burned with soft tissue burned completely away, but the anterior is unburned, and the facial soft tissue is mostly intact. The thorax shows variable burning. Only the posterior processes of the spine were burned from the neck region through the rib cage. The lower sacral and lumbar vertebrae were more completely burned closer to the pelvic girdle. There was minimal burning of the pectoral girdle skeletal elements. The sternal extremities of most ribs are burned only on the pleural surfaces and were articulated with the sternum. The posterior sections of the ribs, articulated with the spinal column, are burned on their posterior surfaces. However, the lateral portions of the ribs are calcined and fractured. This shows that the fire underneath the thorax, although intense, was insufficient to burn through the muscle mass around the spine and shoulders. In the area of the anterior thorax, it was insufficient to extensively burn through to the sternal area. The lateral areas of the rib cage were most extensively burned in the area where soft tissue is thinnest. The lower spine and pelvic girdle were more completely burned. The vertebral bodies of sacral and lumbar vertebra were scorched and fractured. The posterior sections of the pelvic girdle, the ischia, and the posterior iliac are calcined and fractured. The fire was insufficient to burn the anterior pelvic girdle, and the os pubic region is intact. The gluteal muscle masses were scorched, but still present, on both sides of the girdle. The extremities were exposed differently to heat. The upper long bones show variable burning. It is apparent that the contraction of the muscles in the fire raised the arms above the most intense fire. Thus, one hand was preserved through the cremation which scorched, but did not destroy, the musculature. The legs were more extensively burned and fractured by the fire, relative to the arms. Forensic Imaging Studies  To further aid the anthropological analysis, a three-­ dimensional multislice computed tomographic scan was conducted on the remains (Fig. 16.3). There was an irregular defect in the right posterior parietal region measuring 4.9 cm and 6.2 cm in the anteroposterior and cephalocaudal axes, respectively. There was a partial-thickness defect in the outer table, extending from the full-thickness defect across the vertex into the left parietal region. The left zygomatic arch was intact; that on the right was missing. There were multiple linear fractures communicating with the larger calvarial defect. On the right side was a stellate-shaped fracture in the left temporal region with a linear communication extending posteriorly and inferiorly to the larger calvarial defect. Another parallel fracture extends to the mastoid region. The left calvarium contained comminuted fractures that extend from the partial-thickness defect, producing multiple small fragments. The right side bore an oblique fracture that ran through the coronal suture to the occipital protuberance. A non-displaced fracture of the left orbital rim extending to the ipsilateral maxilla was present. It is noteworthy that there was no “blowout fracture” of the orbital floor on review of the reconstructed images. All these fractures and defect were attributed to blunt force trauma, an assertion further reinforced by the absence of a “blowout fracture.” The cervical, thoracic,

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Fig. 16.3  Visual examination of the skull was inconclusive regarding definitive evidence of trauma. CT scans indicated radial fractures, especially internally. The overlay images below are more definitive in showing fractures consistent with blunt force trauma

and lumbar vertebrae showed osteophytic growths with lippings in C2–C5 and T3– T7 and L1–L4 vertebrae. In addition, there was ossification of the longitudinal ligament over T6–L1, thus creating a sheath over the centra. The involvement of more than three vertebral bodies by the “flowing” calcified tissue and the presence of calcification of the longitudinal ligament suggest that the victim most likely suffered from a diffuse idiopathic skeletal hyperostosis (DISH). This condition tends to limit flexibility and is associated with pain and bone spurs (Cammisa et al. 1998). Case 1 Summary  Antemortem trauma and pathology were evidenced by a healed fracture in the left zygomatic arch that extends into the maxilla. This was in addition to a healed fracture in the pubic bones of the pelvic girdle. Also present were osteoarthritic changes and DISH of long duration. These injuries were subsequently corroborated by the medical records of the victim following his positive identification. Perimortem trauma is indicated by multiple fractures of the cranium incurred at the time of death. The number and severity of these fractures coupled with the location of the body at discovery would add up to blunt force trauma. This conclusion

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was supported by the CT scan study. Craniocerebral injury was the cause of death, and manner of death was ruled as homicide. Toward reconstructing the events that took place, the investigators considered the antemortem trauma/pathology, perimortem injuries, and the pattern of burns. It was concluded that the victim was injured in the head by a blunt weapon prior to the incineration; the latter used to conceal the homicidal act. A temperature of at least ~800 °C was attained, but the fire was of short duration considering that some parts were unburned. The victim was obviously lying on his back with the pelvis, back of the head and extremities bearing the brunt of the fire. The fatal head injury most likely incapacitated the victim, and the scene investigation showed that the fire was limited to the place where the body was lying. It is noteworthy that the fire burned for some time, though short, without drawing any attention on the overpass. One unfortunate omission in the investigation was any use of analytical chemistry to ascertain the use of an accelerant and its distribution on the body. It is hoped that this will be taken into consideration in the future by the local forensic community. Otherwise, though, the collaborative use of thorough scene processing and evidence recovery, anthropological analysis, medical imaging, dental identification, and review of the decedent’s medical records led to a positive outcome in determining the cause and manner of death.

Case 2: Mutilation and Disarticulation Disarticulation and dismemberment have been previously reported from Nebraska (Reinhard et al. 2013). In that case, criminal dismemberment was a feature of the homicidal act. Case 2 represents another angle to mutilation associated with sociocultural beliefs as they relate to the dead and afterlife. An interesting recent archeological discovery was the report from Yorkshire in the United Kingdom, where the deserted medieval village of Wharram Percy revealed that dead bodies were mutilated to prevent them from returning as zombies (Mays et al. 2017). Toward dealing with this case, emphasis was placed on a multidisciplinary approach (Bilge et al. 2003). Dismemberment is the process of removing the limbs of a living animal (disarticulation) but excluding cases of surgical amputation. It could be encountered in association with accidents, suicide, homicide, rituals, or cannibalistic settings. There are historical records of the practice as a form of capital punishment (Battuta 1829; Lithgow 1632). Different cultures in times past practiced this horrendous form of capital punishment using different means. The only reference to this practice in modern times is the Sharia Law (Amputations in Islam 2017). In homicidal settings and bordering on cannibalism, the cases readily recalled include the serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer who dismembered and ate his victims between 1978 and 1991 (Prud’Homme 1991) and Omaima Aree Nelson who in 1991 murdered, dismembered, and ate her husband William Robert Nelson (Coker 2011).

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The intention driving dismemberment in cases of homicide is largely for the purpose of concealment. Various methods of concealment include disposal in dumpsters and burial in the woods and mountains, at sea, or in wells. The hands can be chopped off and separately disposed of, in order to avoid a source for fingerprints. It is not uncommon to observe this in association with the removal of the teeth or complete removal of the entire mandible and maxillae to prevent subsequent dental charting for possible comparison with available antemortem records. Others include dismemberment with dispersal of body parts during burial and incineration either in the open or indoors. Di Nunno et al. described the presence of tool marks in three incident cases with a review of the literature (Di Nunno et al. 2006). The bodies were either disposed of immediately following the homicidal act or much later. Some cases of dismemberment were reported in association with decapitation; the bodies were either preserved or skeletonized, and the manner of death ranged from suicide to homicide (Dogan et  al. 2010; Morild and Lilleng 2012; Porta et  al. 2015; Delabarder and Ludes 2010; Reinhard et  al. 2013). In the case of a body recovered from the Amazonian jungle, the remains were widely dispersed to frustrate identification (Delabarder and Ludes 2010). In an attempt to prevent identification, the perpetrator boiled the disarticulated body and reduced the total weight to 30  kg; this was intended to prevent accurate determination of the stature (Konopka et al. 2006). A study by Puschel and Koops (1987) of the 31 cases of criminal dismemberment and mutilation seen at the Institute of Forensic Medicine in Hamburg revealed that some of the perpetrators were either engaged in an offensive action, while others were on the defensive. However, an interesting observation was that some of them were suffering from psychiatric illness. In two cases, the perpetrators actually stole corpses and dismembered them (necrophilous dismemberment). Elucidating this latter psychiatric component was the thrust of another study of 16 cases documented between 1978 and 1998  in Hanover highlighting the mental problems among the perpetrators (Schulz et  al. 2008). The observed predisposing factors included drug abuse, problems at work, and interaction with family and society, in addition to psychiatric disorders. One Nebraska dismemberment case was related to the perpetrator’s obsession with viewing internal organs which motivated him to commit necrophilous dismemberment (Reinhard et al. 2013). Case 2 Summary  A crime scene team recovered skeletonized human remains from a very shallow grave without the assistance of either archaeological trained personnel or the use of archaeological methodology. Three days later, the skeletal remains were delivered to the morgue for independent analysis by a forensic pathologist and anthropologist who were not at the scene. In the morgue, sharp force alteration of some bones became one interesting feature of the case. Eventually, this case attracted a combined team of forensic specialists spanning psychology, pathology, anthropology, odontology, and radiology. The remains consisted of a skeletonized, robust male with complete absence of soft tissue on the head, neck, trunk, and extremities. Authorities suspected that the victim died between October 1999 and January 2000, when he was 38 or 39. He was discovered in 2004.

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The decedent’s body was placed in a small, shallow depression at the edge of a rural road. The body was covered with a small amount of soil. At the time of discovery, the skull, innominates, and left femur were on the surface of the ground. The innominates were displaced out of anatomical association. The femur was lying about 3 ft from the skull. A sparse covering of grass had grown through the remains, suggesting that a growing season had passed since the remains were deposited. Removal of the grass and superficial layer of soil revealed the bones lying on the base of the shallow depression. The axial skeleton, from the sacrum through the cervical vertebrae, was in anatomical association. However, the sacrum had been displaced a few inches inferior to the lumbar vertebrae. The appendicular bones of the left arm were in anatomical association but displaced laterally. The right arm bones were in anatomical association but displaced across the cervical region and to the left side. Autopsy Findings and Interesting Features  There were depressed healed nasal and maxillary arch fractures on the right side of the face, fracture separation of the right zygomatic and frontal suture, and an old fracture of the right orbital floor. There was a healed fracture of the seventh rib and a seemingly perimortem fracture of the xiphoid process. Autopsy revealed features of healed blunt force trauma to the head comprising a 0.5 × 2.9 cm fracture defect in the left occipital aspect of the calvarium (Fig. 16.4 left image). This was associated with a healed 16.0-cm-long linear fracture running through the left occipital bone and the sagittal sutures (Fig. 16.4 right image). Authorities obtained the victim’s medical records. These indicated that he suffered major head trauma in 1988 associated with a motorcycle accident. The head trauma provoked a coma that persisted for several months. Therefore, the case provided a chance to assess cranial trauma healing over 10–11 years of time. As can be seen from Fig. 16.4, the 16-cm-long fracture is closed and fused along 13.5 cm of its length. Near the foramen magnum, there is a 2.5-cm-long gap that did not completely close (Fig. 16.5). It is likely that this opening enclosed a section of cranial bone that was isolated by two fracture lines that deviated from the main fracture when it entered the posterior cranial fossa. Such a cranial fragment was not found. This represents a very interesting case showing over 10 years of healing of severe head trauma. In this case, the pathologists and radiologists initially confused this fracture as a perimortem trauma and potentially related to cause of death. The other organs were absent due to marked decomposition with skeletonization and as such were unavailable for examination. However, there were extensive degenerative osteoarthritic and osteophytotic changes involving the entire vertebral column, ulnae, sacrum, both femur and tibia, and metatarsal and fibula bones. There were features of old abscess and rarefaction of the bone of the right maxillary sinus. A second, very interesting aspect of the case, were sharp force alterations of a fibula and tibia. These comprised 13 incised marks on the shaft of the right fibula, 4 at the proximal end of the right fibula, 10 on the distal portion of the left tibia, and 35 on the posterior aspect of the left tibia (Fig. 16.6). The marks were compared to rodent incisor morphology for skulls retained in the forensic lab and also to

Fig. 16.4  Inferior view of Case 2 skull showing a long, healed fracture from the base of the skull to the left parietal. The inferior view shows the more profound evidence of fracture including an unfused area near the foramen magnum. The image of the right shows the fracture, almost obliterated by healing, extending onto the left parietal

Fig. 16.5  The internal view of the cranial base shows the extent of the fracture. In the upper view, one can see that the fracture crossed the entire occipital bone and separated the occiput from the petrous portion of the temporal bone. The close-up in the lower view shows remodeling of the open defect

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Fig. 16.6  Two views showing a series of sharp force defects on a long bone shaft

published images of rodent tooth marks on bones. Then, using a binocular microscope with camera attachment, cross section images were taken. The cross sections of the incisions were V-shaped or U-shaped (Fig. 16.7). The marks were inconsistent with a double parallel mark left by gnawing rodents. The marks overlay each other and were more consistent with those left by a blade. There was a distinct cut mark on the left scaphoid articulation with the radius (Fig. 16.8). This mark is consistent with sharp force injury. A blade penetrated in this area, displaced a small fragment of the joint surface and left a trail mark. It could have resulted from a stab to the wrist in life, or it could have resulted from postmortem disarticulation. It is significant that the arm bones in the crime scene video are articulated but that the bones of the hands are largely missing. This could also be consistent with disarticulation. At the time of this case, the investigation team had been involved in another mutilation/dismemberment case (Reinhard et al. 2013). In that case, a consulting forensic psychiatrist suggested that blunt and sharp force features of the case suggested criminal depravity. If verified and carried through the trial process, the demonstration of depravity could result in more severe consequences in the sentencing phase of conviction. In Case 2, the investigators suggested that the evidence of mutilation of leg soft tissue was an aspect of depravity.

Fig. 16.7  Incised marks as viewed through a binocular microscope to determine the cross-sectional shape of the marks. The cross sections of the cut marks, as shown in the upper image, are U- or V-shaped

Fig. 16.8  A carpal sharp force defect indicates disarticulation of the hands

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Fig. 16.9  These tarsals show complete fracture of the midshafts, suggestive of a force that simultaneously fractured the bones of the lower foot. However, incomplete crime scene notes make it impossible to reconstruct whether or not the bones were found together or scattered. Conceivably, if the bones were scattered, a large scavenger could have caused the damage

In preliminary depositions, the defense attorney did not dispute the possibility that his client mutilated the legs of the victim. In questioning of the anthropologists, he laid out a case that the mutilation was consistent with tribal traditions among some Great Plains tribes. Therefore, a case could be made that the actions were not representative of depravity but consistent with established cultural norms. In this case, the mutilation of the legs was accepted within the realm of historical Great Plains Native American traditions. An enigmatic aspect of the case was the fractured state of the metatarsals of the right foot (Fig. 16.9). The distal epiphyses of these bones have been fractured off and were not found at the crime scene. When the metatarsals are placed in anatomical association, it is clear that the fractures occur in the same area as if the fractures were induced in a single episode. Review of crime scene video did not reveal whether or not the bones were found in anatomical association. The crime scene staff did not document body position at the time and could not recall the association in interview. This highlights the importance of detailed field notes, photography, and sketches. Case 2 was a turning point in field and morgue investigation. Between 1991 and 2004, crime scene investigations and morgue examination were collaborative endeavors with participation of law enforcement and the medicolegal community (Myers et al. 1999; Reinhard et al. 2013). Case 2 departed from previous practice in that the crime scene team was independent of the morgue team. It was recognized

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by all parties that the separation of crime scene and morgue investigation resulted in deficient data collection. The fractured metatarsals and conflicting expert opinions derived from experts in the field and experts in the morgue required correction. A meeting of law enforcement with the county attorney, coroner’s physician, and university anthropologist was called to establish a formal protocol. This new protocol called for involvement of all parties from the crime scene through the completion of analysis of human remains in the morgue. This became a mutual collaboration that was beneficial to effective completion of investigation. In 2008, the University of Nebraska-Lincoln commenced a full program in forensic science. At this point, the faculty became involved in crime scene and morgue consultations. This expertise included entomology, palynology, anthropology, and soil chemistry. The coroner’s physician had the responsibility to transfer certain cases to university facilities for investigation. These included mummified remains (Reinhard et al. 2017), skeletons (Obafunwa et al. 2018), and cremains as represented by Case 1.

Conclusions The efficacy of a collaborative and multidisciplinary approach to forensic investigation has been demonstrated through casework within the Lancaster County coroner’s system in Nebraska. When all parties – the crime scene investigators and the laboratory personnel – work together, the cause and manner of death can be determined. When communication breaks down, protocols are not followed, and the crime scene is not properly handled, a convincing interpretation that can stand up to courtroom scrutiny is more difficult to attain.

References Amputations in Islam. (2017). WikIslam. The Online Resource on Islam https://wikiislam.net/ wiki/Amputation_in_Islam. Last retrieved on 17 May 2017. Bass, W. M. (1984). Is it possible to consume a body completely in a fire? In T. Rathbun & J. E. Buikstra (Eds.), Human identification: Case studies in forensic anthropology (pp. 159–167). Springfield: Charles C. Thomas. Battuta. (1829). The travels of Ibn Battuta in the Near East, Asia and Africa. 1324–1354 (Vol. 1829, pp. 146–147) (trans: Lee, S.). London: Oriental Translation Committee. Bilge, Y., Kedici, P. S., Alakoc, Y. D., Ulkuer, K. U., & Ilkyaz, Y. Y. (2003). The identification of a dismembered human body: A multidisciplinary approach. Forensic Science International, 137(2–5), 141–146. Bohnert, M., Rost, T., Faller-Marquardt, M., Ropohl, D., & Pollack, S. (1997). Fractures of the base of the skull in charred bodies – post-mortem heat injuries or signs of mechanical traumatization? Forensic Science International, 87, 55–62. Bowler, J.  M., Jones, R., Allen, H., & Thorne, A.  G. (1970). Pleistocene human remains from Australia: A living site and human cremation from Lake Mungo, western South Wales. World Archaeology, 2, 39–60.

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Lancet. (1893). Burial, cremation and the detection of crime. Lancet, 141(3627), 478. Cammisa, M., De Serio, A., & Guglielmi, G. (1998). Diffuse idiopathic skeletal hyperostosis. European Journal of Radiology, 27(1), S7–S11. Cataroche, J., & Gowland, R. (2015). Flesh, fire, and funerary remains from the Neolithic site of La Varde, Guernsey: Investigations past and present. In T. Thompson (Ed.), The archaeology of cremation: Burned human remains in funerary studies. Oxbow Books. Coker, M. (2011). Omaima Aree Nelson, who killed, chopped up, cooked and ate husband of 2 months, seeks parole. OC Weekly of Friday, September 30, 2011. http://www.ocweekly.com/ news/omaima-aree-nelson-who-killed-chopped-up-cooked-and-ate-husband-of-2-monthsseeks-parole-6479291. Last retrieved on 17 May 2017. DeHaan, J. D. (2002). Kirk’s fire investigation (5th ed.p. 638). Upper Saddle River: Prentice Hall. Delabarder, T., & Ludes, B. (2010). Missing in Amazonian jungle: A case report of skeletal evidence for dismemberment. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 55(4), 1105–1110. Di Nunno, N., Costantinides, F., Vacca, M., & Di Nunno, C. (2006). Dismemberment: A review of the literature and description of 3 cases. The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, 27(4), 307–312. Dogan, K. H., Demirci, S., Deniz, I., & Erkol, Z. (2010). Decapitation and dismemberment of the corpse: A matricide case. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 55(2), 542–545. Fairgrieve, S. I. (2008). Forensic cremation: Recovery and analysis. Boca Raton: CRC Press. Herrmann, N.  P., & Bennett, J.  L. (1999). The differentiation of traumatic and heat-related fractures in burned bone. Journal of Forest Science, 44(3), 461–469. Holden, J. L., Phaky, P. P., & Clement, J. G. (1995). Scanning electron microscopic observations of incinerated human femoral bone: A case study. Forensic Science International, 74, 17–28. Konopka, T., Bolechala, F., & Strona, M. (2006). An unusual case of corpse dismemberment. The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, 27(2), 163–165. Lithgow, W. (1632). The Totall Discourse, of the Rare Adventures, and Painefull Peregriations of Long Nineteene Yeares Tranayles from Scotland, to the Most Famous Kingdomes in Europe, Asia, and Affrica (Vol. 1632, p. 153). London: Nicholas Okes. Mayne, P. M. (1990). The identification of precremation trauma in cremated bone. Unpublished M.A. Thesis. Department of Anthropology, University of Alberta. Mays, S., Fryer, R., Pike, A. G. W., Cooper, M. J., & Marshall, P. (2017). A multidisciplinary study of a burnt and mutilated assemblage of human remains from a deserted Mediaeval village in England. Journal of Archeological Science: Report, 16, 441–455. Morild, I., & Lilleng, P. K. (2012). Different mechanisms of decapitation: Three classic and one unique case history. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 57(6), 1659–1664. Myers, J., Okoye, I., Kimmerle, E., & Reinhard, K. J. (1999). Three dimensional (3-D) imaging in post-mortem examinations: Elucidation and identification of cranial and facial fractures in victims of homicide utilizing 3-D computerized imaging reconstruction techniques. International Journal of Legal Medicine, 113, 33. Obafunwa, J. O., Hammerl, E., Jaskierny, D., Taylor, L., Russell, L., & Reinhard, K. J. (2018). Autologous bone flap resorption years after subtemporal craniotomy. Forensic Medicine and Pathology, 39, 87–97. Porta, D., Amadasi, A., Capella, A., Mazarelli, D., Magli, F., Gibelli, D., Rizzi, A., Picozzi, M., Gentilomo, A., & Cattaneo, C. (2015). Dismemberment and disarticulation: A forensic anthropological approach. Journal of Forensic and Legal Medicine, 38, 50–57. Prud’Homme, A. (1991). The little flat of horrors. TIME Magazine. August 5. http://content.time. com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,973550,00.html. Last retrieved on 17 May 2017. Puschel, K., & Koops, E. (1987). Dismemberment and mutilation (2). Archiv für Kriminologie, 180(3–4), 88–100. Reinhard, K.  J., & Fink, T.  M. (1994). Cremation in Southwestern North America: Aspects of taphonomy that affect pathological analysis. Journal of Archeological Science, 21(5), 597–605. Reinhard, K. J., Welner, M., Okoye, M. I., Marotta, M., Plank, G., Anderson, B., & Mastellon, T. (2013). Applying forensic anthropological data in homicide investigation to the depravity standard. Journal of Forensic and Legal Medicine, 20, 27–39.

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Reinhard, K.  J., Milanello do Amaral, M., & Wall, N. (2017). Palynological investigation of mummified human remains. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 63, 244–250. Schulz, Y., Mossakowski, H., Albrecht, K., & Breitmeier, D. (2008). Postmortem dismemberment/mutilation – medicolegal and criminalistics evaluation of the autopsies performed by the Institute of Legal Medicine at the Hanover Medical School. Archiv für Kriminologie, 221(1–2), 1–16. Ubelaker, D. (2009). The forensic evaluation of burned skeletal remains: A synthesis. Forensic Science International, 183, 1–5. Walker, P. L., & Miller, K. P. (2005). Time, temperature, and oxygen availability: An experimental study of the effects of environmental conditions on the colour and organic content of cremated bone. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 40, 216–217. Walker, P. L., Miller, K. W. P., & Richman, R. (2008). Time, temperature, and oxygen availability: An experimental study of the effects of environmental conditions on the colour and organic content of cremated bone. In C. W. Schmidt & S. A. Symes (Eds.), The analysis of burned human remains (pp. 129–135). London: Academic. Warren, M. W., Falsetti, A. B., Hamilton, W. F., & Levine, L. J. (1999). Evidence of arteriosclerosis in cremated remains. The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, 20(3), 277–280. Warren, M., & Schultz, J. (2002). Post-cremation Taphonomy and Artifact Preservation. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 47, 656–659.

Chapter 17

Use of the Archaeological Damage Assessment Methodology as an Application of Forensic Archaeology in Criminal and Civil Prosecutions Martin E. McAllister, Larry E. Murphy, James E. Moriarty, and David E. Griffel

Forensic Basis of Archaeological Damage Assessment Statutory Basis  Congress enacted the Archaeological Resources Protection Act of 1979 (ARPA; 16 USC § 470aa-mm), “…to secure, for the present and future benefit of the American people, the protection of archaeological resources and sites which are on public lands and Indian lands” (16 USC § 470aa(b)). The basic purpose of ARPA is to curtail the increasing threat to the nation’s cultural heritage posed by looting, vandalism, commercial trafficking of artifacts, and other forms of unauthorized damage, such as development or extractive activities exceeding their authorized scope. As a critical part of ARPA, Congress identified the need for monetary measures of the severity of harm for unauthorized damage to archaeological resources on public and Indian lands. In criminal ARPA cases, these monetary measures serve as the threshold to determine whether suspects will be charged with a misdemeanor or felony, with corresponding penalties, and also the severity of penalties for repeat offenders. They also determine the amounts of fines or restitution for violations. ARPA’s “Prohibited acts and criminal penalties” structures these sanctions: Any person who knowingly violates, or counsels, procures, solicits, or employs any other person to violate, any prohibition contained in subsection (a), (b), or (c) of this section [of ARPA] shall, upon conviction, be fined not more than $10,000 or imprisoned not more than one year, or both: Provided, however, That if the commercial or archaeological value of the M. E. McAllister (*) · J. E. Moriarty · D. E. Griffel Northland Research, Inc., Tempe, AZ, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected] L. E. Murphy Submerged Cultural Resource Consultants, Panama City, FL, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_17

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archaeological resources involved and the cost of restoration and repair of such resources exceeds the sum of $500, such person shall be fined not more than $20,000 or imprisoned not more than two years, or both. In the case of a second or subsequent such violation upon conviction such person shall be fined not more than $100,000, or imprisoned not more than five years, or both (16 USC § 470ee(d)).

Violations in which the monetary damages exceed $500.00 are felonies, as are any second or subsequent violations regardless of the damage amount. In addition to the potential prison terms, the Criminal Fines Improvement Act of 1987 (18 USC § 3571(b)) increased the maximum fine amount for federal misdemeanors to $100,000.00 and the maximum fine amount for federal felonies to $250,000.00. Therefore, these monetary measures become critical considerations in sentencing for ARPA criminal violations. ARPA also makes it possible to assess a civil penalty for violations involving unauthorized damage to archaeological resources: Any person who violates any prohibition contained in an applicable regulation or permit issued under this Act may be assessed a civil penalty by the Federal land manager concerned. No penalty may be assessed under this subsection unless such person is given notice and opportunity for a hearing with respect to such violation. Each violation shall be a separate offense. Any such civil penalty may be remitted or mitigated by the Federal land manager concerned … The amount of such penalty shall be determined under regulations promulgated pursuant to this Act, taking into account, in addition to other factors—(A) the archaeological or commercial value of the archaeological resource involved, and (B) the cost of restoration and repair of the resource and the archaeological site involved. Such regulations shall provide that, in the case of a second or subsequent violation by any person, the amount of such civil penalty may be double the amount which would have been assessed if such violation were the first violation by such person. The amount of any penalty assessed under this subsection for any violation shall not exceed any amount equal to double the cost of restoration and repair of resources and archaeological sites damaged and double the fair market value of resources destroyed or not recovered (16 USC § 470ee(d)).

The civil penalty process is generally utilized when criminal intent cannot be established for the violation. Thus, criminal charges and civil penalties in ARPA cases are always based on the determination of the relevant monetary values, either archaeological value and cost of restoration and repair or commercial value and cost of restoration and repair depending upon the circumstances of the case. The ARPA Uniform Regulations issued in 1984 provide definitions of the three monetary values: (a) Archaeological value. For purposes of this part, the archaeological value of any archaeological resource involved in a violation … shall be the value of the information associated with the archaeological resource. This value shall be appraised in terms of the costs of the retrieval of the scientific information which would have been obtainable prior to the violation. These costs may include, but need not be limited to, the cost of preparing a research design, conducting field work, carrying out laboratory analysis, and preparing reports as would be necessary to realize the information potential. (b) Commercial value. For purposes of this part, the commercial value of any archaeological resource involved in a violation … shall be its fair market value. Where the violation has resulted in damage to the archaeological resource, the fair market value should be determined using the condition of the archaeological

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resource prior to the violation, to the extent that its prior condition can be ascertained. (c) Cost of restoration and repair. For purposes of this part, the cost of restoration and repair of archaeological resources damaged as a result of a violation … shall be the sum of the costs already incurred for emergency restoration or repair work, plus those costs projected to be necessary to complete restoration and repair, which may include, but need not be limited to, the costs of the following: 1. Reconstruction of the archaeological resource; 2. Stabilization of the archaeological resource; 3. Ground contour reconstruction and surface stabilization; 4. Research necessary to carry out reconstruction or stabilization; 5. Physical barriers or other protective devices, necessitated by the disturbance of the archaeological resource, to protect it from further disturbance; 6. Examination and analysis of the archaeological resource including recording remaining archaeological information, where necessitated by disturbance, in order to salvage remaining values which cannot be otherwise conserved; 7. Reinterment of human remains in accordance with religious custom and State, local, or tribal law, where appropriate, as determined by the Federal land manager. 8. Preparation of reports relating to any of the above activities (Section __.14(a)–(c)). As indicated by these definitions, archaeological expertise is required to make the determinations of archaeological value and cost of restoration and repair. Commercial value determinations also are generally done by archaeologists, although there are alternative sources, such as professional appraisers who determine the value of property for insurance or estate purposes. Therefore, legal requirements for criminal prosecutions and civil penalty assessments under the ARPA statute and the ARPA Uniform Regulations establish the need for forensic expertise. In most instances, this expertise is provided by a professional archaeologist who also may serve as an expert witness in criminal trials or civil hearings for ARPA cases. The testimony of the archaeologist on their forensic findings is critical in these legal proceedings. In addition, the methodologies developed for determining archaeological value, commercial value, and cost of restoration and repair are utilized with two other federal statutes commonly charged in archaeological violations on federal lands, the embezzlement and theft, public money, property, or records statute, commonly referred to as the “theft of government property” statute (18 USC § 641), and the malicious mischief, government property or contracts, commonly referred to as the “injury to government property” statute (18 USC § 1361). These statutes can be used in conjunction with ARPA or, in place of it, when it is not possible to prove the statutory elements necessary for an ARPA criminal conviction or a civil penalty assessment. (For example, historic sites and artifacts on federal land less than 100 years old do not meet the ARPA definition of an archaeological resource but are protected by the federal property statutes regardless of their age.) Also, a number of states have adopted the ARPA value and cost determinations as measures of harm for use with statutes protecting archaeological resources on state land, and California

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has formally incorporated them into the relevant protective sections of the state’s Public Resources Code. Rules of Evidence  To be accepted in court, determinations of archaeological value, commercial value, and cost of restoration and repair must meet not only the legal standards of the statutes protecting archaeological resources but also the legal standards for expert witness testimony. In the federal legal system, these standards are established by Federal Rule of Evidence 702. This rule is a section of Public Law 93–595, Rules of Evidence for United States Courts and Magistrates: Pub. L. 93–595, §1, Jan. 2, 1975, 88 Stat. 1926, provided: “That the following rules shall take effect on the one hundred and eightieth day [July 1, 1975] beginning after the date of the enactment of this Act [Jan. 2, 1975]. These rules apply to actions, cases, and proceedings brought after the rules take effect. These rules also apply to further procedure in actions, cases, and proceedings then pending, except to the extent that application of the rules would not be feasible, or would work injustice, in which event former evidentiary principles apply.” (Cornell University Legal Information Institute 2013)

Under Federal Rule of Evidence 702: A witness who is qualified as an expert by knowledge, skill, experience, training, or education may testify in the form of an opinion or otherwise if: (a) the expert’s scientific, technical, or other specialized knowledge will help the trier of fact to understand the evidence or to determine a fact in issue; (b) the testimony is based on sufficient facts or data; (c) the testimony is the product of reliable principles and methods; and (d) the expert has reliably applied the principles and methods to the facts of the case. (Federal Rule of Evidence 702, “Testimony of Experts”)

There have been two important amendments to this rule: Rule 702 has been amended in response to Daubert v. Merrell Dow Pharmaceuticals, Inc., 509 U.S. 579 (1993), and to the many cases applying Daubert, including Kumho Tire Co. v. Carmichael, 119 S.Ct. 1167 (1999). In Daubert the Court charged trial judges with the responsibility of acting as gatekeepers to exclude unreliable expert testimony, and the Court in Kumho clarified that this gatekeeper function applies to all expert testimony, not just testimony based in science. (Cornell University Legal Information Institute 2013)

Professional Standards  The requirements of Federal Rule of Evidence 702, particularly provisions (c) and (d) and the Daubert amendment to the rule identifying trial judges as gatekeepers of expert witness testimony, make reliable expert witness testimony essential and gives judges the option to reject this testimony if it is deemed unreliable. In addition, most states have rules of evidence based on the federal rules, significantly broadening these reliability requirements for expert witness testimony. A key criterion courts use to evaluate expert witness testimony is adherence to professional standards. Because no professional standards existed for archaeological damage assessment, the Society for American Archaeology (SAA) and the National Park Service (NPS) initiated an effort to establish them (see McAllister 2006 for a more detailed discussion of the need for these standards). In 2002, an SAA conference funded by the NPS was held to develop professional standards for archaeological value determinations, and standards for all aspects of archaeological damage assessment subsequently were established through the production of an

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NPS technical brief. The resulting standards are the SAA’s “Professional Standards for the Determination of Archaeological Value” (2003) and NPS Technical Brief 20 entitled Archeological Resource Damage Assessment: Legal Basis and Methods (McAllister 2007): There are four SAA standards. Together, they establish … procedures that, when followed, should result in … reliable … and reasonably consistent archaeological value determinations by … professional archaeologists. (McAllister 2007:73) The purpose of … [the NPS] technical brief is to describe and explain the archeological resource damage assessment process … [It] describes and explains the three components of archeological resource damage assessment: (1) field damage assessment; (2) value and cost determinations; and (3) archeological resource damage assessment report preparation. Procedures are recommended for accomplishing each of these damage assessment components. (McAllister 2007:3)

Based on these legal and professional standards for the value and cost determinations, McAllister developed methodologies for generating the required monetary figures. These are presented in Technical Brief 20 (this technical brief also includes the SAA professional standards). For archaeological value, the methodology is based on seven questions (the related SAA professional standard for five of the questions is shown in parentheses): 1. What is the archaeological resource involved in the violation (…SAA Standard 1 a., c. and d.)? … 2. How, both qualitatively (type of damage) and quantitatively (amount of damage), has the identified archaeological resource been affected by the violation (…SAA Standard 1. b.)? … 3. How, both quantitatively (scale) and qualitatively (methods), would scientific information have been retrieved from the identified archaeological resource prior to the violation (…SAA Standards 2 and 3)? … 4. Is the scientific information retrieval strategy projected for the identified archaeological resource PROPORTIONAL, both quantitatively (scale) and qualitatively (methods), to the effect of the violation (…SAA Standards 2 and 3)? … 5. What operations would be involved in the scientific information retrieval strategy projected for the identified archaeological resource and what is the JUSTIFICATION for each of these operations (…SAA Standards 3 and 4)? 6. What is the line item cost of each of these operations? Will be shown in an “Archaeological Value” table … 7. What is the total figure for archaeological value? (McAllister 2007:13–15). For commercial value, the methodology involves three steps: 1. Identify any archeological resources that are evidence in the case that have interest to collectors of archeological resources and, therefore, commercial value. 2. Determine (or have a commercial appraiser determine) the current fair market value of these items from appropriate commercial value sources … [Note that the best sources of commercial values are records of the actual sale of the item or items or records of offers to sell the item or items.] 3. Develop a commercial value table or tables showing the fair market value of each item and the total commercial value figure … (McAllister 2007:10–11).

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For cost of restoration and repair, the methodology involves five steps: 1. Identify the emergency restoration and repair operations already carried out or that will be carried out to complete emergency restoration and repair. 2. Identify the projected restoration and repair operations to be carried out in the future. 3. Determine the line item cost of each of these operations. 4. Determine the subtotals for emergency restoration and repair costs and projected restoration and repair costs and their sum, the total cost of restoration and repair. 5. Develop a cost of restoration and repair table that shows the operations, their line item costs, the subtotals for emergency restoration and repair costs and projected restoration and repair costs and the total figure for cost of restoration and repair … Note that costs should be consistent with industry standards and should include all administrative overhead costs such as employee benefits (McAllister 2007:18–19). Technical Brief 20 has been available through the NPS website since 2008. During that time, ADIA1 has presented 29 archaeological violation investigation and archaeological damage assessment classes to 673 government archaeologists, contract archaeologists, law enforcement officers, and prosecutors, all of which have included information on Technical Brief 20 and the SAA professional standards. Also, from 2008 to 2014, McAllister and the coauthors have made presentations on archaeological damage assessment at the annual meetings of the SAA, the Society for Historical Archaeology, the Society for California Archaeology, and the American Rock Art Research Association and have presented webinars on this topic for the SAA and the Register of Professional Archaeologists, as well as for the International Submerged Lands Management Conference. In addition, ADIA has a multi-year contract for peer review of NPS damage assessment reports. As a result, the Technical Brief 20 and SAA professional standards for archaeological damage assessment, including the methodologies for the determination of archaeological value, commercial value, and cost of restoration, should now be widely known in the professional community engaged in this aspect of forensic archaeology. The positive effect has been their use in a number of archaeological damage assessment projects conducted by government archaeologists. These standards were also used in contract archaeological damage assessment projects for eight important archaeological violation cases since 2007.

 estimony by Archaeologists in Archaeological Violation T Cases Testimony by archaeologists serving as government expert witnesses in archaeological violation cases usually will be a relatively complex process due to the number of prosecution and defense issues these cases involve. In these cases, 1  In 2015, ADIA became the Heritage Protection and Emergency Management Team of Northland Research, Inc.

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the most important issues are the federal or state statute-based elements, three of which are related directly to archaeology: 1. The violation involved an archaeological resource as defined in the statute or meeting a generally accepted definition of what constitutes an archaeological resource. 2. This resource was subjected to an act or acts prohibited by the statute. 3. The damage to the resource caused harm to the resource in terms of archaeological value or commercial value and cost of restoration and repair. In addition to these basic statutory elements, there generally are other important issues in testimony by the government’s expert witness. The following are examples of these testimony issues: • The status of the expert witness in terms of education, training, experience, and credibility • The status of the expert witness in terms of employment (government archaeologist versus contract archaeologist) • The significance and uniqueness of the resource scientifically, as well as to descendants of the creators of the resource and the general public • The age of the resource (some statutes, such as ARPA, have minimum age requirements) • The management status of the resource both before and after the alleged violation (e.g., it was a known and recorded resource prior to the violation or it was not; it had protective measures, such as signs or barriers, in place or it did not; it now has protective measures in place or it does not) • The condition of the resource prior to the alleged violation, if known, and its current condition in terms of whether or not the damage has been restored • The type and amount of damage to the resource from the alleged violation • The field damage assessment procedures conducted to document the damage to the resource, including when they occurred relative to the time of the alleged damage and the condition of the resource at that time • The combination of value and cost determinations developed to assess the monetary amount of harm to the resource from the alleged violation (archaeological value plus cost of restoration and repair versus commercial value plus cost of restoration and repair) • The dollar amounts for the value and cost determinations • The procedures employed to develop these determinations • The use of the SAA and NPS professional standards in developing the determinations • The proportionality of the value and cost determinations to the amount of damage Issues such as these are likely to be addressed in testimony for the prosecution by the government expert witness and may be raised again in cross examination by the defense. In addition, in presenting their case, the defense has the option to use a defense expert to attempt to challenge the credibility, competency, and relevance of the testimony of the government expert witness.

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Case Studies The three case studies to be considered here involved the use of NPS Technical Brief 20 methodologies for the determination of archaeological value, commercial value, and cost of restoration and repair. All of these cases have been adjudicated. State of California Case  This case began in 2006 and involved actions by parties affecting California State Park lands. It resulted in a civil lawsuit against these parties by the State of California. The 2008 lawsuit complaint describes the case: The State of California (“State”) owns property near the City of Brentwood in Contra Costa County known as the John Marsh/Cowell Ranch Property (“Park”). The California Department of Parks and Recreation (“Department”) is charged with management and protection of the Park property. The Park encompasses nearly 4000 acres of natural habitat, wildlife and unique cultural features, including the historic John Marsh Home … [The defendants] … own property immediately adjacent to portions of the Park … [and] are constructing a 481 acre commercial and residential development … [there] … Before commencement of construction of the … development, [the] defendants … obtained local, state and federal permits and authorizations for construction of the development. During construction [the] defendants … willfully and intentionally disregarded [the] Park’s boundary by trespassing on Park land. Defendants’ encroachment and trespass onto Park property includes placement of nearly 4 miles of chain link fence on Park property, several miles of grading and deep disking of portions of Park property that are listed, or are eligible for listing, on the National Register of Historic Places, and irreparable damage to highly significant prehistoric archaeological sites … The trespass onto Park property by the … defendants resulted in injury to Park resources, including injury to significant prehistoric archaeological sites and unearthing of human bones on Park property … During construction of the … development, [the] defendants ignored requirements and restrictions of their various development and regulatory permits. Defendants’ permit violations include their failure to fence the project area before commencing grading and other construction activities, unauthorized trespass onto and disking of Park property, [and] violation of archaeological resource protection requirements imposed by both state and federal agencies … The Department of Parks and Recreation brings this lawsuit to quiet title to the Park property, to enjoin further trespasses and encroachment by defendants onto Park property, to require restoration of damaged natural resources (to the extent that restoration is possible), to obtain declaratory relief regarding the scope and extent of defendants’ easement rights on Park property, to obtain compensatory damages, punitive damages, injunctive relief, attorney’s fees, and such other relief as authorized by law against defendants.

In 2007, the State of California contracted with ADIA, then operating under the name of Archaeological Resource Investigations (ARI), to prepare archaeological value and cost of restoration and repair determinations for damages to a large prehistoric archaeological site and a smaller historic site on the state park property involved in the lawsuit. McAllister and archaeologist/attorney Liv K.  Fetterman developed these determinations using the findings of field damage assessment documentation procedures conducted by California State Parks archaeologists. The archaeological value determinations for the damage were $2,229,594.00 for the large prehistoric site and $124,646.00 for the small historic site for a total of $2,354,240.00. The cost of restoration and repair determination for the damages to both sites was $300,322.01 ($169,155.25 for emergency and restoration and repair

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and $131,166.76 for projected restoration and repair). These figures were generated using the methodologies developed for the determination of archaeological value and cost of restoration and repair. The figures for archaeological value were based on the projection of all scientific information retrieval costs for volumes of recovery minimally encompassing the actual volumes of damage to the archaeological context of each site prior to when it occurred (220 m3 of projected recovery for 217 m3 of actual damage for the prehistoric site and 60 m3 of projected recovery for 56.7 m3 of damage at the historic site). The emergency restoration and repair figure for both sites represents the costs incurred to have California State Parks archaeologists and ARI document the damage. The projected restoration and repair figure is for the cost of all operations to restore the damage at both sites, including screening a berm constructed from soil from the surface of the historic site, refilling the disked area at the prehistoric site, and reseeding the surfaces of both sites. After relatively lengthy negotiations, the defendants agreed to settle the lawsuit, and the ARI monetary figures for archaeological value and cost of restoration and repair were incorporated into the settlement agreement with the State of California. McAllister served as an expert witness for the plaintiffs throughout the legal process resulting in the settlement and was deposed by the attorneys for the defendants. Red Elk Rock Shelter Case  This case began in 2010 and involved a large rock art or rock image panel at a site on US Army Corps of Engineers land along the Snake River in Idaho known as the Red Elk Rock Shelter: The components of the Red Elk Rock Shelter Site involved in the unauthorized damage are images painted onto and carved into the rear wall of the shallow rock shelter. This rear wall is a rock face composed of columnar basalt. The painted and carved images create what some archaeologists and Native Americans or Indians would identify either as one large rock image “panel” or a series of smaller rock image panels … The painted and carved images can be referred to, respectively, as “rock paintings” and “rock carvings”. Archaeologists also use the term “pictograph” for a rock painting and the term “petroglyphs” for a rock carving. Some experts have used the term rock “art” to refer to images of this type (McAllister 2010:9)

In February of 2010, the panel was vandalized by spray-painted graffiti (see Fig. 17.1). The damage was described in a February 25, 2010, article in the Lewiston Morning Tribune: Indian pictographs at the Red Elk Rock Shelter south of Lewiston’s Hells Gate State Park have been defaced with graffiti. The basalt wall with red pigmented rock art including animal figures and geometric shapes dating back as far as 2,500 years was spray-painted at the shelter – a shallow depression in a cliff of columnar basalt that is part of a formation known locally as Hens and Chicks. Ken Reid, the Idaho state archaeologist at Boise, said the damage is a violation of the federal Archaeological Resources Protection Act of 1979. “It was occupied just about the time Lewis and Clark came through and there are artifacts there indicating it goes back to 2,500 years ago,” he said. “It’s a significant site.” The graffiti, left sometime in the past two weeks, includes references to marijuana such as “Vote to Toke,” and a pot leaf with “Ganga” [sic] written below. There are also peace signs, the initials T.C., and the names Freddy B and “Kotton Mouth Kings”  – a marijuanathemed rap band  – painted on the wall. What appears to be the name Gerad Knock is written across but not over a pictograph of an elk the shelter is named for. (Barker 2010)

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Fig. 17.1  Central segment of graffiti vandalism to rock image panel

As was subsequently determined: The … [27] graffiti defacements … [were] painted over a linear distance of 79 feet and encompass almost the entire length of the rock image panel on the rear wall of the Red Elk Rock Shelter … [The] total length of the rock image panel is 89 feet, so only 10 feet of its length … [was] not damaged by the graffiti defacements. In many cases, the defacements were spray painted directly over the pictographs and petroglyphs that compose the panel. (McAllister 2010)

The Army Corps contracted with ADIA to conduct the archaeological damage assessment for this case. Because the damaged rock image panel is on an extremely irregular rock surface of columnar basalt, conventional archaeological documentation of the graffiti vandalism would have been extremely time-consuming and expensive. As discussed in another chapter in this volume, these factors were the basis for a decision to document the damage using 3D laser scanning by LandAir Surveying Company working as a subcontractor to ADIA. This first use of 3D laser scanning in an archaeological violation case (see Fig. 17.2) produced highly accurate three-dimensional and two-dimensional representations of the damage and cost far less than conventional archaeological documentation methods. The archaeological value figure for this case was $41,731.76 (McAllister 2010). The cost of restoration and repair figure was $255,563.16 ($43,339.80 for emergency and restoration and repair and $212,223.36 for projected restoration and repair) (McAllister 2010). The archaeological value figure is based on the projection of all scientific information retrieval costs for fully documenting the rock image panel in its condition prior to the damage. The emergency restoration and repair

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Fig. 17.2  3D laser scanning of Red Elk Rock shelter graffiti vandalism

figure was for the costs incurred by the Army Corps and ADIA to document the damage. The projected restoration and repair figure was for removal of the graffiti vandalism from the rock image panel through chemical and laser treatments by professional rock art conservator Claire Dean. This work was subsequently funded by the Army Corps and successfully conducted by Dean’s firm. As the result of an investigation by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, three defendants were charged in the case, all with felony violations of the injury to government property statute and one also with making false statements to a federal officer. (They were not charged with violations of ARPA because of the difficulty of conclusively proving the rock images met the greater than 100 years of age criterion of the statute’s archaeological resource definition.) The two defendants charged only with the injury to government property violations pleaded guilty to these charges. One was sentenced to 5  months in prison followed by 5  months home detention, 200 h of community service, and 3 years of supervised release. The other was sentenced to 4 months in prison followed by 3 years of supervised release. Each was also ordered to pay $33,333.33 in restitution to the Army Corps. The third individual was tried and convicted of his two charges. McAllister testified as the federal government’s expert witness on archaeological damage assessment in this trial. The third defendant was sentenced to 36 months in prison on each count, to be served concurrently, followed by 3 years of supervised release, and also was ordered to pay $33,333.33  in restitution to the Army Corps. His conviction and sentence were appealed to the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit where they were upheld.

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Cerberus Investigation Case  The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) initiated the Cerberus Investigation in 2006 to target artifact looters and dealers in the Four Corners region of the southwestern United States. It utilized an undercover confidential source to buy artifacts from the targeted individuals. The operation was described in an article appearing in Utah’s Deseret News: The 2 1/2-year probe … spanned the reaches of the Four Corners area [and targeted] … Native American heritage up for sale. The investigation largely hinged on the efforts of an inside source who had been “a major dealer” of illegal archaeological artifacts for 10  years prior to approaching law enforcement, according to a federal search warrant unsealed Wednesday. Special agents used the source's contact list and trusted relationship with artifact dealers to widen their net of potential players. On several occasions from March 2007 to November 2008, the source met with dealers and purchased 256 Native American artifacts for a total of $336,000, the warrant stated. “In most cases, the source obtained audio and/or video evidence of the illegal transactions via an audio/video recording device worn by the source,” the warrant said. (O’Donoghue 2009)

In 2011, the BLM contracted with ADIA to conduct a commercial value determination for 13 artifacts seized as a result of one of these transactions (Figs. 17.3 and 17.4 show two of these artifacts). This transaction was described in Deseret News articles: During a recorded conversation [in one transaction], the source witnessed hundreds of illegal artifacts while he followed [a] “dealer” … around his house, according to documents. The source bought three items: a knife for $2,800, a turkey-feather-and-yucca-plant blanket for $900 and a digging stick for $1,000. The warrant also identified a storage shed full of artifacts.

Fig. 17.3  Turkey feather and yucca fiber cord blanket seized in the Cerberus investigation

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Fig. 17.4  Yucca fiber sandal seized in the Cerberus investigation During another meeting, the source paid $5,000 for several items ranging from sandals to a female loincloth that … [this defendant] told the source were found at Baby Mummy Cave and Alkali Ridge—both BLM-owned properties. But when … [the defendant] signed the letter of provenance, he indicated the items were found on private land, according to federal charges. Lacy faces 15 criminal charges. (O’Donoghue 2009) [The defendant] was indicted on accusations that he sold a woman’s prehistoric loincloth, a turkey feather blanket, a decorated digging stick, a set of knife points and other artifacts for more than $11,000. (Dobner 2011)

The commercial value figure for this case was between a minimum of $11,200.00 and a maximum of $24,344.00 (McAllister 2011). The lower figure is based on what the confidential source actually paid for the artifacts purchased. The higher figure derives from the values for two of the artifacts obtained through consultation with museum and institution experts. According to these experts, these two artifacts are potentially worth considerably more than what the confidential source paid for them. In a negotiated settlement with US Attorney’s Office for the District of Utah, the defendant agreed to plead guilty to three ARPA misdemeanor counts of trafficking in illegally obtained artifacts. He was sentenced to 1  year of probation for these offenses. If this case had gone to trial, McAllister would have testified as the federal government’s expert witness on the commercial value determination. The value and cost determination methodologies involved in the three cases discussed here also have been used by ADIA in four other recent archaeological damage assessment projects, two for the BLM in Montana, one for the Army Corps of Engineers in Mississippi, and one for the BLM in Utah. ADIA also was a subcontractor for another firm on an archaeological damage assessment project for the US Fish and Wildlife Service in Louisiana. Potential criminal and/or civil violations of federal law occurred in all five of the cases; details of the use of the value and cost

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determination methodologies cannot be included here because the cases currently are not fully investigated or adjudicated. However, the methodologies discussed in this chapter successfully generated value and cost determinations meeting legal and professional standards in all five cases.

Conclusions The legal requirements for archaeological damage assessment in the relevant federal and state statutes are the basis for this lesser known component of forensic archaeology. Federal Rule of Evidence 702 and comparable state rules of evidence governing admissibility of expert witness testimony enhance these basic legal requirements. Consequently, archaeological value, commercial value, and cost of restoration and repair determinations for archaeological damage assessment projects must meet both the legal standards of the statutes protecting archaeological resources and also the legal standards for expert witness testimony. In response to these legal requirements, professional standards for archaeological damage assessment and the value and cost determinations have been developed by the SAA and the NPS. These professional standards for archaeological damage assessment, including field damage assessment, the value and cost determinations, and damage assessment report preparation are fully presented in NPS Technical Brief 20. The legal and professional standards for this aspect of forensic archaeology have guided the procedures and methodologies used in eight recent ADIA archaeological damage assessment projects, three of which have been presented here as case studies. In these three cases, the standards have produced successful results in the criminal or civil adjudication of these cases. These results demonstrate the importance of archaeological damage assessment and the critical value and cost determinations for the damages as an aspect of forensic archaeology viewed in the broader sense of the use of archaeology as a forensic tool.

References Barker, E. (2010). Graffiti painted over rock art south of Hells Gate park. Lewiston Tribune 25 February. Electronic document, http://lmtribune.com/northwest/article_6b44f1b8-bf5c-5eba9fbb-854cce9d4462.html. Accessed Aug 2014. Cornell University Legal Information Institute. (2013). 2013 rule 702. Testimony by expert witnesses. Electronic document, http://www.law.cornell.edu/rules/fre/rule_702. Accessed Aug 2014. Dobner, J. (2011). Blanding teacher reaches deal in artifacts case. Deseret News 30 June. Electronic document, http://www.deseretnews.com/article/705375486/Blanding-teacher-reaches-dealin-artifacts-case.html. Accessed Aug 2014. McAllister, M.  E. (2007). Archaeology program, National Park Service, Department of the Interior, Technical brief 20: Archaeological resource damage assessment: Legal basis and

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methods. Electronic document, http://www.nps.gov/history/archeology/pubs/techBr/tch20. htm. Accessed Aug 2014. McAllister, M.  E. (2010). Archaeological damage assessment report: Unauthorized damage to archaeological resources at the Red Elk rock shelter site in the Vicinity of Lewiston, Idaho. Archaeological Damage Investigation & Assessment, Submitted to the U.S.  Army Corps of Engineers, Contract No. W912EF-10-P-5049. Copies available from Archaeological Damage Investigation & Assessment, Missoula, Montana. McAllister, M. E. (2011). Authentication and commercial fair market value determination report for 13 archaeological evidence objects seized in a Bureau of Land Management Criminal Investigation. Archaeological Damage Investigation & Assessment, Submitted to the Bureau of Land Management, Contract No. L11PX00331. Copies available from Archaeological Damage Investigation & Assessment, Missoula, Montana. O’Donoghue, A.  J. (2009). Artifact thefts targeted by federal officials. Desert News 11 June. Electronic document, http://www.deseretnews.com/article/705309695/Artifact-thefts-targetedby-federal-officials.html?pg=all. Accessed Aug 2014. Society for American Archaeology. (2003). Professional standards for the determination of archaeological value. Electronic document, http://www.saa.org/Portals/0/SAA/GovernmentAffairs/ ARPAstandards.pdf. Accessed Aug 2014.

Chapter 18

Looking Back: 10 Years After “the Station” Nightclub Fire, West Warwick, Rhode Island Richard A. Gould

One of the most important differences between forensic archaeology and archaeology performed for academic or professional goals is the requirement to keep details of the physical evidence out of the public domain until all of the issues in court are resolved. Premature public disclosure can taint the evidence and affect the outcome in court. This rule applied in the case of “the Station” nightclub fire in West Warwick, RI, which occurred on the night of February 20, 2003. Forensic archaeology requires the same attention to scientific skills and controls as other kinds of archaeology, but with a further requirement that all evidence must be viewed and handled with an eye to possible challenges in court later on. There is also a humanitarian element to this kind of archaeology. The families and friends of the victims are deeply affected by their loss and need to be informed for personal reasons. Good archaeological science can play a key role in addressing their needs, although the goal is less investigative and has more to do with the elusive concept of emotional “closure.” This is another issue that sets forensic archaeology apart from academic or professional archaeology. Roughly 10 years after this disaster, the court cases arising from “the Station” fire are settled (Barylick 2012), and it is possible to take a closer look at the physical evidence produced by archaeology at this site and consider the implications for the further direction and development of forensic archaeology. How well did forensic archaeology at “the Station” site adhere to these requirements? How did the physical evidence recorded there affect our understanding of what happened that night and afterward? And, finally, what do the results of “the Station” fire investigation tell us about the value and conduct of this kind of work?

R. A. Gould (*) Brown University, Providence, RI, USA © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_18

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The Fire and Emerging Lines of Evidence Enough has been written or stated publicly about “the Station” nightclub fire to make it unnecessary to go into much detail here. Published accounts include Gould (2007: 50–68) and Barylick (2012), along with articles in The Providence Journal, the New York Times, and other newspapers in the days and weeks that followed the fire. Although viewed by the media as a catastrophic event, this fire had antecedents as well as consequences that were embedded within the context of the social, economic, and legal lives of Rhode Islanders and their neighbors in southeastern New England. The nightclub was in an old building that lacked sprinklers and had a history of different uses, eventually being certified in March 2000 as a concert venue by West Warwick Fire Marshal, Dennis Larouque, for a maximum capacity of 404. This number was based on standing room only for the entire building (Barylick 2012: 44) with the tables removed from the main floor. This meant the patrons would have been packed tightly together for the show with no ready access to exits. Interviews and later victim identifications estimated that occupancy at the time of the fire was 462 (Barylick 2012: 159). Whatever the final number, the building was seriously overcrowded that night. The fire itself was initiated by a display of pyrotechnics at the start of a show by a rock band called the “Great White.” This band was popular in the 1980s and still had a following. The show took place inside the low-ceilinged and crowded club. The fire started by the fireworks spread rapidly, initiating a rush by the patrons to escape, mainly by the way they came in. Eyewitness accounts by survivors and first responders suggested that most club patrons had less than 2 min to escape before they were overwhelmed by toxic smoke and by the fire itself. One of the club’s owners, Jeffrey Derderian, had been a reporter for WHDH, a Boston television station, and had just returned to Rhode Island to start reporting for WPRI-TV Channel 12. The big news at the time of his return was a panic 3 days earlier in the E2 Club, a Chicago nightclub where 21 people were trampled to death trying to escape, so Derderian thought video footage for a story on nightclub safety at his own club would be newsworthy. As a result, WPRI cameraman Brian Butler was present with his video camera, mainly to collect generic footage of the nightclub scene and the show that night. This video captured scenes prior to the Great White’s appearance onstage, the pyrotechnics when the band started its show followed by the rapid spread of the fire, the panicked rush to the main entryway exit, the horrific pileup of patrons at the front entranceway where many of them died, and scenes that followed as the club continued to burn. The video was shown briefly on television but was quickly withdrawn or shown in a much-edited form. I viewed the complete video many times – first on a playback machine in the Providence Police evidence van at the scene and later at the RI State Fire Marshal’s Office. First responders, mainly firefighters and police from West Warwick and nearby communities in Rhode Island, performed rescues for about the first 40  min after arrival, followed by recoveries from around midnight to noon the next day. During

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the recovery phase, someone among the first responders produced a sketch plan of the club showing the locations of the 96 victims who died at the scene (the remaining four died in the hospital later). I was told about this sketch plan but did not actually see it until it was released to the public on August 3, 2004. In the immediate aftermath of the fire, the most urgent question was: Who were the victims? To answer this question, the federal Disaster Mortuary Operational Recovery Team (DMORT) was invited by the Governor’s Office to assist the RI State Medical Examiner’s staff in Providence in identifying the victims. Within 3 days, the remains of all 96 victims found at the site were positively identified. I was deployed as a member of DMORT at the ME’s laboratory and helped with the identifications until February 25, when I was notified that the Governor’s Office wanted our Rhode Island-based volunteer team, Forensic Archaeology Recovery (FAR), to report to the fire scene and begin recovery work there under the oversight of the RI State Fire Marshal, Irving (“Jesse”) Owens (retired). The following day I met with the Incident Commander, Lt. (now Capt.) Cathy Ochs, of the West Warwick Police Department and the other authorities present to review the role that FAR would play. After the meeting, Irving Owens and I spent 2 h at the site where we discussed our goals and procedures. FAR’s presence at the scene was met initially with skepticism by the authorities. The first question I was asked was: Did we have a protocol and standard operating procedures for disaster recovery? Fortunately, several months earlier, following trial excavations at the Barclay Street site near the World Trade Center (Gould 2007: 21–50) and with the expert advice of Dr. William Belcher (former Deputy Director of the Army’s Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command [JPAC] and currently Assistant Professor of Anthropology at the University of Hawaii, West Oahu), we had a good protocol and operating procedures, which I gave to Lt. Ochs and circulated among the officials present. Ten years later, this protocol and SOP is out of date, even though it has undergone several revisions. For example, it does not incorporate the full range of Incident Command System (ICS) training and its derivatives now required of all responders at disaster scenes. Nor does it include many of the new investigative and recording technologies that have appeared, especially those based on digital imaging. Finally, FAR has recently expanded its mission to include “cold case” crime scene investigations, so these need to be integrated into the protocol and SOP. In short, the protocol and SOP FAR followed in 2003 should not be used as a guide to current forensic archaeology, although it may contain useful elements that can be included in more recent updates. When asked at the initial meeting with the authorities, I also said that I understood and appreciated their skepticism. As professionals, it’s their job to be skeptical, and as volunteers, it’s our responsibility to address that skepticism and satisfy their concerns. I also stated that they were welcome at any time to observe our work and judge for themselves if we were meeting their standards. Some of the initial skepticism remained but dissipated quickly once FAR got under way. During our tour of the site that day, Fire Marshal Owens laid out the primary and official mission of FAR. As a long-term resident as well as a public official in Rhode Island, his main concern was that the public would swarm over the site once the

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protective fences were removed. He feared that people would collect artifacts and even human remains as souvenirs or for sale, for example, on eBay. I had lived in Rhode Island long enough to appreciate his strong personal point of view, and we agreed that FAR’s principal mission would be to “clean up” the site – that is, systematically recover personal items, human remains, and anything else to preclude the possibility of such items turning up later to cause distress to the victims’ families. This humanitarian goal was the one presented to the media and the public whenever asked about FAR’s activities at “the Station.” This goal was adhered to throughout the recovery, but as the work progressed, we also experienced some “mission creep” as new roles emerged. It should be apparent that the mission assigned to FAR was specific and did not engage the broader medical/legal or evidentiary issues raised by the fire. It was also clear, however, that the effects of the fire would have a lasting impact on the Rhode Island community, and FAR would need to consider these implications as its role expanded. In the days immediately after the fire, two main lines of evidence emerged: the video made by Brian Butler that night, and the sketch plan drawn by the first responders (not available at the time but something we knew about).

 hat’s in a Name? Forensic Archaeology vs. Disaster W Archaeology Forensic archaeology can be viewed as an overarching concept that includes a wide variety of specialist skills, all intended to answer questions or solve problems to find out “what happened” at a crime or disaster scene. These skills include entomology, forensic anthropology, palynology, materials science, geoarchaeology and remote sensing, GPS mapping and GIS (global information system) analysis, and others. In this sense, “disaster archaeology” is one among several multidisciplinary approaches under the umbrella of forensic archaeology, which brings skills in field recording and recovery to the disaster scene, usually of the mass-fatality variety. It is not so much a free-standing subdiscipline as it is a specialization involving controlled archaeological approaches in field research to the unique circumstances of a disaster scene. Academics may wish to gnaw on terminological differences between forensic and disaster archaeology, but in the fast-moving and emotionally charged context of a disaster scene, the role of disaster archaeology is immediate and clear. It is an experientially defined role that responds to the unique circumstances of each disaster scene by bringing to bear methods and even theories of archaeological science and the medical/legal requirements of the court. These methods and their application to the courtroom are discussed in detail in current manuals (Dupra et al. 2011; Blau and Ubelaker 2011; Connor 2007) and should be reviewed for the most up-to-­ date methods available.

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Response Design State-of-the-art studies in archaeology normally require a research design. This is especially important for funding and publication, but it affects overall credibility as well. It implies a hypothesis, that is, a structured set of expectations based on available information, and test implications that follow from those expectations. Specific cases, however, involving forensic archaeology in general and disaster archaeology in particular, usually deal with unexpected events, often with unique characteristics. Controlled research in the field and in the laboratory, based on standard research design practices, has provided methods that can be used effectively in analyzing specific crime and disaster scene, but there is no one-size-fits-all formula. This helps explain why some academic colleagues have said to me that disaster archaeology is “atheoretical” and “too applied.” Because mass-fatality disasters are usually a shock and surprise, with possible life-changing effects, they do not lend themselves to the more carefully paced kinds of research designs found generally in archaeology, where issues, often of long-standing, are addressed in the context of known or anticipated sites, assemblages, and other remains. For example, the methods used by forensic anthropologists and other specialists during the process of victim identification and repatriation are themselves the legacy of basic research involving hypothesis testing that has produced proven results. The mere application of these scientific techniques, however, does not represent true research design any more than the use of radiocarbon dating in archaeology should be viewed in itself as designed research. The conflation of method and theory is a problem that is especially pervasive at disaster scenes, where the controlling authorities may assume that by using scientific methods the investigators are “doing science.” Here is where archaeologists can show leadership when it comes to disaster responses. Experience at “the Station” nightclub fire scene suggests that theoretically sound, designed approaches based on hypothesis testing, even in the context of unexpected and fast-moving events arising from a mass-fatality disaster, are possible and can make a difference. This controlled approach can be termed response design. There are opportunities to bring elements of designed research to the disaster scene, and this paper explores some of these. Research designs are often based on the recognition of patterning in the archaeological record regionally and over time, sometimes resulting in generalizations based on specific data from material remains. A specific case, however, such as “the Station” fire cannot safely be assumed to be representative of all nightclub fires or similar disasters. Yet, on anecdotal grounds, one can see that nightclub fires occur with disturbing regularity and with behavioral and physical elements that are comparable. From the 1942 Cocoanut Grove Fire in Boston (the worst in American history, with 492 deaths) to more recent nightclub fires like the one at the Club Cinq-Sept in Saint-Laurent-du-Pont, France (1970); the Cro-Magnon nightclub (a.k.a. República Cromañón) in Argentina in 2004 (Korzeniewicz and Casullo 2009); the Lame Horse Club in Perm, Russia (2009); and a 2013 fire at the Kiss

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nightclub in Santa Maria, Brazil, with at least 231 deaths, the basic elements appear to be much the same. The pattern evident in each of these deadly events is marked by a serious loss of life, blocked and/or unmarked exits, rapid spread of the fire, overcrowding, and inebriated patrons – with all of these elements exacerbated by panic and confusion. In her review of the Beverly Hills Supper Club Fire (1977) near Cincinnati, Ohio, Ripley (2009: 108–134) identifies “groupthink” as a factor in the 167 deaths that resulted. She views the responses by survivors and victims as the product of sociological interactions, especially with regard to evacuation when disaster occurs. She cites studies that model group behavior, such as the EXODUS program, which is currently used by 35 countries to predict crowd behavior during fires, air crashes, and other disasters. Her review provides ideas about who is likely to survive such events and who is not. One can compare her account with Barylick’s (2012) of “the Station” fire, especially in the way people form groups as they try to cope with the disaster. These groups may aid in the evacuation, or they may hinder it, depending on factors that arise during the event when time is of the essence. Survival, in such cases, may be a complicated trade-off between emotional stressors such as fear and panic, pre-existing knowledge (such as knowing where the nearest usable exits are), individuals (like the busboy at the Beverly Hills Supper Club fire) who show strong leadership during a crisis, and a multitude of other variables at play  – including luck. Ripley’s arguments can help us understand the way in which the fire victims at “the Station” tended to cluster as the fire took hold. Interviews with survivors and first responders after the fire provided anecdotal accounts that are consistent with these arguments. Empirically, however, the best evidence available came from the two sources mentioned earlier, namely, the first responders’ sketch map and the video taken by Brian Butler. A response design, therefore, was possible even in the initial stages of the recovery work by FAR. Each line of evidence, the sketch map, the video, and the archaeological site plan and notes, was recorded independently and could be compared later to evaluate its degree of consistency with the others. Although the first responders’ sketch map would not become available until over a year later, its existence was known and anticipated as part of this designed approach. Eventually that comparison would permit a controlled evaluation of the archaeological results. FAR set about, with the time and resources available, to define the principal “panic zones” and “chokepoints” based on archaeological evidence and then test each of these against the patterning represented in the video and the sketch map. Regarding the sketch map, this was a blind test, with no possibility of our knowing beforehand what the outcome of this comparison would be. This is not a research design in the formal scientific sense. It is simply an organized set of expectations suitable for testing, based on the particular circumstances of the disaster scene rather than on patterning that arises from predictions about disaster scenes in general. If more of this kind of data is collected at fire and other disaster scenes, however, it may be possible to identify broader patterning in the archaeological record that can be connected to behavioral responses of the kinds described by Ripley. Response designs should produce repeatable results in the

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same sense as other archaeological patterning in relation to past events and processes, making them available for controlled comparisons with other, similar disasters.

Limiting Factors The role of archaeologist is constrained at the disaster scene, and the case of “the Station” fire provided an opportunity to identify and characterize these limitations. Some of these limits are set by procedures and practices used by other responding agencies. Others arise from the nature of the disaster and the circumstances surrounding it. It may not always be possible to perform optimal archaeology when the conditions are less than optimal. There are, however, ways to overcome or mitigate some of these limitations, even under difficult field conditions. Arguably the most severe of these limitations is time. The authorities are under constant pressure to answer questions by the public, the media, and the bereaved. That pressure was reflected in the most-often-asked question during “the Station” fire recovery, which was: “How long will this take?” The only correct answer was: “As long as necessary,” but we appreciated the immediate needs of the community and the urgency of the recovery effort. One good way to speed up the on-site recording of evidence is the use of the laser transit or total station (Dirkmaat et al. 2001). FAR was already considering a total station when the fire occurred, acquired one not long afterward, and trained in its use (Gould 2007: 119–122). Events overtook FAR, however, so more conventional methods were modified to speed the recording. The total station also might have been useless in the low temperatures that prevailed during the first days of the recovery operation. Two baselines were laid at right angles across the entire footprint of the nightclub structure, and a set of moveable, square PVC pipe frames with strings forming a 12 in. grid pattern were taken out and positioned over identifiable features and concentrations of loose material as they were encountered and marked with pin flags. Measurements taken within the grid frame were quickly positioned and measured relative to the nearest baseline. This method worked quickly and avoided cluttering the surface of the site with grid strings – an important consideration while machinery and personnel were still moving across the scene. FAR had already been advised that the physical character of the site was affected by the first responders immediately after the fire; much of the standing structure had been torn down, heavy machinery had been moving across the site, and other agencies such as the ATF (federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives), the West Warwick Police, and various firefighters had already been collecting evidence. The early outlook expressed by these agencies toward FAR’s efforts was pessimistic. They suggested that the site had been physically altered so much by these factors that it was unlikely we would find much in the way of useful evidence. So in addition to time, another, related, limiting factor was the effect of postdepositional or taphonomic factors. Culturally derived factors were compounded by

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n­ atural factors involving changeable weather. Temperatures were well below freezing during the early phase of the work, followed by a major snowstorm and then by mud due to thawing afterward. We also placed pin flags along our entry and exit routes to minimize disturbance, even though much of the site was already disturbed. Postdepositional conditions of all kinds had to be accepted and controlled for as much as possible. There was never a possibility of waiting for better working conditions. FAR’s activities were constrained, too, by the activities of other agencies at the site. In particular, the West Warwick Police were hampered in their efforts to record the locations of the bodies that were recovered by both the weather and the limited time available to them. Victim identification was the most immediate need, so the bodies of the victims were removed and quickly taken to the Medical Examiner’s Laboratory, where a DMORT team was assisting the ME’s staff in the identification process. In other words, the West Warwick Police had only a limited time in which to record the remains. As a result, their plan showed the locations of the victims’ bodies in the aggregate, without showing the position or orientation of the individual bodies. This kind of information is often useful at crime scenes and would normally be part of an archaeological effort. Even with more time, however, recording position and orientation would have been a daunting task for archaeologists working in the area in and around the entrance passage, where bodies were piled up in a manner resembling a mass grave. It’s hard to imagine being able to disaggregate and record the bodies in an orderly manner in such a situation, using good archaeological methods, when the pressures of time, weather, and other factors affect the work. Unfortunately, situations involving pileups of bodies at choke points are a common feature of nightclub fires, as are the factors that compel first responders to move quickly. There may be no perfect solution to this problem, but it should be addressed in anticipation of future needs. Logistics is also a potential limiting factor in operations of this kind. Through the generosity of the New England Salvation Army and private donors following FAR’s trial excavations at the World Trade Center in New York, FAR had built up a good cache of personal protective equipment (PPE) and medical supplies along with the archaeological equipment needed for the task. FAR followed what is generally called the “3-day rule,” in which we were on our own for supplies for 3 days, after which one of the controlling agencies  – in this case the RI State Fire Marshal’s Office – replenished what we had used. Expendable supplies are used up rapidly during a disaster response, so arrangements like this are necessary if the work is to continue beyond the initial three-day window. Provisioning was supported by the Red Cross, which provided morning coffee and donuts, by local residents who furnished a large tent with a propane heater, and by the RI Salvation Army Disaster Services, which served hot meals and drinks on site each day. FAR had negotiated a memorandum of understanding (MOU) with the RI Salvation Army to facilitate this support.

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Physical Evidence: The Site Plan The production of a site plan raised an important procedural and legal issue that must always be considered when doing this kind of work. Ralph Constantino, a Providence Police detective working on the FAR team, asked me how our site plan would compare with the one we knew had been made by the West Warwick Police. Later in court, he said, defense lawyers could compare these plans to note any differences, which they would call “discrepancies” in order to discredit both plans in the minds of the jury. In response, I included a note with FAR’s site plan explicitly stating that it was for archaeological purposes and was intended to be different from the West Warwick Police plan. In the criminal and civil proceedings that followed, FAR’s site plan was never challenged as evidence, and I was never called to defend it in court. Richard Wright (pers. comm.), an Australian archaeologist with extensive forensic experience, had told me that this was the best possible outcome when presenting evidence of this kind. Figure 18.1 shows the FAR site plan with the approximate locations where the bodies of fire victims were recovered by first responders (recorded by the West

Fig. 18.1  Archaeological plan of “the Station” nightclub fire scene. The areas in black show locations of bodies recovered by first responders and recorded by the West Warwick Police

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Warwick Police) superimposed in black, as published in The Providence Journal, August 3, 2004. The accompanying article stated that the Journal had to sue the attorney general’s office for the release of the diagram, which accounted for the delay in publication. A glance at Fig.  18.1 shows that, except for the area in and around the main entrance corridor, there is no simple correlation between locations of the bodies found by the first responders and the areas where fragmented and burned human remains and personal effects were recorded by FAR. A total of 96 people died at the scene, in the following locations: • One victim in the middle of the dance floor in front of the stage (Area 2 in the FAR plan). • Thirty-one victims in the main entrance corridor and in front of the ticket counter. This was the highest concentration reported. It occurred within a space that was 6.5 ft wide by about 18 ft long (partially obstructed by the Feature 3 ticket counter) or about 117 ft2 in area. The density of 3.7 ft2 per victim reflects the degree of crowding that occurred here. • Nine victims in Area 2 of the FAR plan in an area that led from the dance floor to the entrance corridor around a right-angle turn through a 3-ft-wide opening next to the ticket counter. Anyone attempting to escape via this route had to pass through this opening. The concentration of bodies here suggested a backup once the main entrance corridor was blocked by other victims, with the wall behind the ticket counter, generating a kind of eddy that also created a blocking effect. • Eighteen victims in Area 1 of the FAR plan (designated as Feature 2) in the game room adjacent to the main entrance. Anyone attempting to escape from the game room by way of the main entrance corridor would have found the way blocked by the entrance corridor wall. • Three victims in the bar and lounge area, shown as Area 3 on the FAR plan. • One victim near Feature 4 in Area 4 on the FAR plan. • Nine victims in Area 4 on the FAR plan within the area shown as “spotty fill.” • Seventeen victims scattered in the rear of the club occupied by restrooms, offices, and storerooms. • Seven victims recovered from an area outside the footprint of the club, outdoors, and to the right (as one entered) of the main entrance. A total of 58 bodies (60% of the victims found on site) came from the areas in and immediately adjacent to the main entrance corridor, which corresponded closely with the highest concentration of human remains, articles of clothing, and portable artifacts recovered by FAR.  The video, taken from outside the club entrance the night of the fire, provided graphic images of this human pileup in the entrance corridor; however, thick black/brown smoke rushing over the top of the pile prevented a clear view of the additional victims in and around the vicinity of the ticket counter and game room.1

 Editor’s note: footage from the video referred to in this chapter is available online via YouTube.

1

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The FAR criterion for “main concentration of personal effects and human remains” was somewhat arbitrary. Five or more loose items in the excavated and sieved fill per cubic foot of excavated fill, qualified as part of the main concentration, which occurred unambiguously within the cross-hatched zones shown in Areas 1, 2, and 3, including the main entrance corridor and passageway in front of the ticket counter. Scattered loose objects were found in parts of Areas 2, 3, and 5 as well, forming a kind of pathway of items like cell phones and eyeglass frames leading from the stage to the interior opening to the main entrance corridor (see Fig. 18.1). After seeing the video of the fire, it appears that this was a kind of “panic zone” where victims rushed across the dance floor toward the main entrance passageway. Loosely attached items like cell phones and eyeglasses appear to have been peeled away from the victims’ bodies as they crowded together in the confined space during the rush. Many of these items were deposited in the loose fill between the stage and the entrance to the main corridor. Other areas where the West Warwick Police recovered the victims’ bodies were less closely correlated with the patterning of physical remains recorded by FAR. Much of Area 4, shown as “spotty fill, nothing to excavate,” was a product of scraping down to bare floor by heavy machinery to move heavy items (partially burned wooden structure, metal ductwork, pipes, etc.) into a tangled pile about 10 ft high that extended across an area where nine victims had been found earlier. Although FAR monitored the further removal of this heavy debris and found important personal effects mixed in (among other things a bracelet and a guitar, both of which some of the victims’ families had specifically asked FAR to look for), controlled archaeological excavations here were not possible. Feature 4 shown within Area 4 was a small space of relatively undisturbed fill adjacent to the debris pile. This was part of the kitchen area, and the Fire Marshal’s staff told us that a body had been recovered there. FAR excavated within a relatively intact 4 ft by 8 ft space and recovered several fragmented human remains and some personal items. This may be the small area shown on the West Warwick Police plan where one body was recovered, but it was about 5 ft from the location indicated on their plan. Area 5 (bathrooms and offices) was excavated by FAR and produced fragmented human remains, portable artifacts (especially Mardi Gras beads, baseball cards, and business cards), and some personal effects. Controlled archaeological work here, however, was hampered by a heavy snowfall that covered the entire area. Like Area 3, (the bar and lounge), there were no dense concentrations of such materials, but important items were found within the deposits. In Area 3, items like wine glasses along with some human remains were found along with personal items like an earring and a guitar pick. Much of Area 1 (the game room) yielded similar remains in low concentrations, along with pool balls and cash (quarters and charred bills). In short, human remains and personal effects were found over much of Areas 1, 2, 3, and 5 (with Area 4 as a special case) but never in concentrations like those found closer to the main entrance of the club and not as directly associated with locations identified by the West Warwick Police during the first response.

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Stratigraphy of the Deposits There was no real soil at this site. Excavated material consisted of a gritty mixture of ash, charcoal, pulverized or fragmented building materials, and other unidentified substances. A total of 2793 ft2 or approximately 59% of the building’s total floor area was excavated and sieved by FAR. Areas not excavated included a wide zone of spotty fill and bare floor in Area 4, the area excavated and sieved earlier by ATF investigators, the drummer’s alcove (located on an elevated platform behind the stage), and a relatively intact storeroom located near the offices at the rear of the club. A minimum total of 136.4 ft3 of fill was excavated and sieved by FAR. Despite the disturbances caused earlier by first responder activities and other investigations, FAR work teams found fragmented and burned human remains and personal effects that were sometimes sandwiched between the floor (a composite tile that did not burn) and the collapsed ceiling. The low ceiling and/or roof at the club contained a tar-like material that was partially melted by the fire and fell in sheets on the floor, forming a layer that effectively immobilized the floor contents. This effect was especially evident in Areas 1, 2, and 3 in an 8–12 ft arc around the main entrance passageway, the ticket counter, and part of Area 2 between the ticket counter and the stage. Shortly after the fire was extinguished, heavy machinery had passed over this area, while the roof material was still hot. This movement resulted in pressure that produced a waffle-like pattern to the underside of the roofing material layer that sometimes showed the seams of the flooring material, which had been laid in squares. By peeling back the layer of solidified roofing material and excavating the contents between this material and the floor, it was possible in some cases to recover intact associations such as the Feature 1 clothing items and the base of the ticket counter on one side of the inner part of the entrance passageway. Below-­ freezing temperatures during the excavations also meant that soft-tissue remains were sometimes present along with burned and fragmented bones. All of these materials were recorded, placed in a chain of custody, and delivered to the evidence room at the RI State Medical Examiner’s Laboratory.

Portable Artifacts All buckets of excavated material were put through 1/4  in. mesh screens. Dry screening was used, although we were offered the use of a fire truck with pumps to perform wet sieving and had fine-mesh screens available. It was so cold, however, that for reasons of health and safety, wet sieving would have been unwise. FAR teams also sieved the backdirt piles from the ATF sieving station. The areas outside the game room and on the ramp and stairs outside the main entrance were thoroughly searched (but not sieved), mainly for articles of clothing. Officials and the media were always asking how many personal items we recovered, and the count

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FAR gave them at the end of the operation was a total of 88. This did not seem like much, given the efforts by FAR and others at the scene. Throughout the operation, it was important, however, to explain to the police, firefighters, the Medical Examiner’s staff, and others directly involved about how, in this kind of archaeology, “Less may be better.” For example, a wallet containing licenses, credit cards, photographs, and other identifiable materials would be entered as a single item in order to ensure that the physical association of its contents remained intact. Key chains and articles of clothing were treated in the same way, with any items found within the pockets enumerated with the clothing as a single item. These associations remained intact throughout the chain of custody from the disaster scene to the Medical Examiner’s Laboratory and to the courtroom if necessary. The manner of attachment was important, too. Cell phones (many of them still working), “loyalty cards” issued by supermarkets and other businesses, pins, and other items that were still inside pockets or attached directly to belts or clothing provided better associations than the same object if it were found loose in the fill. Considerations of archaeological association had the effect of reducing the overall “count” of objects that would have been degraded as evidence if they had become separated. After the site was closed officially on March 10, 2003, I was invited to the evidence room at the Medical Examiner’s Laboratory to assist the ME’s staff in inspecting and recording items of clothing found by first responders and by FAR team members. The clothing worn by victims and their personal effects were removed and recorded by DMORT during the first few days after the fire. This was done under controlled conditions that included photography and notes with the aim of documenting the contents so the physical associations could be reassembled later for repatriation or as evidence. Items of clothing found on site were sometimes recorded as features, such as the Feature 1 assemblage (web belt, hat, buckle, and a laminated placard of club events) found fused together to the floor in the center of the entrance passageway in front of the ticket counter). Most of these materials were repatriated to the victims’ families. In the case of clothing, all articles were professionally dry cleaned and made as presentable as possible by the ME’s staff before repatriation. Although DMORT’s primary mission was to identify and repatriate the remains of the fire victims as accurately and quickly as possible, the archaeological component of the recovery introduced by FAR sometimes overlapped with DMORT’s mission, especially when dealing with personal effects. For example, during the process of matching ante- and postmortem evidence to establish the identities of the victims, I encountered a photograph in one of the victim’s antemortem files showing him wearing black leather gloves that extended up his forearms with a distinctive net mesh sleeve up the rest of each arm. This appeared to be part of a costume worn by this individual at rock concerts. A few days later, as FAR began work at the site, a glove of exactly this kind was found in the loose fill immediately outside the club entrance with the hand still inside. Here the protocols of a DMORT operation

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c­ ombined with the archaeology performed by FAR to establish the ownership of this unique glove. Another vexing question arose during the recovery effort: Which items should be considered as personal effects or as possible evidence relating to the origins and effects of the fire? Many artifacts were found that did not fit either category. Wine glasses, cash, pool balls, Mardi Gras beads, business cards, and many other items were recovered. After consultation with the Fire Marshal’s staff, we left these items at the site in conspicuous locations. The Mardi Gras beads were hung together in strands, pools balls were arranged in pyramid-shaped stacks, and a cash bucket was positioned in the game room for hired legal investigators to “discover” as they came to the site to build their civil cases after the fences were taken down. These arrangements appeared several times on the TV news with much drama about their status as possible evidence but without much relevance to the civil suits that followed. Although the authorities and media asked for numbers in cases dealing with personal effects, we came to regard such numbers as arbitrary and meaningless. Should an item of clothing with a sleeve or pocket torn off be listed as a single item, or should each part be listed separately? What matters is the ability to record and retain the physical associations of these items as potential evidence. The same can be said for fragmented and/or burned pieces of bone. The forensic anthropologists with DMORT were able to reassociate many of the loose bones and fragments found at the site to the original victims, and sometimes it was possible for them to make estimates of age at death, biological sex, stature, and pathology to compare with more individualized criteria for specific identification (especially dental and DNA). To ask how many bones were recovered would be like asking how many sherds there are in a pot. By the time FAR arrived at the scene, all of the victims had been identified, so the remains we found were not needed for identification. They were removed from the site and later placed in a common burial with an appropriate ceremony on the grounds of the Rhode Island State Capitol.

FAR’s Expanded Mission Expands Further As FAR’s activities progressed at the Station nightclub, it became apparent to the authorities at the scene that we were achieving a high level of recovery and could give assurances that nothing of a personal nature (human remains, individual personal effects) would be left behind for scavengers – human or otherwise. Almost immediately, however, FAR was also asked to look for pieces of foam insulation and pyrotechnic devices (cardboard tubes, batteries, wiring, etc.), and the mission became evidentiary as well as humanitarian. In the course of FAR’s recovery operations, such items were recorded and entered into custody. A grouping of three 9-volt batteries (Feature 5) was found close to the stage, and we were told later by the Fire Marshal’s staff that these were used to ignite the pyrotechnics. On one occasion, the state police asked us to look for a metal box thought to contain documents relating to the case. We found several promising-looking boxes, but none contained these

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documents. We were also asked to look for fire extinguishers and found two resting together in the partially burned storeroom off Area 5 at the rear of the club. These old-style water extinguishers were empty, and one had a tag attached showing that it was last inspected in 1995.

Looking Ahead: Lessons from “the Station” Fire FAR’s primary mission of removing all personal objects and human remains from the site was accomplished fully. Some items may have been missed in the tangled pile of heavy debris as it was removed by heavy machinery, but all excavated fill was sieved with complete or near-complete recovery of all objects. After being delivered into custody at the Medical Examiner’s Evidence Room, the personal effects were claimed by the victims’ families and repatriated. FAR’s expanded mission was harder to evaluate. The level of correlation between the Brian Butler video, the West Warwick Police site plan, and FAR’s site plan was high although not absolutely consistent. The principal focus of the disaster became the entrance passageway and adjacent areas (the ticket counter, the 3-ft-wide entrance there, and adjacent parts of the game room, dance floor, and the bar and lounge). This area, which represented 60% of the victims’ bodies recovered by the first responders, presented a strong correlation between all lines of evidence. When plotted against the floor plan of the club, it also revealed obstructed areas of constriction and blockage that suggested how this pileup of bodies occurred during the rush for the most obvious exit. An area of the bar and lounge excavated by FAR, however, did not present any bodies on the West Warwick Police plan, while a nearby location in the middle of the bar and lounge where three victims were found did not produce any significant amount of human remains or personal items. This was also true for Area 5 (bathrooms, rear office, and storeroom), where 17 bodies were found. Then, too, there remains the question of how closely the single body recorded by the West Warwick Police in Area 4 was associated with the remains reported as Feature 4 by FAR. Considering the degree of post-event disturbance at the site, this slippage did not seem surprising and should serve as a cautionary example of the potential effects of less-than-optimal conditions that prevail at disaster scenes. From an evidentiary point of view, FAR’s expanded mission supported the general conclusions about how the pileup of bodies in and around the main entrance passageway occurred. The 3-ft-wide opening and right-angle turn between the ticket counter and the corner wall of the game room (also the location of FAR’s datum) stood out as a choke point for escapers. Although some people were reported to have escaped by breaking open the game room windows, the game room wall next to the entrance passageway seems to have been a cul-de-sac that trapped other would-be escapers. There is no direct information about the seven bodies assembled together outside the club entrance, but it appears that these were victims dragged from the main entrance by first responders or perhaps by other escapers.

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Other evidence requested by the fire marshal and state police included fragments of foam sound insulation (from the area near the stage and drummer’s alcove), pyrotechnic devices (cardboard tubes and 9 V batteries), and fire extinguishers. FAR’s efforts demonstrated that such evidence can be found and recorded fully, but these items did not play a major role in the legal cases that followed. The foam insulation, recovered by FAR team members, was not the kind implicated in the almost explosive ignition and spread of the fire. The pyrotechnic devices did not change the picture of what happened when the Great White band began its show, although they supported the accounts offered by eyewitnesses and survivors and by the images in the Brian Butler video. The empty and expired fire extinguishers found in the storeroom also added to, but did not alter, the general conclusions reached later in court. In short, the evidentiary role played by FAR was consistent with other lines of evidence and did not change the overall account of what happened at the “the Station” before, during, and after the fire.

Is There Any Theory Here? Given the unpredictable and unexpected nature of mass-fatality disasters, any kind of theory beyond the principles of good archaeological science may be hard to discern. Multiple empirical cases, like archaeological site reports, are needed to test ideas and produce generalizations. Much of what happens at a disaster scene requires a flexible and even opportunistic approach in dealing with the available evidence. A disaster scene is continuously altered by changing circumstances ranging from the effects of weather to the actions of other agencies. There may be a churning of archaeological materials not seen at more traditional archaeological sites, and specific goals may change as well as the work proceeds. Work at the site may be limited by time, weather, and other immediate factors as well as more systemic factors, like protocols and standard operating procedures required of all emergency workers. It may be premature, therefore, to identify any body of theory that should guide disaster archaeology beyond the strict empiricism required in medical/legal proceedings. True empirical thought involves a developed degree of skepticism that extends beyond common sense expectations or surface appearances, and the response to “the Station” nightclub fire disaster was intended to embody a level of empirical observation and questioning that would anticipate challenges later on in the courtroom. The principal lesson from the “the Station” fire experience for disaster archaeology was that a timely use of this empirical approach, based on a structured response design that tests different, independent lines of physical evidence and presents the results during the initial phase of court proceedings, will provide the most effective results when they are needed most. Lawyers on both sides can have the opportunity to review and challenge this evidence early in the legal process. Court proceedings for “the Station” fire cases took 10 years to complete, but at no time were the archaeological findings by FAR challenged in open court. If this

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outcome, together with the humanitarian results of FAR’s activities there, is deemed to be a sufficiently positive result, then the structured empirical approach that characterized disaster archaeology at “the Station” fire scene can be judged to have passed some kind of theoretical litmus test of credibility.

References Barylick, J. (2012). Killer show. Hanover: University Press of New England. Blau, S., & Ubelaker, D. (2011). Handbook of forensic anthropology and archaeology. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Connor, M.  A. (2007). Forensic methods: Excavation for the archaeologist and investigator. Walnut Creek: AltaMira Press. Dirkmaat, D. C., Hefner, J. T., & Hochrein, M. J. (2001). Forensic processing of the terrestrial mass fatality scene: Testing new search, documentation and Recovery methodologies. Paper presented at 2001 annual meeting of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, Seattle. Dupras, T. L., Schultz, J. J., Wheeler, S. M., & Williams, L. J. (2011). Forensic recovery of human remains: Archaeological approaches. Boca Raton: CRC Press. Gould, R. A. (2007). Disaster archaeology. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Korzeniewicz, R. P., & Casullo, E. C. (2009). Responding to disaster: Two logics of demands and the politics of hybridity. Social Movement Studies, 8, 95–114. Ripley, A. (2009). The unthinkable. New York: Three Rivers Press.

Chapter 19

Acquisition and Disposition Problems and Experiences Policing the Online Marketplace for Human Remains Ryan M. Seidemann and William T. Hawkins

Introduction Since 2007, the Louisiana Department of Justice (“LDOJ”) has monitored eBay and other online sales outlets for human remains and burial artifacts within Louisiana’s borders. The sale of such remains is illegal in Louisiana under a panoply of laws – the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) (25 U.S.C. §§ 3001, et seq. 1990), the Louisiana Unmarked Human Burial Sites Preservation Act (La. R.S. 8:671, et seq. 2009), the Louisiana Historic Cemetery Protection Act (La. R.S. 25:931, et  seq. 2012), the Louisiana Anatomical Gift Act (La. R.S. 17:2351, et seq. 2010), and the Louisiana Anatomical Board Act (La. R.S. 17:2271, et seq. 1968). Many analogues to these laws exist in other states (Seidemann 2010), making the policies and procedures implemented and experiences had in Louisiana instructive to other jurisdictions. Since the inception of the monitoring program in 2007, the LDOJ has seized nearly 30 human skulls in addition to a number of associated burial artifacts such as dispossessed gravestones and cemetery paraphernalia. Following in-house analysis, the more difficult problem of disposition begins. This series of case studies and anecdotal experiences is presented as instructive and cautionary tales for those in the forensic community.

R. M. Seidemann (*) Louisiana Department of Justice, Baton Rouge, LA, USA e-mail: [email protected] W. T. Hawkins Independent Researcher, Los Angeles, CA, USA © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_19

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General Procedures and Methodology After finding a potentially illegal auction, LDOJ first confirms that the sale is from within LDOJ’s physical jurisdiction (i.e., within the borders of Louisiana). Following each such identification, LDOJ contacts eBay or uses LeadsOnline to acquire seller information. In most cases, LDOJ monitors the identified auction, waiting until it has closed before contacting the seller. Usually, following contact from LDOJ, the seller is quick to volunteer the remains for analysis. As is set forth more fully below, problems with this approach have been identified that other jurisdictions may find informative. Following acquisition of the human remains, LDOJ staff employs standard anthropological techniques for analysis. For any artifacts recovered during the seizures, analysis understandably varies on a case-by-case basis and is typically provided on a volunteer basis by local archaeologists. In terms of the human remains, after first determining burial context (i.e., were the remains looted?; were they teaching material?; etc.), LDOJ determines age, sex, and ancestry using standard osteological analysis techniques (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994) and by running the appropriate data through FORDISC v3.0 (Jantz and Ousley 2005). For instructive purposes, we present two cases highlighting the difficulty in determining the origins of seized human remains as well as the complex issues surrounding their disposition, especially those non-Native American remains where no statutorily established protocol for disposition exists. In addition, to illustrate the difficulties of conducting forensic archaeology in the Internet Age, we include a series of anecdotes related to the difficulties of policing the human remains and illegal artifacts trade in the online marketplace.

Case Studies Case 1: The Cox Skull  In February of 2011, LDOJ identified the pending sale of a purported “real Juvenile Skeletal Skull” from an eBay seller, identified as Joseph Cox of Metairie, Louisiana (Fig. 19.1). Following identification, LDOJ contacted Cox by email shortly after the auction ended. Based upon the high starting auction price ($1000 USD), the skull was not sold. Cox claimed he was given the skull from his undergraduate art school teacher, Henry Schwartz, a well-known and well-regarded individual at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston (Cox, pers. comm. 2011). According to Cox, Schwartz was a “bit of a pack rack” and “owned a lot of weird stuff” (Cox, pers. comm. 2011). Further Cox indicated that Schwartz gave him the skull as a gift in 1992 when Cox complained about having “no props for still life” (Cox, pers. comm. 2011). Schwartz apparently was something of a recluse. He is now deceased; therefore, the likelihood of identifying someone with a memory of the skull and how

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Fig. 19.1  A screenshot of the Cox skull sale

Schwartz acquired it borders on the impossible. Cox indicated that he thought the skull came from India, though he emphasized he was not certain of this. The pursuit of a skull’s origins is always required in cases such as this, as it directly pertains to the legality of possession. Under Louisiana law, human remains may not be reduced to ownership (Yiannopoulos 2010). The only means by which a private individual may own (as opposed to merely possess) human remains in Louisiana is pursuant to La. R.S. 8:678(A)(2), which states: …any human skeletal remains or burial artifacts from an unmarked burial site which come into Louisiana from any foreign country or any other state or territory of the United States and are documented to have been obtained lawfully under the laws of the respective country, state, or territory may be given, received, studied, or displayed without violating this chapter.

In addition to the provision of the Louisiana Unmarked Human Burial Sites Act cited above, the full faith and credit clause of the United States Constitution would also require Louisiana to recognize ownership rights in human remains if those remains are acquired in another state in which such ownership was permitted at the time of the acquisition. In this case, the recovered remains consisted of a single human skull in excellent condition (Fig. 19.2). The skull exhibited modifications consistent with its preparation as a teaching specimen, including a calvarium surgically cut and reattached to the skull by metal pins and hooks, springs pinned to the ascending rami of the mandible and to the temporal bones to hold the mandible in place, dentition glued into

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Fig. 19.2  Frontal and left temporal views of the Cox skull

the alveolar sockets, and the number “50” inscribed on the right occipital condyle with green numbering. With the burial context thus identified as non-forensic, the skull did not need to be treated as evidence in a criminal matter and could remain with LDOJ for further analysis. The skull proved difficult to assess in terms of both sex and ancestry, but LDOJ ultimately concluded that the diagnostic traits of the skull were indicative of an Asian male. Although attributes were present on the skull suggesting a female classification or an individual of European ancestry (i.e., no nuchal crest present, parabolic palatine shape, arched transverse palatine suture), when taken as an aggregate, the remains were indicative of an Asian individual, thus likely confirming Cox’s understanding that the skull may have derived from the subcontinent of India. Furthermore, the rugged nature of the skull’s facial features, an attribute not easily measured and quantified by FORDISC, strongly suggested that the individual was male. The FORDISC reports, with their low posterior probabilities, were largely inconclusive. FORDISC classified the skull as a white female with a posterior probability of 0.569 (a low probability) when comparing the data inputs for this skull to the control data from the Forensic Data Bank (“FDB”). The skull was classified as a male of the Andaman Islands with a posterior probability of 0.227 (an extremely low probability) when comparing the data inputs for this skull to the data contained in the Howells database. However, the typicality of the skull with the Andaman Island sample was 0.384, whereas the typicality was 0.031 with the white female sample of the Howells database. Typicality enables the analyst to see how representative of the original data sample the examined remains may be. Higher typicalities show that the remains are similar to the original sample from which statistical measures are derived. That this skull has a higher typicality among members of the Andaman Island sample as opposed to the members of the white female sample was taken to be indicative of the skull’s population classification as Asian. The lack of a good fit of the data from this skull to the available comparative data is indicative of a need for the compara-

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tive data to be expanded. Additional controlled datasets of human cranial measurements exist worldwide that have yet to be incorporated into the FORDISC comparative dataset. Such an inclusion should lead to more meaningful and exacting population classifications in the future. The age of the individual was evaluated using cranial suture closure. Cranial suture closure provides a mechanism for assessment of age-at-death, although this age indicator is only loosely correlated with chronological age and produces age estimates with large ranges (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994). The spheno-occipital synchondrosis of the Cox skull was completely fused, suggesting an age-at-death greater than 22  years (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994). Scoring resulted in a vault score of S3, indicating a mean age-at-death of 38 years with a range of variation of 27–44 years, and a lateral-anterior score of S7, indicating a range of variation of 50 years or more. Thus, the age of the individual represented by this skull is clearly an adult – likely someone in middle age. When the analysis was completed, the final disposition of these remains was provided for pursuant to the LDOJ human remains protocols and, in this case, the wishes of the seller. Those protocols, which are not enshrined in law but which are rather an evolving set of internal agency guidelines, created from existing statutory law, jurisprudence, and practical considerations, provide: When there is clear evidence that the seized human remains were acquired from an anatomical supply company under lawful conditions at the time of acquisition, permission to possess those remains may be presumed. It must be borne in mind that this presumption of possession does not equate to ownership. Ownership of human remains is not supported by the law. Evidence sufficient to support the presumption of acquisition from an anatomical supply company may be based upon: (1) the presence of an anatomical supply company’s stamp on the human remains; (2) documentation from an anatomical supply company that clearly identifies the subject remains; (3) the presence of professional preparation cuts or markings on the subject remains; or (4) any other information likely to prove original acquisition from an anatomical supply company. A review of such evidence by LDOJ is necessary to ensure that the remains were properly acquired. The presumption afforded by the evidence of anatomical supply company origin shall be based upon a verification that the company in question properly acquired the remains that it sold (i.e., compliance with export laws, etc.).

In this case, criteria three and four, above, identified these remains as having derived from an anatomical supply company. The seller indicated he did wish to have the remains returned. Because there was also no evidence that existing laws were violated in the original acquisition of this skull and because the skull came into Cox’s possession outside of Louisiana, where such a transfer of remains would have been permitted in 1992, it was the opinion of LDOJ that this skull could be returned to the seller for possession (i.e., not ownership and not transmission). Accordingly, LDOJ returned the remains to the seller with the admonition that he never sell or otherwise transfer the remains to anyone other than a teaching or research institution. However, the complexity of the inquiry regarding how to properly dispose of such remains, as demonstrated by the flowchart shown in Fig. 19.3, is substantial, and the return of the skull to a private party rather than reinterment or incorporation into a teaching collection was disappointing but likely the correct result under the law.

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Fig. 19.3  Flowchart of the investigation and adjudication process for seized human remains by the LDOJ

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This reality demonstrates the inequities of the current law. With the return of the skull to Cox, the seller is now set up to violate the law again. Although Louisiana law does not prohibit the possession of human remains, ownership and transmission of those remains are unlawful. Thus, although Cox is entitled to possess a skull (whose possession does not otherwise violate other laws), any transmission of the skull, either by way of sale, by donation, or even by devolution of the skull through his succession will violate the law, and the analysis and disposition process will have to begin again. This reality, and the reality that the Cox remains now have gone back to a private party and cannot be used for teaching or research purposes, is an unfortunate loophole in the current law that likely exists in multiple jurisdictions. Case 2: The Pohler Skull  In 2007, the Louisiana Division of Archaeology received a tip from the National Park Service of the sale of a human skull on the Internet auction site, eBay (Fig. 19.4). LDOJ attempted to retrieve the skull from the seller’s home in Lake Charles, Louisiana, immediately after the close of the sale. Unfortunately, the skull had already been shipped to the out-of-state purchaser by the time LDOJ arrived. Therefore, the US Postal Service was contacted, and its offices intercepted the skull in Texas and delivered it to LDOJ in Baton Rouge. Although details of the analysis of this skull have been presented elsewhere (Seidemann et  al. 2009), some review is relevant for contextual purposes and to frame the disposition problem. The recovered remains, which once formed a part of the personal collection of Roy Pohler, an avid collector in the early to mid-twentieth century, consisted of a fragmented but essentially complete human skull (Fig. 19.5). The maxilla had suffered heavy postmortem damage; otherwise the skull was intact. The skull was colored a light brown tan; this coloration along with a considerable amount of dirt found in various cavities suggested a prolonged burial of the individual associated with this skull. The skull, at the request of the coroner, was first analyzed by Louisiana State University’s Forensic Anthropology and Computer Enhancement Services Laboratory. That analysis indicated that the skull was probably Native American and that there was no evidence indicative of foul play. The skull was further analyzed by LDOJ with the help from Arizona State University. The sex of the individual, which was determined to be female, was evaluated using the Buikstra and Ubelaker (1994) scoring system, supplemented with more informal observations of sexually dimorphic features of cranial form (e.g., Morse et al. 1983). The age of the individual was evaluated using cranial suture closure. The spheno-­ occipital synchondrosis was completely fused, suggesting an age-at-death greater than 22 years (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994). Scoring resulted in a vault score of S3, indicating a mean age-at-death of 38 years with a range of variation of 27–44 years, and a lateral-anterior score of S3, indicating a mean age-at-death of 40 years with a range of variation of 27–51 years. Once again, this individual was determined to be an adult, likely in middle age.

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Fig. 19.4  Internet auction listing for a human skull

Fig. 19.5  Frontal and left temporal views of the Pohler skull

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The extent of dental wear on observable teeth suggested a more advanced age (Hillson 1996). Although dental attrition rates are highly population-specific and dependent strongly on the types of food consumed (Hillson 1996), the degree of wear on the crowns in this individual was consistent with an adult of more advanced age. That is, the dental wear also confirmed that this individual was probably not a young adult or less than 25 years of age. FORDISC analysis of this skull suggested an Arikara affiliation and a female sex. The skull was classified as American Indian when using the FDB to compare samples with a posterior probability of 0.659 (a somewhat strong probability). With comparison to the Howells database, the skull was classified into the Arikara group with a posterior probability of 0.681 (again, a somewhat strong probability). Cranial deformation of the skull was evident, which was consistent with a Native American population affiliation. However this same deformation also compromised the metric sex assessment and all of the population affinity assessments of the skull, and therefore such interpretations should be considered with caution. The low typicality probabilities belied the poor fit between the target and the source populations throughout the metric analyses. The data available for comparative analysis of Native American remains are minimal, meaning that the standard forensic analyses could not provide useful information to narrow down the region of origin of this skull. Soil collected from inside the skull was sent to Georgia State University for analysis. This analysis indicated that the soil from the skull was probably from the lower Mississippi Valley, as it was consistent with soil deposits in Arkansas, Louisiana, and Mississippi around 4000–7000 B.P. With all data available, it was concluded that the individual represented by this skull was most likely a middle-­ aged Native American female dating to the Mississippian (post-agricultural) or perhaps colonial periods (Seidemann et al. 2009). Although this skull was early determined to be of Native American origin, its disposition remains in question. Despite tribal support during the seizure of this skull and its associated material culture, no one seems willing to take responsibility for the skull now. Several attempts to engage Louisiana’s federally recognized Native American communities to facilitate the repatriation of this skull have failed. It is anticipated, however, that this skull will eventually be repatriated and reinterred. Case 3: Voodoo Dirt  One odd component of LDOJ’s enforcement of the Louisiana Unmarked Human Burial Sites Preservation Act and other burial protection laws is the occasional enforcement of more unusual auctions. Thus, in 2012, when LDOJ became aware of an eBay sale of “graveyard dirt,” allegedly derived from a New Orleans cemetery (Fig. 19.6), the dirt had to be analyzed to ensure grave desecration was not afoot. The seller intended the graveyard dirt for buyers interested in its applications in Voodoo rituals. The same seller also offered “coffin nails,” a stone purportedly taken from near Voodoo priestess, Marie Laveau’s, grave, as well as a promise to haunt the highest bidder as a ghost after the seller’s death.

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Fig. 19.6  A screenshot of the Voodoo dirt sale

In order to verify what, if any, laws were broken by these sales, the “graveyard dirt” and the “coffin nails” were acquired by way of purchase and analyzed. The nails were determined to be unused (but intentionally weathered) modern horseshoe nails, and the dirt, under microscopic examination, was determined to contain no human remains. In this instance, the seller was guilty of fraud and not desecration. A letter of reprimand was sent to the seller, and no charges were filed. Disposition of these materials was not a problem, but the materials’ mere existence exhibits the reality that online marketplaces, even in the absence of a viable buyers’ market, has begun to pose at least a threat of damage to archaeological sites. A similar case arose in 2013 from a seller in Lafayette, Louisiana, claiming to sell cemetery dirt, cemetery brick dust, and coffin nails as a Voodoo package on eBay (Fig. 19.7). The LDOJ investigators who acquired the materials from the seller reported evidence of new brick crushing in the seller’s garage. A microscopic analysis of the dirt revealed no human remains, and, upon questioning, the seller admitted to collecting dirt from her backyard. She attempted to avoid a fraud charge by claiming she had buried pets in her yard, thus making it a cemetery. The nails were determined to be modern wire nails that the seller admitted to having left outside to “make them look old.” Again, the prosecution of this individual for fraud was determined to be a waste of resources. She was reprimanded and informed not to sell such items again.

Issues and Problems from the Online Marketplace Aside from the general problems of trafficking in human remains on eBay, LDOJ has encountered problems both with the acquisition and disposition of such remains. A 2013 attempt to acquire a skull and several postcranial remains went awry when,

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Fig. 19.7  Seizure of the Voodoo “package” sale

rather than reaching out to LDOJ when his auctions were closed by eBay and he was contacted by LDOJ, the Denham Springs, Louisiana seller dumped the remains in a trash dumpster. By the time this disposition was discovered, and after some dumpster diving by the authors, the refuse company informed LDOJ that the dumpster had been emptied the prior day. This meant that the remains were destroyed in a garbage truck and lost in a landfill. The seller’s reasoning was not that he was afraid of being caught but rather that when he learned that he could not make a profit from the sale of the remains, which he had acquired from a storage unit auction, he just threw them out. Again, prosecution, due to low penalties, was determined to be a waste of resources. Based upon the eBay photographs, the remains were clearly part of a teaching skeleton and were not evidence of foul play, but this is a clear example of a loss of teaching material that has changed LDOJ’s acquisition practices (i.e., acquire the remains first and ask questions later). As alluded to above, the disposition of remains has also been somewhat difficult. There is no legal mechanism in Louisiana to deal with seized human remains. To fill this void, LDOJ has developed a series of protocols to guide the disposition of such remains. This document was useful when a 2012 seller from whom a skull had been acquired challenged LDOJ’s refusal to return the skull to her upon LDOJ’s ­determination that the remains were not Native American nor were they acquired from a burial context. In this case, the seller had attempted to sell a teaching skull that her grandfather had once possessed. She became suddenly sentimentally attached to the skull when it was seized mid-sale and demanded its return. It was suspected that, upon return, the seller would merely attempt to sell it again. Because Louisiana law does not recognize ownership rights in human remains and because it restricts the transfer of any remains, the seller was refused a return of the skull in

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exchange for an agreement not to prosecute her for the unlawful acquisition of the skull from her grandfather and her attempted unlawful sale. This skull will now be sent to a teaching institution for educational uses rather than ending up in the stream of commerce.

Discussion The following discussion assumes that there is merit to stemming the tide of human remains sales. Certainly, those remains that have been looted from archaeological or other cemetery sites should, and in many cases must, be recovered and attempts at repatriation or reinterment should be made. However, is it appropriate to stem the tide of sales of human remains that have been prepared as teaching specimens? The authors believe that such specimens serve their highest purpose as teaching specimens and not as curios. Further, in many cases, because these remains were acquired through body donation programs, the seizure of the remains from illicit sales and their return to educational or research uses is a fulfillment of the donors’ intent – thus creating a quasi-legal, if not moral, obligation to stem this tide. Finally, as has been documented elsewhere, some remains that appear in the stream of commerce were originally acquired under dubious circumstances (Iserson 1994). In cases where people may be killed for the value of their remains, the need to eliminate the market demand for such materials is acute. As has been noted elsewhere, NAGPRA provides weak coverage beyond federal and tribal property and no protection for non-Native American remains (Seidemann 2010). In Louisiana, two state laws provide a more comprehensive coverage: the Louisiana Unmarked Human Burial Sites Act (La. R.S. 8:671, et  seq.) and the Louisiana Anatomical Gift Act (La. R.S. 17:2251, et seq.). These two laws provide comprehensive coverage for most scenarios, but are not the same in every state. For this reason, several observations and recommendations for other states are made below. The very simple reality of the scenarios recounted herein is that the law related to the protection against human remains falling into the stream of commerce was not drafted with the Internet marketplace in mind. The strongest laws prohibiting the sale of human remains lie not in the more recent archaeological site protection laws, such as NAGPRA, the Archaeological Resources Protection Act, or their state-level counterparts, but rather in the anatomical acts of the various states. These acts, for the most part, were created in the early to mid-twentieth century (Bernard 1966), and thus their drafters could not have contemplated the profusion and proliferation of human remains sales and the correlative threat to sites containing those remains that have emerged in the Information Age. What, then, is to be done regarding this expansion in the (largely) illicit trade in human remains? Two solutions appear to be most promising: (1) updating the anatomical laws to include forfeiture provisions and to create violations of the acts from the mere offering of the remains for sale and (2) stemming the tide of available remains.

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The former recommendation is part of a general recognition that most state laws do not recognize the right of individuals to have vested property rights in human body parts. If there is no vested right, then forfeiture is not a problem, as it does not amount to the taking of a right by the government for which there are constitutional protections. The other component to this recommendation is to make the violation of the law the offering of the remains for sale and not the sale itself. It is simply easier to seize remains prior to the consummation of a sale, as, at least during online auction scenarios, the remains stay in the seller’s possession for several days. This would provide law enforcement with the time to secure the remains before they disappear into the stream of commerce. The second recommendation – cutting off the supply of remains – is more difficult. Certainly, dropping demand due to enforcement of existing laws may reduce the trade in remains. However, Louisiana is attempting a new approach to this problem. Through Act 631 of 2012, certain Louisiana officials can now take action to secure human remains in abandoned cemeteries that are exposed and are thus at risk of looting. This law provides for immunity from liability for those undertaking such recoveries and requires those undertaking the recovery operations to adhere to standard archaeological methods. There is no doubt that Louisiana’s new law will not stop the looting of cemeteries or stem the tide of human remains trafficking. However, it is hoped that the law will provide at least some protection for derelict cemeteries and perhaps begin to shift some of the sales activity away from looted skeletal material.

Conclusion It is difficult to summarize a disparate collection of unique events. However, the past several years’ worth of human remains seizures in Louisiana has led to several important experiences. First, for a variety of reasons, sellers may attempt to destroy human remains if they are alerted to monitoring activity prior to seizure. Thus, acting to seize remains prior to advance notice to sellers is important whenever possible. In addition, stemming the tide of human remains sales requires both the enforcement of existing laws and likely the creation of new laws. Most often, however, even with Native American human remains, the ultimate disposition of those remains is the most difficult activity in the process of protecting these remains.

References Bernard, H. Y. (1966). The law of death and disposal of the dead. Dobbs Ferry: Oceana Publications. Buikstra, J.  E., & Ubelaker, D.  H. (1994). Standards for data collection from human skeletal remains, Research Series No. 44. Fayetteville: Arkansas Archaeological Survey. Hillson, S. (1996). Dental anthropology. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press.

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Iserson, K. V. (1994). Death to dust: What happens to dead bodies? Tuscon: Galen Press. Jantz, R. L., & Ousley, S. D. (2005). FORDISC 3.0: Personal computer forensic discriminant functions. University of Tennessee. Morse, D., Duncan, J., & Stoutamire, J. (1983). Handbook of forensic archaeology and anthropology. Tallahassee: Rose Printing Company. Seidemann, R. M. (2010). Expansions of human remains protections: What have the states done? Museum Anthropology, 33(2), 199–209. Seidemann, R. M., Stojanowski, C. M., & Rich, F. J. (2009). The identification of a human skull recovered from an eBay sale. Journal of Forensic Science, 54(6), 1247–1253. The Louisiana Anatomical Board Act, La. R.S. 17:2271, et seq. (1968). The Louisiana Anatomical Gift Act, La. R.S. 17:2351, et seq. (2010). The Louisiana Historic Cemetery Protection Act, La. R.S. 25:931, et seq. (2012). The Louisiana Unmarked Human Burial Sites Preservation Act, La. R.S. 8:671, et seq. (2009). The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act of 1990, Pub. L. 101–601, § 3001, 104 Stat. 3048 (1990). Yiannopolous, A. N. (2010). Property (Vol. 2). Baton Rouge: Louisiana Civil Law Treatise.

Chapter 20

Take Them to the Woods: Melding Forensic Science Education with Real Case Experience Dana D. Kollmann

As forensic professionals, it is obvious that the work we perform on a daily basis is far different from that as portrayed on primetime television. Relaying this message to undergraduate students anticipating a career in the forensic sciences, however, can be difficult. While the National Institute of Justice and the Forensic Science Education Programs Accreditation Commission have internships listed as part of approved undergraduate forensic programs, not all schools adhere to these standards or have received accreditation. Forensic science internships are highly competitive, and there tend to be far more student applicants than there are positions. Consequently, some candidates for crime scene technical positions have never handled “real” evidence or seen a “real” body. Should a student not complete an internship, their only relevant practical experience may come from processing mock crime scenes. Valuable as teaching tools, mock scenes fail to capture the essence (e.g., sights, smells, environmental constraints) of a real crime scene. Add to this the emotional experience of being present when families and friends learn that a loved one was seriously injured or has died, or the potential issues that arise when working under the lens of the ever-present media. These are parts of the job as a crime scene investigator that cannot be taught in a classroom  – they must be experienced. Given that the forensic sciences can be a difficult profession to break into, the American Society of Crime Lab Directors recommends that students focus on obtaining some type of crime lab experience, even if it is in a capacity that may be different from their long-term career aspirations. The competitive nature of the limited number of internship positions in the forensic sciences creates a conundrum for multitudes of students entering the job market. Many agencies are unwilling to invest the time training an entry-level field investigator if there are no assurances D. D. Kollmann (*) Department of Sociology, Anthropology & Criminal Justice, Towson University, Towson, MD, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 K. S. Moran, C. L. Gold (eds.), Forensic Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03291-3_20

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that they can handle the physical and emotional challenges of the job or have the requisite integrity, attention to detail, and dedication to a position that may require scheduling changes, rotating shift work, and significant overtime. An internship can alleviate many of these concerns. The willingness of an intern to work for no financial compensation and the personal time they invest in obtaining real-world experience also provides students with a competitive edge when agencies are vetting job candidates. Internships show prospective employers that applicants have solidified their career choice in the forensic sciences and are ready to move from the classroom to the field and/or laboratory. Through internships, students are able to network with those actively engaged in the discipline and obtain letters of recommendation that supplement those written by professors that focus primarily on their undergraduate academic experience. As educators, the problem then becomes one of finding a way to provide students with relevant, practical, real-world experiences in the forensic sciences when the number of available internship positions does not meet the needs of the growing forensic science student population. One might argue that colleges and universities might limit the number of forensic science majors, or run background checks and drug testing on prospective students, or even have students research employment possibilities prior to being accepted into the major. For many reasons, these and other solutions to the problem are not always viable. In 2010, Towson University undergraduate and graduate forensic science students were presented with an unusual opportunity to gain practical forensic experience. These students were invited to participate in a search for human remains and associated evidence in the woods of Vermont. Students were active participants in all stages of the investigation and were required to develop and implement a crime scene search and processing plan; photograph, map, and recover physical and biological evidence; work with law enforcement; interact closely with the media; and participate in follow-up investigatory processes.

Case Background On May 16, 2005, a 28-year-old white male (hereafter referred to as M.H.) was reported missing from Spring Lake Ranch in Cuttingsville, Vermont. The Ranch operates as a therapeutic community and treatment facility for individuals who suffer from mental illness and substance abuse. M.H. had been receiving supervised treatment at Spring Lake Ranch for severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. On the morning of his disappearance, M.H. worked on a woods crew that was responsible for the collection and processing of lumber. At 1300  h, M.H. was scheduled to answer telephones in the Ranch’s main office. M.H.’s disappearance was noted when he failed to arrive at his afternoon job. At 2130 h, following a search for M.H., the Ranch staff filed a missing person’s report with the Vermont State Police in the town of Rutland.

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Four years elapsed with only occasional yet unsubstantiated sightings of M.H. in locations ranging from Florida to California. The parents of M.H. used personal funds and connections to conduct searches of the Vermont woods by GPS equipped K9 Search and Rescue groups and of Spring Lake by a professional dive team. They also met with individuals on the east and west coasts that claimed to have personal knowledge of M.H.’s whereabouts. None of these efforts produced new leads into the whereabouts of M.H. On November 15, 2009, 4 years after the disappearance of M.H., hunters discovered a human skull on a private, wooded property approximately 0.5  mile away from Spring Lake Ranch. A more detailed search of the area conducted by the Vermont State Police yielded a few additional skeletal elements, a pair of boots, and a wallet with membership cards bearing the name M.H. Confirmatory identification was based upon dental evidence. The cause and manner of death were ruled “undetermined” by the Vermont State Medical Examiner’s Office. The body of M.H. was subsequently returned to Maryland for burial.

Concerns of the Family Two months after the partial remains of M.H. were recovered, his parents contacted this author and requested advice regarding additional analyses that might be performed to shed light on the circumstances surrounding his death. The family was troubled by the fact that numerous skeletal elements (i.e., humeri; right radius and ulna; carpals, metacarpals, and phalanges; 13 vertebrae; 14 ribs; innominates; several tarsals and phalanges; and multiple teeth) were not recovered, and it was their contention that these could possibly yield evidence leading to the determination of the cause and manner of death. The family was also unsettled knowing that only a portion of M.H. was interred in the cemetery plot, and it was painful for them to envision unrecovered skeletal elements remaining in the Vermont forest.

Planning and Training After extensive meetings with the parents of M.H., a tentative search plan was devised. It was determined that with the approval of the Vermont State Police, Towson University would assemble a trained team of students that would travel to Vermont for purposes of searching the recovery location for additional human skeletal remains, personal effects, and other evidence related to M.H.’s disappearance and death. The family worked with the landowner to secure property access, and the Vermont State Police agreed to facilitate Towson University’s search efforts. It was determined that in the event additional human remains or evidence were recovered, they would be turned over to the Vermont State Police and Vermont State Medical Examiner’s Office. Once remains were identified as M.H. and released to

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the family, they would then be transported to Towson University’s secure Archaeology and Forensic Science Laboratory and secured in the evidence locker. At that time, an order of exhumation would be filed with the courts in Maryland to obtain the remains that had been buried in November of 2009. Once exhumed, all remains would be transported to the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of Natural History, Department of Anthropology, and a full forensic anthropological analysis would follow. Prospective search team members learned about the service-learning project through posted notices, classroom announcements, and email communications. The first formal meeting served as an information session and a means of garnering student interest. The parents of M.H. were in attendance and provided the 45 students with specific details regarding their son’s disappearance and the ensuing investigation. Prior to speaking, the family placed poster-sized photographs of M.H. around the classroom and incorporated personal details about him into their presentation. The family hoped to emphasize that forensic scientists may be trained to remain clinical in their approach to casework, but to them, M.H. was not a skeletal case – he was a vibrant young man who was much-loved and terribly missed. An informal survey of students that were present at this meeting indicated that it was one of the most memorable experiences in their college career and would undoubtedly provide perspective on cases they might handle in the future. While extremely emotional for all that were in attendance, this talk energized the students and left them with a very strong sense of purpose. This meeting also had the unforeseen consequence of causing a motivational shift among the participants. Prospective searchers were no longer driven only by the opportunity to obtain practical forensic experience. Instead, these students were touched by the grief experienced by the family of M.H. and wanted to use their skills to bring them a degree of resolution. Photographs of the recovery scene, as it appeared in the November police photographs taken 3 months prior, showed a forest floor densely covered with dead foliage. Due to the time commitment the search would require, it was determined that field investigations had to occur when university classes were not in session and when spring ground cover was at a minimum. Travel to Vermont was scheduled for May, the day following the semester’s end. Anthropology, criminal justice, and forensic chemistry students made up the majority of the 39-member search team, which became recognized by the Towson University Student Government Association (SGA) as the Forensic Science Student Organization. University affiliation enabled the group to apply for funding from the SGA and utilize other university resources. Through private contributions and awards from the Graduate Student Association, the Department of Chemistry, and the Student Government Association, more than $10,000 was raised to cover the costs associated with travel, lodging, and meals. Donations of field supplies, food, and reduced fees also helped offset incurred expenses. In the intervening months, search participants were required to attend several meetings and training sessions. Students received instruction in methods of conducting a forensic search in a densely wooded location and worked to construct a grid as a means of organizing the search and maintaining provenience. There was

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extensive training that focused on human osteology, and participants were provided the opportunity to handle human skeletal elements to familiarize themselves with the feel and texture of the bone and the basic attributes that distinguish human from animal remains. Students learned of missing clothing, personal effects, and skeletal elements representing M.H. that were not recovered. Advanced instruction was provided in crime scene mapping and documentation, evidence handling, chain of custody, and confidentiality, particularly with regard to social media postings and speaking with the media.

Search Three weeks prior to fieldwork, the search grid was established on site and laid in using a transit. With the assistance of a detective from the Vermont State Police and a Towson University archaeologist, 44, 5-m-wide transects that straddled an extant logging path were established. The northern boundary of the grid was marked by a stone wall, and the southern edge was marked by the wetland area. Each transect was marked with pin flags and flagging tape and was numbered in increments of five. The search took place on May 21–22, 2010. Towson University students accompanied Vermont State Police homicide detectives to the scene where detectives briefed students on the location of previously recovered elements and provided a detailed case history (Fig.  20.1). It was during the briefing that the first human remains were identified protruding from the moss-covered ground (Fig. 20.2). There was a significant amount of faunal (primarily deer) bone in the region, as the area has a large coyote population. The large amount of animal bone as well as the fact that much of the human bone was weathered and dry and retained superficial characteristics of wood underscored the importance of the osteological laboratory training that the students underwent prior to travel. The search efforts were focused in transects closest to where most skeletal elements and personal effects had been recovered the previous November. Search methodology included removing all loose foliage and moss from the forest floor using rakes, shovels, hand tools, and sifting soil and raked material through 1/4″ mesh screen (Figs. 20.3 and 20.4). Students were regularly rotated into the high probability areas for recovery area, and all were provided with the opportunity to work with a Towson University graduate student that was also employed as a crime scene investigator (Fig. 20.5). When remains or evidence were located, they were marked with a pin flag. At that point, a determination was made if the bone was in fact human. If it was determined to be human, it was photographed and triangulated using standard forensic techniques of documentation. At the end of each field day, recovered remains were submitted to the Vermont State Medical Examiner’s Office. The majority of the bones recovered by the Towson University recovery team were found by hand searching and raking/dredging in the wetland area that marked the southern edge of the grid. This area contained knee-deep, highly organic swamp

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Fig. 20.1  Towson University Forensic Science Student Organization students being briefed by a Vermont State Police homicide detective

Fig. 20.2  A human rib found protruding from a moss-covered tree fall within moments of beginning the search

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Fig. 20.3  A transect prior to clearing

Fig. 20.4  A transect after clearing

water, but it was here that M.H.’s cargo pants, sweatshirt, and several bones of the arms and torso were recovered. As a testament to the methodical and diligent work of the students, a maxillary central incisor was recovered from the swamp during the hand dredging operation (Figs. 20.6 and 20.7). Through their efforts, Towson University students recovered 25 additional human bones, 2 human teeth, buttons, fabric, eyelets, hairs, remnants of a sweatshirt and

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Fig. 20.5  A Towson University graduate student mapping the location of recovered evidence with another graduate student who is employed as a crime scene investigator

cargo pants, a lighter, a set of keys, chewing gum, and a water bottle (Figs. 20.8 and 20.9). All of the transects were thoroughly investigated, and over the course of 2 days, the entire landscape was transformed.

Exhumation In early June, a Vermont State Police detective drove the remains recovered during the field search from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in Vermont to Towson University’s Archaeology and Forensic Science Laboratory. The remains had been identified as M.H. Shortly thereafter, the parents of M.H. filed an order of exhumation with the Harford County Maryland court to disinter the remains that had previously been buried (Fig. 20.10). The disinterment request was approved by the court, and on July 19, 2010, the remains of M.H. were exhumed. With the permission of the family, several students were in attendance. The casket was transported to a local funeral home where the remains were removed. At this time, all of the recovered remains were transported to the forensic anthropology laboratory of Dr. Douglas Owsley at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of Natural History.

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Fig. 20.6 Towson University students searching the swamp for human remains and personal effects belonging to M.H

Fig. 20.7  Maxillary left central incisor that was recovered from the swamp. The tooth is capped on the inferior medial margin, which was the result of a bicycle accident M.H. sustained as a child

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Fig. 20.8  Remnants of M.H.’s cargo pants that were recovered from the swamp. In the pocket are a gum wrapper and a lighter

Fig. 20.9  M.H.’s house keys that were recovered from the pocket of cargo pants

Analysis A full forensic anthropological analysis of the skeleton of M.H. was conducted on July 20–23, 2010, at the Smithsonian Institution. While the results of the analysis are still pending additional testing, evidence for possible perimortem traumatic injury to the thoracic region of the spinal column was identified. The source of this injury is undetermined but could have resulted from an event such as a severe fall that caused anterior bending and compression of the thoracic spine.

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Fig. 20.10  The exhumation of M.H.’s remains

Conclusion The participation in the search for M.H. and the exhumation and analysis that followed created an invaluable learning experience for Towson University students. Strategizing, developing a plan of action, meeting with the family, detailed training, working out logistics, and conducting the actual search provided students with the opportunity to apply the knowledge they learned in the classroom to an active forensic case. Since the project, all of the search participants have graduated. Eleven obtained coveted internships with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and the US Secret Service. Several currently hold MS and PhD’s or are enrolled in graduate degree programs, including law school. Others have obtained work in DNA and toxicology laboratories throughout the United States, and at least nine are crime scene investigators. It is the contention of many of these students, as well as me, that their experience in Vermont solidified their career choice and contributed to their ability to gain employment in today’s oversaturated and competitive forensic job market. It is important to note that while this was a positive experience for most students, one in particular came to the realization that crime scene work was not for her. She changed her major shortly after the project. Perhaps more important than the record of employment is the connection that students made with M.H.’s family. Emotional distance from cases we work is essential for reasons of objectivity and sanity – but at the beginning of a student’s career, it is important to instill a sense of who we are working for and the families whose lives have been forever changed. In many forensic training programs, whether at the high school, university, or professional levels, practitioners infrequently have the opportunity to get to “know” the victim of a crime or witness the devastating effects that crime has on the survivors. Perhaps the experience can best summarized in the

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words of M.H’s father, who stated on the news, “Those that are concerned about today’s youth should have seen these kids working. They sweat, they dug in the swamp, were dirty, blistered, and sunburned, but there was not one single complaint. I don’t think society has much to worry about.” M.H. was reburied in August of 2010. Towson University faculty and students were present for the mass and interment ceremony. This provided yet another unique teaching opportunity for the students and opened the door to discussions of postmortem processing of human remains, burial legislation, and legal issues. The parents of M.H have established an endowment at Towson University, so we can continue to perform similar searches. Since 2010, the Towson Forensic Science Student Organization has participated in 16 similar projects, and in the majority of the cases, their efforts have resulted in the recovery of human remains.

Index

A Academic journals, 21 Adipocere “adipocere images”, 214 “Big Three”, 216 bog bodies, 215 chemistry, 216, 217 description, 214 forensic value, 216 formation, 215 identification, 214 mummification, 214 scientific training, 215 sources, 215 All-terrain vehicle (ATV), 98, 163 American Academy of Forensic Sciences, 34 American anthropology, 5–9 Anglo-American conventional archaeology, 76 Anthropological archaeology, 34 Anthropologists study, 33 Anthropology, 212 Archaeological damage assessment ARPA (see Archaeological Resources Protection Act of 1979 (ARPA)) NPS Technical Brief 20 (see Technical Brief 20 methodologies) professional standards, 268 Rules of Evidence, 268 SAA’s professional standards, 269, 270 testimony by archaeologists, 270, 271 Archaeological Field Recoveries vs. Crime Scene Investigation, 92–94 Archaeological methods, 50, 96, 111

Archaeological protocols, 92 Archaeological Resources Protection Act of 1979 (ARPA) archaeological value, 266 basic purpose, 265 civil penalty process, 266 commercial value, 266, 267 description, 265 “injury to government property” statute, 267 monetary values, 266 prohibited acts and criminal penalties, 265 restoration and repair, cost of, 267 “theft of government property” statute, 267 unauthorized damage, to archaeological resources, 266 violations, in monetary damages, 266 Archaeological sites, 47, 163 Archaeological techniques, 50 Archaeological terminology, 87 Archaeological theory, 54 Archaeological Violation Investigation, 172 Archaeologists and crime scene investigators, 91 Archaeology, 12, 57, 62 Archaeology and anthropology, 8 Archaeology-specific programs, 8 ARPA Uniform Regulations, 266 Arson, 154 Artifacts ARPA, 265 Cerberus investigation, 276, 277 Association for Crime Scene Reconstruction, 92 Autopsy examination, 44 Aviation Disaster Family Assistance Act of 1996, 63

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326 B Berkson’s paradox, 205 Best practice autopsy examination, 44 Bhatia’s definition, 79 Bioarchaeological methods, 22 Bog bodies, 213, 215 The Bone Woman (2004), 59 Bosnian Civil War, 196 Brick-built dwarf wall, 159 British Council for the Registration of Forensic Practitioners, 40 C Canal boat, 160 Canter’s profiling skills, 237 Case Assessment and Interpretation (CAI) model, 76 Catastrophe and Culture: the Anthropolgy of Disaster, 61 Certified Crime Scene Investigator I (CCSI), 36 Chartered Society of Forensic Sciences, 77 Chemistry adipocere, 216 Daubert trilogy, 207 knowledge, to forensic archaeology, 206 Chief of Police of Plattsmouth, 144 Circle hypothesis model, 237 Clandestine burial recoveries, 241 Clandestine burials, 9, 143 cadaver dogs, 13 crime scene protocol, 15 DNA sequencing/fingerprinting, 16 environmental conditions, 10 excavation process, 13 forensic archaeology, 17 foundational principle, 12 homicide, 12 humans, 10 landscape, 10 location, 10 physical capability, 10 sites and crime scenes, 14 state of mind, 11 tool availability, 10 Clear and precise communication, 77 Clothing, 193 Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC), 25 Commuters, 237, 239 Concealed remains, 11 Conduction, 155 Controlled Substance Act of 1970, 168

Index Convection, 155 Conventional archaeology, 78 Cooperative and multidisciplinary coroner system, in Nebraska cremation (see Cremation) criminal case, 248 dismemberment (see Dismemberment) forensic science program, 248 law enforcement, 248 mummy, 248 prairie turf, blocks of, 248 recovery of evidence, 248 County-wide crime scene, 50 Courtroom testimony post-Meadow, 81 Cremation antemortem trauma and pathology, 254 burning, distribution of, 252, 253 challenges, 251 computerized tomographic imaging, 250 contemporaneous samples, 249 cremation fire, 251 description, 249 discovery, 249 factors, 249 forensic imaging, 253 fragmentation, bones, 251 heat, on bone, 249 human body, 249 investication, victim identification, 255 modern crematorium practices, 250 organic components, bone, 249 partial cremation, 250, 251 pathological conditions, identification, 249 perimortem trauma, 254 recovery and analysis, cremated remains, 250 ribs, burning, 253 Crime Pattern Theory, 51 Crime scene, 184 Crime scene community, 51 Crime Scene/Death Investigation Committee, 44 Crime scene examination, 56 Crime scene examiners, 47 Crime scene investigation, 46 Crime scene investigator, 36, 154 archaeological research, 47 archaeologists and crime scene personnel, 55 characteristics, 45 civilian staff, 49 crime scene examiner, 46 crime scene technicians, 46 cross-contamination, 49 CSI and NIST, 56 CSI unit, 49

Index digital evidence recovery, 46 disciplinary division, 44 documentation, 49 educational and training requirements, 46 excavation process, 47 FBI, 43 fingerprints and DNA, 49 forward-thinking crime scene, 46 geographic location, 45 graduate research requirements, 48 human activity, 45 indoor scenes, 53 multiple crime scenes, 45 NAS, 43 NIST, 43, 44 SOPs, 53 stereotypes, 52 surface surveys, 51 theoretical approaches, 50 Crime scene mapping, 237, 241 Crime scene reconstruction (CSR), 51 Crime scene technicians, 53 Criminal investigation, 56 Ancestral Pueblo sites, 233 “Boulder 6”, 230 large multicomponent mound site, 233 late archaic bison kill site, 233 looting case, 231, 232 Red Elk Rock Shelter case conventional archaeological documentation, 225 cost, 3D laser, 228 factors, damage, 226 formats, 226 images, 225 site, 225 3D laser scanning, 227 TruView virtual reality-quality computer model, 227 Track Rock test project, 229 Criminal Investigations Bureau (CIB), 146 Criminal Justice Act (2003), 79 Criminal justice system and families, 69 Criminal Procedure Rules, UK, 210 Criminology, 51 Crown Prosecution Service (2018), 79 Cultural anthropologist, 6 Cultural resources management (CRM), 95 D Damage assessment, see Criminal investigation Danube River, 178

327 Daubert criteria, 52 Daubert trilogy, 207, 217, 219 Death Investigation committee, 56 Decomposition process, 54 Deliberate rejection of theory, 77 Depravity, 259 Disarticulation, 255, 259 Disaster archaeology, 27, 284, 285 Disaster victim identification, 60 Discourse communities, 87 communication, 85 comprehensive review, 84 concept, 80 defense expert role, 82 England and Wales, 82 grave, 83 participatory model, 84 post-processualism, 81 practitioners, 80 victim and crime, 82 victimhood, 82 Dismemberment archaeological methodology, 256 autopsy findings, 257 capital punishment, 255 concealment, 256 decedent’s body, 257 description, 255 and disarticulation, 255 field and morgue investigation, 261 frustrate identification, 256 homicidal act, 255 and mutilation, 256 observed predisposing factors, 256 sociocultural beliefs, 255 Distance decay principle, 237, 239 District Attorney’s commitment, 127 DNA analysis, 191 DNA sequencing method, 192 Domestic forensic archaeology archaeological approach, 23 jurisdiction, 23 North America, 22 E eBay Cox skull, 300 of “graveyard dirt”, sale, 307 issues and problems, 308 LDOJ’s physical jurisdiction, 300 online sales, 299 Pohler skull, 305 Voodoo package, 308

328 Education, 172 Environmental conditions, 11 Environmental Protection Agency, 143 European Network of Forensic Science Institutes (ENFSI), 76 Excavated material, 158 Excavation, 154, 157 Excavation methodologies, 157 Excavation techniques, 195 Exhumation, 316, 320, 323 Expert evidence, 209, 210 F Feature focused search method, 239–241 Federal Bureau of Investigations (FBI), 146 Federal Judicial Center, 76 Fingerprint analysis, 218 Fire indicators, 156–158 Fire investigation, 157 Fire investigation team, 154 Fire origin, 154 Fire Safety Commission, 68 Fire scene, 154 See also “The Station” Nightclub fire scene Flame entrainment, 159 Flameover reaction, 156 Flaming combustion, 155 Flowering angiosperms, 185 Fluorescence, 188 Forensic anthropology, 7, 17, 60 and archaeology, 9 in Nebraska (see Cooperative and multidisciplinary coroner system, Nebraska) programs, 54 Forensic archaeological expertise, 127 Forensic archaeologist, 76 Forensic archaeology, 50, 54, 55 approaches, to crime scenes, 235 beginnings, 214 body recovery, 236 Daubert test, 217 vs. disaster archaeology, 284 feature, 213 geographic profiling, 236 (see also Geographic profiling) in the UK, 214 search and rescue agencies, 235 3D laser scanning (see 3D laser scanning) Forensic archaeology recovery (FAR), 65, 126 Forensic archeology, 37 Forensic discourse, 75 Forensic fire scene, 161

Index Forensic palynology, 178 Forensic pollen samples, 181 Forensic pollen studies, 180, 181 Forensic science, 34 adipocere (see Adipocere) archaeology, 212 Bill/Act, 208 crime lab experience, 313 internships, 313, 314 legal perspective, in the US, 207 probability and statistics, 204–206 reliability and relevance, 219 research program, 208 scientific method, 212 and Standards Act, 207, 208 UK’s Law Commission, 209–211 use of “science”, 203 Forensic science education crime lab experience, 313 missing person, in Vermont woods, 314 anthropological analysis, 322 concerns, family, 315 disappearance, 315 emotional distance, 323 exhumation, 320 planning and training, 315–317 search methodology, 317 unsubstantiated sightings, 315 with real crime scene, 313 Forensic science spans, 18 Forensic Science Standards Board, 56 Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy (FTIR), 192 Freedom of Information Act (FOIA), 240 Future degree programs, 54 G Geographic profiling crime scene mapping, 237 distance decay principle, 239 human animal, 238 human behavior studies, Canter’s, 238 least effort principle, 238 locations, 239 model of guideposts, 238 motiveless crimes, 237 profiling, 236 spatial behavior theory, Canter’s, 237 GIS software, 112, 113 Global Positioning System (GPS), 144 Good archaeological science, 281, 296 Government archaeologists, 169 Great White band, 68

Index Ground-penetrating radar (GPR), 136 Ground Zero, 65 H Harnessing theories, 51 Heat shadowing, 156 Historic humanitarian archaeology, 16 Hobbyist looters, 164 Hobbyist vandals, 164 Homicidal act, 255 Homicide, 119 Human factor, 58 Humanistic case study approach, 64 Humanitarian, 281, 284, 294 Human remains, 314, 315, 317, 324 and burial artifacts, 299 on eBay, 308 investigation and adjudication process, 304 LDOJ, 300 moss-covered ground, Vermont woods, 317 ownership, 301, 303 and personal effects, to missing person, 321 tide of sales, 310 Human rights archaeology archaeological methods and techniques, 70 ATF, 66 cardinal rule, 67 ethnographies, 63 FAR, 65, 67, 68 forensic fieldwork, 71 government, 60 healing and reconciliation, 59 humanitarian forensic investigations, 71 materiality, 62 mediation, 61 NTSB, 60 OCME, 66 place and memory, 62 politics, 62 predominant symbol, 68 psychological and emotional, 59 social and political structure, 64 supermodernity, 61 technological advances, 59 theoretical perspectives, 61–63 victims, 59 I Institution for Archaeology (IFA), 153 Interdisciplinary training, 92 International Association of Chiefs of Police website, 147

329 International Criminal Court, 24 International Criminal Tribunals, 24 International forensic archaeology, 24 element, 23 jurisdiction, 24 Internships, 313, 314, 323 Irish Republican Army (IRA), 240 Issing persons OCME, 112 scientific applications, 111 K Kentucky Law Enforcement magazine, 173 L Laboratory extraction procedure, 189 Landfill searches advantages, 145 condition of remains, 149 crime scene, 144 database, 146 dirt/spray material, 145 emotional strain, 144 frequency, 148 infant, 149 information, 147 law enforcement, 150 missing person, 148 Nebraska, 147 operations in the United States, 144 police agency, 148 protocols, 143 questioning, 151 records management, 145 research objective, 146 Richmond search, 148 Sarpy County landfill, 145 success rate, 148 variables, 147 Language discourse community, 76 forensic sciences, 78 functional hybridity, 77 knowledge exchange, 86 nontechnical, 75 search and recovery methods, 76 technical terminology, 75 testimony, 79 uncritical use, 86 USA benefits, 78 vocabularies and excavators, 76 Latin American forensic anthropology teams, 24

Index

330 Latin American teams, 27 Law enforcement, 49, 115, 236, 240 Law enforcement officers, 169, 172 Law enforcement officials (LEO) archaeological techniques, 104 ATV, 98–100, 102, 104 communication and interaction, 104 crime examinations, 96 crime scene, 94, 100 crime scene investigators, 93, 97 crime scene technicians, 93, 94 depositional period, 100 excavation, 102 excavation procedures, 94 excavation strategies, 101 FBI, 93, 95 female victim, 95 forensic archaeologist, 91 forensic excavation strategy, 101 geotaphonomic indications, 96 inter- and intra-scene contamination, 91 investigators, 92 NAGPRA, 94 pre-excavation phase, 102 recovery equipment, 96 seasoned investigators, 95 traditionally schooled archaeologists, 93 training and experience, 97 Least effort principle, 238, 241 Legal definitions, 83 Light microscopy (LM), 190 Linguistic diversity, 75 Linguistic genre, 78 Locard’s exchange principle, 34 Lockean principles, 77 Long-range 3D laser scanner, 223, 224 Looting, 163–166, 231, 232 and vandalism, 163 Lower-level traffickers, 169 M Manpower, 149 Marauders, 237 Marijuana possession, 166 Massachusetts, 112, 116, 128, 129, 131, 135 Mass fatality, 27 excavation, 27 pre- and post-disaster, 28 Medicolegal death investigators (MDIs), 53 Medicolegal investigation, 22 Methamphetamine (MA), 167 Missing persons abduction and murder, 124 aerial and topographic maps, 124

age, 120 behavior and distinctive patterns, 118–123 behavioral correlates, 120 buried bodies, 120 characteristics, 118 child abduction and murder, 124 current research, 113 data sets, 116 death, 120 FAR, 136 full-scale recovery, 112 GPS, 112 human remains, 139, 140 investigative work, 125 law enforcement, 115 manner of death, 119 modeling and systematic testing, 115 overlapping data sets, 115 PLS, 116 searches and police investigations, 112 situation, 125 suicidal ideations, 123 suicide, 118 Missouri Governor Melvin Carnahan’s airplane, 94 Motiveless crimes, 237 N National Center for Exploited and Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC), 146 National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST), 43 National Park, 92 National Research Council, 43 National Science and Technology Council (NSTC), 79 National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB), 60 Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), 299, 310 Natural death scene, 120, 122 Neonatal line, 213 New York deployment, 66 Nontraditional crime scenes, 16 North American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), 58 Northern Irish paramilitaries, 11 O Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA), 39 Office of the Chief Medical Examiner (OCME), 111

Index Old school commercial looters, 164 Online marketplace acquisition, human remains, 300 eBay and other online sales, 299 human remains and illegal artifacts Cox skull, 300–303, 305 Pohler skull, 305, 307 Voodoo dirt, 307–309 LDOJ’s physical jurisdiction, 300 tide of human remains sales, 310 Organization of Scientific Area Committees (OSACs), 43 P Palynology Austrian murder case, 179 comparable surface dirt samples, 183 control and dirt samples, 183 crime scenes, 177, 184 forensic application, 179 forensic pollen, 179 pollen analysis, 178 pollen and spores, 180, 184 process, 182–184 sample collection, 181–182 United States, 179 Palynomorphs, 180–181 Performativity, 85–87 Personal protective equipment (PPE), 49 Physical anthropology, 6 Place last seen (PLS), 116 Pollen and spore production, 184 autogamous, 185 zoogamous, 185 Pollen degradation, 187 Pollen dispersal and productivity, 185 Pollen evidence, 179 Pollen extraction process, 189 Pollen recycling, 187 Pollen samples, 196 Pollen sinking speed, 186 Postmortem interval (PMI), 40 Predictive modeling, 123 Prion diseases, 39 Probative value, 35 Processual archaeological writing, 81 Professionalism anthropology, 33 archaeological and forensic note, 38 archaeologist, 35 conservatism, 39 definition, 34 expert witness, 41 forensic discipline, 37

331 forensic DNA, 34 forensic scene, 36 individualized, 34 jurisdictions, 37 law enforcement agencies, 38 paradigm, 35 paradigms matter, 33 parsing material, 36 PMI, 40 SWGANTH, 37 Profiling Canter’s profiling skills, 237 crime scene mapping, 237 description, 236 geographic (see Geographic profiling) winthropping (see Winthropping) Profiling motiveless crimes, 237 Profiling techniques, 94 Prosecutor’s fallacy, 205 Psycho-Social Issues and Approaches in Forensic Archaeology (2007), 69 Q Quicklime, 102 R Raman spectroscopy, 193 Reference Manual on Scientific Evidence (2011), 76 Registered point cloud, 223 Register of Professional Archaeologists (RPA), 40, 48 Reliability test, 210, 217, 218 Repatriation archaeology criminal-legal investigation, 26 CWGC tradition, 25 JPAC, 25 media and literature, 25 objective, 25 repatriation-focused context, 26 Research design, 285, 286 Response design, 285, 286 Restorative justice, 69 Rhode Island, 65, 126 Royal Anthropological Institute (RAI), 153 S SAA’s professional standards, 269, 270 Sarpy County search, 145 Scan worlds, 223 Scheinker syndrome, 39 Scientific method, 212

Index

332 Search in clandestine burial recoveries, 241 feature focused search strategies, 242 homicide case files, 242 and rescue agencies, 235 winthropping, search technique, 239, 240 Searching landfills, 150–151 Senior Investigating Officer and Crime Scene Manager, 84 Society for American Archaeology (SAA), 7 Soft tissue taphonomy, 214 Solid Waste Association of North America, 144 Standard operating procedures (SOPs), 15, 46, 53 State Police scent-detection dogs, 128 Station nightclub fire, 66 “The Station” Nightclub fire scene, 66 below-freezing temperatures, 292 burned human remains and personal effects, 290 “cold case” crime-scene investigations, 283 court proceedings, 296 excavated material, 292 FAR’s expanded mission, 294, 295 FAR site plan with locations, 289 FAR’s principal mission, 284 foam sound insulation, 296 “Great White”, 282 humanitarian goal, 284 on hypothesis testing, 285 media, 282 model group behavior, 286 nightclub, 282 physical evidence, 281 portable artifacts, 292–294 recovery, 283, 287 research design, 285 response design, 285–288 site plan, FAR’s, 289 skepticism, 283 sketch map and video, 286 victims, 283 video footage, nightclub safety, 282 West Warwick Police plan, 295 Sterile gloves, 190 Stratigraphy, 53 Stream of commerce, 310, 311 Structural fires, 155 Structural fire scenes, 155 Sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS), 204–206 Supermodernity, 62

T Taphonomy, 14, 18, 52 Teamwork, 41 Technical and nontechnical terms, 86 Technical Brief 20 methodologies archaeological damage assessment, 270 Cerberus Investigation case, 276, 277 NPS website, 270 Red Elk Rock Shelter case, 273–275 and SAA professional standards, 270 State of California Case, 272, 273 Testing strategies, 115 3D laser scanning cost and speed, 224 criminal investigation (see Criminal investigation) high-resolution photographs, 224 long-range scanners, 223, 224 outdoor scanning, 223 point cloud, 223 scan worlds, 223 TruView, 224 unauthorized archaeological damage, on public lands, 233 Time to Destroy: An Archaeology of Supermodernity, 61 Traditional archaeology, 59 Traditional scientific model, 76 Trafficking, 265, 277 True View virtual reality computer model, 227, 231, 233 U UK’s Law Commission, 209–211 UN International Criminal Tribunal, 24 University training, 46 US amphetamines, 167 US National Academies of Science (NAS), 43 UV fluorescence microscopy, 191 V Voodoo “coffin nails”, 308 dirt sale, 308 eBay sale, “graveyard dirt”, 307 “package” sale, 309 ‘V’ pattern analysis, 156 W Whiskey Hill in Palmer, 112 Wind pollination, 186

Index Winthrop Method, 11 Winthropping “Feature Focused Search method”, 240, 241 British military, 240 law enforcement, 240 profiling methods, 239 techniques, 239 as “the Troubles”, 240 World Trade Center, 28, 179

333 World War I, 61 World War II, 167, 168 X X-ray powder diffraction (XRD), 196 Z Zoogamous pollen, 185