Forensic Science: A Sociological Introduction [1st Edition] 1138794104, 9781138794108, 1138794112, 9781138794115, 131576055X, 9781315760551, 131764252X, 9781317642527, 1317642511, 9781317642510

Table of contents :
Cover......Page 1
Title......Page 6
Copyright......Page 7
Contents......Page 8
List of tables......Page 11
Acknowledgments......Page 12
List of abbreviations......Page 14
A plurality of actors and spaces......Page 16
Science and the law: a complex relationship......Page 17
Knowledge as practice and performance: making meaning......Page 19
Power, institutions, networks......Page 22
Identity......Page 25
Risk......Page 26
Aims and scope of this volume......Page 28
References......Page 31
Introduction......Page 35
Forensic fiction......Page 36
Forensics and news media......Page 43
Conclusion......Page 50
References......Page 51
Introduction......Page 54
Science vs medicine in law......Page 55
Forensic scientific societies......Page 61
Standardization and accreditation......Page 65
Conclusion......Page 70
Notes......Page 71
References......Page 72
Introduction......Page 74
Studying and evaluating forensic science and practice......Page 75
Organizing forensic science and practice: the partial ‘marketization’ of forensic science in England and Wales......Page 80
Conclusion......Page 90
Notes......Page 91
References......Page 92
Reflections on the epistemological identity of forensic reasoning......Page 96
Forensic science and Bayesian reasoning......Page 100
Enacting Bayes’ Theorem......Page 104
Managing ambiguity......Page 106
Conclusion......Page 111
Notes......Page 114
References......Page 115
Introduction......Page 118
LT-DNA: notable earlier jurisprudential and regulatory interventions......Page 120
Debates within Forensic Science International: Genetics......Page 126
Further legal developments: the acceptance of ‘evaluative opinion’......Page 130
Conclusion......Page 132
Notes......Page 134
References......Page 135
Administering the collection of biometric data......Page 138
The NDNAD......Page 139
Concerns over discrimination......Page 142
S & Marper......Page 144
Familial searching......Page 148
Phenotypic profiling......Page 149
Conclusion......Page 153
References......Page 156
Introduction......Page 159
Forensic science research......Page 160
The Association of Chief Police Officers......Page 163
Home Office Centre for Applied Science and Technology......Page 165
The commercial dimensions of UK forensic innovation......Page 166
Digital forensics......Page 168
Managing expectations......Page 171
Conclusion......Page 173
Notes......Page 175
References......Page 176
Introduction......Page 178
Ethics and discourse......Page 181
Discourses of engagement......Page 183
Social research and reflexivity......Page 186
The international agenda......Page 191
Conclusion......Page 193
References......Page 194
Index......Page 196

Citation preview

‘For forensic researchers and practitioners this book offers productive insights into how science and practice in their field relates to broader academic and soci­ etal debates. These include media representations and public understandings of forensic science, different notions of ‘truth’ and ‘evidence’, and implications of forensic science for social justice. Social scientists will obtain a fascinating and accessible insight into the rationales, technologies, and infrastructure under­ pinning a field that affects the lives of many people, although it is not normally in the limelight of social studies.’ Professor Barbara Prainsack, Kings College London, UK ‘Forensic Science: A Sociological Introduction is an impressive feat of scholar­ ship. It is the first book of its kind to introduce to readers a growing field of inquiry in which the complex relationship between science, forensic technology and criminal justice is critically examined using theoretical and empirical work in sociology and in science and technology studies. Chris Lawless has provided a systematic and subtle account of the nature and significance of forensic science in contemporary society, an account which will quickly become required reading in advanced undergraduate and postgraduate courses in criminology, sociology, science studies and forensic science.’ Professor Robin Williams, Northumbria University, UK ‘This is the first textbook that adopts a sophisticated sociological approach to forensic science. It will be invaluable for those who want to understand forensic science as a social enterprise.’ Professor Simon A. Cole, Criminology, Law & Society, University of California, USA and author of Suspect Identities: A History of Fingerprinting and Criminal Identification ‘This book provides a comprehensive discussion of social, ethical, and legal aspects of forensic science. Drawing upon a decade of his own research on the uses of DNA profiling and other forms of forensic science in England and Wales, Christopher Lawless delves into problems and uncertainties that are often over­ looked in media portrayals of high­tech methods of crime scene investigation. His discussion is well informed by a broad range of research on law and criminal justice, and the history and sociology of science.’ Professor, Michael E. Lynch, Department of Science & Technology Studies, Cornell University, USA

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Forensic Science

This book addresses a significant gap in the literature and provides a comprehen­ sive overview of the sociology of forensic science. Drawing on a wealth of inter­ national research and case studies, this book explores the intersection of science, technology, law and society and examines the production of forensic knowledge. This book explores a range of key topics such as: • • • • •

the integration of science into police work and criminal investigation; the relationship between law and science; ethical and social issues raised by new forensic technology including DNA analysis; media portrayals of forensic science; forensic policy and the international agenda for forensic science.

This book is important and compelling reading for students taking a range of courses, including criminal investigation, policing, forensic science and the soci­ ology of science and technology. Christopher Lawless is a Lecturer in the School of Applied Social Sciences at Durham University.

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Forensic Science A sociological introduction Christopher Lawless

First published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2016 Christopher Lawless The right of Christopher Lawless to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lawless, Christopher, author. Forensic science : a sociological introduction / by Christopher Lawless. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Forensic sciences. 2. Criminology–Sociological aspects. I. Title. HV8073.L3335 2016 363.25–dc23 2015032714 ISBN: 978­1­138­79410­8 (hbk) ISBN: 978­1­138­79411­5 (pbk) ISBN: 978­1­315­76055­1 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Cenveo Publisher Services

Contents

x xi xiii

List of tables Acknowledgments List of abbreviations 1

Introduction: Understanding forensic science through social research A plurality of actors and spaces 1 Science and the law: a complex relationship 2 Knowledge as practice and performance: making meaning Power, institutions, networks 7 Identity 10 Risk 11 Aims and scope of this volume 13 Note 16 References 16

2

Forensics in the media: Representations and ‘realities’ Introduction 20 Forensic fiction 21 Forensics and news media Conclusion 35 References 36

3

1

4

20

28

Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession Introduction 39 Science vs medicine in law 40 Forensic scientific societies 46 Standardization and accreditation

50

39

viii

Contents Conclusion Notes 56 References

4

55 57

Evaluating and organizing forensic science and practice Introduction 59 Studying and evaluating forensic science and practice 60 Organizing forensic science and practice: the partial ‘marketization’ of forensic science in England and Wales Conclusion 75 Notes 76 References 77

5

59

65

Reconstructing a reconstructive science: Probability and performativity in forensic investigation

81

Introduction 81 Reflections on the epistemological identity of forensic reasoning Forensic science and Bayesian reasoning 85 Enacting Bayes’ Theorem 89 Managing ambiguity 91 Conclusion 96 Notes 99 References 100 6

Law–science interactions and new technology

103

Introduction 103 LT-DNA: notable earlier jurisprudential and regulatory interventions 105 Debates within Forensic Science International: Genetics Further legal developments: the acceptance of ‘evaluative opinion’ 115 Conclusion 117 Notes 119 References 120 7

Forensic technology, ethics and society Introduction 123 Administering the collection of biometric data The NDNAD 124

81

111

123 123

Contents Concerns over discrimination S & Marper 129 Familial searching 133 Phenotypic profiling 134 Conclusion 138 Notes 141 References 141 8

ix

127

Pathways of forensic innovation

144

Introduction 144 Forensic science research 145 The Association of Chief Police Officers 148 Home Office Centre for Applied Science and Technology 150 The commercial dimensions of UK forensic innovation 151 Digital forensics 153 Managing expectations 155 Conclusion 158 Notes 160 References 161 9

The possible future relations between forensic science and social research

163

Introduction 163 Ethics and discourse 166 Discourses of engagement 168 Social research and reflexivity 171 The international agenda 176 Conclusion 178 Notes 179 References 179 Index

181

List of tables

4.1 a and b

The National Forensic Framework Agreement (NFFA) (2008–12) 4.2 a and b The National Forensic Framework Next Generation (NFFNG) (2012–16) 7.1 Legislation governing police powers to sample and retain DNA in England and Wales (1994–2003) 7.2 DNA Retention Rules under the 2012 Protection of Freedoms Act (PoFA)

69 71 124 130

Acknowledgments

It is almost ten years since I took my first step into the sociology of forensic science. During that time I have been very fortunate to meet and work with colleagues whose support, insight and advice have been invaluable in helping me to develop my own thoughts and reflections on this subject. I will always be thankful to Robin Williams for his supervision, constructive feedback and friendship. I also wish to thank Durham University and the Policy, Ethics and Life Sciences (PEALS) group for providing the support to enable me to under­ take my PhD. Along the way, I have enjoyed some very fruitful discussions with colleagues at the Northumbria University Centre for Forensic Sciences (NUCFS), including Matthias Wienroth, Victor Toom, Martin Evison, Carole McCartney, Chris Maguire, Anika Ludwig and Eleanor Graham. I also wish to thank Bridget Hutter, Michael Power and colleagues at the Centre for Analysis of Risk and Regulation (CARR), London School of Economics and Political Science, for their support during my time as a Postdoctoral Fellow, during which I was able to complete some key publications. I am grateful to col­ leagues at the Science, Technology and Innovation Studies (STIS) group, University of Edinburgh, for providing opportunities to develop my knowledge of Science and Technology Studies (STS). I am also indebted to colleagues at the School of Applied Social Sciences (SASS), Durham University, for their support and friendship which has helped me through the final stages of com­ pleting this book. I also wish to thank a number of other colleagues for their conversations and feedback, which has prompted reflection and helped me to develop as a writer. Particular thanks go to: Barbara Prainsack, Michael Lynch, Gethin Rees, Ernesto Schwarz­Marin, Arely Cruz­Santiago, Mehzeb Chowdhury, Erica Haimes, Alex Faulkner, David Wall, David Wyatt, Dana Wilson­Kovacs and reviewers who have provided feedback on my previous work. This book would not be possible without the many individuals whom I have been able to interview and converse with in focus groups and seminar discussions. Most of all, I thank my family for their love and support: Mum, Dad, Claire, Owain and my nephew Rowan, who arrived as this book was in completion.

xii

Acknowledgments

But most of all, this book is dedicated to Elisa, for her love, kindness, patience and understanding. Thanks for putting up with me. Christopher Lawless August 2015

List of abbreviations

AAFS ACPO APA AFSP BAFS CAI CAST CFC CJA CJPA CJPOA CPS cPUS

American Academy of Forensic Sciences Association of Chief Police Officers Association of Police Authorities Association of Forensic Science Providers British Academy of Forensic Sciences Case Assessment and Interpretation Centre for Applied Science and Technology Ciencia Forense Ciudadana Criminal Justice Act 2003 Criminal Justice and Police Act 2001 Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994 Crown Prosecution Service ‘critical’ or ‘constructivist’ Public Understanding of Science CRFP Council for the Registration of Forensic Practitioners CSE Crime Scene Examiner CSFS Chartered Society of Forensic Sciences DNA Deoxyribonucleic Acid DVI Disaster Victim Identification ECHR European Court of Human Rights ENFSI European Network of Forensic Science Institutes EUROFORGEN­NoE European Forensic Genetic Network of Excellence EVC External Visible Characteristics FBI Federal Bureau of Investigation FDB Forensics Delivery Board FMMT Forensic Marketplace Management Team FSP Forensic Science Provider FSS Forensic Science Service FSSoc Forensic Science Society GBH Grievous Bodily Harm HEI Higher Education Institution HGC Human Genetics Commission HMIC Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary

xiv

List of abbreviations

HOSDB IAI ICT ISFG KTN LR LCN DNA LT­DNA MP MPL MPS NAO NCA NDNAD NFFA NFFNG NPCC NPIA NRC NVQ PACE PAR PNC PoFA PUS RAE REF SBRI SIDC SIO SOCA SOP SSM SSU STS SWGDAM

Home Office Scientific Development Branch International Association for Identification Information and Communications Technology International Society for Forensic Genetics Knowledge Transfer Network Likelihood Ratio ‘Low Copy Number’ DNA analysis ‘Low­Template’ DNA Profiling Member of Parliament Metropolitan Police Laboratory Metropolitan Police Service National Audit Office National Crime Agency National DNA Database of England and Wales National Forensic Framework Agreement National Forensic Framework Next Generation National Police Chiefs Council National Policing Improvement Agency National Research Council National Vocational Qualification Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1983 Participatory Action Research Police National Computer Protection of Freedoms Act 2012 Public Understanding of Science Research Assessment Exercise Research Excellence Framework Small Business Research Initiative Security Innovation and Demonstration Centre Senior Investigating Officer Serious Organized Crime Agency Standard Operating Procedure Scientific Support Manager Scientific Support Unit Science and Technology Studies Scientific Working Group on DNA Analysis Methods

1

Introduction Understanding forensic science through social research

A plurality of actors and spaces Forensic science derives its name from the Latin forensis, meaning ‘in open court’, and is generally taken to refer to the use of science in the service of law. Forensic science encompasses a diversity of actors, including an extensive and highly differentiated population of forensic practitioners, ranging from crime scene examiners and managers to laboratory technicians and specialist scientists. Forensic practitioners may work within a wide variety of subdisciplines and specialisms, such as fingerprint analysis or DNA profiling, through to areas as diverse as entomology, linguistics and computing. In addition a broad array of actors from the wider domain of the criminal justice system can be considered stakeholders in forensic science. Included here are police officers, members of the judiciary, politicians, civil servants, commercial organizations, government bodies and general publics who may serve on juries or come into contact with the police. The development of forensic science is influenced by a wide range of interests, not necessarily limited to just law and science, but which include politi­ cal and commercial interests as well. Attempts to understand how forensic science establishes authority need to take into account the interactions among this plurality of actors and influences. Forensic science brings together a variety of actors, but also different forms of experience and knowledge. The question of how collective understandings emerge from this plurality is not a trivial one, given that scientists, police, lawyers, judges and juries employ different conventions and norms when assess­ ing claims to knowledge and making decisions. The situation is compounded further if one considers that those working within criminal justice systems often contend with sets of circumstances which may evade easy explanation. The contexts in which forensic science becomes embedded raise several ques­ tions. For example, what kind of balance is struck between the procedures and priorities of law and science, and just how stable is that balance? How do law and science cope with the contingency of criminal behaviour or the possibility of esoteric knowledge being used to solve cases? How do scientists communicate with police and lawyers given differences in terms of training, interests and incentive structures? These kinds of questions challenge the purview of law and

2

Introduction

the sciences. Such questions relate to wider societal concerns, and are hence open to approaches from the social sciences including sociology.

Science and the law: a complex relationship Sociology has applied itself, with significant fruitfulness, to the topic of science and technology. Sociologists of science and technology study the ways in which scientific knowledge shapes and becomes embedded in social identities, institu­ tions, structures, representations and discourses. Their work has given rise to a field of study which has grown to be highly interdisciplinary, drawing upon sociological, anthropological, philosophical, historical, economic and other approaches to understand the relationship between science, technology and society. This field is often referred to by the term Science and Technology Studies (STS). STS research regards scientific knowledge as a topic rather than a resource. STS has explored the social processes which generate scientific knowledge claims (and their subsequent social impacts), regardless of where they originate (Bloor 1976). It makes no a priori assumptions about the status of particular scientific claims or the precise position they occupy in social contexts. STS has indicated that a wide range of factors influence the construction of scientific knowledge. Scientific claims may be controversial and contested, and some may perceive risks to the public in applications of science and technology. Numerous examples, such as the BSE crisis and controversies over genetically modified organisms, highlight the potential for tensions to exist between science and soci­ ety at large. In such cases, a range of actors, including non­scientists, may find themselves drawn into debates over the risks and social impact of science. This too applies to forensic science. Social research on forensic science raises a number of questions of epistemological significance, namely how knowledge is created and belief is justified when science meets law. Among other insights, STS research has highlighted the complications inherent in establishing testable scientific evidence in legal envi­ ronments, and the problems of maintaining the balance between two interde­ pendent but distinctly different forms of authority (Jasanoff 2008). STS research on forensic science has studied how law and science maintain a balance between the contingency of legal decision­making, involving highly specific sets of circumstances, and the scientific ambitions of universality and transcendence (Jasanoff 1998). Law–science interactions have sometimes been framed as involving process (law) contending with progress (science) (Goldberg 1994; Aronson 2007). Conveying scientific claims in the courtroom presents complexities. Here, scientific expert witnesses are exposed to the scrutiny of legal professionals who have very different training and knowledge bases. Specific legal procedures have to be followed. In adversarial courts, expert witnesses are subject to questioning and cross­examination. Sociologists have noted that the lines of questioning employed by lawyers conducting cross­examination may not necessarily be

Introduction

3

intended to rigorously investigate knowledge claims in the manner of scientific peer review (Jasanoff 1995; Lynch 1998). Instead, lawyers, acting in the vested interests of prosecution or defence positions, may simply seek to catch a witness out or sow uncertainty in the minds of jurors. STS regards forensic evidence as something which is shaped by both science and law, operating interdependently but with outcomes which may not be fully intentional or foreseen. Related research has captured the interplay and tensions between communities involved in the shaping of scientific knowledge presented for the purposes of legal decision­making (Jasanoff 1998; Lynch 2004). These groups may themselves encompass scientists (or those who claim to be scien­ tists), and avowedly non­scientific actors, including politicians, publics, lawyers and other professional actors. One challenge for these groups concerns the contingent nature of criminal cases. Truth may often be stranger than fiction when it comes to establishing a particular set of circumstances during which a crime may have occurred. Reaching some kind of resolution over a criminal case may require quite esoteric forms of knowledge to be considered, and some claims to expertise which may not have a fully established or agreed scientific basis. Given these circumstances, lawyers and other participants in criminal justice systems may contribute to the shaping of particular instances of forensic scientific knowledge as much as expert witnesses. Some researchers, such as Gary Edmond (2001), have asserted that this kind of knowledge cannot be reduced to the level of producing scientific knowledge in laboratories alone, nor, however, can it be totally ascribed to the effects of legal procedure (Edmond 2001). Instead, Edmond uses the term ‘law­set’ to describe the collectives of lawyers, scientists and other actors who may not share the same epistemological backgrounds, but together shape certain framings of forensic knowledge in courtroom proceedings. The nature and functioning of law­sets may vary from case to case. If, as Edmond suggests, discussions over forensic science conflate law, science and other societal framings, how then can we determine whether a specific form of knowledge is ‘scientific’ or not? This echoes a key problem which has challenged philosophers of science, namely the issue of distinguishing science from non­science, often referred to as the ‘demarcation’ problem (Popper 1965). Law is still faced with the task of ensuring that legal decision­ making is based on knowledge which can be regarded as valid and reliable. Determining the scientific status of forensic evidence is still an important part of establishing the admissibility of evidence in the eyes of courts. If the overlapping authorities of science and law both participate in the shaping of forensic knowl­ edge, how may courts draw the lines between ‘scientific’ and ‘non­scientific’ knowledge to help them make decisions concerning admissibility? Some soci­ ologists have responded to this and the philosophical problem of demarcation by questioning the notion that prescriptive rules can be developed to distinguish science from non­science. Instead, they suggest that the demarcation of science should be regarded as a matter of empirical study (see, for example, Gieryn 1983; Lynch and McNally 2003).

4

Introduction

Knowledge as practice and performance: making meaning Legal evidence may take a wide variety of forms. It can, for example, take the form of eyewitness testimony or testimony about an individual’s character. Forensic scientific evidence may be derived from a variety of material sources, such as footprints, toolmarks or fibres, or biological material such as blood or saliva. Evidence may be used in various ways, either in a directly investigative or prosecutorial manner or to corroborate another piece of evidence. A whole range of items, testimonies and procedures may be utilized in the course of a criminal investigation. Evidence may exist in a complex and potentially problematic series of interrelationships. Pieces of evidence may contradict each other or may be recovered in a manner which enables only vague or ambiguous information to be derived. Whatever the precise nature of the crime or the investigation, the inter­ pretation of evidence can potentially involve a complex series of ratiocinations, encompassing a potentially high degree of interdependent elements. Forensic trace evidence has sometimes been portrayed as a series of ‘silent witnesses’ (Lynch et al. 2008), passive, inert material which can nonetheless reveal seemingly immutable truths about the identities of suspects. An alternative rendering of forensic evidence views it as a more dynamic phenomenon. Forms of scientific evidence, such as DNA profiles, can also be framed as ‘articulate collectives’ (M’charek 2008). Such a framing suggests that forensic evidence possesses a capacity to define specific relationships and orderings between people, objects and institutions. According to this notion, trace evidence such as DNA profiles should not be thought of as singular objects, but instead as resulting from heterogeneous networks of relations encompassing individuals and objects (Callon and Law 1982). The production of credible DNA evidence requires a diverse sequence of practices taking place over time and space, requiring differ­ ent actors to work together in particular ways (Lynch et al. 2008; M’charek 2008). These relationships may reflect, but also influence, wider political, legal and economic influences (Williams et al. 2004; Lawless 2013). Forensic science is embedded in criminal justice systems which encompass a chain of events from crime scene to court and then possibly prison, with various practices involved along the way. In the course of an investigation and possible prosecution, forensic evidence may undergo a complex series of processes. Modern investigative procedures may involve an array of paperwork to guarantee the integrity of evidence as it passes through various hands (Lynch et al. 2008: 113–41). Evidence may undergo transformations as it passes through the inves­ tigative process. For example, DNA at a crime scene could be found from a bloodstain or a cigarette stub. Deriving DNA from such objects involves labora­ tory protocols which need to be followed with precision and executed with skill. Sophisticated instrumentation may be used to generate profile data from biologi­ cal material. Evaluating the significance of the evidence may be informed by the use of databases and probabilistic algorithms, but may also rest partly on the experience and judgment of analysts. Processes need to be agreed upon and docu­ mented at every step.

Introduction

5

Given the number of people and practices involved in the transition from crime scene to court, it is difficult for any individual actor (be they forensic practition­ ers, police, lawyers, suspects, etc.) to be well positioned to observe all that goes on. Indeed, these participants may not be aware of the totality of practices and interactions needed to ensure the continuity of the process through which forensic evidence is translated across a range of spaces. Lynch et al. (2008) have observed that bureaucratic practices may play an important role in maintaining the integrity and objectivity of forensic evidence as it comes into being. They describe ‘administrative objectivity’ as involving a combination of technical, legal and bureaucratic elements. Lynch et al. assert that, rather than being a purely scien­ tific or legal achievement, the credibility of forensic evidence also relies on administrative procedures, including logbooks, checklists, forms and archives, which together constitute a ‘paper trail’, or chain of custody, to transform crime scene traces into legal evidence. The observations of Lynch et al. indicate how the administration of modern forensic science embodies complex assemblages of diverse forces, practices and devices. Such assemblages appear to play a key role in stabilizing the relationship between science and the state. The chain of events that may run from crime science to court has interested sociologists and philosophers of technology. STS research has suggested that evidential objects are never pre­existing and fully formed, out there merely wait­ ing to be discovered. Instead, research has highlighted the idea of forensic evidence as something which is constantly in a state of becoming (M’Charek 2008; Lynch et al. 2008). The ways in which actors perceive and respond to material items constitute their status as ‘evidence’ as much as the material itself. This point is crucial if we consider that the meaning of forensic objects may vary over the course of a criminal investigation. Some objects collected at a crime scene may initially appear to be useful, and may point investigators towards a specific reconstruction of events, but may then turn out to be red herrings as more becomes known about the circumstances of a case. On the other hand, objects which may initially appear to be innocuous may come to hold greater significance in the light of further information. The generation of evidential meaning may come about as much through the subjective experience of practitioners, possibly gleaned from previous cases, as much as through ‘objective’ principles of ‘scien­ tific’ reasoning. The contingent status of forensic evidence, as described by social research­ ers, draws attention to the instability of meaning ascribed to evidential objects. Forensic evidence may hold different meanings and significance for different people at different times. Assessing the underlying ‘reality’ of what forensic evidence is and what it can tell actors is highly problematic. Lawyers, for example, may make claims about pieces of evidence, supported by expert witnesses, which may nonetheless be strongly disputed by opposing counsel, who may call upon other experts. The objective status of scientific evidence may become highly vulnerable when brought into the courtroom. Scientific claims made in legal settings and elsewhere may not always be what they initially seem.

6

Introduction

Representations of forensic evidence encompass a number of modalities. When forensic evidence is presented in a court of law, the details of its creation may not be made fully clear to jurors, judges and lawyers. Here, claims of foren­ sic evidence may be cloaked in rhetoric skewed toward either a prosecution or defence argument. Legal comprehension of science may lead to inconsistencies in the way scientific evidence is interpreted (Edmond 2000). Prosecutors may overlook the nuances of interpretation of a particular form of evidence. Defence counsel, on the other hand, may try and use seemingly trivial details to argue against the credibility of evidence. In these circumstances, scientific knowledge rests potentially uncomfortably in the arms of a legal system where procedure and vested interests predominate. The situation is compounded further if it is borne in mind that juries, composed of members of the public, may exhibit variable levels of scientific understanding (Edmond and Mercer 1997). Another aspect of representation is the popular portrayal of forensic science in the media. Forensic science has become a common theme in television programmes. Television dramas such as CSI and Waking the Dead have commanded large audiences, fascinated by the seeming ability of science to swiftly bring about justice. Crime stories have also held an enduringly high posi­ tion in news media and forensic evidence often receives particular attention in news accounts of court cases. The imperatives of law, expressed orally and in writing, interact with the mate­ rial dimensions of science and technology. Through regulations and standards, law is able to play a role in the development of science and technology (Lawless and Faulkner 2012), and of course technological developments can assist law as in the case of forensic science. On the other hand, technology develops in ways which might present a challenge to law. New claims to scientific knowledge or novel technologies may challenge legal understandings which have developed in response to previous engagements with science and technology. New science and technology may pose new ethical and epistemological questions for law. If it is accepted that law has different forms of producing knowledge, then new, emerg­ ing and uncertain scientific developments may compound law’s already strained relationship with science. Other questions of interest for sociological inquiry therefore include: Is science somehow distorted in court or should we be attuned to more nuanced forms of understanding? Are such potential complications uniquely a product of the Anglo­American adversarial tradition, or do other legal systems (e.g. the European inquisitorial system) experience similar issues? Precisely how are representations of forensic science constructed and what do they tell us about how lay audiences view scientific evidence? And do fictional portrayals affect public attitudes to real–life forensic science? Attempts to establish the full ‘reality’ of science may involve exploring details and negotiations that contributed to the construction of forensic evidence. New technologies such as DNA profiling have been described as ‘black boxes’ (Latour and Woolgar 1979). To many, scientific evidence may appear as infallible, unquestionable and monolithic. STS has served to deconstruct this image, but has

Introduction

7

also shown how legal actors may themselves seemingly pursue similar aims (Lynch 1998). Both STS researchers and lawyers have attempted to uncover the inner workings of forensic evidence production, looking for uncertainties, contro­ versies and possible sources of error among scientific practices which may seem incontrovertible. While doing so for different purposes, academic researchers and lawyers have questioned why forensic technology exerts such power within criminal justice proceedings and whether that authority is necessarily always justified. The production of forensic knowledge challenges received understandings about the nature of conventional scientific knowledge. STS research has also identified how forensic technologies may reinforce or alter shared understandings of societal principles of citizenship and authority (Jasanoff 1998; Lynch and McNally 2009; Hindmarsh 2010; Toom 2010, 2012; Hauskeller et al. 2013; Lawless 2013). Explorations of forensic science reveal insights about how the authority of law and science is maintained or possibly challenged through their respective exchanges (Lynch and McNally 2003; Lawless 2013). The ‘objective’ or ‘immutable’ image of forensic science also has important consequences linked to understandings of identity (Hauskeller et al. 2013). Some research on forensic science has investigated how these understandings are constructed, by what and by whom (Duster 2004; Haimes 2006; Lynch and McNally 2009; Skinner 2013). The emergence of new forensic technologies, such as forensic DNA databases, has been accompanied by concerns about the rise of an Orwellian ‘surveillance society’ (Lyon 1994, 2001). How individuals relate themselves to state authority in the presence of these new technologies is another area of interest for research (Toom 2010). Risk is a prominent epistemological and sociological issue, and one for which forensic science also provides useful empirical insight (Lawless 2010). The following sections consider these matters in turn.

Power, institutions, networks Researchers have reflected on how the operation of forensic science (re­)produces relations between the state and its subjects (Lynch and McNally 2009; Toom 2010). The perceived immutability of science may be seen to bolster the authority of state institutions such as the police and prosecutors relative to the individual citizen. Law and science may combine to produce new renderings of subjects. It has been suggested that the application of molecular biology to forensic science has shaped new framings of the individual as a ‘forensic genetic body’ (Toom 2012). This raises concerns that technology used in the service of law risks reduc­ ing people to mere carriers of data, able to be captured by the state and used to turn them into objects of suspicion. Forensic technology is enabled in turn by legislative interventions, such as laws which permit genetic material to be sampled from persons who may be innocent (Williams et al. 2004; Lynch and McNally 2009). The capture of DNA onto systems such as the National DNA Database of England and Wales (NDNAD) nonetheless enables these individuals to be subject to constant monitoring by the state.

8

Introduction

The construction of forensic technologies can be subject to a high degree of government control. In the US, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) played a dominant role in the standardization of DNA profiling in the US in the 1980s and 1990s (Aronson 2008). The FBI employed various strategies to reinforce this position of a priori authority. The FBI used reagents in its DNA protocol that were incompatible with those of its rivals Cellmark and Lifecodes, the two primary commercial suppliers of forensic DNA profiling at the time. The discrep­ ancy between reagents led to a lack of reproducibility of DNA profiles and caused validation problems (Aronson 2008: 201). More notably still, the FBI recruited and trained individuals with previously little or no experience in molecular biological techniques to perform their protocols. These individuals, working in the network of existing public crime laboratories, could be easily trained in the FBI’s own methods, to the exclusion of those of the commercial companies. Although the standard­setting process would eventually widen to include several other influential parties and institutions,1 these standards ultimately centred on technology constructed by the FBI. Hence, Aronson asserts that the FBI ‘built a forensic DNA typing [sic] network by constructing the network and the human, material and social aspects of it at the same time’ (Aronson 2008: 213). The private sector nonetheless plays a key role in the development of forensic science. In his study of the construction of ‘convincing expert testimony’ by American DNA typing firms, Daemmrich (1998) found that companies employed a strategy of ‘vertical integration’ to stabilize knowledge able to withstand the highly contested domain of judicial identity testing. Firms sought to control as many facets of the forensic DNA testing process as possible, from basic method development and related research through to the production of DNA probes and other reagents. The same firms were also instrumental in forming self­regulatory organizations through which scientific procedures were standardized and vali­ dated. These companies even provided training schemes to enable future expert witnesses to hone their testimony skills in the notoriously confrontational arena of the American courtroom. Commercial firms therefore managed a diverse array of activities and products, both ‘upstream’ and ‘downstream’ of the act of DNA testing, in order to maintain the appearance of a coherent, convincing and credi­ ble form of knowledge. Elsewhere commercial imperatives have increasingly driven the development of forensic science in England and Wales by influencing ways of reasoning about evidence (Lawless and Williams 2010) and in shaping the provision of police scientific support (Lawless 2011). The image of ‘objective’, scientifically mediated identity exerts a powerful hold on the way in which society views crime and criminality and has helped persuade governments to invest in costly forensic projects such as the NDNAD. Forensic databases play an important role in constructing ‘suspect’ identities (Lynch and McNally 2009). Under current legislation in England and Wales, some persons, depending on which offence they are being investigated with regard to, may need only to be arrested by police, regardless of whether a charge or conviction follows, to allow DNA to be sampled and loaded onto the NDNAD. The NDNAD contains profiles of many persons who have never been convicted of any crime,

Introduction

9

yet the DNA profiles of these persons can be checked for possible matches with unknown DNA samples recovered from crime scenes on a daily basis. The ability to constantly monitor ‘genetic suspects’ (Hindmarsh and Prainsack 2010) endows law enforcement agencies with a significant degree of power. Persons included on DNA databases are aware that future activities may alert the attention of police if they are deemed to be linked with sites where suspicious events have taken place. By providing a means of ordering the future relationship between police and suspect, forensic science can therefore act as a source of social control. In their study of ‘cold cases’, Innes and Clarke (2009) describe how forensic science also facilitates police control of the past. The investigation of previously unsolved cold cases has benefited greatly from scientific developments such as DNA profiling. Innes and Clarke demonstrate that memory is significantly linked to social control in two ways. Memory can be thought of as an object of social control. Police cold case reviews allow institutional histories to be rewrit­ ten, from narratives of failure to narratives of success. The fact that police now have the power to reinvestigate, boosted by new forensic technology, accrues them greater power going forward. Cold case reviews represent a new form of surveillance in which the past deeds of individuals can be reinvestigated at any time. Innes and Clarke also maintain that cold case reviews facilitate social control through memory. The potential to rewrite the past alters the conditions for the practice of social control in the present and future. The capacity to reframe the past functions to animate changes in the social order in the present, altering the conditions for how social control can be imagined and practised. Incarceration represents a particularly explicit form of social control. An emerging area of research concerns prisoners’ perceptions of forensic science. In their study Prainsack and Kitzberger (2009) conducted a series of interviews with prisoners who had been jailed for a series of crimes, many of them serious in nature, in which DNA had played an important part in securing their conviction. In some cases the respondents were career criminals. The study found that the prisoners were largely convinced of the reliability and authority of DNA evidence. They saw DNA as impossible not to leave behind from a crime scene (despite studies which indicate the contrary) and viewed DNA technology as ‘impenetrable and intimidating’ (Prainsack and Kitzberger 2009: 51). Forensic DNA techniques were viewed by some career criminals as overcoming their own criminal knowledge and skills which had allowed them to previous evade capture. These and other such studies (see, for example, Machado and Prainsack 2012) have played a significant role in showing how forensic evidence can project power over subjects. Concerns have been expressed, however, that social research on forensics has sometimes tacitly accepted the categories of law enforcement agencies, such as ‘suspect’, ‘offender’ or ‘convict’, etc. Heinemann et al. (2012) suggest that the failure to problematize the notion of the ‘convict’, and the assumed direct correlation between ‘offender’ and ‘convict’, overlooks the possibility of wrongful convictions (Heinemann et al. 2012: 252). Social researchers therefore need to be attuned to the risks of inadvertently participating in forms of categorization themselves.

10

Introduction

This raises issues concerning not only how forensic science participates in the categorization of individuals, but also how social research reflexively addresses such categorizations. This may be linked to matters of identity, another key socio­ logical theme of interest to researchers of forensic science.

Identity Early attempts at forensic identification technologies reflected certain beliefs about the ‘criminal type’. Systems like anthropometry (the recording and index­ ing of a series of bodily measurements) reflected thinking about genetically inherited recidivist physiognomy but were also typical of a general nineteenth­ century preoccupation with measuring society (Quetelet 1831 [1984], 1842). Many thinkers of the time were interested in the possibility of using the emergent science of statistics to try and identify the key indices of society and to use them as systems of prediction, measurement and potential social ‘improvement’. Social phenomena such as criminality were considered amenable to these systems. In the contemporary age, DNA profiling is sometimes justified as merely creat­ ing molecular ‘barcodes’ to index individuals who have come into contact with the police (Williams and Johnson 2004a) and which can make no claim about the heritable tendencies of individuals. Yet on the other hand, some related tech­ niques could be construed as perpetuating an assumed link between criminality and heredity. The question of how society views itself through technologically mediated forensic evidence, whether scientifically justified or not, is open to criti­ cal consideration. This theme is pursed further in Chapter 7. Identity, one way or another, is the business of forensic science (Williams 2003). Techniques such as DNA profiling and fingerprint analysis are primarily employed to identify an individual (or individuals) whose presence is indicated at a particular scene where an incident is alleged to have occurred. Confirming this presence may be one step towards helping to establish precisely what happened. In police work, such forensic data may sit alongside suspicions about an individual’s (or group’s) character or previous behaviour. The latter may shape how the former is interpreted, and vice versa. Forensic evidence may itself not provide much information about a person’s character, but it may contribute to how others perceive that person, their motives, their intentions and their possi­ ble status as a ‘suspect’ individual. The relationship between sociological framings of identity and the forensic approach to identification is complex. The markers of identity used in biometrics and forensic science are qualitatively different from those as understood by soci­ ologists who have contributed to a rich body of identity studies. Forensic science, on the other hand, catalogues personal identity through material traces and marks, which may be translated into numerical indices able to be stored on large data­ bases. Alone this may not reveal much about an individual’s behaviour, tenden­ cies, preferences or relationships but it remains an important aid for investigators to build a picture of a person.

Introduction

11

The preoccupation with forensically mediated identities may also reflect contemporary trends such as globalization. Lyon (2008) suggests that ‘governing by identity’ is an inherent instrument of the emerging regime of a globalizing, mobile and risky world. ‘Governance depends on identification but identification increasingly depends on biometrics’ (Lyon 2008: 499). Mordini and Massari (2008) have suggested that forensic and biometric technologies are capable of ‘turning the human body into a passport or a password … Identification is not a trivial fact but always involves a web of economic interests, political relations, symbolic networks, narratives and meanings’ (Mordini and Massari 2008: 488). These kinds of webs may be interdependent with a range of material practices. Social studies have suggested that interests, discourses and materiality may func­ tion to construct relations of power and knowledge which in turn influence how societies view themselves. For example, the role of material practices in constructing understandings of the body has been explored from a feminist perspective by Kruse (2010). Taking up the claim that ‘science has had a signifi­ cant part in the making of women’ (Hubbard 1990: 17), Kruse traces precisely how ‘forensic evidence reduces the person to a body that leaves traces’ (Kruse 2010: 371). ‘A criminal or sexed (or racialized or classed) body does not become so by virtue of a laboratory result alone, but by the meanings intertwined with it’ (ibid.). Kruse suggests that forensic evidence entangles a series of material and discursive complexes such as genetic markers, understandings of violence, crime and gender, crime statistics, and society’s understandings and treatment of male and female suspects and offenders (ibid.). Forensic DNA evidence encourages these material­discursive entanglings, as actors attempt to make sense of this evidence in the light of the circumstances surrounding a particular case, and based on assumptions about gender. In this way, forensic DNA evidence may construct or reinforce these assumptions.

Risk Linked to notions of forensically mediated identity is the issue of risk. Forensic DNA databases and the legislation which permits sampling of certain individuals can be said to reflect a concern with the future danger these individuals pose to society. Their existence on databases may be justified by the need to continue to keep them under surveillance. Hence ‘suspect’ identities become ascribed to ‘risky’ individuals. Ulrich Beck asserted that risk has become the prime organizing element of modern society (Beck 1992). Beck claimed, inter alia, that the contemporary preoccupation with risk is intimately bound up with the breakdown of established social conventions, such as the erosion of confidence in the ‘social contract’ between the individual and the state. Beck argues that this erosion of trust, lead­ ing to the emergence of the so­called ‘Risk Society’, can itself be traced to a growing crisis of confidence in scientific authority. According to Beck, increas­ ingly sophisticated scientific knowledge reveals the self­generated risks of indus­ trial production and weaknesses in prior scientific knowledge previously assumed

12

Introduction

to be reliable. Technocratic authority is undone from within as scientific, techni­ cal and bureaucratic rationality is challenged. Beck’s thesis suggests that, in the face of increased uncertainty, populations become more fragmented, individuated and insecure. One consequence of this is a perceived failure of the state to guarantee justice. Building on Beck’s thesis, some sociologists and criminologists have observed a shift whereby populations who might pose a risk to society are subject to more sophisticated and networked forms of surveillance. (Ericsson and Haggerty 1997). While Beck argues that the Risk Society originally emerged from a break­ down in scientific authority induced by environmental crises, other commentators have suggested that the state has instead harnessed technology in other ways in order to reaffirm its authority (Lyon 2003). The recourse to technology could be said to reflect a failure of earlier social scientists to produce a science of society able to predict and wipe out deviant behaviour among populations. Instead, foren­ sic science and technology has interacted with elements of state architecture (government, courts, legislature, police, etc.) in a manner which echoes the concept of ‘new penology’ (Feeley and Simon 1992). ‘New penology’ has been used to describe a perceived shift in crime management, away from a preoccupa­ tion with the rehabilitation or punishment of individuals to a more actuarial posture toward the identification and management of ‘risky’ groups. Forensic technologies such as the NDNAD can be thought of as playing a key role in such risk management policies (Williams and Johnson 2004b). Other, quite different, dimensions of risk manifest themselves in discussions concerning forensic science. The image of forensic science as reproducible and reliable has been called into question (Saks and Faigman 2008). Moments where faith in forensic science has been found to be misplaced through miscarriages of justice have prompted renewed scrutiny of forensic evidence (Lawless 2010). A concern with epistemic risk, namely the risk of mistaken confidence in evidence from what may really be uncertain or conditional scientific claims, has promoted the increasing use of probability theory in calculations of forensic evidence. Binary assertions of categorical uniqueness (simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ assertions concerning a fingerprint match for example), have been criticized as dangerously simplistic and fallacious (Broeders 2006). Instead, conditional approaches utilize statistical methods to calculate the probability of a piece of forensic evidence having some kind of probative value (see, for example, Cook et al. 1998a, 1998b, 1999). These approaches have been facilitated by readily quantifiable forms of evidence such as DNA, and has led to a rise in popularity of forms of probability theory such as Bayes Theorem (Lynch et al. 2008). This chapter has aimed to provide an introduction to the sociological and epis­ temological questions which arise when science meets the law. Social studies of forensic science reflect the diversity of actors and practices involved in construct­ ing knowledge­making at interfaces between science and law. Forensic scientific knowledge is organized and performed in ways which do not necessarily fit with idealizations of the scientific method. It is instead situated within a wider judicial apparatus. With that come differences in terms of the motivations and intentions

Introduction

13

that underpin this form of knowledge production (Cole 2013). One challenge for social studies of forensic science is to deal with the variability and contingency inherent in the way science is used in criminal investigations and comprehended in legal proceedings. Social science research has sought to theorize how forensic science gains some kind of stability of meaning in this context.

Aims and scope of this volume Rather like their topic, social studies of forensic science display a markedly interdisciplinary character, bringing together social science with legal scholar­ ship and often displaying a fine attention to scientific and technical detail. Social studies of forensics have tended to wear their sociological leanings relatively lightly, yet one can discern the influence of the interactional tradition of socio­ logical thought. Rather than emphasising the causative effects of social struc­ tures, interactional perspectives seek to study society from the bottom up. Interactional studies tend to focus on the observable relations between actors and the practices through which these relations are maintained or challenged. Through these kinds of observations, social forensic studies have been able to illuminate the ways in which actors negotiate and construct (or reconstruct) collective understandings of distinctions such as ‘scientific’ versus ‘common sense’ knowledge (Lynch and McNally 2003) or ‘expertise’ versus ‘non­ expertise’ (Lynch 2004). Interactional studies have also drawn attention to the fine practices involved in constructing forensic evidence as it passes from crime scene to court (Williams 2003; Lynch et al. 2008; etc.). Other kinds of studies, following the insights of authors such as Bruno Latour, have framed forensic science as being embedded in networks of actors and objects (see, for example, Aronson 2008; M’charek 2008). This is not to say, however, that social structures and inequalities have been entirely overlooked. The application of forensic science raises issues related to race and ethnicity, for example, including concerns about the disproportionate number of certain ethnic groups on national DNA databases (Duster 2004; Skinner 2013). New DNA technologies potentially raise the fear that new science may perpetuate old prejudices. The book utilizes, but also seeks to build upon, the growing amount of litera­ ture on social studies of forensics. Caution is exercised here against a too heavy reliance on any particular sociological theory or method. Instead, this volume seeks to contribute to existing literature by primarily focusing on the way in which the various stakeholders in forensic science interact. This leads to a detailed, sociologically informed consideration of how forensic science engages with society at large. This volume also focuses on how forensic science is shaped by the projection of various ideas about what it is. While contestable, these assumptions exert influence on shaping the kinds of systems and structures in which forensic prac­ tices occur. These practices may in turn challenge relations between the actors and institutions who are stakeholders in forensic science. This volume aims to

14

Introduction

facilitate further understanding of how forensic science projects and embodies relations between knowledge, authority and societal participation. Relations between actuality and fictions are the first dimensions which are addressed in this book. Media representations of forensic science are a useful starting point, given the increasingly universal influence of media, whether it is consciously fictional, or whether it makes claims to reality. In what subsequently follows, the place of forensic science in casework is explored in a variety of spaces. The book explores the power and resistances that descriptions of forensic knowledge exert across a variety of dimensions and directionalities. This includes structural, hierarchical (or ‘top­down’) dimensions and challenges to formaliza­ tions and orthodoxy observable through interactions. It also encompasses a focus on the tensions between law and science, two equally powerful but epistemologi­ cally distinct forms of authority. In focusing on all these dimensions, the volume indicates a problematic relationship between the practice of representing forensic science and evidence and its perceived ‘realities’. This book draws from the research by the author, who has been conducting sociological study of forensic science for ten years. A variety of sources are used. This includes a variety of documentary material ranging from scientific and tech­ nical publications plus policy documents and other forms of informally published material (so­called ‘grey’ literature). Media representations such as news reports and websites were also examined in the course of preparing this volume. The book also draws upon interview and focus group data involving a variety of members of the forensic stakeholder community. This is complemented by infor­ mation gained through attendance and participation at a wide range of meetings, conferences and seminars. This book centres its focus on the jurisdiction of England and Wales. This represents a rich source of subject matter. It is here where the use of DNA data­ basing has been pursued with particular vigour, albeit not without controversy. Having been the site of the first forensic application of DNA in 1985, this juris­ diction has sometimes proclaimed itself as something of a ‘world leader’ in the development and use of forensic science (BBC 2015). England and Wales have also seen the application of market policies to the provision of police scientific support. These have, however, led to unanticipated effects such as the closure of the Forensic Science Service (FSS), once the largest external provider of forensic science in England and Wales. This jurisdiction’s adversarial legal system, with its sometimes idiosyncratic posture to science, also provides plenty of material of interest to sociology. While focusing predominantly on England and Wales, a certain amount of slip­ page is unavoidable. Forensic science transcends jurisdictional boundaries, and Scottish and Northern Irish justice has also embraced science, albeit though differing modes of provision. Hence when discussing forensic science, it is some­ times equally appropriate to refer the ‘UK’, except when policy and legal matters are discussed specifically in relation to England and Wales. Forensic science also owes a great deal to developments elsewhere in the English­speaking world. Developments in countries which share the adversarial tradition have had some

Introduction

15

bearing on perceptions of forensic science in England and Wales, and vice versa. These are discussed where appropriate. While this volume does not tend to focus on inquisitorial jurisdictions, it is acknowledged that they too represent a rich source for social research (see, for example, Bal 2005; Toom 2012). The interna­ tional dimensions of forensic science extend to those jurisdictions and, together with political developments in spaces like the EU, represent opportunities for further research (Prainsack and Toom 2010, 2012). The book proceeds as follows. Representations of forensic science comprise the theme of Chapter 2. This chapter explores the relationship between the portrayal of forensic science in fiction and its depiction in news media. This chapter suggests that media portrayals of forensic science challenge the distinc­ tion between fact and fiction, with implications for the development and provi­ sion of forensic technologies to the police and possibly for public understandings of science. Chapter 3 presents an overview of the emergence of forensic science as both profession and scientific discipline. In addition, Chapter 3 describes how discussions about the regulation of forensic science, within the fora of scientific societies, makes visible contested assumptions about certain forms of forensic practice and the professional status of forensic science in general. This provides a basis for more detailed discussion, in Chapter 4, of regimes of professional monitoring and service provision of forensic science. In outlining how audit cultures have developed in forensic science in England and Wales, Chapter 4 suggests that, rather than merely monitoring forensic science, these systems actively intervene in constructing certain notions about what forensic science is. This has profound impacts for the epistemic character of forensic science. While Chapter 4 focuses on the consequences of hierarchies of standardization, Chapter 5, in contrast, explores the epistemological character of forensic science through the eyes of practitioners themselves. Through a description of the Case Assessment and Interpretation (CAI) framework applied to the evaluation of evidence, Chapter 5 challenges the relationship between forensic theory and practice, suggesting that the epistemic identity of contemporary forensic science may be reflexively reconstructed in contingent, localized circumstances. This contrasts with idealized philosophical and technical statements concerning the perceived ‘essence’ of forensic reasoning. Using the examples of complex DNA profiling methods, Chapter 6 investi­ gates the effect on law–science relations in the course of comprehending emerg­ ing forensic technology. In examining the possibility that law and science ‘co­produce’ one another (Jasanoff 2004), Chapter 6 presents examples which suggest that law–science co­production can exhibit complex and potentially counter­intuitive effects. Chapter 7 continues focusing on the issue of how new forensic technologies become known, but shifts the emphasis to wider social and ethical impacts. Chapter 7 suggests that new techniques such as familial search­ ing and DNA phenotyping continue to pose questions of social and ethical concern alongside legislation for DNA sampling and retention in England and Wales. Chapter 8, while outlining the current innovation landscape for forensic science in England and Wales, provides further discussion around the challenge

16

Introduction

of conceptualizing the social dynamics of forensic innovation and of public engagement with technology. Chapter 9 continues the theme of engagement between forensic stakeholders, social researchers and publics in general. Social research has highlighted the various ways in which forensic scientific knowledge is produced. Organizational structure, culture, rules and procedures, networks, interrelationships, representations and discourses all play a part in constructing forensic science. This volume comprehensively explores this diversity.

Note 1. This included the US National Institute of Standards and Technology, the National Academy of Sciences National Research Council, Congress, the legal system and several leading scientific journals (Aronson 2008: 213).

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Introduction

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Saks, M. J. and Faigman, D. L. (2008) ‘Failed forensics: how forensic science lost its way and how it might yet find it’, Annual Review of Law and Social Science, 4: 149–71. Skinner, D. (2013) ‘The NDNAD has no ability in itself to be discriminatory: ethnicity and the governance of the National Forensic DNA Database’, Sociology, 47 (5): 976–92. Toom, V. (2010) ‘Inquisitorial forensic DNA profiling in the Netherlands and the expan­ sion of the forensic genetic body’, in R. Hindmarsh and B. Prainsack (eds), Genetic Suspects: Global Governance of Forensic DNA Profiling and Databasing. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 175–96. Toom, V. (2012) ‘Bodies of science and law: forensic DNA profiling, biological bodies and biopower’, Journal of Law and Society, 39 (1): 150–66. Williams, R. (2003) ‘Residual categories and disciplinary knowledge: personal identity in sociological and forensic investigations’, Symbolic Interaction, 26 (4): 515–29. Williams, R. and Johnson, P. (2004a) ‘Wonderment and dread: representations of DNA in ethical disputes about forensic DNA databases’, New Genetics and Society, 23 (2): 205–23. Williams, R. and Johnson, P. (2004b) ‘Circuits of surveillance’, Surveillance and Society, 2 (1): 1–17. Williams, R., Johnson, P. and Martin, P. (2004) Genetic Information and Crime Investigation: Social, Ethical and Public Policy Aspects of the Establishment, Expansion and Police Use of the National DNA Database, Wellcome Trust Report. London: Wellcome Trust.

2

Forensics in the media Representations and ‘realities’

Introduction A relatively small sample of people directly engage with forensic science in their everyday lives. As opposed to forensic practitioners and other professional stake­ holders, public engagement may largely be restricted to those who attract police attention or those unfortunate to be victims of crime. A wider proportion of society may experience forensic science only through media depictions, be they fictional portrayals or news reports. Television dramas which depict forensic science have proven to be very popular. The influence of media portrayals should not be downplayed given that members of the public in certain jurisdictions may find themselves called for jury service. They may have to comprehend scientific evidence having only previously viewed it through the prism of the media, which may present more or less accurate accounts of science. Even in parts of the world where jury systems are not in use, media representations of forensic science may promise an appealing vision of equitable, incorruptible justice. This chapter introduces the social impact of forensic science by focusing on media representations. It begins by tracing the emergence of fictional portrayals of forensic science, from the work of Edgar Allan Poe and Arthur Conan Doyle through to the CSI franchise. The chapter then moves on to a critical discussion of the ‘CSI effect’, namely the alleged influence of TV dramas on public and media understandings of forensic science, before focusing on representations of forensic science in news media. The example of DNABoost is introduced in order to show how the representation of forensic technology via news media may chal­ lenge assumptions about the distinction between forensic ‘fact’ and ‘fiction’ and the role of news media in depicting science. Finally, the chapter returns to CSI to consider how the ‘CSI effect’ has itself become a news story, further blurring the distinction between representation and reality. The latter example is discussed in the context of the concepts of ‘deficit’ and ‘surfeit’ models which have been introduced via social studies of the Public Understanding of Science (PUS). Media portrayals of forensic science relate to wider social scientific interest concerning PUS. PUS research has critiqued some portrayals of science as reflecting a so­called ‘deficit model’ between scientists and lay public. The deficit model is regarded as capturing a certain set of attitudes, sometimes assumed to

Forensics in the media

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be held by scientists and policy­makers, concerning their assumptions about the public’s relationship with science (Miller 2001). In the UK, such critiques began to emerge around the time of the publication, in 1985, of a Royal Society report on PUS, which suggested that publics should be better informed about science (Bodmer 1985). The deficit model has been used to illustrate an apparent assump­ tion that ‘the public’ have a deficient understanding of science, but will readily accept scientific claims once they are sufficiently educated. The deficit model has been critiqued through work often labelled as ‘critical’ or ‘constructivist’ Public Understanding of Science (cPUS) perspectives (Wynne 1996; Michael 2002; Irwin 2006). cPUS has problematized assumptions about the notion of the ‘public’, with some research highlighting the diversity to be found within public audiences for science (Michael 1992; Irwin 2006). cPUS research has explored how programmes of ‘public understanding’ of science might project, and hence construct, specific renderings of ‘the public’ and has investigated what purposes such portrayals serve (Lezaun and Soneryd 2007). cPUS research has also challenged the use of the term ‘understanding’ and questioned whether public relations with science are better captured by other terms such as ‘engagement’ or ‘participation’ (Irwin 2001). Finally, cPUS has critiqued the assumption that ‘science’ has an essential character which justifies any claim to authority. Research has questioned whether scientists hold epistemological authority rela­ tive to other forms of lay knowledge (Wynne 1996; Michael 1992, 2002). cPUS researchers may use a variety of methods to explore how societies engage with science rather than perceive it as knowledge handed down from authority. cPUS research suggests that the public are not empty vessels waiting to be filled up with facts, but individuals who actively engage with scientific information in various ways. In exploring notions of understandings and engage­ ment, cPUS has addressed questions such as: How does science truly relate to people’s everyday existence as opposed to the assumptions made by scientists and policy­makers? Where do people obtain their knowledge of science from? And how does the popular media shape views about science? In following on from the latter question this chapter indicates how relations between representa­ tion and ‘realities’ of forensic science exhibit significant complexity.

Forensic fiction Between ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists a difference far greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the imagination, but of a character very strictly analogous. It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic. But it is by these deviations from the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels its way, if at all, in its search for the true. Edgar Allan Poe, The Murders in the Rue Morgue (1841)

Edgar Allan Poe’s story, The Murders in the Rue Morgue, is generally considered one of the first modern detective stories (Thomas 1999). In this tale, the narrator

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Forensics in the media

tells of his introduction to his some­time acquaintance Auguste Dupin, a gentle­ man of ‘peculiar analytical ability’. The rather fantastical tale tells of Dupin’s efforts in reconstructing and solving the mystery involving the gruesome deaths of a reclusive mother and daughter. From a tuft of hair recovered from the death­ grip of the mother and subsequently from fingermarks left on her body, Dupin is able to identify an escaped orang­utan as the culprit. In the years following publication of The Murders in the Rue Morgue, several leading authors of the time followed Poe’s lead, including such luminaries as Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins and Mark Twain. One particularly enduring figure is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s creation Sherlock Holmes. The enduring popularity of the Holmes stories and other characters which he inspired reflects a continuing fascination with the work of the detective, be it a member of the police or, like Dupin and Holmes, a talented outsider. Holmes was presented as a slightly eccentric character, possessed of reasoning abilities seemingly beyond the reach of most and often one step ahead of the authorities. The exploits of fictional figures such as Holmes often pre­dated actual procedures in police prac­ tice, and pre­empted the advent of certain forensic technologies (Thomas 1999: 4). What may be of relevance here is the great active interest that figures such as Holmes devote to the sciences of the day. In A Study in Scarlet Watson lists Holmes’ level of knowledge in philosophy and literature as ‘nil’, and his knowl­ edge of politics as ‘feeble’, yet he notes Holmes’ abilities in botany and geology and describes his knowledge of chemistry as ‘profound’: indeed Holmes main­ tains his own laboratory, and in the same story Holmes formulates a highly sensi­ tive test for blood traces (Doyle [1887] 1996: 26). Detective fiction remained popular as the nineteenth century turned into the twentieth. Agatha Christie became famous for her creations Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, and other authors, including Dorothy Sayers and Ngaio Marsh, contributed to what has been referred to as the ‘Golden Age of Detective Fiction’ in the 1920s and 1930s (Symons 1972). While the ‘whodunit’ story became popular, the role of science was rather less foregrounded compared to the works of Conan Doyle. Police procedurals Another key trend in crime fiction during the earlier part of the twentieth century was the emergence of the ‘hard­boiled’ or ‘noir’ style, which featured particularly prominently in American fiction. While emphasizing themes of betrayal, moral ambiguity and tragedy, tales such as The Postman Always Rings Twice, Double Indemnity and The Big Sleep focused more on the crimes themselves and perhaps less on the way in which they were solved – indeed, the genre often tended to make it quite clear who the perpetrators were. However, novels which described forensic methods, while sometimes lurid or sensationalist, were also very popular among US audiences at this time (Littlefield 2011). Such novels raised concerns over the effects such fiction exerted on the perceptions of publics toward the use of science in policing. Fears that these fictional depictions of forensic science

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presented unrealistic portrayals of the power of science to solve crime pre­date similar concerns which have arisen in the early twenty­first century, as described later in this chapter. The emergence of radio as a popular medium brought about successful police dramas such as Dragnet, which can be said to have introduced the ‘police proce­ dural’ genre to audiences, focusing more directly on police work as opposed to the adventures of enthusiastic amateur detectives. Police procedural dramas, including Dragnet itself, subsequently translated into film and television. Television adaptations of Dragnet attracted a large and long­running following from the 1950s onwards. Early police procedural dramas tended to be based on actual or seemingly real crimes. This ‘realist aesthetic’ (Kirby 2013) was augmented by a focus on the inner workings of police organization, revealing routines and procedures previ­ ously hidden to audiences. US police procedurals such as Hill Street Blues and Cagney and Lacey become popular internationally. Police officers were depicted as fallible characters, often struggling to balance their work with personal and family issues. In the UK, shows such as The Sweeney, The Bill and Prime Suspect displayed police officers as flawed personalities. Forensic experts were themselves not immune to such portrayals, as in the example of the criminal psychologist Fitz in Cracker. More recent examples, most notably The Wire, have been critically acclaimed for infusing the genre with added social commentary. While police procedurals have often depicted forensic scientific methods, the CSI franchise is particularly notable for its heavy emphasis on science, which brought about sustained popularity and influence. The original incarnation of CSI first aired in 2000, depicting the work and lives of forensic practitioners in Las Vegas. The popularity of CSI led to spin­off series set in Miami and New York, and spawned a host of similar shows such as NCIS and Bones. Some shows, most notably Dexter, subverted the genre, with the latter portraying a forensic practi­ tioner who also killed criminals. Around the same time that CSI first aired, UK audiences were presented with BBC’s Waking The Dead, another police drama which placed forensic science at the foreground. Since then, the BBC has revived the Sherlock Holmes stories for television, which have been successful both at home and abroad. Why has forensic science endured as a popular trope? Fiction can be thought of as centring on the tension between certainty and uncertainty in the course of a narrative arc (Kirby 2013). A dramatic arc is about the resolution of conflict, and the kinds of puzzles or challenges which protagonists have to face along the way. Uncertainty creates the kind of dramatic tension needed to maintain the interest of the audience, normally with some kind of revelation or question which audi­ ences become interested in seeing fully answered. The prospect of uncertainties being resolved maintains the interest of the viewer. According to Kirby (2013), forensic science in fiction is almost always a source of certainty and resolution. The science in shows like CSI is generally presented as immutable (Kirby 2013: 101). Kirby argues that the necessary dramatic uncertainty in forensic dramas

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derives from ‘the interpretation of the forensics by the show’s characters’ (ibid.). In a show such as CSI, initial interpretations of evidence may lead the characters to follow mistaken investigative routes. It takes the discovery of further forensic evidence to allow the fictional investigators to piece together the correct version of events. Holding the science as certain, while depicting the characters as falli­ ble, enables television writers to concentrate on character development, a key element of television drama. A new kind of forensic realist aesthetic has been associated with dramas such as Prime Suspect, which does not shy away from presenting explicit images of autopsies (Jermyn 2013). Forensic and police dramas have, however, been accused of presenting skewed representations of crime. Many crime dramas focus on murders rather than the more routine types of crime like robbery or vandalism (Deutsch and Cavender 2008). Despite the development of the police procedural genre over time, some crime dramas, particularly more populist examples, continue to portray crime in a morally unambiguous fashion, in terms of portraying characters as intrinsically good or evil (Mawby 2003). This may perpetuate stereotypes about crime and criminality, suggesting that crime is committed by ‘bad’ people rather than through a complex combination of circumstances. Sherlock Holmes was portrayed as an otherworldly, eccentric figure. The recent BBC version, Sherlock, portrays the character as sometimes struggling to relate to the world around him. The stereotype of scientists as socially awkward, near­autistic personalities has featured in contemporary forensic dramas (Kirby 2013). TV crime dramas have also been criticized for tending to over­represent white criminals and victims, portraying negative stereotypes of ethnic minorities and for over­victimizing women (Nolan 2007). It has been observed that women are often portrayed as helpless and powerless victims in many police dramas (although they have been depicted as stronger protagonists in shows like Prime Suspect, Cagney and Lacey and The Wire) (Cavender and Deutsch 2007; Jermyn 2013). TV dramas often show women to be victims of strangers, even though the majority of violent crimes tend to be committed by people who know the victim (Innes 2003). CSI was also accused of misleading portrayals of relations between crime scene examiners and the police, depicting the former as ‘the dominant and driv­ ing force in the criminal investigation’ (Nolan 2007: 577). Nolan (2007) suggested that CSI depicted police officers in a negative light, as ‘bumbling, clue­ less functionaries … barely tolerated by the dedicated, conscientious, and ulti­ mately moral “scientists” who search for the truth’ (ibid.). The ‘CSI effect’ CSI has also faced much criticism for its depictions of science. It has been claimed that such dramas provide an oversimplified and unproblematic impres­ sion of scientific practice. Professor Dan Krane, a biologist based in Ohio, was once quoted as saying:

Forensics in the media

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[You] never see a case where the sample is degraded or the lab work is faulty or the test results don’t solve the crime … These things happen all the time in the real world. (Krane 2004, quoted in Stephens 2007) Forensic dramas have been criticized for a seeming tendency to overlook the other potential errors in handling evidence, such as mistakes in the chain of evidence process or administrative errors (Stephens 2007). CSI and similar shows have therefore been accused of misrepresenting the realities of forensic science and practice. Concerns have been expressed over whether this has contributed to pressures already facing forensic practitioners, particularly in North America, where some police laboratories have struggled to maintain standards, due in part to an alleged lack of financial support. On one hand, forensic practitioners in North America were reported as feeling the pres­ sure of heightened expectations on the part of publics, while being accused of ‘poor standards, mismanagement and egregious errors’ (Stephens 2007: 600) on the other. Studies have also suggested that forensic dramas reinforce the apparent ‘mystique’ of certain forms of scientific evidence, most notably DNA (Nelkin and Lindee 1995). For example, Ley et al.’s (2012) study of CSI episodes indi­ cated that DNA techniques were normally shown in a positive light, playing an instrumental role in over a quarter of analysed cases and portrayed more favour­ ably than other kinds of evidence such as eyewitness testimony (Ley et al. 2012). The fictional practitioners engaged in DNA work were similarly depicted as dedicated, knowledgeable and relatable individuals. The positive portrayal of DNA work was boosted by dialogue which portrayed genetic information in an essentialized light. Ley et al. accused CSI and other such dramas as risking perpetuating simplistic, deterministic and reductionist views about genetics, in particular its link to personal identity, which may not be supported by science. Dramas depicted forensic DNA analysis as quick and unproblematic, in contrast with actual forensic practice, where analyses take longer and are potentially subject to logistical issues such as backlogs. Actual DNA analysis may also be complicated by the need to resolve mixed DNA profiles or interpret partial DNA profiles. Fictional dramas may therefore make forensic DNA work more straight­ forward and accessible than it actually is. Other commentators have suggested that the popularity of forensic dramas overlooks concerns about the scientific status of many forensic analyses. Many forms of evidential analysis, such as ballistics, bite­mark analysis, handwriting, tool­marks and fingerprinting have been critiqued for originating in police contexts, where the standards associated with scientific research in domains such as universities have not been thought to apply (Cooley 2007; Difori and Stern 2007; Saks and Faigman 2008). Concerns have also been expressed that forensic dramas do not provide realistic accounts of the error rates of certain forensic tests (Difori and Stern 2007). CSI producers showed a marked reluctance to acknowl­ edge such concerns. Cooley (2007) recounted a conversation with one of the staff who worked on an episode of CSI:

26

Forensics in the media The writers visualized a script where prosecutors called upon Gil Grissom [CSI character] and his super­sleuth colleagues to help solve and prosecute a grizzly [sic] murder. Specifically, Grissom and his cohorts would present the key physical evidence, which would all but secure the depraved defendant’s death sentence … I suggested a different script which left viewers wondering: (a) whether prosecutors actually convicted and sentenced to death the actual perpetrator; and (b) whether prosecutors relied too heavily on highly subjective and inadequately researched forensic techniques to secure a death sentence. Needless to say, the CSI writer did not find my alternative script particularly useful, and our conversation ended shortly thereafter. (Cooley 2007: 499–500)

It has been suggested that CSI did not depict the aftermath of a successful case closure. It did not, for example, tend to show subsequent courtroom proceedings (Nolan 2007: 589). The popularity of the show nonetheless led commentators to express concern over whether it potentially skewed the expectations of the public in their interactions with the criminal justice system. A great deal of literature subsequently discussed the possibility of what has become known as the ‘CSI effect’ – the possible influence of fictional television dramas in shaping the perception of forensic science by lay audiences, including members of the public who may then serve on juries. The CSI effect attracted significant initial attention from a community of crimi­ nal justice researchers and practitioners in the US (see, for example, Cole and Dioso­Villa 2007; Cooley 2007; Dowler et al. 2006; Ghoshray 2007). Cole and Dioso­Villa (2007) outlined a number of distinct potential effects. Firstly, they described the ‘strong prosecutors effect’ as referring to the possibility of juries wrongly acquitting defendants because of a lack of the kind of forensic scientific evidence which they might have seen on shows like CSI. Second, Cole and Dioso­Villa used the term ‘weak prosecutors effect’ to describe how prosecutors were seemingly being forced to take pre­emptive action, to advise jurors about the dangers of relying too much on forensic science, and to explain away the absence of forensic evidence. Third, Cole and Dioso­Villa’s ‘defendant’s effect’ suggested that the extremely positive portrayal of forensic scientists on CSI and similar shows could potentially enhance the credibility of forensic scientists who testify as expert witnesses. This positive view might not necessarily always be justified. Fourthly, Cole and Dioso­Villa coined the term ‘producer’s effect’ to describe the argument, sometimes made by the makers of CSI, that such shows were actually educational, and that they helped juries know more about forensic science. Fifth, Cole and Dioso­Villa described the increased interest in forensic science by students as the ‘professor’s version’. A sixth variant of the CSI effect defined by Cole and Dioso­Villa, termed the ‘police chief’s version’, described the perceived risk that criminals may gain a greater awareness of forensic science through shows like CSI and that they might use knowledge gained through watching them to conceive ways of avoiding detection. A study by Prainsack and Kitzberger, of convicted Austrian prisoners’

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attitudes to forensic science, provided a more complex picture than the police chief’s version might suggest (Prainsack and Kitzberger 2009). While some of the Austrian prisoners possibly gained some degree of forensic awareness from watching CSI, they remained alert that it was a work of fiction. They balanced the portrayal of crime in CSI with their own experiences, with some recalling how their arrest had come about through non­scientific means. Despite much academic discussion of these multiple CSI effects, their actual existence remains debatable. Academic legal research on the CSI effect has tended to be somewhat restricted in scope and little empirical data exists confirm­ ing the CSI effect is a problem for courts (Cole and Dioso­Villa (2007, 2009), and see Schweitzer and Saks (2007) for an example of an empirical study of the CSI effect). Commentators have debated the extent to which the CSI effect was a real and significant issue. Some suggested that CSI had ‘heightened’ the expectation of jurors on the part of science (Mann 2006). Others have taken a more sceptical or agnostic stance (see, for example, Podlas 2006; Tyler 2006; Smith et al. 2011). Rather than seeking to establish the ‘reality’ of the CSI effect, Ghoshray (2007) instead suggested that the growing aura of forensic evidence perpetuated by CSI, together with emerging evidence of misconduct and lying from prosecution witnesses, meant that the ‘reasonable doubt’ doctrine had been strengthened within US criminal jurisprudence. While remaining agnostic on the actual exist­ ence of the CSI effect, Ghoshray viewed the heightened awareness of forensic evidence as ‘empowering’ juries in the face of the rest of the criminal justice apparatus rather than distorting their perceptions. More recent reflections have asserted that forensic dramas might have exerted other positive effects. While sceptical of the existence of the CSI effect, Cole and Dioso­Villa (2009) suggest it is a ‘self­denying prophecy’ that makes actors pre­emptively aware of the possibilities of placing too much faith on purportedly scientific evidence. They also suggest that it makes visible wider anxieties concerning the status of law versus science as truth­generating processes (Cole and Dioso­Villa 2009). There is, however, some evidence to suggest that fictional representations of forensic science have adversely impacted on front­line crime scene staff. Huey (2010) interviewed 31 Canadian police officers and forensic practitioners about their experiences of dealing with the public and focused on how the latter perceived crime scene work through the prism of television. This study drew on the concept of role strain. Huey’s study related role strain to the emotional stresses police and forensic practitioners experienced in trying to meet the demands of their employers and the expectations of the public, and the tensions between reality and expectations which arose in the course of their work. Role strain was viewed as linked to the challenges faced by staff when citizens queried the techniques used in investigations. One of Huey’s respondents expressed this as a feeling that their expert status on crime and crime scene analysis had been called into question due to the popularity of forensic dramas: [CSI] makes us look like idiots when we go to scenes, because they all think that they know exactly where a fingerprint can be found and what technique

28

Forensics in the media to do. Then you get to the house and they’re like, ‘He touched that.’ ‘You know what? I can’t get a fingerprint off a couch.’ ‘Yeah, you can.’ (Quoted in Huey 2010: 63)

Huey identified three strategies through which crime scene professionals attempted to deal with public responses seemingly influenced by television depic­ tions. The first, appeasement, involved forensic practitioners responding to, or pretending to respond to, queries and demands as a means of giving citizens the impression that they were doing everything possible to solve a case. Professionals often felt it was easier to do this than argue further with a member of the public. A second group of practitioners, however, tried to reassert their epistemic authority, by referring to their qualifications and experience. The majority of practition­ ers interviewed by Huey used a third strategy, of seeking to educate the public. Huey found that those who took this approach consciously contrasted CSI with the realities of their own work. Hence while these practitioners used CSI as an initial reference point, it also functioned as a point of departure to allow practitioners to make distinctions between fiction and the actualities of crime scene work. A focus on the ‘CSI effect’ draws attention to the ways in which representa­ tions of forensic science challenge perceptions as to what constitutes ‘real’ foren­ sic scientific work. The ‘CSI effect’ is a contested phenomenon, but it has nonetheless attracted the attention of some news outlets who have reported it as real. The next section focuses on the portrayal of forensic science in news media. This section indicates how, even in the case of ‘factual’ media portrayals, certain boundaries between representation and actuality may be transgressed.

Forensics and news media The relationship between crime, news media and culture represents a wide programme of study (see, for example, Cohen et al. 1971, 1972, 1973; Ericson et al. 1987, 1991; Dowler et al. 2006; Cavender and Deutsch 2007; Deutsch and Cavender 2008; Gorelick 1989). Crime constantly features highly in news head­ lines. Large­circulation newspapers and the tabloid media have often formed the focus of studies due to their supposed power to shape public opinion (Ditton and Duffy 1983). ‘True crime’ literature and television also remains popular, despite (or perhaps because of) its often salacious presentation (Dowler et al. 2006). Kellner (1995) has observed that ‘mass media is a site where battles over iden­ tity, distribution, and social control are fought’ (Kellner 1995: 162). Mass media can function to promote hegemonic worldviews, but can also be a means of coun­ tering that hegemony (Barnard­Wills 2011: 501). Media can promote ideologies or produce ‘social myths and imaginaries’ (ibid.). News media sources therefore act as key gatekeepers for determining what issues are perceived to be significant among societies (Galtung and Ruge 1965). Theories of newsworthiness seek to capture how and why certain stories are deemed to be important (Shoemaker 2006). Crime may be considered newsworthy in various ways. For example, crime involving celebrities has attracted high public interest. This may be due to a sudden

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shift in the framing of an individual. When a prominent person, previously admired or accorded a certain moral standing, becomes a suspect in a criminal case, it may lead to a significant shift in the way that person is perceived. The media therefore play an important role in reflecting and mediating that frame shift. The concept of ‘news values’ has been explored for some time (Galtung and Ruge 1965; Harcup and O’Neil 2001). Barnard­Wills (2011) observes that stories about technologically mediated surveillance ‘can have news value in relation to “power elites,” “bad and good news,” “magnitude,” “relevance,” “follow­up,” and “newspaper agenda”’ (Barnard­Wills 2011: 550). (‘Newspaper agenda’ in this case refers to the specific political outlook of a newspaper.) Forensic technol­ ogy can also be portrayed in morally ‘good’ or ‘bad’ terms. Stories involving the successes of forensic techniques like DNA profiling may provide a comforting sense of resolution and reinforce the police’s image as the guardian of public safety. On the other hand, concerns about the ethics surrounding such technology may reflect public fears over the possible rise of ‘surveillance societies’ (Lyon 1994, 2003) and the erosion of civil liberties. Alternatively, news reports of miscarriages of justice may point the finger at faulty scientific practice. Other instances of crime also attract high levels of attention. For example, abductions, particularly of individuals perceived to be vulnerable such as children, often feature highly in news agendas. Media interest may reflect a certain moral orientation or even a kind of ‘moral panic’ (Cohen 1972) over the vulnerability of certain parts of society. Theories of crime and the media sometimes point to certain kinds of social framing or narrative. As Greer and McLaughlin (2012) observe, social outcry concerning child victims may reflect a sense of an inno­ cence lost or the disappearance of a potential life to be led. They may also reflect the fears of parents and the protective instinct they feel towards their own chil­ dren. Factual media can also play an important role in the investigative process itself. Police forces may use news broadcasts to appeal for information from the public concerning an unsolved crime or to maintain public consciousness about a specific case (Innes 2003). News media has also, however, been accused of exert­ ing a largely negative effect on court cases involving serious crimes. The media have been criticized for proclaiming the guilt of defendants before they are tried. The media have been accused of pronouncing suspicion on the basis of a defend­ ant’s behaviour in front of the cameras (which may itself be exaggerated or taken out of context) or on the appearance of defendants (Lyon 2012). Particular cases may come to exert a particular hold on the public’s concerns. The case of Madeleine McCann is one such notable example which attracted considerable media attention in the UK, Portugal and elsewhere. Greer and McLaughlin (2012) explored the phenomenon of ‘trial by media’ via a study of the McCann case, charting the changing relationship between the media and the parents of Madeleine McCann. In their earlier analysis of tabloid press coverage of the McCann case, Machado and Santos (2009) identified two distinct rhetorical forms framing forensic science. The strong accusation rhetoric celebrated the contribution and the importance of forensic genetics for the solving of crimes. Through such a portrayal, forensic DNA assumed an almost reverential form and

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Forensics in the media

was often accompanied in the McCann case by explicit claims regarding the need to expand biosurveillance technologies. In contrast, the weak accusation discourse exposed to the public the contingencies and uncertainties associated with scientific evidence. It is worthwhile to compare this mixture of stated certainty and uncertainty with the dramatic narrative of a CSI episode. The media often veered from presenting the story as leading to some kind of resolution only for further uncertainties about the case and the evidence to emerge. The development of sophisticated surveillance technologies have been accom­ panied by images of hope and fear. The latter relates to concerns about how science could potentially perpetuate a ‘surveillance society’ reminiscent of dysto­ pian stories such as Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four. Recent revelations, such as the alleged hacking of phone messages by journalists and the extent of US government surveillance revealed by Edward Snowden, have arguably perpetu­ ated such concerns, challenging public trust in government and their use of technology. News media rarely seem to question science itself, but rather focus on the social impact of technology. In cases where science appears to have failed, blame is generally personalized. Rather than the scientific method itself, blame may be attributed to the failings of individuals. There may be several reasons for this, but the pragmatics of producing television news could possibly play a role. Condensing potentially complex scientific controversies into a news report of three minutes or less may pose a considerable challenge. News media reports of forensic science therefore invite critical scrutiny. Unlike the US, it has been claimed that the UK has exhibited opposing media attitudes to scientific expertise, reflecting a possible ‘anti­CSI effect’ (Difori and Stern 2007), where a number of court cases such as those involving Sally Clark and the Birmingham Six, later ruled as miscarriages, seriously eroded trust in expert witnesses. On the other hand, the UK has been described, often in self­serving terms, as a ‘world leader’ in forensic science (BBC 2015). In this way the UK media portray forensic science developments such as DNA profiling as a source of national pride. A closer look at one example involving a technology known as DNABoost indicates, however, that there may be more to news media reports than it may initially seem. DNABoost In October 2006, the UK Forensic Science Service (FSS) announced the intro­ duction of a new technique, known as ‘DNABoost’, which was heralded as representing another step forward in DNA profile interpretation technology, a ‘world first in bringing clarity to a type of sample that was previously difficult to interpret’ (Morris 2006). DNABoost was portrayed as a cutting­edge, sensitive system which could separate and analyse complex mixtures of DNA profiles in cases where minute quantities of biological material had been transferred and deposited by touch. This was considered a breakthrough due to the significant difficulties posed to investigators in interpreting such DNA samples. DNABoost was piloted by forces in West Yorkshire, South Yorkshire, Northumbria and

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Humberside on crimes such as burglary, theft and assault, with some hopes being expressed that the technique could eventually be applied to ‘cold cases’, namely previously unsolved cases involving serious crimes such as murders and sexual offences (Cochlin 2007). The FSS invested a considerable amount of effort to publicise this new tech­ nique. They hired Medialink, a company which specialized in converting messages from commercial organizations into news stories to be distributed along a number of channels, including the Internet and broadcast media. In 2008, Medialink’s website displayed the logos of a number of high­profile clients, such as Adidas, Ford, Nokia and HSBC (Medialink 2008). Further information displayed on Medialink’s website provided further details of the work carried out by the company on behalf of the FSS, and suggested the possible strategy of the latter. As well as raising general awareness ‘of the process [DNABoost] and of the FSS as an entity’ (Medialink 2008), it stated that the FSS ‘particularly wanted to encourage those police forces who were not taking part in the pilot scheme to buy the DNABoost service from them’ (Medialink 2008). Medialink conducted ‘an intensive media relations campaign, dubbing the breakthrough CSI Britain’ (Medialink 2008, emphasis added), and ‘successfully placed FSS spokesperson Paul Hackett on all major channels for live interviews and offered filming oppor­ tunities from the FSS Lambeth laboratories’ (Medialink 2008). Medialink proclaimed their approach to be a considerable success: The story really captured journalists’ imagination and dominated throughout the news day, right from breakfast to 10 o’clock bulletins. Medialink obtained some of the most coveted spots in broadcast including: the sofa on GMTV; Radio 4’s ‘Today’, Sky Sunrise, BBC Breakfast and by the end of the day the FSS had been contacted by all of their target police forces in the UK. Even Downing Street commented on the story! (Medialink 2008) Information found on Medialink’s website demonstrated the extent to which the FSS wanted to sell DNABoost to other police forces not involved in the pilot schemes. By placing news stories in all the major UK broadcast networks, the FSS were able to obtain extensive publicity for their new product. It is perhaps pertinent to recall that the FSS was at the time being converted into an entirely commercial body and faced some competition from an increasing number of private firms. Hence there appears to have been a heightened self­awareness on the part of the FSS to sell itself. However, the work of Medialink went beyond normal advertising. Rather than using commercials, news channels were used to act as a platform through which DNABoost was exposed to police forces. These news stories effectively functioned as covert advertisements for the product. DNABoost was packaged within a particular type of news story – crime – an issue of concern to publics as well as the police. This strategy seems to have worked – according to Medialink all police forces in the country apparently contacted the FSS to inquire about DNABoost.

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It is worth noting the prominence of the term ‘CSI Britain’. Aside from the possible patriotic connotations, with the FSS keen to position itself as a world leader in forensic science, it is interesting to note the association with the American TV series. One can only speculate as to the real motivations behind the use of such a term, but it does invoke certain other connotations. The term could be said to have lent a certain transatlantic glamour to the technique and could be viewed as reinforcing a sense that DNABoost represented ‘state of the art’ or even ‘science fiction’ technology. ‘CSI Britain’ could also be said moreover to function as an instrumental signifier, linking a publicly recognized (but normally fiction­ ally associated) trope with a sense that a British company was turning imagination into reality by bringing DNABoost technology to life in the fight against crime. The DNABoost story, however, ended ignominiously. While DNABoost origi­ nally hit the UK headlines in October 2006, police trials did not commence until 2009, and they were halted almost as quickly as they began. This was due to ethical objections. It was found that the FSS had developed DNABoost using the DNA data of individuals placed on the NDNAD (Tully et al. 2013). This trans­ gressed strict rules preventing commercial companies from retaining NDNAD data for their own purposes. DNABoost and the imagery surrounding it nonetheless challenged boundaries between news and advertising and fact and fiction. Moreover, while media repre­ sentations bestowed DNABoost with great potential, this was never realized in practice. CSI appears to have played a role in allowing Medialink to blur these boundaries, being used as a means of alerting the public’s and police’s imagina­ tion. While actual forensic scientists and practitioners may be critical of such dramas (Huey 2010; Kirby 2013), the FSS, via Medialink, displayed a keenness to associate themselves with the immutability and sophistication of fictional forensic science. The notion that CSI and other such dramas somehow depart from the ‘reality’ of science, as suggested by the CSI effect, has been critiqued for upholding the modernist distinction between the inherent, natural ‘reality’ of ‘science’ on the one hand and the social basis of ‘culture’ on the other (Latour 1993). Instead, Mopas (2007) has suggested CSI is better conceived as a device which challenges the boundary between science and culture. According to Mopas, CSI can be thought of as a device which can be used by different actors to promote their own interests, be it to highlight awareness of the need to better fund forensic laboratories by negative comparisons to the flashy and sophisticated environs depicted in CSI or to encourage public interest in law. CSI can be used either to compare ‘reality’ with fiction or to align (if not directly associate) legal actors with the same concep­ tions of ‘truth’ and ‘justice’ seemingly projected by CSI (Mopas 2007). Similarly, Medialink and the FSS appear to have used CSI to associate DNABoost with the positive portrayals of science found in this drama. Through this and by promoting DNABoost in news media they also implied that fictional, idealized technology could not just become real, but also be routinely used in UK police casework. The DNABoost example therefore raises issues about the rela­ tionship between representations and realities of forensic science. Was this

Forensics in the media

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‘scientific information’ or simply one more form of media ‘content’? Hence to what extent can we talk of ‘scientific’ information relevant to other depicted infor­ mation? How may ‘fictional’ and ‘factual’ forensic scientific content be resolved? The ‘CSI effect’ in the news: the ‘surfeit’ model of PUS The ‘CSI effect’ has itself become a subject of interest among news media. News reports have subsequently raised concerns about the perceived inaccuracy of forensic dramas and the consequences for public understanding of science. Interest in the ‘CSI effect’ led news media to compare fictional and actual foren­ sic work which has drawn some similar conclusions to those described in earlier academic legal literature above. Cole (2015) undertook an analysis of media reporting of the CSI effect which summarized news media critiques. The most common critique from news sources focused on over­optimistic portrayals of the amount of time it took fictional laboratories to process evidence. Media sources were also found to focus on differences in capacity between fictional and real laboratories, highlighting the apparent discrepancies between the technologically sophisticated facilities shown in dramas like CSI and the more modest facilities routinely found in real­life forensic laboratories. Differences in capacity also related to the amount of time fictional scientists could devote to a single case compared to real forensic practitioners. News media critiques of the CSI effect often highlighted the fact that real­life practitioners worked on multiple cases at any one time, limiting the amount of attention they could devote to a specific case. Cole found that media commonly critiqued fictional portrayals for depicting sophisticated technology or complained that television dramas invented forensic technologies which simply didn’t exist. News media critiques also often focused on the tendency of dramas to overstate the probative force of a single piece of evidence or to depict evidence as non­ambiguous. News criticisms of CSI also included how the drama supposedly overstated the frequency with which certain forms of forensic evidence were found at crime scenes (Cole 2015: 137). Other media objections related to the way in which certain roles were portrayed. Cole notes the amount of accounts which criticized dramas for showing the CSI profession to be glamorous. A significant proportion of news observations of the CSI effect involved criticisms about ‘role confusion’, where dramas conflated the responsibilities of the forensic scientists and the police detective. CSI effect news stories were often found to ‘debunk the notion that forensic analysts perform law enforcement tasks’ (Cole 2015: 138). Finally, Cole found that CSI effect news stories also often highlighted the tendency of dramas to depict forensic practitioners as all­round experts when in reality they often specialize in a single form of evidence. Many CSI effect critiques also mention the tendency of television to show the work to be fun and engaging when in reality it may often be very tedious. It has been suggested that, through such reporting, the ‘reality’ of the CSI effect has itself been perpetuated by the news media, reflecting a kind of ‘loop­ ing’ effect (Cole and Dioso­Villa 2007; Cole 2015). Fictional representations of

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forensic science have been deemed newsworthy due to the apparent effect they exert on publics, even though the existence of the ‘CSI effect’ is contested. Hence academic study of the ‘CSI effect’ appears to have taken a further turn. Cole (2015) summarizes three scholarly approaches to the CSI effect (Cole 2015: 132–3). Cole observes one set of scholars viewing it as a real social problem, making strong claims tinged with a moral sensibility, sometimes going so far as to label the problem a ‘CSI infection’ than an effect (Lawson 2009). As Cole notes, however, such strong language has not necessarily been matched by a requisite level of empirical support. The second approach identified by Cole has seen academics viewing the CSI effect as an ‘empirical hypothesis to be tested through various social scientific methods’ (Cole 2015: 133). According to Cole, a third scholarly approach is now challenging the idea central to early work on the public understanding of science that science is inevi­ tably subject to the distorting effects of the media. Rather than accepting the latter claim, literature associated with this third approach takes media depictions as the central focus of analysis. This approach therefore focuses more critically on the media’s role in portraying the CSI effect as a social problem. Cole identifies a media narrative which states that the ‘problem’ of the CSI effect is caused by publics being exposed to too much scientific information and imagery, rather than too little, making them feel overfamiliar with the subject and assuming that forensic scientific evidence provides absolute certainty. Rather than publics being portrayed as uneducated due to a deficit in knowledge between them and scientists, the media instead frame publics as being overexposed to forensic science, and assuming that it is absolutely reliable – a ‘surfeit’ problem rather than a ‘deficit’ issue (Lynch 2009; Cole 2015). Cole’s analysis critically focuses on the reporting of a perceived media effect by other forms of media, but also on the interpretation of the CSI effect by academic researchers. Cole argues that the CSI effect is of interest not because it reflects a situation where the public are limited in access to scientific understand­ ing, but because they are viewed as assuming too much. Cole also argues, however, that the surfeit model is another form of hegemonic discourse about the public ‘misunderstanding’ of science. Cole, however, adds a note of caution for researchers, suggesting that some social scientists and media commentators ‘have asserted their hegemony not only over the “reality” of forensic science, but also, recursively, over the “reality” of the “CSI effect” itself’ (Cole 2015: 141). According to Cole, these findings urge caution for researchers and suggest a dilemma. In examining the effect of media portrayals such as CSI, we encounter the assertion that these fictional dramas are ‘unreal’. However, in comprehending this issue, social researchers are confronted with the issue of assuming whether the CSI effect is ‘real’ or whether the media are duping publics in claiming this ‘reality’. Such studies show how the line between representation and reality continues to pose complexities. Concerns about how the news media portray a fictional portrayal of forensic science and its effect on laypersons are therefore themselves refracted through further lenses, including academic literature.

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Conclusion Works of fiction, particularly the exploits of Sherlock Holmes, influenced a number of actual pioneers of early forensic science, a theme described further in the follow­ ing chapter. At a relatively early point in its development, the relationship between fictional representations of forensic science and reality became intertwined. While artistic licence explains Holmes’ extraordinary deductive powers, the character’s dogged devotion to the cause of science and its uses for crime detection opened up areas of possibility at a time of excitement about the potential of science. The apparent power of science to solve crime has long had a hold on audi­ ences. Concerns about the distorting effects of fiction on the scientific under­ standing of publics are not new. The CSI effect has echoes in early twentieth­century detective fiction, although filmed twenty­first­century repre­ sentations of science and crime display some distinctive characteristics. Modern television dramas are able to depict forensic science as glamorous, with scientists seemingly having access to highly sophisticated technology. Science has none­ theless remained portrayed as offering straightforward, immutable solutions to the mysteries raised in the context of crime­fighting. Only human fallibility seems to stand in the way. The lines between the fictional and the factual can become blurred in surrepti­ tious ways, as the case of DNABoost demonstrated. This was an example of how seemingly neutral news reportage may effectively became a form of product placement. What is also notable is how DNABoost became linked with the slogan CSI: Britain. Hence this technology, in claiming to reflect the UK’s self­declared status as the ‘world leader’ in forensic science, was framed as an offshoot of a work of US fiction. At the heart of this challenging of boundaries was a technol­ ogy which had yet to be proven and at the time had not been the subject of any peer­reviewed scientific literature. Indeed, following the 2006 news story, the move to test DNABoost did not come until three years later, and even then these tests were quickly halted due to ethical issues. The apparent phenomenon of ‘media looping’ draws attention to the strangely self­perpetuating tendency of the CSI effect. At times, news media has valorized forensic science, but more recently it has also raised concerns about the possibility of a ‘CSI effect’ skewing expectations of forensic science. Media looping suggests that representations of forensic science may interact and intertwine in complex ways, in turn raising complications for social researchers seeking to understand the relationship between scientific authority and publics. Fictional portrayals may be accused of distorting reality, but these accusations of distortions may be picked up by television and the press. The media therefore act as a strange kind of media­ tor between scientific representations and ‘realities’. Recent news critiques of the CSI effect may potentially reflect a self­serving tendency of the media to repack­ age representations. Here, fictional drama itself becomes news, albeit for suppos­ edly exerting an influence whose existence remains contested. Elsewhere, however, certain clearer distinctions between representations and realities can still be identified. Huey’s account of the pressures faced by forensic

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practitioners alerts us to the expectations generated by media portrayals which may not match the realities of forensic work. Huey’s study, in highlighting actual professional identities, draws attention to the possibility that, beyond the portrayal of forensic science in drama and news reporting, there remains social histories of professionalization to be accounted for. The next chapter focuses in more detail on this theme.

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Ghoshray, S. (2007) ‘Untangling the CSI effect in criminal jurisprudence: circumstantial evidence, reasonable doubt, and jury manipulation’, New England Law Review, 41: 533–62. Gorelick, S. M. (1989) ‘“Join our war”: the construction of ideology in a newspaper crime­ fighting campaign’, Crime and Delinquency, 35 (3): 421–36. Greer, C. and McLaughlin, E. (2012) ‘Media justice: Madeleine McCann, intermediatization and “trial by media” in the British press’, Theoretical Criminology, 16 (4): 395–416. Harcup, T. and O’Neil, D. (2001) ‘What is news?’ Galtung and Ruge revisited’, Journalism Studies, 2 (2): 261–80. Huey, L. (2010) ‘“I’ve seen this on CSI”: criminal investigators’ perceptions about the management of public expectations in the field’, Crime Media Culture, 6 (1): 49–68. Innes, M. (2003) Investigating Murder. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Irwin, A. (2001) ‘Constructing the scientific citizen: science and democracy in the biosciences’, Public Understanding of Science, 10 (1): 1–18. Irwin, A. (2006) ‘“The politics of talk”: coming to terms with the “new” scientific govern­ ance’, Social Studies of Science, 36 (2): 299–320. Jermyn, D. (2013) ‘Labs and slabs: television crime drama and the quest for forensic real­ ism’, Studies in History and Philosophy of Science C: Studies in Biology and Biomedical Sciences, 44 (1): 103–9. Kellner, D. (1995) Media Culture: Cultural Studies, Identity and Politics between the Modern and the Postmodern. London: Routledge. Kirby, D. (2013) ‘Forensic fictions: storytelling, television production, and forensic science’, Studies in History and Philosophy of Science C: Studies in Biology and Biomedical Sciences, 44 (1): 92–102. Latour, B. (1993) We Have Never Been Modern. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lawson, T. F. (2009) ‘Before the verdict and beyond the verdict: the CSI infection within modern criminal jury trials’, Loyola University Chicago Law Journal, 41: 121–72. Ley, B. L., Jankowski, N. and Brewer, P. R. (2012) ‘Investigating CSI: portrayals of DNA testing on a forensic crime show and their potential effects’, Public Understanding of Science, 21 (1): 51–67. Lezaun, J. and Soneryd, J. (2007) ‘Consulting citizens: technologies of elicitation and the mobility of publics’, Public Understanding of Science, 16 (2): 279–97. Littlefield, M. M. (2011) ‘Historicizing CSI and its effect(s): the real and the representa­ tional in American scientific detective fiction and print news media, 1902–1935’, Crime Media Culture, 7 (2): 133–48. Lynch, M. (2009) ‘Science as a vacation: deficits, surfeits, PUSS, and doing your own job’, Organization, 16 (1): 101–19. Lyon, A. D. (1994) The Electronic Eye: The Rise of Surveillance Society. Cambridge: Polity Press. Lyon, A. D. (2003) Surveillance After September 11. Cambridge: Polity Press. Lyon, A. D. (2012) ‘Criminal coverage: news media, legal commentary, and the crucible of the presumption of innocence’, DePaul University College of Law Legal Studies Research Paper Series, Research Paper 2012­02, June. Machado, H. and Santos, F. (2009) ‘The disappearance of Madeleine McCann: public drama and trial by the media in the Portuguese press’, Crime, Media, Culture, 5 (2): 146–67. Mann, M. (2006) ‘The CSI effect: better jurors through television and science?’, Buffalo Public Interest Law Journal, 24: 211–37.

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Mawby, R. (2003) ‘Completing the half­formed picture? Media images of policing’, in P. Mason (ed.), Criminal Visions. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 214–37. Medialink (2008) http://www.medialink.tv (accessed 5 January 2008). Michael, M. (1992) ‘Lay discourses of science: science­in­general, science­in­particular, and self’’, Science, Technology and Human Values, 17 (3): 313–33. Michael, M. (2002) ‘Comprehension, apprehension, prehension: heterogeneity and the public understanding of science’, Science, Technology and Human Values, 27 (3): 357–78. Miller, S. (2001) ‘Public understanding of science at the crossroads’, Public Understanding of Science, 10: 115–20. Mopas, M. (2007) ‘Examining the “CSI effect” through an ANT lens’, Crime, Media, Culture, 3 (1): 110–17. Morris, N. (2006) ‘British police forces to trial new DNA evidence procedures’, New Criminologist, 4 October. Nelkin, D. M. and Lindee, M. (1995) The DNA Mystique: The Gene as a Cultural Icon. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Nolan, T. W. (2007) ‘Depiction of the “CSI effect” in popular culture: portrait in domina­ tion and effective affectation’, New England Law Review, 41: 575–90. Podlas, K. (2006) ‘The “CSI effect”: exposing the media myth’, Fordham Intellectual Property, Media Entertainment and Law Journal, 16: 429–65. Poe, E. A. (1841) The Murders in the Rue Morgue. Philadelphia, PA: Graham’s Magazine. Prainsack, B. and Kitzberger, M. (2009) ‘DNA behind bars: other ways of knowing foren­ sic technologies’, Social Studies of Science, 39 (1): 51–79. Saks, M. J. and Faigman, D. L. (2008) ‘Failed forensics: how forensic science lost its way and how it might yet find it’, Annual Review of Law and Social Science, 4: 149–71. Schweitzer, N. J. and Saks, M. J. (2007) ‘The CSI effect: popular fiction about forensic science affects public expectations about real forensic science’, Jurimetrics, 47 (3): 357–64. Shoemaker, P. J. (2006) ‘News and newsworthiness: a commentary’, Communications, 31: 105–11. Smith, S. M, Stinson, V. and Patry, M. W. (2011) ‘Fact or fiction? The myth and reality of the CSI effect’, Court Review: The Journal of the American Judges Association, 47: 4–7. Stephens, S. L. (2007) ‘The “CSI effect” on real crime labs’, New England Law Review, 41: 591–608. Symons, J. (1972) Bloody Murder: From the Detective Story to the Crime Novel: A History. London: Faber & Faber. Thomas, R. (1999) Detective Fiction and the Rise of Forensic Science. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tully, G., Sullivan, K., Vidaki, A. and Anjomshoaa, A. (2013) Taking Forensic Science R&D to Market. Horsham: Electronics, Sensors, Photonics Knowledge Transfer Network, October. Tyler, T. R. (2006) ‘Viewing CSI and the threshold of guilt: managing truth and justice in reality and fiction’, Yale Law Journal, 115 (5): 1050–85. Wynne, B. (1996) ‘May the sheep safely graze? A reflexive view of the expert–lay knowl­ edge divide’, in S. Lash, B. Szerszynski and B. Wynne (eds), Risk, Environment and Modernity: Towards a New Ecology. London: Sage, pp. 44–83.

3

Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession

Introduction The previous chapter indicated how portrayals of contemporary forensic science challenge the distinction between fiction and fact. Some early key pioneers of forensic science were themselves influenced by the exploits of fictional charac­ ters such as Sherlock Holmes. As this chapter recounts, figures such as Edmond Locard and Hans Gross made major contributions to shaping forensic science through their writings and also through establishing laboratories and institutions. In doing so, such individuals helped to shape forensic science as both a scientific discipline and a profession. Professions and professionalism and the nature of scientific disciplines are enduring themes of sociological interest. Various perspectives have been advanced in the course of exploring how professions emerge, and the practices through which specific professional groups distinguish themselves. Sociological research has sought to investigate how the notion of ‘a profession’ is collectively shared and shaped by those who claim membership of a professional community and what differentiates those communities. Some studies of professions have been associ­ ated with the functionalist tradition of sociology (Merton [1942] 1973; Parsons 1964; Brante 1988). Broadly construed, functionalist approaches have theorized that professions are constitutive of social progress and order (Brante 1988). Such perspectives have viewed science as possessing a particular kind of value consen­ sus emphasising rationality. In this way science has been viewed as the central driver of professional development and thus the engine of social advancement. Other sociological perspectives have adopted different positions toward profes­ sions. So­called ‘cynical’ or ‘neo­Weberian’ perspectives (Brante 1988) have focused on the interests of collectives identifying as professional groups. These perspectives suggest that professions actually arise through practices of inclusion and exclusion by communities claiming a certain ‘professional’ status (see, for example, Parry and Parry 1977). Similarly, some sociological studies have explored how scientific controversies and debates present challenges to expert communities. These may represent moments where the membership of such communities is reconstituted through attempts to establish ‘consensus’ around a particular scien­ tific issue. Researchers such as Collins (1985) have suggested that scientific

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‘consensus’ emerges through the scientific claims of certain individuals being accepted within expert communities while others become marginalized. Sociological studies have also explored how actors may draw distinctions between ‘science and ‘non­science’ through distinctly social practices, a phenomenon which has been termed ‘boundary work’ (Gieryn 1983). Some of this work suggests that, rather than being a strictly philosophical question, the demarcation of science from non­ science is better understood as the function of practices of inclusion and exclusion by communities who claim scientific expertise. This chapter considers what implications the development of forensic science holds for sociological perspectives on the professions and science. The chapter sketches a history of the development of forensic science in the UK and elsewhere, and the role played by various organizations and bodies. As indicated here, a signifi­ cant part of the development of recognized forensic ‘expertise’ and practice (which remains contested to a degree) is linked to its recognition by the wider community of criminal justice stakeholders. In the UK, the organization of forensic science by government bodies has played a role in shaping ideas about what constitutes foren­ sic science. However, the formation of distinct scientific bodies and learned socie­ ties, with attendant activities such as peer­review journals and conferences, has also significantly shaped forensic science as both discipline and profession. While focusing mostly on the UK, the chapter also describes related develop­ ments in other parts of the world, including the USA and Europe. Forensic science has maintained some commitment to the principle that its practitioners can identify with a global community. This is consistent with observations of other scientific communities, who have been identified as seeking to transcend national borders in the course of discussing their work (Merton [1942] 1973). Hence a discussion of the emergence of forensic science as profession and disci­ pline must acknowledge its international dimensions. The chapter begins with a brief overview of the emergence of forensic science in the UK, outlining the increasing distinction which arose between forensic science and medical interventions in law. The establishment of a network of laboratories in England and Wales, which gave rise to the Forensic Science Service (FSS), is briefly described. While the UK Home Office played a signifi­ cant role in instituting forensic science in England and Wales, other interventions, such as the formation of scientific societies, have also been key to the shaping of contemporary forensic science as practice and profession. Over time, concerns about potential miscarriages of justice have subjected forensic science to increased scrutiny, which has been accompanied by debates over standardization and accreditation. Such debates have sometimes reflected different attitudes to the notion of professionalism and what professionalism means in the context of forensic science.

Science vs medicine in law Emerging fields of science have been used to inform legal proceedings from as early as the late eighteenth century. During this time, for example, scientific

Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession

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methods were used to attempt to establish the provenance of postal seals. Evidence from the emerging field of chemistry found use in the nineteenth century in a range of cases, including those involving alleged food adulteration to terrorist bomb plots (Ward 1993: 116–17). The 1829 Metropolitan Police Act, introduced by Sir Robert Peel, is largely credited with creating the first modern police force (Emsley 2008), at least as recognized by contemporary society (Rawlings 2008). In addition to creating the Metropolitan Police, this Act also gave provision for the creation of police surgeons, who were primarily charged with providing medical treatment to police officers. Police surgeons were, however, often available to carry out post­ mortems on bodies in suspicious cases and became important figures in the process of criminal investigation. During the nineteenth century, civilian medical practitioners also assisted police in their inquiries, largely on an ad hoc basis. Terms such as ‘medical jurisprudence’ or ‘forensic medicine’, sometimes used interchangeably and open to interpretation, came to describe these forms of investigative assistance (Ward 1993: 7–8). The systematic application of medicine to the law in the nineteenth century was, however, stymied by a number of factors. In addition to a lack of substantial state support, Ward (1993) identifies the absence of a specialist journal or socie­ ties as belying a lack of shared collective identity. Medical applications to law exhibited a ‘confusion of titles’ (Ward 1993: 68). Terms such as ‘medical juris­ prudence’ and ‘forensic medicine’ competed with others including ‘legal medi­ cine’ and ‘juridical medicine’. Likewise, practitioners described themselves variously as ‘medical witnesses’, ‘medical experts’, ‘medical jurists’, ‘toxicolo­ gists’ or ‘medico­legists’. Group identity may also have been held back by fierce personal rivalries between those claiming to represent medicine in law (Ward 1993: 71). Specialized education centres, enabling research as well as teaching, were slow to emerge. Insufficient financial incentives served to dissuade many medical practitioners from being involved in the law (Ward 1993: 70). There did, however, come to be growing interest in the potential of science to contribute to the management of criminality over the course of the nineteenth century. The latter part of this century saw the rise of systematic procedures for identifying recidivists (Cole 2001). The technique of anthropometry, involving a series of bodily measures to catalogue individuals, became widespread. Fingerprinting also emerged around the same time, originally in colonial Bengal through the work of William Herschel. Fingerprint laboratories subsequently became established in most industrialized countries. Toward the turn of the century, the use of bodily data such as fingerprints was generally directed towards the management of criminals and inquiries concerning the nature of criminality rather than the investigation and reconstruction of crimi­ nal offences. The earliest known identification using fingerprints was performed by detective John Maloy in Albany, New York State, around 1856. The first European identification followed in Paris in 1902 (Cole 2001: 169). The 1905 trial of brothers Alfred and Albert Stratton for the murder of a couple during a robbery of an art shop in Deptford, London, brought fingerprint evidence to the

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Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession

attention of English law. While the jury found the Stratton brothers guilty, Judge Channell, who sentenced them to death, took the opportunity to express some concerns about the reliability of using latent prints in criminal investigation: ‘When proper impressions are taken, the system is extremely reliable, but it is a different thing to apply it to a casual mark made through the perspiration of a thumb’ (quoted in Cole 2001: 174). The potential of scientific techniques for criminal reconstruction and investiga­ tion, as opposed to the mere cataloguing of bodily data, therefore took some time to be recognized (Cole 2001: 168). Some, however, were keen to promote the investigative potential of science. The Austrian Hans Gross was a proponent of teaching what he termed ‘criminalistics’ (Roux and Robertson 2009: 576), a term now used predominantly in the US to describe the analysis of trace and transfer evidence. Gross regarded the scientific method as a much more robust template for criminal reconstruction than other forms of evidence such as eyewitness testi­ mony. He published a series of influential works including Criminal Reconstruction: A Practical Textbook for Magistrates, Police Officers and Lawyers. This volume provided a key early resource for investigators (Williams 2008: 762). Gross also established one of the early academic schools for forensic science in Graz, Austria, although not before the first such institution, the Institute of Forensic Photography, subsequently the ‘Institut de Police Scientifique’ (School of Forensic Science), was established at the University of Lausanne, Switzerland, by Professor Rudolphe Reiss in 1909 (Roux and Robertson 2009: 576). This Institute was the first to offer degrees in forensic science and its members were also involved in criminal case­ work (Chisum and Turvey 2007: 21). Another key figure in the development of forensic science was the Frenchman Edmond Locard. He studied at the Lyon Institute of Forensic Medicine under its director Dr Alexandre Lacassagne, who himself was a fervent believer in the value of combining science with the systematic study of criminal behaviour. Inspired by the work of Hans Gross and also by the Sherlock Holmes stories, Locard travelled the world to study how large urban police forces integrated scientific method and trace evidence analysis into their investigative procedures. Locard was disappointed, however, to find that the methods of many forces were somewhat unsophisticated, with reconstructive methods often largely non­ existent. He did, however, take inspiration from his visit to the School of Forensic Science in Lausanne. Following his visit, Locard returned to Lyon and managed to persuade the authorities to furnish him with two rooms in the attic of the Law Courts. It was here that Locard was able to create what is generally regarded as the world’s first police crime laboratory.1 He worked on several areas, including the analysis of dust and the interpretation and analysis of handwriting, blood­ stains and fingerprints (Chisum and Turvey 2007: 22–3). His work became widely disseminated via his numerous books and articles. Locard was also instru­ mental in helping to establish an early professional body for forensic scientists, the International Academy of Criminalistics, founded in 1929. Locard’s name also endures through a well­known forensic scientific axiom: Locard’s Exchange Principle, which is described further in Chapter 5. Locard’s

Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession

43

Exchange Principle has been passed down extensively throughout the forensic science community over time (Wyatt 2014). During the early twentieth century, police forces in England and Wales were free to choose which experts they could enlist to assist them with their investiga­ tions. During this time, medical pathologists such as Sir Bernard Spilsbury often made the headlines for their testimony in some notorious cases of the day. Spilsbury attracted particular attention for his role in the Dr Crippen murder trial of 1910, although his style of testimony would later be the subject of critical scrutiny (Burney and Pemberton 2010, 2011). A rising property crime rate in 1920s London posed challenges for the Metropolitan Police Service (MPS). In 1931, Lord Trenchard became MPS Commissioner. Trenchard had previously been in charge of the Royal Air Force and had a reputation for foresight and vision (Emerson 1995). Trenchard was instrumental in establishing the Metropolitan Police Laboratory at Hendon, North London. It was not long, however, before the new facility came under threat. Lord Trenchard’s successor, Sir Philip Game, was opposed to relying on a single facility and preferred that the MPS had freedom to choose which experts they wished (Stockdale 1997). Game was, however, prevented from doing so by the Home Office, who thought his proposal to be ‘retrograde’ (Emerson 1995). Elsewhere in the UK, a number of scientists based at academic institutions become known for their role in police work, such as the chemist Professor F. G. Tryhorn based at Hull, Dr Wilson Harrison at Cardiff and the botanist Dr H. S. Holden in Nottingham (Emerson 1995). Concerns were sometimes expressed, however, that external experts, while enthusiastic, sometimes strayed outside of their specific fields of expertise (Ambage 1987). The formation of a network of regional forensic laboratories across England and Wales was, at least initially, largely imposed from above. Key to its forma­ tion was Sir Arthur Dixon, Principal Assistant Under Secretary of State and Head of the Home Office Police Department between 1919 and 1941 (Ambage 1987: 17). Dixon regarded English police forces as markedly slow to embrace the potential of science for detection. Dixon viewed science as a means of increasing detective capacity and of facilitating cooperation (and hence effi­ ciency) within and between forces, many of which exhibited rather parochial tendencies. In the early 1930s, the British police was highly fragmented, comprising 181 separate forces in the UK, including a combination of city, borough and county forces (a wave of amalgamations, from the Second World War onwards, would eventually reduce that number to 43 forces in England and Wales) (Ambage 1987: 42; Mawby and Wright 2008: 225). Dixon’s plan envis­ aged a national system of scientific support to police. Rather than training detec­ tives in scientific methods themselves, Dixon thought that policemen should be instructed in various areas, including: the assistance experts could provide to investigating officers; what kind of evidence detectives should look for; what to do and what not to do at crime scenes; and the methods by which potential evidential materials should be recovered and packaged for expert analysis. (Ambage 1987: 40).

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Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession

In 1938, the Home Office Departmental Committee on Detective Work and Procedure reported to the Home Secretary, Sir Samuel Hoare (Ambage 1987: 135). The Committee’s report argued for the readier availability of experts able to testify in court via a system which could circumvent the high fees often charged by independent experts. In endorsing a network of specialist forensic science laboratories, the Committee made a series of recommendations for the Home Office’s role in shaping the service. It recommended precisely what kind of personnel should man each site and that scientists should be recruited by the Home Office rather than police forces (Ambage 1987: 140). Senior police figures across British forces displayed a mixture of attitudes to science during the 1930s (Ambage 1987: 56), with at least some displaying reluc­ tance to embrace new methods. The Home Office, however, pressed ahead and in 1939 established a network of regional Forensic Science Laboratories to ensure police forces had equal access to scientific assistance. This network was effectively the forerunner to the Forensic Science Service (FSS). The Metropolitan Police Laboratory (MPL) remained open but outside of this network. In 1941 the Home Office had suggested that the MPL be removed from police control and become the regional laboratory for the South­East, but this was successfully resisted (Emerson 1995). The MPL was eventually amalgamated into the FSS in 1995, although the MPS has since continued to invest in their own in­house scientific facilities. Professor Stuart Kind, the founder of the Forensic Science Society (later the Chartered Society of Forensic Sciences (CSFS)), saw the Home Office as instru­ mental in the development of forensic science as a discipline through its creation of the regional laboratories system (Kind 1999: 208). The gradually increasing awareness among police of the potential of science also played a role in promoting forensic science, ‘being persuaded, largely by example, to use the laboratories and to familiarise themselves with the use of scientific aids and with the employment of experts for the analysis of evidential materials’ (Ambage 1987: 166). It should be pointed out, however, that attitudes on the part of police forces to the potential contribution of science appear to have varied significantly, even throughout the late 1990s and into the early part of the twenty­first century (see Chapter 4). In hindsight, the nature of some expertise which emerged in English forensic science during the postwar years appears to have been based on some rather questionable foundations, if one follows the reflections of figures such as Kind. Kind himself recalled one occasion, as Director of the Northern Region Forensic Science Laboratory in Newcastle Upon Tyne, which involved delegating a colleague to the scene of a fire: Because we were a small laboratory we were very much at the mercy of the pattern of case work and the contingent demands which were placed upon us by the local police forces. We had, so to speak, no slack which could be taken up in times of emergency. There were only three experienced fire examiners in the laboratory and, with the requirements of courts, scenes, leave and other factors, we were sometimes in the position of being asked to dispatch some­ one to the scene of a suspicious fire but having no­one available.

Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession

45

In one such case pressure was being placed upon me to send a scientist to a fire scene but I had no­one to send. Thinking about the problem as I walked down the laboratory corridor I saw a member of my staff approaching from the opposite direction. He was a very competent young chemist but he was inexperienced in fire scene examination. But stimulated by own early experi­ ences as a ‘fire examiner’ the following exchange took place: Director [Kind]: M: Director [Kind]:

M … I want you to go to a fire at A … But I am not a fire examiner. I’ve got news for you. (Kind 1999: 122)

Under the regional Forensic Science Laboratories system, facilities were established first at Nottingham, followed by Cardiff, Bristol, Birmingham and Preston. While there was a push from central authority, cooperation between this network of labo­ ratories was minimal. During the earlier days of the regional system, each laboratory was strictly controlled by their directors, often former academics, who, it seems, discouraged communication with the other laboratories in the network. Stuart Kind accounted for the suspicion and enmity between these individuals (Kind 1999): The problem was that most of the directors were former academics who viewed each other with the deepest possible suspicion. Each was determined to keep his own laboratory as a little kingdom independent of the others. (Kind 1999: 155) In Scotland the forensic science sector comprised police laboratories for each force. Strathclyde established the first in 1943, followed by Aberdeen (1969), Lothian and Borders (1975) and Tayside (1989) (Emerson 1995). Scottish police forces became unified under the name of Police Scotland in 2013. In Belfast a laboratory was opened in 1956, albeit under the control of the Ministry of Commerce. The 1970s saw significant investment in instrumentation for the FSS (as it became), which gave scientists the ability to offer the police and the courts more and more information from less and less sample. This then resulted in further increased demand, which allowed the FSS to pursue a greater degree of research and development activity (Pereira 1995). Women have endured mixed fortunes in pursuing careers in forensic science. While women found early employment in US fingerprint bureaux (Cole 2001), women who joined the FSS appear to have faced considerable challenges in terms of career progression. Barbara Pereira, a former Controller of the FSS, recounted how, as a junior ‘reporting officer’, she had to deal with attitudes within male­dominated environments in the post­Second World War era. She reported having to deal with doubts being expressed over whether women could cope with the rigours of cross­examination. The irregular hours associated with criminal investigation were also regarded as inhibiting women who were still

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Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession

viewed by many as central to homemaking. Over time, however, many women have been recognized for their major contributions to forensic science in the UK (Pereira 1995). British forensic science owes its development to a great extent to interventions from the central authority, in the form of the Home Office, which was instrumen­ tal in shaping a network of laboratories from which the FSS would emerge (Kind 1999; Williams 2008). One should, however, be cautious in framing the FSS, and forensic science generally in England and Wales, as being overwhelmingly the product of government action. While the Home Office sought to establish a certain order to police scientific support, providing a national network to offset the ad hoc employment of scientific expertise by local forces, the FSS never at any point represented the totality of scientific support available to the police. Rather it was the case that the FSS ‘ran alongside’ (Ward 1993: 246) the capacity of the police to source expertise from wherever they saw fit. While the FSS came to be viewed as a vital source of scientific support, it was not the only channel the police could rely on for external expert input. Nor should it be assumed that the emergence of a regional network fostered any great sense of collegiality. Indeed, the picture portrayed by commentators like Kind suggests a marked rivalry, and lack of communication between laboratories. It was this reluctance to interact that contributed to the formation of the Forensic Science Society in 1959. In addition to government interventions such as the FSS, scientific associations have therefore played an important role in the professionali­ zation of forensic science, as outlined further in the following section.

Forensic scientific societies Scientific societies may play an influential part in the shaping of scientific disci­ plines. Sociologists have suggested that learned societies may function as a means of controlling the membership of expert communities (Gieryn 1983). This may facilitate the formation of scientific disciplines by enabling learned societies to marginalize those whose scientific views are perceived to contest a certain disciplinary consensus. Thus it is possible to assert that the emergence of a scien­ tific discipline may result from who is excluded from that discipline as much as it develops through the activities of those who are accepted as members of an expert community. A wide number of professional associations now represent various forensic specialisms. The increasingly global reach of forensic methods is reflected in the emergence of corresponding international organizations. Scientific societies are able to promote interaction among individuals claiming expertise in what may be narrow or esoteric specialisms and who may experience a degree of isolation. Forensic societies may also serve to identify commonalities among seemingly disparate groups of practitioners. Through the publication of specialist journals, such bodies may promote the sharing and critical scrutiny of knowledge claims. By offering membership in the form of chartered status or accreditation, these bodies also define certain forms of expertise through who they include or exclude.

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The potentially changing aims and membership of scientific societies may indi­ cate possible changing attitudes within disciplines. Space precludes an in­depth description of the numerous organizations repre­ senting various forensic specialisms. It is worthwhile, however, to briefly focus on a number of notable institutions which are relatively wide in scope and are hence relatively more visible. Doing so facilitates understanding of how the contours of forensic practice have been shaped, even in the face of very hetero­ geneous claims to expertise. One of the most enduring professional organizations is the International Association for Identification (IAI), founded in 1915 by Inspector Harry Caldwell of the Oakland (California) Police Department’s Bureau of Identification (IAI 2015). The IAI publishes the Journal of Forensic Identification and operates a number of accreditation programmes for crime scene work, forensic art and photography, and analysis of bloodstain patterns, footwear and fingerprints. Some sociological studies have, however, taken a critical view of the way in which the IAI has upheld the status of fingerprint analysis. Cole (1998), for example, highlighted a case in which the IAI revoked the membership of a fingerprint exam­ iner who’s testimony had been judged as ‘erroneous’ by a Minnesota court. Cole observed how the IAI attributed cases of perceived error in fingerprint examination to individual examiners rather than questioning the technique itself. Cole argues that in this case, perceived ‘honest’ mistakes (Cole 1998: 702), rather than alleged misconduct on the part of the examiner, led to their exclusion from the IAI. His observations suggest that such a response can be regarded as an attempt to maintain a unified front, conveying an image of a cohesive and thus credible disciple. The American Academy of Forensic Sciences (AAFS) is another long­standing forensic society. The AAFS was founded in 1948, following the First American Medicolegal Congress held in St Louis, Missouri (Uberlaker 2011: 1091). The founders desired ‘to further the ends of Justice by maintaining a greater correlation between Science and Law’ (Turner 1948: 108). The original body was envisaged as potentially pan­American in scope, with the following aims: (1) To promote the use of scientific methods and knowledge in the solution of legal problems and controversies, (2) to develop and extend a better understanding of the application of legal doctrines to scientific professions, (3) to improve professional qualifications of scientists engaged in the assis­ tance of the courts and attorneys, and (4) to plan, organize, and administer meetings, publications, reports, and other projects for the stimulation, and advancement of the above purposes, and the standardization and improve­ ment of scientific techniques, tests, and criteria. (Turner 1948) The AAFS now comprises over 7,000 members drawn from across the US, Canada and over 70 other countries worldwide (AAFS 2015). It represents a diverse membership, representing numerous forensically related medical and scientific fields, plus lawyers, educators and others (NRC 2009: 75). Since 1956

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Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession

the AAFS has published the peer­reviewed Journal of Forensic Sciences. It promotes research, education and training and operates accreditation schemes. These include a system for accrediting education programmes (ibid.). One notable episode in the history of the AAFS concerns controversies surrounding the definition of forensic science used by the organization. In 1969, the AAFS Executive Committee voted in favour of accepting a definition of forensic science that included the words ‘social behavioural’ (Field 1998: 41). The programme for the Annual Meeting of the AAFS held in 1970 prominently featured the following statement: Forensic Science is the study and application of the sciences to law, in the search for truth in civil, criminal and social behavioural matters, to the end that injustice shall not be done to any member of society. (Quoted in Field 1998: 41, emphasis added) The inclusion of references to ‘social behavioural matters’ was viewed by some AAFS members as a sign of willingness to embrace a broad view of the sciences and to facilitate a more inclusive approach to membership. Other members appear to have favoured a more exclusive attitude which limited recognition to a narrower range of scientific disciplines. At the 1971 Annual Meeting, the AAFS voted to accept a definition of forensic science as ‘the application of those portions of all the sciences as they relate to the law’. This was considered sufficient to allow the AAFS to accept a wider range of disci­ plines into its fold, including the social and behavioural sciences (Field 1998: 53). This inclusive definition was not accepted, however, before a motion to adopt a more restrictive definition was rejected: ‘Forensic Science is the appli­ cation of the physical and medical sciences as they relate to the law’ (ibid., emphasis added). Signs that a wider set of disciplines eventually gained accept­ ance included the incorporation of clinical psychologists into the AAFS in 1985 and the emergence of an AAFS ‘Psychiatry and Behavioural Sciences Section’ in 1986 (Field 1998: 79).2 In the UK, the Forensic Science Society (FSSoc), now the Chartered Society of Forensic Sciences (CSFS), was formed in 1959, due in no small part to the activities of Stuart Kind. As well as promoting interaction between regional labo­ ratories, FSSoc aimed to keep scientists informed about research developments of relevance to forensic science (Kind 1999). Promoting research was therefore viewed as a key priority (Ambage 1987; Kind 1999). FSSoc emerged largely through the initiative of Kind, but not without some considerable opposition from his superior at the time, the Director of the Harrogate Laboratory in Yorkshire. While Kind initially struggled to encourage forensic scientists to join, he managed to enlist another regional director in a manner which reflects the personal rivalries of the time: A colleague from another laboratory joined our small group, and, wonder of wonders, persuaded his own director to enrol in our growing band. My delight

Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession

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at this event was sharpened by the knowledge that the director concerned, and my own, enjoyed an acute and mutual loathing. (Kind 1999: 156) The Forensic Science Society was intended as a means for FSS scientists to have a voice independent of the Home Office. In providing such representation for the forensic scientific community, FSSoc also facilitated a degree of unity among a disparate group of experts. It also represented a means by which scientists could distinguish themselves from their medical and legal colleagues while retaining a perceived equality of status (Ambage 1987). The Chartered Society for Forensic Sciences (CSFS), as FSSoc is now known, currently represents members drawn from 60 countries (CSFS 2014). Some of the stated aims of the CSFS are ‘to provide education and development for forensic practitioners, to support research and development in forensic science and prac­ tice, and to promote and develop regulation in forensic science and practice’ (CSFS 2014). It runs a series of accreditation systems, including proficiency standards across a range of techniques, and accredits university courses. CSFS also publishes the peer­reviewed journal Science & Justice (formerly the Journal of the Forensic Science Society). The year 1959 saw the inauguration of another professional body, the British Academy of Forensic Sciences (BAFS). A forensic pathologist, Francis Camps, was instrumental in the emergence of BAFS. Once considered rival organizations, a certain distinction in membership between the two societies emerged over time. While BAFS attracted some forensic scientists, it came to be dominated by medi­ cal and legal professionals (Ambage 1987: 292). Hence a distinction between ‘forensic medicine’ and ‘forensic science’ was perpetuated by the existence of the FSSoc (now CSFS) and BAFS. Some areas, such as forensic pathology, continued to be associated with the label ‘forensic medicine’ as opposed to more distinctly analytical fields. Today, BAFS continues to incorporate forensic specialisms with clear medical links, including pathology. The journal title published by BAFS entitled Medicine, Science and the Law reflects this ongoing tradition. Numerous professional bodies exist at the international level. For example, the International Society for Forensic Genetics (ISFG) aims to ‘promote scientific knowledge in the field of genetic markers as applied to forensic science’ (ISFG 2014). Founded in 1968, the ISFG draws its membership from 60 states world­ wide. The ISFG publishes a peer­reviewed journal Forensic Science International: Genetics, and hosts a regular conference. Some other international organizations represent forensic science in broader terms, for example the European Network of Forensic Science Institutes (ENFSI), formed in 1992 (Willis 2009). With membership across 30 states, ENFSI aims to ensure ‘the quality of development and delivery of forensic science throughout Europe’ (ENFSI 2014). ENFSI also seeks to promote compliance with interna­ tional scientific standards and best practice across its members. It organizes courses and training for forensic practitioners in support of its aims. A number of working groups focus on specific forensic specialisms.

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Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession

It is worth noting differences between the memberships of such organizations. The ISFG comprises a combination of academic researchers working in the field of genetic methods which may have forensic application, together with forensic scientists who may be employed in casework. ENFSI, on the other hand, is a network of distinctly police institutions. Hence international forensic societies may represent partially overlapping sets of institutionalized interests. From this brief overview it is possible to discern a sense of how certain forensic scientific societies have evolved to represent certain groups. Organizations may define forensic science through the eyes of their members, be they possessing a medical or scientific background, or based in academic laboratories or police insti­ tutes. Such organizations may represent changing or partially overlapping sets of forensic practitioners. Their backgrounds may in turn shape perspectives on the role of science in the service of the law. Debates about how to define forensic science, such as those within the AAFS in the late 1960s and early 1970s, were interdependent with attitudes regarding who was considered appropriate to include within forensic communities. The plethora of specialisms which claim forensic application exposes potential socio­epistemic differences and points to an episte­ mological identity which demonstrates a notable degree of fluidity. Practices of inclusiveness or exclusiveness may reflect attempts to shape the profession, but the inclusion or exclusion of certain groups through society membership may also simultaneously influence the epistemological identity of forensic science.

Standardization and accreditation Despite the emergence of the FSS to promote the use of forensic science and the work of the FSSoc to facilitate greater collegiality, concerns about the police use of science endured (see Chapter 4 for more recent discussions). In the 1970s and 1980s, forensic science appeared to be a low­priority form of evidence, with police officers tending to favour confessions and eyewitness testimony (see Chapter 8). One experienced forensic scientist, interviewed in 2008, claimed that the police in the 1970s would only use forensic science if it could implicate a suspect directly with a crime. The police tended to rely on science only if it could be guaranteed to support a prosecution. Kind (1999) even alleged that the police would, if needed, rely on entirely erroneous scientific practice to do so. Cases such as the Birmingham Six exposed serious issues regarding the police use of science and the quality of forensic scientific work performed. In 1991, following Sir John May’s inquiry into the miscarriage of justice surrounding the Maguire Seven and also reflecting concerns about other miscarriages, a Royal Commission was tasked with examining the criminal justice system in England and Wales. The Commission, chaired by Lord Runciman, reported in 1993. Its brief was to examine, inter alia: the behaviour of police and supervising officers in custody; the process of prosecution; the rights of the accused to a proper defence; the range of powers granted to the courts in the criminal justice system and whether these powers were just; the ‘global efficacy’ of the criminal justice process and the right to appeal; and forensic science and the role of professional expert witnesses.

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The Runciman Commission endorsed regulation of the forensic science sector, proposing a Forensic Science Advisory Council (Roberts 1996: 40). The aim of accrediting the opinions and interpretational judgment of expert witnesses repre­ sented a major challenge, not least because the law sought to retain independence in determining admissibility in court. A key issue concerned the maintenance of standards to guard against miscarriages while also allowing the courts to benefit from the experience of experts and to ‘prevent a stifling rigidity in the production of scientific evidence’ (Roberts 1996: 52). Runciman (1993) recommended over­ sight be extended to all suppliers of forensic science, not just the FSS, which at the time was still an agency of the Home Office. As the 1990s progressed, the practices of forensic scientists in various jurisdic­ tions came under concerted scrutiny. There came to be a growing perception that standards of forensic laboratory work needed to be raised (Stockdale 1997: 160). Laboratories across the UK, Europe, the USA and Australia came to participate in various accreditation programmes to meet international standards. Standardization was viewed as facilitating best practice and enabling better quality of communica­ tion between laboratories within and across jurisdictions. This was also viewed as necessary given the recognition of the increasingly international character of crime. In order to meet the requirements of accrediting bodies, laboratories considered the increased use of Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) to ensure scientific meth­ ods were followed in a consistent and accountable manner, performed by trained personnel and via apparatus which had been clearly validated. This regime also sought to ensure best practice in the recording and reporting of results (Willis 2009). During the 1990s, the UK forensic community debated plans to introduce a system of National Vocational Qualifications (NVQs) as a means of accrediting personnel. FSSoc introduced vocational qualifications in the areas of firearms, documents, fingerprints and crime scene examination (Lees 1997). While some welcomed the move toward vocational qualifications (Emerson 1995), others were more sceptical towards them and to standardization in general (De Forest 1998; Jamieson 1999). Concerns were expressed that standardization might erode job satisfaction if it led to too much routinization of practice (Anon. editorial, Science & Justice 1997: 160). As well as publishing peer­reviewed scientific papers, the FSSoc journal Science & Justice provided a forum in which opinions about standardization were expressed. The editorial section of Science & Justice gave forensic scientists a platform to reflect on the nature of forensic science and practice. One such editorial from 1998 spoke of fears of a situation ‘where the forensic scientist is little more than a technician operating in a reactive mode, allowing non­scientists to define and circumscribe the scope of the scientific investigation’ (De Forest 1998: 1). The editorial contrasted this scenario with an alternative whereby criminal inves­ tigations could be fully subject to a scientific gaze, which took a balanced and unbiased approach to the case and evaluated all the evidence in a holistic manner. The association of science with holism was framed in terms of the former bringing crucial added value to the way in which investigations could be conducted:

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Shaping forensic science as discipline and profession If meaningful scientific questions are not framed with respect to possible physical evidence, the potential value of this evidence will not be realised, and little or misleading information will be developed. (De Forest 1998: 1)

De Forest asserted that forensic science, even in drawing from several other sciences and forms of expertise, could still be regarded as entailing a distinct set of cognitive activities. De Forest drew comparisons with medicine, itself viewed as a distinct professional discipline despite also drawing upon a variety of other forms of knowledge: By analogous reasoning medicine could be carried out by biochemists, anato­ mists, physiologists, pharmacologists, etc. working together. We would find this ludicrous. Why? Is this because of historical factors or our familiarity with medicine? … Forensic science uses the scientific knowledge developed in other disciplines, but uses it in different ways to solve the complex and varied problems encountered. The problems and the thought processes neces­ sary to deal with them are distinctly different. No other science is concerned with the process of individualisation, for example. (De Forest 1998: 2) Other commentators, such as Allan Jamieson of the Forensic Institute, also reflected on the nature of the forensic scientific profession. In a later editorial in Science & Justice Jamieson wrote: One of the hallmarks of a profession, as opposed to a skilled trade, is the degree to which the professional routinely makes decisions on the basis of expertise and ability in complex situations where there may be no, or little, previous history. For example, although a lawyer dealing with a particular case may have dealt with similar cases before, the circumstances will not be identical to those previously encountered and he will have to make decisions on how best to handle the case in hand, based on expertise, experience and applied intelligence. The degree to which these decisions require the bringing together of rules, knowledge and intelligence, determine the separation of the skilled manual worker from the professional worker. (Jamieson 1999: 71) In this editorial, Jamieson also suggested that forensic science was ‘yet to achieve an identity’ (ibid.). Jamieson, however, drew attention to the use of the term ‘forensic practitioner’ as a means of including scientists within a broader group of workers who might be subject to NVQ accreditation, putting together scientists with technical operatives: By including Scenes of Crime Officers, Fingerprint Officers and similar (most employed by the Police) that have few widely recognised professional

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measures and can be encompassed in the term ‘forensic practitioner’, a lever is found to engage similar competence tests in the professional scientific areas. (Ibid.) It is worth noting, however, the distinction made between ‘skilled workers’ and ‘professions’ and how NVQs are seen to apply to the former but not the latter. One can detect here contested lines being drawn over the nature of forensic work. Other professions, such as medicine and law, Jamieson claimed, had been reluctant to embrace forms of accreditation such as NVQs or competency testing. In the editorial Jamieson asserted that forensic scientists should be regarded as professionals due to their cognitive abilities which he saw as being irreducible to manual technical skills: What makes the scientist an expert is not their mechanical skill, but the ability to use scientific method and knowledge to deliver an opinion on the support that particular physical evidence gives to a hypothesis … Given the requirement of the scientist as an expert in assessing and delivering opinion on evidence, is it then necessary that they should know how to do these manual things? (Jamieson 1999: 72) Jamieson’s words here suggest a boundary of professionalization being drawn around laboratory scientists. The label of ‘forensic practitioner’ is here consid­ ered a misnomer, and it is suggested instead that scientists display a distinct skill set compared to other forensic workers. Jamieson also expressed suspicion that the competency testing regime was a tool of commercial organizations to push an agenda of increased throughput for the sake of profit. In doing so he questioned whether the apparent desire of large forensic organizations to train scientists ‘in weeks rather than months’ was consistent with the status of a profession (Jamieson 1999). Jamieson ended this editorial by advocating further reflection about what made forensic science a ‘profession’. Yet one can also detect here a certain desire for differentiation within the forensic community: What I am advocating is that we determine the key features that make forensic science a profession and not a trade. That forensic scientists (you know who you are, even if managers struggle with the definition) stand up and identify themselves as professionals; distance themselves from those who are not. (Jamieson 1999: 72, emphasis added) One can only speculate what is meant by ‘distancing’, although it could suggest a differentiation between scientific ‘professionals’ and manually skilled ‘practitioners’. Efforts to accredit forensic practitioners in England and Wales exhibit a cheq­ uered history. The Council for the Registration of Forensic Practitioners (CRFP), instituted in 1999, attempted to collate a single register of practitioners and to establish a unifying code of practice. It was, however, largely perceived to be a

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failure (Kershaw 2009), being wound up in 2006 due to a lack of support from its key stakeholders, which included the MPS and the Home Office. The CRFP was largely unknown to its key intended end­users, namely the legal profession. Perhaps fatally for the CRFP, registration was not mandatory. The assessment process for CRFP involved an indirect, paper­based system, and was not equipped to produce direct evidence of practitioner competence. The CRFP procedure was criticized for being haphazard, poorly managed with delays and blighted by poor communication (Kershaw 2009). The competitive tendering of police services for forensic science was regarded as requiring some form of regulation. The position of Forensic Science Regulator was instituted by the Home Office in 2006 in the light of increased liberalization of the forensic marketplace in England and Wales. The Forensic Science Regulator was briefed on providing independent advice on quality standards to the government and the criminal justice system, but not regulation of pricing of forensic services nor any other economic issues. The Office of the Forensic Science Regulator has since published over 100 documents addressing a range of forensic issues, including crime scene practice, fingerprints, toxicology, blood­ stain analysis, pathology and DNA (Forensic Science Regulator 2015). Attempts have continued to provide further oversight for standards of forensic science and practice in England and Wales. Private firms that supply forensic science services to the police are obliged to uphold standards as part of their contractual agreements and are subject to ongoing inspections and scrutiny. Police laboratories may, in the future, become subject to similar oversight. Opinions continue to be expressed among members of the forensic community about the extent to which individual competence can be assessed. As an experi­ enced regulator observed, this issue may become directly linked with notions of ‘professionalism’: How good is this person at their job? Are they fit to practise, at least to the threshold standard? Are they fit to do that today? Organisational quality systems need to address issues of places, processes and people. For the ‘people’ part, what is needed, but is rarely offered in traditional approaches, is a method of assuring the current competence of individual practitioners that seeks not to tick boxes but to assess the individual’s approach to the sequence of thoughts and actions that make up the professional process. Professionalism is about a great deal more than the ability to complete a set series of tasks. It is about the ability to relate apparently unconnected facts, thoughts and concepts derived from different sources. It encompasses the willingness and the capacity to think beyond the immediate task in hand and outside received patterns. It is driven, above all, by a passion for the truth. (Kershaw 2009: 553) Forensic science encompasses a potentially wide series of practical and cognitive activities. Yet establishing an agreed notion of ‘professionalism’ in forensic science remains a subject of debate.

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Conclusion In its earlier days, forensic science in the UK was employed in a very reactive fashion, and there appears to have been at times some rather loose conceptions of ‘expertise’, if Stuart Kind’s recollection of his fire examination case is repre­ sentative. The early days of the FSS seem marked by personal rivalries and isola­ tion which were not addressed until the emergence of the FSSoc. The trappings of a scientific discipline (journals, a learned society, conferences, etc.) may have strengthened the status and identity of forensic science in the UK. Recent engage­ ment with other leading scientific societies, such as the Royal Society and the Royal Statistical Society (see Roberts and Aitken 2014), also indicates a degree of recognition from the wider scientific community. Yet while the emergence of bodies like CSFS and its activities suggest a maturing field, the existence of other organizations like the BAFS also indicates that different claims to the identity of forensic science possibly endure. The historical outline described in this chapter suggests a difficult fit for both functionalist and neo­Weberian approaches. The functionalist preoccupation with scientific rationality is challenged by the way in which forensic science emerged. Functionalism regards science as the core of professionally mediated social progress, controlling the application of knowledge ‘to social order (law) [and] effectiveness in governmental and private collectives (administration)’ (Brante 1988: 121). While the UK government provided a significant impetus in promoting forensic science via a network of laboratories, the kind of ‘expertise’ offered to police forces sometimes seemed rather questionable. A clearly ‘rational’ epistemo­ logical core seems therefore to have been lacking from some early forensic prac­ tices. Even in the contemporary age, epistemological differences exist among some forensic practitioners, with some advocating ‘conditional’ statistical approaches for interpreting evidence, while others have espoused the virtues of personal experi­ ence (Bodziak 2012; Biedermann et al. 2012). That forensic science, and earlier forensic medicine, has at times been marked by intense personal rivalries suggests a lack of collegiality which might puzzle functionalists. More recent debates involving definitions of ‘forensic practitioners’ versus ‘scientists’ suggest the possible drawing of professional boundaries which might instead support a neo­Weberian thesis. The account presented here also, however, poses problems for neo­Weberianism. The latter views the emergence of professions as a process of inclusion and exclusion, of clear ‘winners’ and ‘losers’. Looking back over the recent history of forensic science, it is difficult to ascertain any clear victors and losers. While some techniques gained predominance over others, and some, such as anthropometry, have faded from view, a wide variety of forensic disciplines continue to exist, all potentially able to contribute to criminal justice. Even fingerprinting, whose status as an epistemologically robust forensic technique has been challenged in recent decades, remains a widely used forensic technique. The decision by the AAFS to widen its definition of forensic science to include social and behavioural sciences runs counter to the neo­Weberian emphasis on exclusivity. Today forensic organizations appear to coexist relatively peaceably.

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That is not say that scientific claims are not potentially subject to socially medi­ ated processes of acceptance or rejection. This, of course, is a routine aspect of court proceedings (see Chapter 6). But the winners and losers in cases may be highly case­dependent. Having evidence accepted in one court case does not guar­ antee subsequent success in another (Lawless 2013). Courtroom decisions are unpredictable and may confound those with a strictly scientific background. Understanding the way in which forensic ‘winners’ or ‘losers’ are determined poses a challenge to sociological theories of professions. These decisions are made not by forensic scientists, but shaped by lawyers and judges who are placed effectively on the outside of forensic science looking in, albeit blinkered by the potentially selec­ tive presentation of evidence and their own legal, rather than scientific, training. Attempts to standardize and regulate forensic science via an external gaze differ somewhat from academic research science, where norms of best practice tend to emerge internally from expert communities, however construed. While difficulties have emerged in efforts to accredit forensic science, the advent of the Forensic Regulator indicates a continuing desire to introduce more standardization. While forensic science continues to debate its own professional identity, it may remain vulnerable to external interventions in the name of standardization, as suggested by Jamieson (1999). Sociological research indicates that the notion of ‘professionalism’ is increasingly subject to appropriation by organizations seek­ ing greater standardization (Evetts 2011). This research suggests that an interest in measuring and demonstrating ‘professionalism’ may lead to increased auditing and monitoring practices within the workplace and vice versa. ‘Thus, managerial demands for quality control and audit, target setting and performance review become reinterpreted as the promotion of professionalism’ (Evetts 2011: 412). This kind of work suggests that the notion of ‘professionalism’ could potentially be conflated with regimes of standardization. In England and Wales, the state has not entirely retreated from influencing forensic science. Chapter 4 investigates the impact of government managerialism on forensic practice. It explores the possibility that such regimes of professional evaluation may come to shape, rather than merely observe, the practices they seek to monitor.

Notes 1. However, as Chisum and Turvey (2007) point out, it should not be mistakenly regarded as the world’s first forensic science laboratory, which appears to have been the French Institut de médecine legale de Paris, established in 1868. They use the term ‘police crime laboratory’ to differentiate Locard’s establishment from the first forensic science laboratories which were private, specialized and often housed in university departments. They take Locard’s establishment to be a police crime laboratory in the sense that it was the first to be housed explicitly under the auspices of law enforcement and staffed by law enforcement agents (Chisum and Turvey 2007: 22). 2. The AAFS and IAI display broadly similar functions. Historically, however, the IAI appears to have represented the interests of a defined ‘identification profession’. It is notable that this profession was assumed to have been preordained, representing those employed in police laboratories involved in investigative work. The AAFS, on the other hand, appears to have had its sights originally aimed at the courtroom, emphasising in the beginning interactions between science and lawyers.

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References Ambage, N. V. (1987) The Origins and Development of the Forensic Science Service 1931–1967. PhD thesis, University of Lancaster. American Academy of Forensic Sciences (AAFS) (2015) Homepage: http://www.aafs. org/ (accessed 12 August 2015). Anon. editorial (1997) ‘Jobs for the boys’, Science & Justice, 37 (3): 160. Biedermann, A., Taroni, F. and Champod, C. (2012) ‘How to assign a likelihood ratio in a footwear mark case: an analysis and discussion in the light of R v T’, Law, Probability and Risk, 11 (4): 259–77. Bodziak, W. J. (2012) ‘Traditional conclusions in footwear examinations versus the use of the Bayesian approach and likelihood ratio: a review of a recent UK appellate court decision’, Law, Probability and Risk, 11 (4): 279–88. Brante, T. (1988) ‘Sociological approaches to the professions’, Acta Sociologica, 31 (2): 119–42. Burney, I. and Pemberton, N. (2010) ‘The rise and fall of celebrity pathology’, British Medical Journal, 341 (7786): 1319–21. Burney, I. and Pemberton, N. (2011) ‘Bruised witness: Bernard Spilsbury and the perfor­ mance of early twentieth­century forensic pathology’, Medical History, 55 (1): 41–60. Chartered Society of Forensic Sciences (CSFS) (2014) ‘About us’, online at: http://www. forensic­science­society.org.uk/AboutUs (accessed 24 October 2014). Chisum, W. J. and Turvey, B. S. (2007) Crime Reconstruction. Burlington, MA: Elsevier Academic Press. Cole, S. A. (1998) ‘Witnessing identification: latent fingerprinting and expert knowledge’, Social Studies of Science, 28 (5–6): 687–712. Cole, S. A. (2001) Suspect Identities: A History of Fingerprinting and Criminal Identification. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Collins, H. (1985) Changing Order: Replication and Induction in Scientific Practice. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. De Forest, P. R. (1998) ‘Proactive forensic science’, Science & Justice, 38 (1): 1–2. Emerson, V. J. (1995) ‘Forensic science: the past, the present and the future’, Science & Justice, 35 (2): 151–5. Emsley, C. (2008) ‘The birth and development of policing’, in T. Newburn (ed.), Handbook of Policing. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 72–89. European Network of Forensic Science Institutes (ENFSI) (2014) ‘About ENFSI’, online at: http://www.enfsi.eu/about­enfsi (accessed 24 October 2014). Evetts, J. (2011) ‘A new professionalism? Challenges and opportunities’, Current Sociology, 59 (4): 406–22. Field, K. S. (1998) History of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences: Fifty Years of Progress 1948–1998. West Consohocken, PA: Astm International. Forensic Science Regulator (2015) ‘Forensic Science Regulator’, online at: https://www. gov.uk/government/organisations/forensic­science­regulator (accessed 12 August 2015). Gieryn, T. (1983) ‘Boundary work and the demarcation of science from non­science: strains and interests in professional ideologies of scientists’, American Sociological Review, 48 (6): 781–95. International Association of Identification (2015) ‘History of IAI’, online at: http://www. theiai.org/history/ (accessed 21 May 2015). International Society for Forensic Genetics (ISFG) (2014) ‘About’, online at: http://www. isfg.org/About (accessed 12 August 2015).

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Jamieson, A. (1999) ‘Let me through, I’m a ummmm . . .’, Science & Justice, 39 (2): 71–2. Kershaw, A. (2009) ‘Professional standards, public protection and the administration of justice’, in J. Fraser and R. Williams (eds), Handbook of Forensic Science. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 546–71. Kind, S. (1999) The Sceptical Witness. Newcastle Upon Tyne: Hodology Limited. Lawless, C. J. (2013) ‘The low­template DNA profiling controversy: biolegality and boundary work among forensic scientists’, Social Studies of Science, 43 (2): 191–214. Lees, R. F. (1997) ‘Random thoughts of a non­scientist’, Science & Justice, 37 (3): 207–9. Mawby, R. C. and Wright, A. (2008) ‘The police organization’, in T. Newburn (ed.), Handbook of Policing. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 224–52. Merton, R. K. ([1942] 1973) The Sociology of Science: Theoretical and Empirical Investigations. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. National Research Council (NRC) (2009) Strengthening Forensic Science in the United States: A Path Forward. Washington, DC: National Academies Press. Newburn, T. (ed.) (2008) Handbook of Policing. Cullompton: Willan, Parry, N. and Parry, J. (1977) ‘Social closure and collective social mobility’, in R. Scace (ed.), Industrial Society: Class, Cleavage and Control. London: Allen & Unwin, pp. 110–21. Parsons, T. (1964) Essays in Sociological Theory. New York: Free Press. Pereira, B. (1995) ‘Women and the development of forensic science’, Science & Justice, 35 (3): 223–30. Rawlings, P. (2008) ‘Policing before the police’, in T. Newburn (ed.), Handbook of Policing. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 47–71. Roberts, P. (1996) ‘What price a free market in forensic science services? The organization and regulation of science in the criminal process’, British Journal of Criminology, 36 (1): 37–60. Roberts, P. and Aitken, C. (2014) Practitioner Guide No. 3: The Logic of Forensic Proof: Inferential Reasoning in Criminal Evidence and Forensic Science. London: Royal Statistical Society. Roux, C. and Robertson, J. (2009) ‘The development and enhancement of forensic exper­ tise: higher education and in­service training’, in J. Fraser and R. Williams (eds), Handbook of Forensic Science. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 572–601. Runciman of Doxford, Viscount (1993) Report of the Royal Commission on Criminal Justice. London: HMSO. Stockdale, R. (1997) ‘Exploding myths’, Science & Justice, 37 (2): 139–42. Turner, R. F. (1948) ‘The first American medicolegal congress’, Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology, 39 (1): 104–10. Uberlaker, D. H. (2011) ‘The forensic sciences: international perspectives, global vision’, Journal of Forensic Sciences, 56 (5): 1091–3. Ward, J. (1993) Origins and Development of Forensic Medicine and Forensic Science in England, 1823–1946. PhD thesis, Open University. Williams, R. (2008) ‘Policing and forensic science’, in T. Newburn (ed.), Handbook of Policing. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 760–93. Willis, S. (2009) ‘Forensic science, ethics and criminal justice’, in J. Fraser and R. Williams (eds), Handbook of Forensic Science. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 523–45. Wyatt, D. (2014) ‘Practising crime scene investigation: trace and contamination in routine work’, Policing and Society, 24 (4): 443–58.

4

Evaluating and organizing forensic science and practice

Introduction From at least the late 1970s onwards, many Western governments have intro­ duced new policies to manage public and government services which display an attentiveness to business rationalities. Public services encompassing areas of social intervention, such as medicine, social work, mental health services and prison management, have become subject to what have been variously labelled ‘advanced liberal’ (Rose 1996), ‘new public management’ (Ferlie et al. 1996) or ‘neoliberal’ policies (Lawless 2011). Socially relevant forms of expertise have become embedded in marketized systems ‘governed by the rationalities of competition, accountability and consumer demand’ (Rose 1996: 41). Such poli­ cies have often been rhetorically framed as a desire to bestow ‘service users’, however construed, with increased ‘choice’ (Griffiths 1988; Ferlie et al. 1996). Researchers have sought to trace the emergence of the regimes which have arisen from such policies and to which public services and related forms of expertise have become subjected. Studies have aimed to identify and characterize the multitude of logics and techniques which have been applied to public services in the name of perpetuating such regimes. While varied, it has been claimed that these logics and techniques are ‘loosely bound up by their appeal to economic rationality’ (Garland 2001: 10). A key aspect of such regimes is the desire to facilitate ‘choice’ via the promotion of a greater sense of transparency. This has in turn led to the production of measurable data to inform ‘choice’, allowing users to assess the ‘performance’ of expert individuals and/or organizations. In this way, public service expertise has therefore become increasingly audited and made auditable (Power 1996). This chapter outlines how forensic science in England and Wales has been subject to similar forms of governance. This has involved an increasing preoc­ cupation with ‘performance management’ using quantitative metrics and regimes of ‘quality standards’. It has also entailed a degree of marketization of forensic services, which has also extended the reach of forms of standardization. The FSS, at one time by far the largest provider of forensic science, was not immune to such policies. A high proportion of forensic practitioners in England and Wales, including crime scene examiners and laboratory workers, have been exposed to these kinds of public sector reforms.

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In describing the application of these kind of rationalities to forensic science, this chapter seeks to question whether quantitative methods for evaluating the ‘performance’ of forensic practitioners can fully capture the complexity of their work. In contrast to these methods, insights from qualitative social studies are introduced to indicate how a degree of methodological pluralism may better assist understanding of the roles and practices of forensic practitioners. The chapter also critically examines the impact of efforts to standardize service provision among commercial forensic science providers (FSPs) on the way in which foren­ sic science is performed. In doing so, the chapter continues to explore themes introduced in Chapter 3, namely the co­productive relationship between the organization and the epistemology of forensic practice.

Studying and evaluating forensic science and practice There has long been a desire to understand how effectively police in England and Wales use scientific support and fully harness the potential of science to police work. This desire has been reflected in a series of studies, carried out by academic researchers and other forensic stakeholders, sometimes on behalf of official bodies such as the Home Office (McCulloch 1996; McCulloch and Tilley 2001; Tilley and Ford 1996; Williams 2002, 2004; Bradbury and Feist 2005; Burrows et al. 2005a, 2005b). Official reports have previously raised concerns about the use of science in policing (Tilley and Ford 1996; HMIC 2000, 2002). For example, a study conducted among twelve forces between 1994 and 1995 concluded that there was, at the time, a ‘widespread lack of awareness within the police service about forensic science itself and what various tests can do’ (Tilley and Ford 1996: 46–7). The same study also criticised methods used by the police themselves to measure the effectiveness of their application of forensic science. These were regarded as having ‘dubious reliability and validity’ (ibid.). Another broadly contemporaneous study found considerable variation in the submission of foren­ sic evidence for different types of crime from police forces who experienced varying crime rates (McCulloch 1996). Forces facing a high crime rate tended to submit forensic evidence for a large proportion of violent crimes, whereas forces in low­crime rate areas tended to make submissions for a high proportion of burglaries (McCulloch 1996; Williams 2008: 776). A study by Williams (2004), conducted across seven forces, focused on the work of crime scene examiners (CSEs) and their relationships with the police forces they served. Williams’ conclusions partly echoed those of Tilley and Ford, in that many force commanders ‘failed to fully understand the potential of scien­ tific support provision’ (Williams 2004: 4). Williams also encountered marked differences in the way forces routinely integrated CSE work into volume crime investigation. ‘These differences arose from different understandings of the nature of scientific support and how it related to police activity’ (Williams 2004: 4). Within some forces, scientific support staff ‘were seen principally as provid­ ing technical assistance to investigators’ (Williams 2004: 4, original emphasis).

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This has since been sometimes referred to as a ‘structural’ normative interpreta­ tion of scientific integration (Williams 2008: 771–2; Lawless 2011). Other forces, however, viewed scientific support staff differently, ‘as expert collaborators within the investigative process’ (Williams 2004: 4, original emphasis), which has been referred to as a ‘procedural’ normative interpretation of scientific inte­ gration (Williams 2008: 771–2; Lawless 2011). Different attitudes to scientific integration may coexist among the police. In their study of two large Scottish forces, Ludwig et al. (2012) explored the percep­ tions of CSEs through the eyes of police officer colleagues. They found that while 62 per cent of the police recognized the skill and complexity of CSE work, a substantial minority of over one­third (38 per cent) of officers viewed the CSE role ‘as having a single element – collecting evidence – and therefore perceived it as limited to largely mechanical in character’ (Ludwig et al. 2012: 53). Hence a relatively high proportion of the police exhibited a seemingly narrower view of the perceived activity of CSEs. Differing ideas therefore appear to exist regarding the precise role that science does, or should, play in policing. Many policy­oriented studies have, however, viewed forensic evidence through the prism of metrics based on attrition models. These models typically evaluate the recovery of material in terms of the propor­ tion of cases which then lead to a detection, the proportion of those which then lead to charge, and in turn a proportion which lead to conviction (Fraser and Williams 2009: 616). Attrition models themselves represent a kind of rationality which is based around a linear kind of assessment, yet they provide little informa­ tion about the exact circumstances under which forensic science and practice is conducted. An interest in efficiency may inform attempts to model elements of the crimi­ nal investigative process, such as the collection of evidence. Computer models have been developed by Northamptonshire Police and collaborators to predict the probability of finding certain kinds of evidence at crime scenes (Adderley and Bond 2007). It is claimed that such systems could provide real­time analysis of incidents as they are reported in order to efficiently delegate CSE resources. Research has also focused on studying the individual performance of CSEs. Other projects by the same police force, to study CSE performance (see, for example, Adderley and Bond 2007; Adderley et al. 2007; Adderley and Bond 2008) have explored the use of data such as ‘activity records’. These include the time and date a CSE attended a scene, the type of forensic samples recovered and the subsequent results of forensic examination (Adderley et al. 2007: 171). Performance of individual CSEs has been evaluated on the basis of their recovery of key evidence types (e.g. DNA, fingerprints, footwear marks) and subsequent detections. Data from these activity records and other sources has been analysed using data mining technology to develop possible methods for indicating strengths and weaknesses in CSE performance and with the intention of identify­ ing ‘good practice’ or to consider areas for improvement. Elsewhere, in Southern Australia, interest has been proclaimed in framing ‘top crime scene examiners’ in terms of ‘key attributes’ (Kelty 2011). Such assertions

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may be regarded as both normative and descriptive, seemingly expressing a desire to ‘capture’ the nature of ‘best practice’ in crime scene examination while also seeking to perpetuate a certain set of ideals about what constitutes ‘effective’ crime scene work. Other research has, however, explored how the role of CSEs may be shaped through how the latter perceive themselves and their work (Wilson­Kovacs (2014). While the CSE role continues to be shaped by regimes of accreditation, accountability and effectiveness, CSEs may balance these against a ‘contextual, finely tuned understanding of professionalism’ (Wilson­Kovacs 2014: 774). This understanding may be influenced by the development of expert knowledge of the use of trace evidence, which may be acquired as much via the contingencies of actual casework as through formalized training. A sense of professionalism may also emerge via interactions between civilian CSEs and serving police officers. This suggests ‘a more deliberative (rather than mechanical) engagement, which appears to lead to a more collaborative role for the CSE in the investigation of volume crime’ (ibid.). This kind of research highlights the importance of paying attention to everyday ‘discursive incongruities and practical tensions’ (ibid.) which CSEs experience. CSEs can be regarded as playing a key role in maintaining potential processes of evidential passage from crime scenes to the courtroom (Wyatt 2014). The work of CSEs requires them to develop reasoning patterns to help them decide what specific forms of evidence can – and should – be recovered from scenes (Williams 2003, 2008). Crime scenes may yield a potentially high variety of evidential forms, but apprehending and comprehending scenes may present significant challenges. A CSE’s time at a particular scene may be limited, which could place extra pres­ sure on them to make decisions about evidential recovery. The severity of a crime may also be a factor. Incidents where, for example, there has been a suspected case of minor vandalism may be considered much less significant by the police and forensic practitioners than the scene of a violent incident where an assault or murder could have taken place. The latter cases may entail the recovery of a poten­ tially large and diverse range of forms of evidence. Understanding precisely what evidence from a scene may best assist investigators to reconstruct events may be highly contextualized. The recovery of specific evidence from a scene may be influenced by investigators’ beliefs about precisely what activities took place at a scene (Innes and Clarke 2009). Ensuring that recovered evidence is ultimately relevant to the case places pressure on investigators. Experience may therefore be a key factor in developing crime scene examination skills and competencies. While the kind of metrics associated with quantitative methods provides ready translatability across varied stakeholders, caution should be exercised to ensure that the deliberative and contingent aspects of crime scene work are not over­ looked. In reducing this role to a series of metrics, quantitative assessments carried out in the name of ‘performance’ risk oversimplifying ideas about what forensic practice entails (Power 1996). Their translatability means, however, that such framings are potentially influential in encouraging particular assumptions and expectations of forensic practice among stakeholders.

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While much research on the integration of science into policing has focused on relatively less serious ‘volume crimes’, other studies exist which have focused on more serious offences. Research by Innes (2003), for example, on murder investi­ gations explored how police incorporated forensic evidence into a detective reason­ ing process ‘founded upon a dialectical synthesis of “craft” skills blended with a “scientific” style of rationality’ (Innes 2003: 9). Innes’ research supports an atten­ tiveness to the contexts in which forensic scientific evidence is comprehended. Research which seeks to assess the impact of scientific evidence faces challenges, however, in addressing the potential complexity and contingency which may underpin criminal casework. This may be particularly so when the crimes are seri­ ous or unusual and where the investigative routes may be uncertain. Qualitative research has the potential to capture the contingencies which forensic practitioners encounter. Methods such as ethnographic observation and interviewing may provide useful strategies to explore relations between the police and practition­ ers in depth (Wilson­Kovacs 2014; Wyatt 2014). Rather than simply investigating what is performed, qualitative methods can facilitate understanding of why forensic practices take the form they do. Writing as an academic sociologist and a police forensic practitioner, Williams and Weetnam (2013) assert that quantitative studies of scientific integration in serious crime investigation provide impoverished accounts if not complemented by rigorous qualitative methodology (Williams and Weetnam 2013: 386). They suggest that qualitative studies could, inter alia, focus on the specific organizational and operational contexts which shape forensic reasoning. This could, for example, involve studies of the bureaucratic and procedural means through which the police develop ‘organizational memory’ (Innes and Clarke 2009). In highlighting the potential insights to be gained from interactional and quali­ tative approaches, Williams and Weetnam (2013) frame ‘contextual utilities’ as a possible concept to illuminate how forensic evidence influences the dynamics of an investigation. Contextual utilities may play a role in ascertaining the possi­ ble origins of material given how the crime scene was apprehended by investiga­ tors. Williams and Weetnam describe a casework example where there was a need to know ‘if a knife found at some distance from the body of a victim was the knife used to stab [the victim]’ (Williams and Weetnam 2013: 383). A consid­ eration of the possibilities in this case led to the commission of DNA and finger­ print tests. Another example presented concerned the discovery of a body: It was necessary to identify an attack site when a burned body was found concealed at a rural location. Particular properties were searched to find signs of disturbance and blood staining as well as fabric of similar material to that in which the victim was wrapped. On some occasions, SIOs [senior investigating officers] needed something seemingly simple: for example, whether any foren­ sic evidence would enable the identification of a suspect, or an attack site, or a route taken by a victim or a suspect. On other occasions, questions were more complex: for example, can one or several interpretations of a course of events be confirmed or refuted. (Williams and Weetnam 2013: 383)

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Contextual utilities can be thought of as the creation of conditional links between inferences about human activity and behaviour and the potential scientific and organizational resources needed to address them. They can draw attention to the relations between the specific activities involved in reconstruction, processes of scientific integration and the wider organizational contexts in which such rela­ tions are embedded. Rigorous qualitative studies of serious crime investigations are, however, complicated by difficulties in obtaining access (Innes 2003; Williams and Weetnam: 386). Case sensitivities and the issue of sub judice mean that consider­ able discretion may need to be exercised by social researchers. The work of Innes et al. and Williams et al. nonetheless highlights the potential for qualitative social research to contribute significant insights and observations regarding investiga­ tions, which may assist the police in developing their own awareness of the place forensic science occupies within procedures and operations. Studying the integra­ tion of science into policing is complex and requires attention to a series of spatial and temporal moments, ranging from crime scene examination to police investi­ gative processes and laboratory analysis and interpretation of forensic evidence. Better understanding of these processes of integration may hold considerable utility for academic sociologists and practitioners alike. Through such research, criminal justice practitioners could recognize opportunities to improve proce­ dures in the light of increased understanding of the relationship between forensic practice and policing. For sociology, criminal casework provides opportunities to explore social­epistemological phenomena as they unfold in real time. Qualitative social studies of crime scene work and the use of forensic evidence in criminal investigations have, however, been relatively few and far between. Similarly, there have been relatively few qualitative studies of forensic laborato­ ries, despite a well­established tradition of ethnographic studies of research labo­ ratories (see, for example, Latour and Woolgar 1979; Latour 1987; Lynch 1985). Those studies in existence have, however, been valuable in illuminating how evidential understandings emerge. For example, M’charek’s (2000) participatory study of a Dutch forensic laboratory charted the processes and practices through which evidence was produced. Among other observations, M’charek drew atten­ tion to the processes of communication and translation which enabled laboratory activities to become embedded in the wider criminal justice system. These processes relied on the agency of material and informational entities such as paperwork and the use of statistics for reporting the probative weight of evidence. Distinctly social practices can play a key role in upholding the quality of foren­ sic laboratory work. Studies by Doak and Assimakopoulos (2007a, 2007b) focused on collaborative networks in forensic science laboratories in the Republic of Ireland. They found that a social organization culture provided an environment in which knowledge could be transferred via a wide array of practices. For exam­ ple, negotiation of the complex and potentially overwhelming series of codified standard operating procedures (SOPs) was often circumvented by simply asking a colleague for guidance. More experienced scientists were highly valued and viewed as a key resource by their more junior colleagues. Scientists recognized

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which of their colleagues had particular capability in certain areas. These indi­ viduals were targeted for consultations over specific matters in ways which circumvented formalized procedures. Personal relationships were viewed as vital conduits for sharing best practice, often involving a degree of sharing tacit knowledge.1 Informal contexts, such as the meeting of acquaintances during coffee breaks, provided settings where discussions of best practice might perme­ ate casual conversation and working friendships often amounted to coaching or mentoring relationships. A moral sensibility also played a role. For example the need to reciprocate instances of help was also regarded as highly important, as was the sharing of information and the need for open dialogue. Aware of the fact that their knowledge claims could be scrutinized in the courts, forensic scientists routinely conferred with colleagues to check whether they had followed the correct procedures and to discuss their personal judgments concerning evidence. Possibly due to an awareness of the adversarial nature of the courts system, scien­ tists relished the opportunity to have their judgments rigorously challenged by colleagues (Doak and Assimakopoulos 2007a). Attendance at forums and confer­ ences was also viewed by scientists as a vital means of gaining tacit knowledge. Face­to­face consultations over evidential interpretation were found to be a habitualized feature of working life within the organization. Similarly, an ethnographic study of Swedish forensic scientists (Kruse 2013) described their use of statistical methods based on Bayes’ Theorem as facilitating a socialized understanding of their work. These scientists faced challenges in applying Bayesian methods to forensic casework, such as the limited availability of data on which to base their probabilistic assertions. Kruse’s study suggests that the application of probabilistic methods created a kind of order through what she terms ‘organic objectivity’. Probabilistic methods based on Bayes’ Theorem allowed different forensic specialists to coordinate their estimates of matches. However, the ambiguities exposed in the course of evaluating evidence using Bayes’ Theorem created the need for scientists to discuss their work openly, facilitating an ethic of transparency about uncertainty. These findings raise questions regarding how far formalized quality assurance and performance monitoring regimes, particularly those which exhibit an explicit ‘trust in numbers’ (Porter 1996), can alone facilitate best practice (Leslie 2010). Instead, less formalized intersubjective practices may play a key role in forensic practice, even though they may be obscured by idealized representations of procedures. Qualitative research has highlighted ways in which ‘best practice’ is collectively recognized and nurtured in forensic laboratories which escape the gaze of quantitative performance management regimes. They highlight how forensic science is a distinctly social phenomenon.

Organizing forensic science and practice: the partial ‘marketization’ of forensic science in England and Wales The preoccupation with economic rationality nonetheless exerts a powerful hold on policy thinking about forensic science. In the US, the work of Koppl has

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advocated ‘epistemic reform’ to forensic services using social­epistemological and economic perspectives (Koppl 2005, 2010). Koppl’s studies reflect concerns about the quality of work performed in US police laboratories and the risk of bias against suspects. Many US forensic scientists are employed in police laboratories and are therefore held directly accountable to law enforcement bodies. Koppl has suggested that US police laboratories are susceptible to the shortcomings of ‘monopoly epistemics’, namely the capacity of single locations to control the production of knowledge (Koppl 2006). Koppl has proposed more competitive forms of forensic analysis where multiple laboratories would conduct duplicate work in order to provide a check against the consistency of results obtained. As part of this, Koppl has suggested that a system of market competition, with multi­ ple privatized laboratories selling their services, would lead to improved stand­ ards (Koppl 2005). The idea of marketizing forensic science in England and Wales pre­dates Koppl’s arguments, having taken hold in the 1990s (see Roberts 1996 and Gallop 2003 for contrasting reflections concerning marketization). The following section outlines the history of efforts to marketize UK forensic science and describes some of the systems which have arisen in response to this development, along with the consequences of such policies. The UK police service has for some time been subject to a government gaze which has promoted ‘economy’, ‘efficiency’ and ‘effectiveness’ (Home Office 1983). This discursive framework, endorsed by the Audit Commission, has encouraged an ‘ethos of business management, monetary measurement and value­for­money’ (Garland 2001: 116). Concerns about the economy, efficiency and effectiveness of public bodies came to be addressed via the promotion of budget and market mechanisms seen as improving performance. Market competi­ tion was framed as a means of improving the provision of forensic science in terms of motivating FSPs to improve the efficiency of their work (in the form of, for example, turnover of analyses) and reduce backlogs of casework. In 1987, a survey conducted by accountants Touche Ross concluded that police management of scientific support was ‘generally poor’ (Touche Ross 1987). It portrayed an environment in which the range of forensic techniques available to police had significantly developed but in which science had not been fully utilized to address rises in serious crime. Touche Ross recommended the appoint­ ment of managers of scientific support in each force, to oversee the provision of all scientific services and the management of their own forensic science budgets. This step represented one sign of the growing devolution of budget responsibili­ ties to operational law enforcement actors. Touche Ross also considered the scope for changes in the method of funding and organization of the FSS, the primary external provider of forensic science to the police at the time. The FSS was then a state agency, publicly funded by a central grant. The Royal Commission on Criminal Justice which reported to Parliament in July 1993 recognized the emergent policy discourses surrounding the possibility of market reform of forensic science. It provided ‘cautious endorsement’ (Roberts 1996: 41) of the further development of free market competition for forensic

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scientific services. The Commission also recognized the considerable growth in the number and variety of private firms offering scientific support to both prose­ cution and defence which reflected concerns about how the quality of forensic science could be maintained (Roberts 1996: 39). As the 1990s progressed, other firms began to emerge in direct competition with the FSS, such as LGC, Scientifics Ltd and Forensic Alliance. During the same period, the FSS introduced product­based charging, where each product, such as a body fluid search, tool mark examination or cannabis identification, was defined as encompassing a wider set of activities. This new definition of ‘product’ as activity was intended to more closely reflect the actual work performed, ‘thus providing customers with a better understanding of the true costs of services and enabling them to make informed judgements about their value’ (NAO 1998: 30). As the pricing strategies of forensic service providers became more sophisticated, signs emerged that forces were capitalizing on the new market conditions. Some of the assertions about the benefits of an emerging marketplace were supported in the government­commissioned McFarland review of the FSS (McFarland 2003). Communication between the FSS and the police improved and it was claimed the FSS was able to better educate police officers about the value of certain forms of evidence (ibid.). The McFarland review addressed the ‘effectiveness of the organization in meeting the needs of the criminal justice system in terms of the quality, timeliness and cost effectiveness of its services’ (ibid.: 3.1). McFarland also assessed the management and business structures of the FSS in the light of possible increased competition for forensic science services (ibid.). FSPs were, at this time, offering volume discounts and loyalty schemes, which assured McFarland that a ‘truly competitive market’ was ‘beginning to develop’ in UK forensics (ibid.). The review argued that the introduction of ‘best value’ principles ‘had encouraged the police to seek better value for money in the bought­in services’ (ibid.), and that the police had become ‘informed customers’, playing off ‘suppliers against each other’. McFarland concluded that police forces were adapting well to the new market conditions, and that true competition was ‘beginning to develop’ in UK forensics (ibid.: 3.1). Police reported that they had begun to receive ‘a more personalised and responsive service’ from suppliers, which was interpreted as meaning that competition had started to yield the kind of benefits claimed by advocates of marketization, such as ‘greater choice, value for money and improved service delivery’ (ibid.: 3.3). A marketplace for forensic science in England and Wales emerged which encompassed a diverse array of FSPs with considerable variance in terms of their size, scope and product range (Fraser 2003). In 2005, the status of the FSS changed. It became a ‘Government company’, or ‘Govco’, still state­owned but obliged to run on a for­profit basis. The ‘Govco’ status was intended to be tempo­ rary, ahead of full privatization, but this process was never completed. The FSS nonetheless faced increased competition at this time from the varied field of private FSPs. Alongside this development, the Home Office considered improved regulation of forensic science services to ensure quality standards.

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Systems were eventually put in place to standardize the services offered to police forces by FSPs. In August 2008, 12 FSPs, including the FSS, participated in the National Forensic Framework Agreement (NFFA), which was implemented to function as an organizing mechanism for forensic science procurement by a range of police forces. The NFFA, also a response to EU requirements regarding the transparency of procurement, ran until July 2012. It specified the arrangements for the provision of forensic scientific services by commercial FSPs to several police forces in England and Wales, across the North and South West of England. It comprised 14 lots or work packages, as shown in Tables 4.1a and b). Participating FSPs entered into contract arrangements with police forces under the terms of the NFFA. FSPs were obliged to supply very specific forms of scien­ tific support across a range of clearly delineated criminal investigative functions. These ‘work packages’ ranged from routine scientific analyses in areas such as DNA and footwear analysis to more complex ‘casework’ packages relating to serious crime, where forensic scientists could be called on to interpret evidence in relation to a particular investigation. Under the terms of each work package offered at a negotiated price to forces, specific forensic activities were clearly defined in a cost­code system. This was described by a representative of the National Policing Improvement Agency (NPIA) in 2010 thus: That’s how it is now structured … codes refer to specific activities … for example, ‘BFs’ are body fluids, biology stuff. 01BF for example is the processing of stains from crime scenes for DNA purposes, a swab of blood from a windowsill, cigarette end left by a burglar, that sort of thing. Simple routine stuff. And that product, itself, has got requirements written in it that the company has to be able to provide … (Interview with NPIA representative, 2010) The NFFA hence rendered specific scientific activities as distinct ‘products’, organized in such a way that the police could choose in the manner of a menu. Police customers in participating forces could retain overall control of the specific forensic work carried out in an investigation. The NFFA standardized forensic scientific activity in terms of time and cost, and placed cognitive practices of evidence interpretation alongside mechanical and technical procedures. These arrangements, however, met with opposition from scientists: There is quite a bit of ‘anti’ this, in the laboratory world, particularly the staff, the scientists, because they see it as too commercially focused now, and they haven’t got the ability to use their own initiative, to innovate, because if it isn’t within one of these products [codes], in theory the company couldn’t charge for it, it might not be something the force has requested anyway … the scientists see it as a shackle … (Interview with NPIA representative 2010) A focus group convened on behalf of the author, conducted with 12 employees of a major FSP in 2010, expressed concerns about the impact the market regime

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Table 4.1a The National Forensic Framework Agreement (NFFA) (2008–12) (Lots 1–7) Lot 1

Lot 2

Lot 3

DNA PACE

DNA Drugs Crime Scene Stains

Cellmark Cellmark Environmental Forensics Forensics Scientifics Group LGC Key Forensic Key Forensic Forensics Services Services LGC LGC Forensics Forensics Mass Spec Analytical

Lot 4

Lot 5

Fire Footwear Investigation

Lot 6

Lot 7

Casework Gun Crime A

Casework Homicide and Violent Crime A

Cellmark Cellmark Cellmark Cellmark Forensics Forensics Forensics Forensics First First Key Forensic Forensic Forensic Forensic Services Access Key Forensic Key Forensic LGC Key Forensic Services Services Forensics Services LGC LGC Manlove LGC Forensics Forensics Forensics Forensics Manlove Manlove Forensics Forensics Napier Associates Forensic

Table 4.1b The National Forensic Framework Agreement (NFFA) (2008–12) (Lots 8–14) Lot 8

Lot 9

Lot 10

Lot 11

Lot 12

Casework Sexual Offences

Casework Volume Crime

Question Documents

Road Toxicology Traffic Investigation

Lot 13

Lot 14

Casework Gun Crime B

Casework Homicide and Violent Crime B

Cellmark Cellmark Key Forensic LGC Key Forensic Forensics Forensics Services Forensics Services Forensic Forensic LGC LGC Access Access Forensics Forensics Key Forensic Key Forensic Mass Spec Services Services Analytical LGC LGC Forensics Forensics

Cellmark Cellmark Forensics Forensics Key Forensic Forensic Services Access LGC Key Forensics Forensic Services Randox LGC Laboratories Forensics ROAR Forensics

was exerting on their work. The group reported a growing sense that scientists were being reduced to the role of technicians. They felt less able to exercise criti­ cal scientific rigour in the course of their work. While more experienced staff normally held degrees in traditional ‘pure’ scientific disciplines such as biology, chemistry or physics, newer recruits often held generic degrees in ‘forensic science’. These newer degrees were viewed as lower status, with a lesser emphasis on scientific rigour.

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In late 2009, it had been reported that the FSS was experiencing severe finan­ cial difficulties and had become dependent on government assistance. By this time the FSS had implemented a ‘transformation programme’ which included the closure of three of its regional laboratories. The announced full closure of the FSS by the UK government in December 2010 was nonetheless unexpected. The deci­ sion also stimulated considerable controversy, with many commentators express­ ing fears about the future viability of scientific support to police forces. In response the House of Commons Select Committee on Science and Technology conducted an inquiry into the closure, which also focused on the state of the forensic market in England and Wales as a whole. The inquiry found that the police were increasingly investing in their own in­house laboratories. The overall size of the market was reported to be in serious decline, perceived to be caused in part by increased in­housing, with spending on external FSP services markedly decreasing (House of Commons 2011a: 15).2 Some respondents to the inquiry pointed out that forces may have viewed in­sourcing as a cheaper option in the light of wider budget cuts (House of Commons 2011a: 17). The House of Commons Committee criticized the trends toward in­sourcing. Such a shift, with customers effectively becoming competi­ tors to external FSPs, was viewed as undermining the very idea of a fully func­ tioning market for forensic science. The Committee also reported ‘almost unanimous alarm’ (House of Commons 2011a: 35) about the quality of forensic science performed in police laboratories, which were not subject to the same accreditation procedures as those of external FSPs. The Inquiry concluded by expressing concerns ‘about the risks to impartiality of forensic evidence produced by non­accredited police laboratories’ (House of Commons, 2011a: 43). The inquiry asserted that this risked ‘the introduction of bias based on selective foren­ sic examination of exhibits, arising from the need to make savings’ (ibid.). The Committee concluded that a reliance on in­sourced forensic practitioners would increase the risk of evidence collection being influenced by immediate policing concerns rather than working in the more balanced interests of justice.3 A new procurement framework, the National Forensic Framework Next Generation (NFFNG), began in August 2012, to run until July 2016. The NFFNG is similar to the NFFA, but contains 13 lots (see Tables 4.2a and b). Nineteen FSPs initially expressed an interest in bidding for a presence within NFFNG. Following the pre­qualification phase, 13 FSPs were awarded a place, including three new entrants to the market. These FSPs bid to become suppliers for specific lots, with more than one FSP able to supply each lot. The number of each FSP per lot varies between two and six. The NFFNG functions through a series of regional ‘mini­competitions’ organized by the Home Office Forensic Marketplace Management Team (FMMT). Each mini­competition effectively amounts to a tender for specific forensic services across certain regional forces. The mini­competitions are deliberately staggered in order to enable participating FSPs to plan and to allow for fluctuations in the outcomes of various tenders. Through these mini­competitions, police forces seeking to procure forensic

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Table 4.2a The National Forensic Framework Next Generation (NFFNG)* (2012–16) (Lots 201­7) Lot 201

Lot 202

Lot 203

Lot 204

PACE DNA

Crime Stain Other DNA DNA

Lot 205

Fire Footwear Investigation

Lot 206

Lot 207

Firearms

Drugs

Cellmark Cellmark Cellmark Cellmark Cellmark Cellmark Cellmark Forensics Forensics Forensics Forensics Forensics Forensics Forensics LGC Key Forensic Forensic First First Key Forensic Environmental Forensics Services Access Forensic Forensic Services Scientifics Group LGC Key Forensic Forensic Key Forensic LGC Key Forensic Forensics Services Access Services Forensics Services LGC Key Forensic LGC Manlove LGC Forensics Services Forensics Forensics Forensics LGC Manlove Mass Spec Forensics Forensics Analytical

Table 4.2b The National Forensic Framework Next Generation (NFFNG)* (2012–16) (Lots 208­13) Lot 208

Lot 209

Lot 210

Lot 211

Lot 212

Lot 213

Noxious Substances

Questioned Documents

Case Review

Toxicology

Casework

Trace Evidence

Cellmark Cellmark Forensics Forensics Environmental Key Forensic Scientifics Group Services Key Forensic Services LGC Forensics

LGC Forensics Manlove Forensics

Cellmark Forensics Forensic Access

Cellmark Cellmark Forensics Forensics Forensic Forensic Medicine Access and Science Forensic Key Forensic Key Forensic Focus Services Services Key Forensic LGC LGC Services Forensics Forensics LGC Forensics Randox Laboratories Manlove ROAR Forensics Forensics

Cellmark Forensics Forensic Access Key Forensic Services LGC Forensics

*

First Forensics, Forensic Medicine and Science and Mass Spec Analytical subsequently left the NFFNG.

services via the NFFNG, offer a local service contract to each successful FSP. Regional tenders are organized in a ‘pipeline’ rolling over the four­year lifetime of the NFFNG. This pipeline has been agreed with forces and made known to FSPs. The NFFNG has also seen the introduction of a series of central monitoring functions overseen by the FMMT, relating to performance, quality and accredita­ tion of FSPs. FMMT members now undertake regular FSP site visits and monitor

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their performance on a monthly basis. The FMMT is also centrally responsible for subcontracting arrangements, FSP relations, security and business continuity and other issues relating to NFFNG terms and conditions. The increased complexity of the NFFNG was, however, viewed as disadvanta­ geous by some FSPs during a second Commons Select Committee inquiry on forensic science which reported in 2013. According to one FSP, Forensic Access, different forces required services to be delivered in slightly different ways. A representative of another FSP, Cellmark, claimed that ‘some product specifica­ tions have become too complex in an attempt […] to provide flexibility and attribute specific costs against each activity at a very detailed level’ (House of Commons 2013: para. 23). Representatives of FSPs claimed that the NFFNG had led to multiple protocols for specific pieces of evidence. The NFFNG has broken down forensic tests into many more pricing points. Under the NFFNG system, FSPs have to charge forces on the basis of specific practices that together consti­ tute a specific forensic test. Each price point refers to a specific activity. The CEO of LGC reported that: We have some cases where a particular test that we are doing previously had four or five pricing points; there are now as many as 25 or 30. (House of Commons 2013: Ev19, Q104) Contributors to the second Commons inquiry perceived NFFNG to have imposed a significant administrative burden compared to the past. FSPs reported that it had increased the complexity of ‘working out exactly what it is we are doing and what we should be charging’ (House of Commons 2013: 15). Concerns have been expressed that the NFFA and NFFNG have eroded a sense of partnership between the police and forensic scientists. The NFFA was reported as having maximized the ‘commodification and disaggregation of supply’ (House of Commons 2011a: 22) with a number of different providers handling different tests in a single investigation. This, it was claimed, prevented the systematic exchange of ‘contextual information and scientific results’ (House of Commons 2011b). The NFFA was perceived to have reduced the ability of scientists to use their initiative in the course of investigations, giving more relative power to the police. One witness to the 2011 inquiry alleged that all too often the police took the cheaper option in favouring basic analytical tests over the interpretive skills of forensic scientists: ‘Getting a DNA profile does not necessarily solve a crime but is a lot cheaper than interpretation of how the DNA got there, which is the more important aspect of successfully solving a crime’ (House of Commons 2011a: 22). During the second Committee inquiry, another witness suggested that commer­ cial arrangements hindered a balanced holistic approach to the interpretation of evidence: They would bring together all the evidence – the DNA evidence, the blood pattern evidence if it was there and so on – and interpret that in the round in the context of the defence and prosecution propositions. They are not doing

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that now. Because the DNA element of it is outsourced, you simply cannot bring that together and do that more rounded analysis. (Kenny, quoted in House of Commons 2013: Ev4, Q12) Before the advent of the NFFA/NFFNG, FSPs had been able to work together to agree on the best strategy for each case (House of Commons 2013: para. 23). FSPs were in a position to advise police on the choice of examinations and foren­ sic tests that might progress a criminal investigation. As well as being perceived to be more effective, the ‘partnership approach’ was viewed as having facilitated considerable trust between FSPs and the police. It was perceived by a representa­ tive of LGC that NFFA and NFFNG had, in contrast, ‘created a transactional customer/supplier relationship’ (House of Commons 2013: Ev82), which was less cost­effective. This latter relationship was also perceived to have eroded trust between FSPs and the police, with the seeming perception on the part of the police that ‘forensic providers just want to do more work so that they get more money’ (Tully, quoted in House of Commons 2013: Ev3, Q9). Forensic services were regarded as now ‘more focused on requirements of police forces’ (House of Commons 2013: para.111). An LGC representative reported that forensic scientists no longer worked alongside police forces to determine the strat­ egy to be applied to a particular case. Instead, LGC had increasingly been asked ‘to do particular tests which [its] forensic scientists may not be able to see the full context of’ (Richardson, quoted in House of Commons 2013: Ev19, Q107). The short­term nature of contracts was viewed as extremely disruptive for FSPs. A representative of the FSP Manlove Forensics stated that the procure­ ment arrangements did not oblige forces to provide guarantees ‘as to the actual volume of work each successful provider will ultimately receive’ (House of Commons 2013: para. 21). It was reported that successful FSPs often had ‘a very short length of time to ramp up’ (Tully, quoted in House of Commons 2013: Ev9, Q45) for ‘what are often huge amounts of work’ (House of Commons 2013, para. 21). The arrangements were viewed as precluding appropriate planning: Until they have been awarded the contract, they [FSPs] cannot gear up to do the work, because it often requires new people, new equipment, and so on. (Tully, quoted in House of Commons 2013: Ev9, Q45) Other firms losing work had to ‘downsize very rapidly to minimise unnecessary overheads once the work has gone’ (ibid.). FSPs were experiencing ‘large swings in workloads’ which was regarded as ‘very destabilizing’ (House of Commons 2013: 14). LGC, for example lost out on tenders to competitors, after investing significantly in capacity and personnel. A Home Office representative, however, saw the NFFNG as an evolution of the NFFA, and regarded the terms and conditions of the NFFNG services as being much more tightly defined. Services had not been as highly specified under the previous NFFA, which had caused some differences of opinion between FSPs

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and police forces (interview with Home Office representative, 2014). There had also been efforts to improve the timing of tender announcements in order to try and ensure FSPs had a more steady and predictable stream of work coming in. This respondent saw future procurement arrangements post­2016 as taking a more strategic line, with longer contracts, possibly over 5–7 years. This was viewed as potentially benefiting both providers and customers in facilitating the partnership approach which appears to have receded from policing.4 One consequence of the apparent short­term culture which seems to have stemmed from the NFFA/NFFNG system has been an impact on research and development (R&D). Concerns about the declining incentive to invest in R&D were expressed in the FSP focus group conducted by the author in 2010. More recently, in 2014, one FSP representative stated that their organization had several projects under consideration, but employees had no time to undertake them. The NFFA and NFFNG appear to have promulgated certain ideas about the role that science plays in investigative work. These systems and the negotiated interests of customers and providers (which include commercial and performance interests), alongside national policy and EU legislation, have all played a role in shaping a specific model of delivering scientific support. This framing of science, however, seems to be one in which the police have increasing control over what kind of practices are utilized (Lawless 2011). The NFFA/NFFNG frameworks render forensic science as a menu of services from which the police can choose as they wish. Many police forces in England and Wales, however, appear to be increasingly committing to in­sourcing forensic science, viewing it as potentially more cost­effective in the long run. An emerging economic emphasis has therefore affected the framing of forensic science. Expressions of concern relate to the diminished status of forensic scien­ tists in terms of their relationship with the police. The ‘partnership approach’ to criminal casework, whereby forensic practitioners worked closely with the police, advising on the interpretation of evidence in both prosecution and defence contexts, has been discouraged by current commercial arrangements. Rather than providing opportunities for forensic practitioners to apply a scientific rationality holistically, interpreting evidence as well as producing it, forensic scientific analy­ ses risk being conducted increasingly in isolation from one another, and with an emphasis on the mechanical collection and production of evidence. Forensic prac­ titioners were once able to routinely contribute to the interpretation of evidence, but subsequent systems have hindered practitioners from working together. While the FMMT has sought to improve the negotiating positions of FSPs (interview, Home Office representative, 2014), police forces still retain a signifi­ cant degree of control over what services they acquire from FSPs. The current system provides little incentive or capacity on the part of FSPs to engage in R&D. The standardization of services also provides little room for critical reflection on the role that science plays in casework. This risks marginalizing any interest in the epistemological basis of casework, possibly closing routes whereby science could provide scope for reform. Instead, science risks being kept held in an auxil­ iary capacity.

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Forensic science has been regarded as beholden to state structures and amena­ ble to a hierarchical form of accountability (Cole 2013). As well as reductively framing technicians in terms of ‘numerically auditable and quasirobotic’ actions, top­down forms of accountability may risk displacing ‘the experimentalism and active questioning of science’ (quoted in Leslie 2010: 299). This seems to be the case in contemporary forensic science across England and Wales. One possible consequence of current arrangements is that they may have helped to perpetuate a ‘brain drain’ of forensic scientists into other areas of science, such as academic research, where they may feel their skill sets are better applied (Lawless 2011). This, along with concerns about the quality of scientific education new recruits hold, suggests that some practitioners feel that the current system may be eroding the intellectual health of forensic science across the jurisdiction. The NFFA/NFFNG regime appears to have placed forensic science under greater control of the police. It seems that greater emphasis is being placed on the recovery and production of evidence, while less significance has been bestowed to the processes and systems through which that evidence is inter­ preted. Like CSE performance monitoring, the NFFA/NFFNG quantify forensic work in terms of prices given for certain analyses. While more holistic case­ work packages are available with the option of interpretation work, the police can still choose if they want their external clients to merely recover and collect evidence.

Conclusion Attempts to understand the contribution science makes to police work are framed to a great extent by notions about the perceived role of scientific and technical staff in criminal investigations. Ideas about how science should be integrated into policing frame ways in which the performance of scientific support workers is understood. Many evaluations of CSE performance display a highly quantitative character, focusing on the amount and type of evidence recovered by individual CSEs. This is commensurate with attrition models which seek to measure the amount of arrests, detections and convictions arising from the recovery of certain forms of evidence. This kind of performance assessment in turn possibly reflects assumptions that CSEs merely provide technical assistance to the police. On the other hand, social researchers have described different interpretations of CSE work, highlighting their potential to consult more closely with police colleagues. It is open to question just how much attention has been paid by the forensic community to the small but significant number of sociological studies which have emphasized this aspect (Williams 2004; Wilson­Kovacs 2014; Wyatt 2014). These multiple framings of CSE work point to different ideas about what constitutes police scientific support. The ‘technical assistance’ or ‘structural’ mode seems, however, to be in the ascendancy, and supported by the managerial preoccupation with quantitative performance monitoring models and service agreements (Lawless 2011). Qualitative research suggests, however, that quanti­ tative performance monitoring of forensic practitioners may not entirely capture

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all the aspects of their work. Instead, the latter may merely reinforce a view of scientific support as adjunctive to police work rather than playing a more closely embedded role. Qualitative social research has been able to observe and explore the interac­ tions of forensic practitioners with police colleagues. Findings have challenged both the kinds of assumptions about their work which may be overlooked in quantitative performance evaluation. These findings also highlight the capacity of scientists to embed fluidly and responsively into casework, and to promote a partnership approach with police colleagues. Rather than reducing forensic prac­ tice to a series of data points, qualitative studies depict forensic science as highly socialized. The social character of forensic science may, however, be fragile. Under the NFFNG system, police forces can make specific choices about the extent to which they wish to rely on external sources. Police can opt to employ FSPs to engage in manual, mechanical practices, such as the collection and production of evidence, rather than more cognitively proactive roles relating to the interpreta­ tion of evidence. Under this system, police forces can exert considerable control over the role of forensic practitioners in criminal investigations. Budget consid­ erations appear to have influenced this trend to a significant degree. The NFFA/ NFFNG model, an imposed model of ‘accountability, accreditation, efficiency and effectiveness’ (Wilson­Kovacs 2014), could therefore also be said to have shaped assumptions about the nature of police scientific support. Has an audit culture which reflects ‘advanced liberal’ or ‘new public manage­ ment’ sensitivities helped construct a particular framing of forensic science and what are the consequences of this? It is possible to discern a sense in which performance monitoring, and structures like NFFA/NFFNG, have constructed particular relations between forensic practice and policing. Performance monitor­ ing systems create a hierarchical relationship between those who monitor and those who are monitored. Modes of provision such as NFFA/NFFNG help deter­ mine exactly what kind of forensic procedures are deployed in police work. Together, such interventions may have reconstructed forensic roles and practices. They may shape what kind of evidence is recovered and produced, who recovers evidence and by what means, and who interprets this evidence. In doing so, certain assumptions about what forensic science is may hold. Such interventions may risk limiting forensic science to the routine collection and production of evidence, rather than extending to evidentional interpretation. The epistemologi­ cal identity of forensic science is contested and fluid, an aspect which holds further implications, as described in the next chapter.

Notes 1. Doak and Assimakopoulos (2007b) do counter that social interactions may potentially lead to the formation of cliques, which was not necessarily seen as beneficial. The formation of a number of cliques within an organization was seen as potentially leading to social barriers which might impede the flow of information (ibid.).

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2. Distinct narratives can be identified in literature which has discussed the status of the FSS in the marketized forensic environment of England and Wales. It has been suggested, for example, that the FSS was actually a hindrance to the emergence of a fully competitive market (Wilson and Gallop 2013, Wilson et al. 2014). This kind of narrative suggests that the FSS retained its position as the dominant player in the market, receiving favourable treatment from the Association of Chief Police Officers (ACPO) and the government, leading to a near­monopoly which hindered open research in forensic science and also disadvantaged defendants (Wilson and Gallop 2013; Wilson et al. 2014). The idea that, with the continued existence of the FSS, liberalization was prevented from going far enough seems consistent with this view. Another view, however, suggests that the closure of the FSS was counter­ productive, and this move posed greater costs to the taxpayer than if it had survived (BBC 2013). Narratives expressing scepticism over the marketization of forensic science in England and Wales might suggest any costs to allow the FSS to continue operating might have been a reasonable price to pay to guarantee a stable supply of forensic services. 3. The second Commons inquiry heard a number of other stated reasons for this decline. These included: ‘disproportionate’ police force cuts to the forensic spend of 40 per cent, which exceeded government targets of 20 per cent; lower reported crime rates; cost reductions, perceived by ACPO to have come about due to competition; and a closer scrutiny of submissions ‘so a smaller number of items would be submitted in any particular case’ (Tully, quoted in House of Commons 2013: Ev2, Q7). 4. Forces participating in the NFFNG include all English and Welsh forces with the exception of the Metropolitan Police Service (MPS) and a consortium of forces from the Yorkshire and Humber region. The MPS is unique in that all evidence recovery and interpretation services are retained in­house, but it has no analytical capability, which is outsourced. Forces in North East and Humberside procure their forensic services from a single provider operating at a site in Yorkshire. This was viewed as a possible return to the single­provider model (interview, Home Office representative, 2014).

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Koppl, R. (2010) ‘Organization economics explains many forensic errors’, Journal of Institutional Economics, 6 (1): 71–81. Kruse, C. (2013) ‘The Bayesian approach to forensic evidence: evaluating, communicat­ ing and distributing responsibility’, Social Studies of Science, 43 (5): 657–80. Latour, B. (1987) Science in Action: How to Follow Scientists and Engineers Through Society. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Latour, B. and Woolgar, S. (1979) Laboratory Life: The Construction of Scientific Facts. Beverley Hills, CA: Sage. Lawless, C. (2011) ‘Policing markets: the contested shaping of neoliberal forensic science’, British Journal of Criminology, 51 (4): 671–89. Leslie, M. (2010) ‘Quality assured science: managerialism in forensic biology’, Science, Technology and Human Values, 35 (3): 283–306. Ludwig, A., Fraser, J. and Williams, R. (2012) ‘Crime scene examiners and volume crime investigations: an empirical study of perceptions and practice’, Forensic Science Policy and Management, 3 (2): 53–61. Lynch, M. (1985) Art and Artifact in Laboratory Science: A Study of Shop Work and Shop Talk in a Research Laboratory. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. M’charek, A. (2000) ‘Technologies of population: forensic DNA testing practices and the making of differences and similarities’, Configurations, 8 (1): 121–59. McCulloch, H. (1996) Police Use of Forensic Science. London: Home Office Police Research Group. McCulloch, H. and Tilley, N. (2001) Effectiveness and Efficiency in Obtaining Fingerprint Identifications. London: Home Office. McFarland, R. (2003) Review of the Forensic Science Service. London: HMSO. National Audit Office (NAO) (1998) The Forensic Science Service. London: HMSO. Porter, T. M. (1996) Trust in Numbers: The Pursuit of Objectivity in Science and Public Life. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Power, M. (1996) The Audit Explosion. London: Demos. Roberts, P. (1996) ‘What price a free market in forensic science services? The organiza­ tion and regulation of science in the criminal process’, British Journal of Criminology, 36 (1): 37–60. Rose, N. (1996) ‘Governing “advanced liberal” democracies’, in A. Barry, T. Osborne and T. Rose (eds), Foucault and Political Reason: Liberalism, Neo-Liberalism and Rationalities of Government. London: University College London Press, pp. 37–64. Tilley, N. and Ford, A. (1996) Forensic Science and Police Investigation. London: Home Office. Touche Ross (1987) Review of Scientific Support for the Police. London: Home Office. Williams, R. (2002) Crime Scene Investigation: Aspects of an Improvised Practice: Report to Durham Constabulary. Durham: Durham University Department of Sociology. Williams, R. (2003) ‘Residual categories and disciplinary knowledge: personal identity in sociological and forensic investigations’, Symbolic Interaction, 26 (4): 515–29. Williams, R. (2004) The Management of Crime Scene Examination in Relation to the Investigation of Burglary and Vehicle Crime, Home Office Online Report (accessed 24 October 2014). Williams, R. (2008) ‘Policing and forensic science’, in T. Newburn (ed.), Handbook of Policing. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 760–93. Williams, R. and Weetnam, J. (2013) ‘Enacting forensics in homicide investigations’, Policing and Society, 23 (3): 376–89.

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Wilson, T. and Gallop, A. (2013) ‘Criminal justice, science and the marketplace: the closure of the forensic science in perspective’, Journal of Criminal Law, 77 (1): 56–77. Wilson, T., Stockdale, M. W., Gallop, A. and Lawler, B. (2014) ‘Regularising the regula­ tor: the government’s consultation about placing the forensic science regulator on a statutory footing’, Journal of Criminal Law, 78 (2): 136–63. Wilson­Kovacs, D. (2014) ‘Backroom boys’: occupation dynamics in crime scene exami­ nation’, Sociology, 48 (4): 763–79. Wyatt, D. (2014) ‘Practising crime scene investigation: trace and contamination in routine work’, Policing and Society, 24 (4): 443–58.

5

Reconstructing a reconstructive science Probability and performativity in forensic investigation

Introduction This chapter further examines assertions about the epistemological character of forensic investigation. Many forensic scientists have themselves reflected about the nature of their work and the scientific status of forensic practices. A range of ideas have been put forward regarding what unites the various forms of evidential analysis that may be included under the term ‘forensic science’. The first part of the chapter describes such reflections and outlines how contemporary commenta­ tors have sought to engage more closely with various positions drawn from the philosophy of science and epistemology. Interpretations of probability based around Bayes’ Theorem have formed a popular basis for siting the epistemological character of forensic science in certain jurisdictions, including England and Wales. In outlining these epistemological assertions, the chapter poses the following question – precisely how are these epistemological claims enacted, and what consequences arise from such enactments? What kind of relationships exist between these claims and actual forensic investigative practice? The chapter investigates these questions with a specific focus on the rise of statistical methods based on Bayes’ Theorem and a forensic reasoning framework known as Case Assessment and Interpretation (CAI).

Reflections on the epistemological identity of forensic reasoning The history of forensic science is marked by numerous claims made about the epistemological status of forensic science and criminal investigation. Variously descriptive and/or prescriptive, some claims have sought to define forensic activity in terms of specific notions of the ‘scientific method’. In some cases, the alignment of criminal investigation with the scientific method may have reflected a certain reforming intent, as reflected, for example, through the work of key figures such as Hans Gross. Other early pioneers, such as Edmond Locard, made claims about the supposedly unique character of forensic scien­ tific reasoning. One of the most well­known early examples is Locard’s ‘Exchange Principle’:

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Reconstructing a reconstructive science The principle is this one. Any action of an individual, and obviously, the violent action constituting a crime, cannot occur without leaving a mark. What is admirable is the variety of these marks. Sometimes they will be prints, sometimes simple traces, and sometimes stains. (Locard 1934: 7–8)

Although Locard extensively catalogued the analysis of evidential materials, it is not clear whether he conducted experiments that directly demonstrated the verac­ ity of the exchange principle. In an attempt to perhaps demonstrate the ancient origins of the principle, Locard made an analogy with the ways in which ancient hunters pursued their prey via the traces they left, but this seems to have been the only way in which he attempted to authenticate his principle. Nevertheless, his principle has endured among forensic practitioners. While Locard’s ‘Exchange Principle’ may be epistemologically questionable, it continues to be taught on training courses for crime scene examiners (Wyatt 2014) who appear to have readily accepted and even internalized Locard’s claims (Williams 2007). A desire to isolate the unique epistemological character of forensic science possi­ bly also reflects interests in establishing a degree of scientific respectability and to promote an image of a credible practice. Professor Paul Kirk of the University of California, Berkeley, is widely regarded as another influential figure in the develop­ ment of forensic science. His 1963 Paper, ‘The Ontogeny of Criminalistics’, proclaimed it to be the ‘science of individualization’ (‘criminalistics’ being a term sometimes used to describe the analysis of trace evidence) (Kirk 1963: 236). Since then, discussions of the cognitive and ratiocinative character of forensic science have often centred on particular philosophical interpretations of the scientific method (Williams 2008). For example, Jamieson (2004) sought to frame forensic science as congruent with the hypothetico­deductive method, proceeding via the formulation, testing and possible elimination or acceptance of hypotheses. Other contrasting claims have been made concerning the epistemological nature of forensic reasoning. Some of these relate to the concept of philosophical abduction which is frequently associated with Charles Sanders Peirce, often affiliated with the pragmatist school of philosophy (Eco 1983; Truzzi 1983; Nordby 2000). Peirce differentiated between three different forms of reasoning: deduction, induction and abduction. The first of these is generally taken to involve arguments in which the premises are claimed to support a conclusion in such a way that it is impossible for the premises to be true and the conclusion false (Hurley 2000: 33). Induction, on the other hand, involves an argument in which the premises are claimed to support a conclusion in such a way that it is improbable for the premises to be true and yet the conclusion false. Abduction is often regarded as a less clearly defined notion, but Walton (2004: 9) cites three key characteristics. First, abduction may be thought of as a means of narrowing down a multiplicity of alternative explanations for an event by selecting one or a few particular hypotheses. Second, it can be conceived of as a process of guessing or choosing the right guess – a fallible process in which wrong hypotheses can be chosen as often as correct ones. Third, it is often

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involved when a new phenomenon is observed which is unable to be explained by current scientific understandings. On this basis it can be summarized that abduction generally involves the assessment, on the basis of observable signs, of an inferential hypothesis which can account for the observations, which may then be tested in some way to determine the extent of its explanatory power. The precise basis of abductive reasoning continues to be debated (see, for example, Eco 1983; Magnani 2001). It has attracted interest from a wider community of scholars interested in the epistemology of evidence, which includes philosophers, statisticians, legal scholars and forensic scientists (Eco and Sebeok 1983; Nordby 2000; Schum 2000). Abductive reasoning has been associated by some with applications of Bayes’ Theorem, an interpretation of probability theory regarded as a means of updating subjective belief in the light of new data (Lipton 2004; Jackson et al. 2006). Discussions concerning the application of statistics and probability in legal reasoning date back at least to the early 1960s (Ball 1961; Finkelstein and Fairley 1970; Tribe 1971). Around the same time, the increased use of statistics, includ­ ing Bayes’ Theorem, was being advocated within the US forensic science community as a means of improving the robustness of criminalistics techniques, including areas of trace evidence analysis such as toolmark identification (Kingston 1965a, 1965b). The use of Bayes’ Theorem came to be promoted in the UK through the work of certain key individuals, such as Ian Evett and colleagues in the Interpretation Research Group at the FSS (Evett 1986, 1987). This group included statisticians and forensic scientists interested in the possibilities for Bayes’ Theorem to facilitate more robust means of testing hypotheses concerning criminal cases. The advent of DNA profiling, moreover, notably increased aware­ ness of Bayes’ Theorem in forensic circles. The interpretation of DNA profiles, grounded in population genetics, was readily quantifiable and stimulated the development of various statistical methods (Buckleton et al. 2004). Concerns over the quality of forensic practice and responses to miscarriages of justice have been accompanied by an ongoing desire to establish more robust epistemological foundations for forensic science and practice. Some commenta­ tors have advocated that applications of probability theory be adopted to help underpin a ‘new paradigm’ in forensic science, to bring it closer to accepted notions of conventional scientific propriety (Saks and Faigman 2008). In the UK, Bayes’ Theorem has received continued attention as a basis for advancing what could be regarded as epistemic reform in forensic science and practice (Evett and Joyce 2005). Bayesian reasoning has been portrayed as advancing a more rigor­ ous and conditional approach to the interpretation of forensic evidence. This has sometimes been contrasted with the seemingly categorical, binary logic of older forensic practices in areas such as fingerprint analysis (Broeders 2006). In England and Wales, the use of Bayes’ Theorem, however, suffered a setback via the appeal court verdict in the case R v T, heard in October 2010, where Bayesian methods used to assess the significance of a footwear print were ruled inadmissible (R v T [2010]). The alleged lack of transparency of reasoning and of a ‘sound basis’ upon which to make assessments were cited as reasons for

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rejecting this evidence (Hamer 2012). The R v T decision has been controversial among the forensic community as it has effectively discouraged expert witnesses from testifying in court using probabilistic approaches. It has been perceived by some as a return to more subjective claims to expertise, and something of a retro­ grade step given attempts to promote statistical methods in UK forensic science (group discussion with UK forensic stakeholder, 2014). The R v T court decision may have exerted a certain impact on the way experts testify in court but it has not blunted a desire among the forensic community to utilize the Bayesian approach in investigations, if not necessarily for courtroom testimony. Bayesian reasoning has subsequently been defended in relevant litera­ ture (Aitken 2012; Biedermann et al. 2012; Nordgaard and Rasmussen 2012), and has continued to be promoted by statisticians to the legal community in England and Wales (Roberts and Aitken 2014). Despite being subject to recent challenge, the ‘likelihood approach’ influenced by Bayes’ Theorem appears set to maintain an influence on forensic science and practice. Bayesian reasoning has been influ­ ential in promoting a more balanced form of evidence interpretation where both hypothetical prosecution and defence positions are taken into account. The rise of Bayesian methods has also shaped working relations between forensic scientists and their chief clients, the police. Bayesian methods emphasize greater clarity for the kinds of questions police may wish to ask about evidence in relation to an investigation (interviews with Home Office representatives, 2010, 2014). This has led to changes to paperwork which police complete when submitting evidence to forensic scientists. While more sceptical attitudes towards Bayes’ Theorem are apparent in certain parts of the world such as the USA (Bodziak 2012), the Theorem has nonetheless helped shape the modern disciplinary identity of forensic science to a significant degree, particularly in the UK, Europe and Australasia (Hamer 2012). The emergence of Bayes’ Theorem in forensic science has been accompanied by assertions that the central defining activity of the latter is best characterized as ‘the interpretation of [scientific] results in the individual context of each case’ (Barclay and McCartney 2007: 1, emphasis added). Such expressions align with more recent concerns which have been expressed over the ostensibly diffuse and heterogeneous character of forensic science. Ribaux and colleagues have, for example, warned about the possibility of a silo mentality hindering the develop­ ment of general principles to guide the course of forensic investigations (see, for example, Ribaux and Talbot Wright 2014).1 The Case Assessment and Interpretation (CAI) framework represents a notable example of an attempt to introduce a more systematic, unified approach to forensic investigation through a set of guidelines for the evaluation and interpretation of evidence. CAI, consciously based on Bayesian principles, emerged via the work of the FSS Interpretation Research Group during the early 1990s. CAI represents an attempt to provide a more robust framework for forensic reasoning, using statis­ tical methods to evaluate hypotheses pertaining to criminal investigative case­ work. CAI was developed in order to identify the most promising lines of inquiry that could be pursued through certain evidential analyses. This aspect of CAI was

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a response to the growing budgetary devolution occurring in police forces at the time, and hence reflected a certain desire to streamline the resources of both foren­ sic scientists and their chief ‘customers’, the police (Lawless and Williams 2010). CAI has been influential in both the UK and across Europe (interview with forensic scientist in Republic of Ireland, 2010). The Association of Forensic Science Providers (AFSP), a group of private forensic firms and police organiza­ tions based in the UK and Republic of Ireland, has endorsed CAI principles (AFSP 2009). In Europe, ENFSI has promoted guidelines for evaluative reporting similar to CAI concepts (ENFSI 2015). CAI has been the subject of numerous peer­reviewed journal articles and related methods have found their way onto the curricula of forensic science degree programmes. Discussions with forensic case­ workers also suggest a noticeable degree of familiarity with CAI principles. However, the manner in which CAI has been used in actual casework is less well understood. Precisely how has Bayes’ Theorem been used in forensic practice? The following sections seek to illuminate this question through a further explo­ ration of CAI, drawing upon a number of resources, including scientific articles from peer­reviewed journals and published interviews. The following sections also utilize a number of qualitative semi­structured interviews and group discus­ sions conducted between 2006 and 2014. Respondents included forensic scien­ tists working in the United Kingdom and the Republic of Ireland. This included consultations with two highly experienced forensic scientists (here termed ‘foren­ sic scientist 1 and 2’, who had testified in numerous high­profile criminal cases. These respondents had been significantly involved with the development of Bayesian reasoning frameworks. The next section introduces the rationale of CAI and key elements of the framework before describing issues arising from its use in casework practice. In doing so, it is possible to identify issues of significance for forensic science and sociology alike.

Forensic science and Bayesian reasoning CAI is intended to guide the formation of sets of propositions which represent an attempt to account for a specific criminal case. The use of CAI seeks to meet two aims: first, to enable scientists and investigators to make more robust, testable and transparent judgments in the course of police casework; and second, to enable police clients to pre­assess the potential utility a particular scientific analysis might add to their investigations. This is meant to enable the police to make informed choices with regard to how they allocate their forensic science budgets and marks a conscious attempt to help provide greater value for money (Lawless and Williams 2010). CAI assumes that evidence interpretation is a collaborative course of action that involves a significant degree of consultation and input from other actors from the outset. This approach was contrasted with an older, police­led model of investigation, in which suspects were identified through non­forensic means, with the collection and deployment of forensic evidence largely being informed by a

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concern to more authoritatively incriminate these suspects (interview, forensic scientist 2, 2008). This older, more prosecutorial model, was viewed as danger­ ously subjective and unscientific. Bayesian reasoning has been regarded by certain forensic scientists as a means of improving forensic reasoning by provid­ ing a mathematical framework for testing subjective intuitions: Interpretation is, of course, a part of everyday life and it is possible to visualise a kind of spectrum. At one extreme there is pure intuition, which defies rational analysis. At the other extreme is pure logic. Scientific judgement cannot be based on pure intuition or ‘hunch’ … the scientist should, as far as possible, be able to rationalise the opinion that is presented. The opinion might be supported by data: there is, indeed, a kind of data spectrum ranging from the case where the opinion rests largely on an established data collection to the case at the other extreme where there are no data and the opinion is entirely based on experi­ ence. In any case, the expert opinion is necessarily subjective, but it should always conform to logical principles. Those principles are furnished by consid­ ering probability theory as a means of reasoning under uncertainty: this leads to the Bayesian view of evidence interpretation … (Evett et al. 2000: 234) In this context Bayesianism is thought of as embodying certain key principles informing the correct practice of evidence interpretation: • • •

Interpretation of scientific evidence is carried out within a framework of circumstances, dependent on the structure and content of the framework. Interpretation is only meaningful when two or more competing propositions are addressed. The role of the forensic scientist is to consider the probability of the evidence given the propositions that are addressed. (Evett et al. 2000: 235)

CAI authors have argued that the primary role of the forensic scientist in a criminal investigation is to consider the repertoire of claims and allegations of investigators, advocates and witnesses which together comprise the framework of circumstances in which the scientist operates (Cook et al. 1999). Construction of such a frame­ work of circumstances is taken to be a necessary prerequisite for the development of propositions relevant to the evidence and the case. CAI authors stress the need for scientists to take a ‘balanced view’ of each case, in line with what they regard as the principles of ‘the Bayesian view of evidence, that it is not sensible for a scientist to attempt to concentrate on the validity of a particular proposition without considering at least one alternative’ (Cook et al. 1998a: 153). At each stage of the process, scientists are obliged to consider at least two competing propositions, most commonly relating to a proposition relevant to a prosecution hypothesis and another relevant for a defence hypothesis. This involves identifying precisely what kind of propositions should be assessed. In some cases, the proposition of interest

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may appear to be somewhat removed from the crime under investigation, possibly relating to the investigation of the origins of transfer evidence, e.g. ‘these fibres came from this garment’. Such a proposition may relate to the crime due to the wider framework of circumstances. For example, the fibres in question may have been recovered from the scene of an apparent burglary. Subsequently a possible suspect may be arrested wearing a garment which might match with the fibres recovered from the scene. Forensic scientists may wish to determine how signifi­ cant any match may be, particularly if the garment in question is unusual or rare. In older models of investigation, forensic evidence was only identified and analysed if it was regarded as contributing toward the construction of a case against an individual normally already suspected by the police. The decision to carry out particular forensic tests was often the preserve of police officers them­ selves, who may have perceived certain items of evidence as yielding potentially incriminating forensic information, regardless of their specific level of scientific understanding. CAI obliges scientists, however, to take a more neutral and balanced view of evidence, requiring them to consider defence and prosecution hypotheses in order to generate likelihood ratios (LRs). The generic LR formula is typically derived in the following way: Posterior probability (Probability of a hypothesis given evidence) = Prior probability (Probability of hypothesis) × Probability of evidence given hypothesis Or, in mathematical terms: P (H|E) = P(H) × P(E|H) In a forensic context, two hypotheses pertaining to prosecution (Hp) and defence (Hd) positions are considered using the Bayesian­type formula: P(Hp|E) = P(Hp) ´ P(E|Hp) P(Hd|E) = P(Hd) ´ P(E|Hd) The ratio P(E|Hp) / P(E|Hd) is the likelihood ratio (LR). LRs can provide an indication of whether a piece of evidence favours a prosecution or defence argu­ ment P(Hp|E) or P(Hd|E). The generation of LRs involves the formulation of pairs of prosecution and defence propositions: LR =

Probability of the evidence if prosecution proposition is true Probability of the evidence if defence propositionn is true

This form enables the scientist to represent their expectations more precisely. For example, in an assault case it may be necessary to examine an item of a suspect’s

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clothing in order to determine whether any fibres from the victim’s clothing might have been transferred in the course of an assault being carried out. This might lead the scientist to express the following expectation: ‘If x numbers of transferred fibres are found then the prosecution or defence hypothesis is y times more likely.’ If x numbers of fibres are found, then the LR may favour the prosecution position (where the LR is commonly expressed as a number of >1, which can extend into the thousands or even millions), or the defence position (where the LR will be commonly expressed as 5 yr sentence 2nd conviction

three years. This requires a Chief Police Officer to appeal to the recently installed Biometrics Commissioner, who then can make a decision regarding retention (if granted, this period can be extended by a further two years by order of a District Judge). This is only possible, however, if they have not been convicted of any previous offence; otherwise the DNA and fingerprint data of previously convicted individuals is retained indefinitely. Persons arrested in connection with a minor ‘non­qualifying’ offence, but who have never previously been in contact with the police under any circumstances and who are subsequently not charged with a non­ qualifying offence, have their DNA profiles automatically deleted if an NDNAD search does not reveal any matches. The Biometrics Commissioner is independent of the UK Home Office but is appointed by and reports to the Home Secretary. The Biometrics Commissioner is responsible for making decisions on applications from the police to retain DNA profiles and fingerprints from individuals under the terms of PoFA. These appli­ cations concern individuals who have been arrested but not charged with, or convicted of, a qualifying offence in England and Wales. The Biometrics Commissioner has the power to order the destruction of biometric material where it is considered that the criteria for extended retention have not been met. The threshold between qualifying offences and non­qualifying offences has raised issues early in the PoFA regime. Cases have come to light in which an individual has been arrested in connection with a qualifying offence but subse­ quently charged with a lesser offence (MacGregor 2014). One such case involved an individual arrested on suspicion of grievous bodily harm (GBH), a qualifying offence. The suspect was, however, subsequently charged with Common Assault, a non­qualifying offence. This case illustrates a complicating factor resulting from PoFA. Cases where arrests had taken place in connection with qualifying offences, but where the suspect was subsequently charged with a non­qualifying

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offence, should lead to an individual’s biometric records being deleted if they were acquitted of the non­qualifying offence of which they had been charged, in the absence of police objections. If, however, the suspect pleaded or was found guilty of the non­qualifying offence, their data is retained. If the suspect is acquit­ ted of the non­qualifying offence, police can notify the individual that they may wish to appeal the removal of their biometric data. This is a process termed ‘interim notification’, which has emerged as a consequence of PoFA. Questions have also been raised over the classification of specific offences under PoFA. Currently, offences relating to the possession of prohibited weapons (fire­ arms, knives and other bladed weapons) and the importation of Class A drugs with intent to supply are listed as non­qualifying offences. The Biometrics Commissioner has suggested that, given the seriousness of theses offences and the potential value of biometric data in investigating them, the list of qualifying offences could be changed (MacGregor 2014). The boundary between qualifying and non­qualifying offences remains open to being redrawn through future legislative intervention. Another notable issue concerns the costs to the police of complying with the new system. It has been found that these costs are compounded by some limita­ tions of the Police National Computer (PNC) system, which holds records of persons arrested, charged and convicted of criminal offences. ‘The limitations of the PNC have created difficulties for forces in identifying cases where it may be appropriate for them to make applications for extended retention [such as] cases in which someone without previous convictions has been arrested for, but not charged with, a qualifying offence’ (MacGregor 2014: para. 106). In the absence of easy identification of possible cases for application, forces such as the MPS have had to engage in expensive sifting exercises to ‘identify all the cases in their areas in which an arrestee has been [labelled ‘No Further Action’] for a qualifying offence; and then to exclude from that (sizeable) group of cases, all those in which the arrestee’s biometric material can be retained otherwise than pursuant to an application’ (MacGregor 2014: para. 107). While the Biometrics Commissioner has proposed changes to the PNC, these have yet to be implemented. Complications have arisen regarding jurisdictional relations between England and Wales and other jurisdictions, such as Scotland and Northern Ireland, and also elsewhere. Sections 61(6D), 62(2A) and 63(3E) of PACE grant police the authority to take fingerprints and DNA from anyone who has been convicted outside England and Wales of an offence that constitutes a qualifying offence in England and Wales. Section 63J allows the police to retain these samples indefinitely. Current legisla­ tive arrangements mean, however, that DNA profiles and the fingerprints of thou­ sands of people convicted of qualifying­type offences outside England and Wales have had to be deleted. This has given the police the problem of deciding whether it is appropriate or not to take further samples from these individuals, and if so, how to approach them. As the Biometrics Commissioner has noted: Quite apart from the obvious resourcing and operational burdens that this involves for forces – and the possibility that some of the individuals in question may prove to be untraceable – it could reasonably be argued that re­arresting

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Forensic technology, ethics and society and re­sampling an individual following a conviction outside England and Wales constitutes a greater interference with their privacy than simply retaining biometric material which has already been obtained from them. (MacGregor 2014: para. 94)

The issue of the retention of biometric material from persons convicted of offences outside England and Wales, but who might conceivably be of interest to police, presents complications. The NDNAD owes its existence to a combination of scientific advances, contingent legal developments and political and legislative interventions govern­ ing police powers to sample and retain DNA from individuals. The UK’s policy was, however, successfully challenged by the European Court of Human Rights. DNA databasing policy and practice is now characterized by significant complex­ ity, and potential stakeholder tensions, particularly in terms of assessing the risks posed by individuals to society. The subsequent rules introduced via PoFA have also introduced some practices which may not necessarily have been anticipated, such as the charging of individuals for non­qualifying offences when arrested for qualifying offences. Technological limitations, such as those of the PNC, have also complicated the implementation of PoFA. One issue that impacts upon questions of retention and inclusion on DNA databases relates to the utility of such data. To what extent can we attribute DNA as having a meaningful impact on the detection rate for particular crimes relative to other forms of evidence, and also how does DNA impact upon police prac­ tices? How is it possible to measure the impact of solving one case in terms of impact on the wider landscape of criminal offending? Is the resolution of certain crimes more ‘valuable’ relative to other forms of crime? A small number of quan­ titative studies have addressed the effect of DNA databasing on offending (see, for example, the work of Roman et al. 2008; Doleac 2012). Measuring the impact of forensic DNA is, however, problematic. DNA evidence may play a varying role in criminal investigations, and forensic scientists often stress the need to account for the wider framework of case circumstances when interpreting DNA profiles (see Chapters 5 and 6). Some previous studies have suggested police forces have often made overstated or hasty conclusions from the presence of DNA evidence, without fully considering the possible activities which may have led to its deposition.2 This highlights the need to also understand how DNA is used by police, rather than just measuring the impact of its use. Studying the impact of the NDNAD in England and Wales also presents complexities given the changing history of legislation governing sampling and retention. Laws governing NDNAD retention have changed relatively quickly over time. While there is a need for further research to better understand the impact of PoFA, such work would need to address the variety of categories intro­ duced by recent legislation. Other issues include the possibility of whether inclu­ sion or exclusion on the basis of a non­qualifying offence has any effect on subsequent potential offending of a more serious nature. Legislation has changed due to a variety of reasons, including the contingencies exposed by cases such as

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R v B. These shifting sands present a challenge to social researchers in studying offending over long periods of time. The rise of the NDNAD has nonetheless been accompanied by further meth­ odological innovations. Two notable examples are familial searching and DNA phenotyping. The next section introduces these examples in order to highlight the problem of understanding not just the status and potential of new technology, but also the ethical issues such innovations may raise.

Familial searching Familial searching involves the comparison of an unknown DNA profile recov­ ered from a crime scene with known DNA database profiles to determine if the unknown source of DNA may be related to someone on the database. Revealing such a link may help the police to identify fresh leads and possibly to identify new persons of interest. The technique exploits the inheritance of DNA from an individual’s parents, and the likelihood that an individual shares considerable amounts of DNA with siblings. Contemporary DNA profiling techniques do not analyse DNA regions which exhibit biological functionality, known commonly as genes. Instead, forensic techniques analyse DNA fragments, or alleles, which do not have any known biological function. Genotype matches in familial search­ ing are typically reported using a statistical framework which evaluates the extent to which two profiles might be related. It takes into account how probable it is that certain individuals might share particular alleles and how frequently certain alleles occur within a population. Familial searching has been used in cases where there are no obvious suspects or in ‘cold cases’ which may have lain unresolved for several years. The identi­ fication of leads and new suspects through familial search may be aided further by other information, such as a suspect’s locality, age or appearance, which may help to increase the likelihood that a suspect identified through familial search may be the perpetrator. In 1973, three 16­year­olds were raped, strangled and left in wooded areas near Neath, South Wales. The same unknown DNA profile was found at each scene. The offences lay unsolved for nearly 30 years before the case was reopened. Five hundred nominal suspects were investigated and the DNA of 353 persons of interest were typed but there were no matches with the perpetrator. Suspect no. 200 was Joseph Kappen, from whom no DNA sample had been taken due to his death 12 years earlier. In 2001, an FSS scientist manually searched the NDNAD looking for an allele­ sharing pattern typical of a parent–child relationship. He identified Paul Kappen who was 7 years old at the time of the murders. Paul Kappen was Joseph’s son. Paul had been arrested in connection with car theft and had his DNA loaded onto the NDNAD. Police identified a match and considered that there might be some family connection with Paul Kappen and the murderer. The police found out that Paul’s father was Joseph Kappen. They persuaded Paul’s mother (Joseph’s wife) and Joseph’s daughter (Paul’s sister) to volunteer samples. From this

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combination of profiles they were able to piece together a DNA profile which they deduced was Joseph Kappen’s, and which also matched the DNA sample recovered from the three victims. The police then sought permission to exhume Joseph Kappen’s body and took DNA from bone and teeth tissue. They found it matched with the profile which they had pieced together from Kappen’s family and which also matched the unknown profile from the three victims. The familial search method raises ethical and social issues, particularly in terms of how it might challenge ideas people may hold about privacy, family relation­ ships and kinship (Suter 2010). It has also been criticized for potentially perpetu­ ating erroneous and discriminatory attitudes about ethnicity and crime (Murphy 2010). Implicating family members in an investigation where a relative might be involved could have serious consequences. Haimes (2006) has suggested that technologies of forensic identification may exert a profound impact on matters of identity for individuals and families (Haimes 2006). Via familial searching, an individual can become a ‘genetic informant’, who may feel responsible for conse­ quences of the familial search, with the possibility of previously unknown genetic connections being revealed. These may reveal new genetic links which might expose new knowledge about the behaviours and actions that created those links, such as adultery or incest. These hitherto assumed genetic links may challenge long­standing social relationships. Through familial searching, individuals could in theory find that they are not genetically related to those they assumed to be family and instead may realize they are related to strangers. The position of the ‘genetic informant’ on the database may bring unwanted intrusion. Any subsequent scrutiny into a family’s life could lead to the suspect becoming ostracized. Families may feel collectively labelled as ‘criminal types’ (Haimes 2006; Murphy 2010). Major revelations about previously unknown asso­ ciations could, in some cases, lead individuals to question, and even redefine, who they and their families are. Families will have to deal with the possible conse­ quences long after the police investigation is over, regardless of the outcome.

Phenotypic profiling Phenotypic profiling refers to methods whereby DNA data is used to infer a suspect’s physical characteristics. The FSS developed limited forms of pheno­ typic profiling, including a test for red hair and tests which claimed to infer the ethnicity of an individual from a DNA profile. Some jurisdictions have been proactive in facilitating the use of phenotypic profiling. The Netherlands is a notable example. In 1994 the Dutch Parliament passed the Forensic DNA Typing Act which, at the time, only allowed DNA profiles to be compared. In 2003, however, the Netherlands passed the Law on External Visible Characteristics (EVCs). This regulates the determination of EVCs of ‘unknown’ suspects by forensic genetic methods. The Law on EVCs currently governs two physical traits which may be identified through DNA (sex and ethnicity), but has been specifically designed as ‘window­case legislation’ (Toom 2012), intended to anticipate possible future developments in technology.

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The Law on EVC may permit the identification of other physical traits, possibly eye colour for example, if the technology develops in the future. Phenotypic profiling may be useful when the ‘usual suspects’ (e.g. family, friends, partners, colleagues, etc.) are excluded as the possible perpetrators of a crime. This method groups together individuals of similar appearance. Individuals who have similar external visible characteristics (e.g. male, brown eyes, European ancestry etc.) may become targeted as subjects of interest for further investiga­ tion, not so much by known circumstances derived from the incident but by means of scientific methods and genetic insights (Prainsack 2010). In Netherlands, subjects of interest may be requested to provide DNA in ‘dragnets’, where police actively solicit profiles from suspects (Toom 2012). Concerns have been expressed that phenotypic profiling leads to a reversal of the onus of proof and implies an erosion of the presumption of innocence (HGC 2009). However, some scientists supportive of phenotyping have argued that it is ethically sound. They claim that EVC techniques are more reliable than eyewit­ ness evidence. Those expressing such a view point out that EVCs are visible to all, and are reported in more precise, conditional probabilistic terms. Kayser and Schneider (2009) also emphasize that police will only evaluate the predicted EVC information in the context of other intelligence within a given case. Those more critical of phenotyping, such as M’charek et al. (2012), have asserted that there may be considerable difficulties in defining specific population and ethnic groups, and that the approach does not correlate with population genetics research. In raising the issue of ‘defining populations – both at the level of scientific research, and the application of EVCs in criminal investigation’ – these critics suggest that not only individual rights, but also civil rights of entire populations are at stake (M’charek et al. 2012: e17). An increasing amount of forensic genetics research has sought to explore possible links between specific DNA patterns and certain ethnic groups. In doing so, this general approach exposes the risks of assuming too much knowledge of ethnicity, derived from genetic research which is itself based on a priori, socio­ cultural assumptions regarding ethnic classification (Ossorio and Duster 2005). The development of phenotyping requires scientists to conduct research on samples and profiles. The requirement for ready access to DNA populations of certain groups may necessitate the use of existing databases. Previously it has transpired that originators of DNA samples used in method development have been denied any kind of information, informed consent, autonomy or control over their cellular material in the course of such research. The group Genewatch were able to access details about research using the NDNAD and reveal some methods which could be construed as somewhat crude: The list of projects included some ‘operational requests’, including one on behalf of the police, to check the Database for named individuals. One research project involved the selection of some groups of individuals from the Database on the basis of ‘having an African name’, ‘having typical Muslim names’, or ‘having typical Hindu/Sikh names’. (Wallace 2008: 11)

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Critics of phenotypic profiling and related research claim that ethnic classifiers (e.g. ‘white Caucasian’ etc.) are inevitably cultural labels and do not reflect underlying genetic reality (Ossorio and Duster 2005). Some critics point to scien­ tific findings which suggest that ethnicity and differentiations in skin colour are most likely the result of the combined action of several genes, together with interactions with environmental and social factors (Nuffield Council on Bioethics 2007: 80). Such arguments emphasize that the relationship between gene activity and the environment is complex and as yet poorly understood. In the absence of a rigorous understanding of the genetic basis of appearance, current attempts at phenotypic profiling could risk reinforcing a tautologous relationship between culturally assumed labels and claims to ethnic linkages with DNA. There has nonetheless been at least one notable recent instance where DNA has been used to try and generate ‘e­fits’ of the inferred appearance of a suspect. In 2015, DNA phenotyping attracted the attention of news media worldwide via its use to investigate the deaths of Candra Alston and her three­year old daughter in Columbia, South Carolina, USA. Investigating this suspected double murder had been hindered by the lack of clues, with the lack of eyewitness information being particularly problematic. City of Columbia police went public with an image purporting to resemble a ‘person of interest’. This image had been created via a system named ‘Snapshot’ developed by Parabon Nanolabs of Virginia, with financial support provided by the US Department of Defense. Snapshot generated the image via a DNA sample of unknown origin left at the scene. Parabon claim that the system worked by comparing DNA fragments from the unknown profile against those from a database of ten thousand individuals. This image was then circulated to the public in South Carolina (Parabon Nanolabs 2015). Discussions over this technique with UK forensic stakeholders raised a series of concerns. The resulting image resembles that of a fairly young Afro­American male (Parabon Nanolabs 2015). It is, however, rather generic and not far removed from that found in a computer game. The lack of verisimilitude of such images is a concern, due to the risk of possible confirmation bias. Any individual bearing even a passing resemblance to the image might be subject to undue attention. UK forensic stakeholders expressed a concern about misidentification in an area where racial sensitivities may exist (expert discussion, 2015). Confidence in the technology could therefore be affected by criticisms of its accuracy and possible misuses risking subsequent social tensions. This application of phenotyping raises the issue of whether it can be used reli­ ably as evidence or whether it is better suited for intelligence purposes, to gener­ ate new leads upon which police may then gather other evidence. This links to issues of reliability. Intelligence may have a lower threshold of reliability if it is merely used to guide an investigation, where other, more robust evidence may be subsequently found (notwithstanding the possibility of racially discriminatory police practices – see Duster (2004)). The use of phenotyping in the Alston murders also raises the issue of disclosure. Should phenotyping data be released publicly or should it be only for police use?

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Another issue specific to phenotyping concerns the limits in terms of what kind of genetically inherited traits should be used for investigative purposes. DNA phenotyping may not just potentially involve predicting physical appearance but could also be used to ascertain health conditions: There is a distinction between phenotyping for appearance and for health traits … there could well be information that could assist in an investigation over a murder, say, that’s sitting on the other side of the line in the medical area. Where do you draw the line? (Expert discussion, 2015) There is, however, little formalized ethical guidance in place for the forensic use of DNA phenotyping. Ethical guidelines do exist for the use of genetic testing for health purposes, but they largely remain within a conventional medical purview. Genetic traits may indicate current or possible future health conditions. Conventional medical ethics normally emphasizes the right of the individual to know potential future health conditions or to live without that knowledge. In theory, DNA phenotyping could be used ultimately to identify those with health traits which could be useful for identification purposes. Phenotyping which could be used to detect genes linked with health conditions from an unknown sample could conceivably lead to suspects being tested for the presence of the same genetic markers. Those health traits may not have been previously known to the person under suspicion. While currently more theoretical than practical, such an issue raises the question as to what kind of phenotypes might be considered ethi­ cally acceptable to rely on for investigative purposes in the future. While health traits could be strongly probative, they raise issues of the right to know. The examples of familial search and phenotypic profiling invite us to reconsider relations between discourses of scientific authority and societal attitudes. The origins of forensic science lie partly in the nineteenth­century preoccupation with creating sciences of society. Some of these sciences sought to characterize the ‘criminal type’ with reference to physical data about the body, in the belief that recidivists exhibited a distinct inherited physiognomy (Cole 2001). It is worth comparing the discourse of heredity investigation with the current preoccupation with DNA. Forensic DNA profiling does not currently analyse genes which are known to code for specific bodily elements. Instead the forensic use of DNA, at least so far, involves analysis of non­coding regions of DNA, which appear to be functionally useless but which are still inherited from parents. Despite being ‘nonsense’ DNA (as far as is currently scientifically understood), these regions still function as a sort of molecular barcode, facilitating the identification of individu­ als. It has been suggested that familial searching threatens to resurrect the notion that criminality is hereditary (Murphy 2010). While current DNA methods cannot and do not scientifically support this, the emergence of forensic DNA nonetheless possibly risks reinforcing a link between DNA and ‘suspect’ identity. It is therefore possible to assert that, despite scientific and technological advances, societies could risk unintentionally turning full circle back to the

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assumptions of the nineteenth century. While neither familial search nor pheno­ typic profiling provide any evidence for a genetically heritable ‘criminal type’, their existence muddies the waters in terms of how society perceives itself through science. Research undertaken on phenotypic profiling, particularly ethnic inference, risks using culturally defined classifications which may have little or no genetic basis. This could lead to a kind of tautology being perpetuated, where these cultural labels may be used to ‘prove’ themselves through perceived links with DNA taken from persons culturally labelled as such. This and the use of DNA phenotyping in the Candra Alston case raise concerns whether DNA pheno­ typing risks the perpetuation of prejudicial attitudes. Applications of phenotyping could be even more ethically invasive, enabling information about health condi­ tions to be ascertained and impacting upon issues of informed consent. Society may come to know itself through science, but not in ways which scientists might anticipate or necessarily approve of.

Conclusion: inferring ethics and engaging publics The development of technologies such as the NDNAD and their impact upon individuals has previously been framed via the concept of ‘biolegality’ to describe how law has exerted greater control over individuals through their genetic material. Biolegality captures the evolving but increasingly interdepend­ ent relationship between criminal justice and biotechnology encompassing inter­ actions between science, technology, law, policing, legislation and other practices (Lynch and McNally 2009: 284). Biolegality frames the manner in which discourses of ‘infallibility’ and ‘objectivity’ surrounding DNA evidence legiti­ mize ‘exceptional legal procedures’ (ibid.) such as changes to legislation to enable ‘suspect’ individuals to be included on databases. Technologies such as the NDNAD therefore also shape practices of social categorization, creating new types of ‘suspect’ who, while technically innocent, remain under constant suspi­ cion (Lynch and McNally 2009). Rather than conveying an objective representa­ tion of police practice and criminality, forensic technologies could be said to intervene in creating new social orderings. While the history of biolegal technologies such as the NDNAD is marked by a combination of scientific and technological advances and legislative interven­ tions, a notable degree of contingency characterizes the NDNAD and attendant legislation. The R v B case was followed by legislative changes which signifi­ cantly widened the scope of DNA retention. These changes came in the wake of a controversial Appeal Court reversal of a conviction for a serious offence due to the exposure of police irregularities in retaining DNA evidence. It has been argued that the disproportionate population of the NDNAD is a function of who the police may come into contact with and the circumstances surrounding deci­ sions to arrest. DNA legislation can itself raise contingencies. The introduction of PoFA, for example, has seen some operational blurring of the distinction between qualifying and non­qualifying offences, and has made visible cross­ jurisdictional issues between England and Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland.

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PoFA has also faced challenges in the form of technological limitations of the PNC. Hence the co­evolution of, inter alia, technology, law and police practices may be shaped by unanticipated events and interactional contingency. One should, however, remain alert to the role more obdurate social institutions and attitudes may play in shaping the uses of forensic technology. For example, institutionalized norms of European human rights have played an instrumental role in influencing the course of DNA sampling and retention policy in England and Wales. On the other hand, forensic science potentially risks reinforcing enduring societal attitudes. Familial searching and phenotyping raise concerns about the risk of new science perpetuating enduring prejudice, even when scien­ tifically unwarranted. New forensic science could risk perpetuating a form of social reproduction in which old assumptions about the links between criminality, heredity and appearance may re­emerge. Viewed in this way, biolegal interac­ tions should be viewed as being embedded in a wider context of social structures and enduring attitudes which the former can either reshape or reflect. While biolegality holds potential as a means of describing the social shaping of forensic technology, one should remain aware of possible conceptual gaps. Biolegality studies have described relations between law, science and society as unfolding in contingent ways (Lynch and McNally 2009; Lawless 2013). Biolegality research faces challenges, however, in making links between contin­ gent developments and their social­structural and institutional impacts while still retaining a commitment to the agencies through which those contingencies may stem. Unanticipated police practices and malpractices, such as those involved in R v B, the subsequent development of the NDNAD and those post­PoFA raise issues to which policy actors and other forensic stakeholders should be attentive. Such contingencies may ultimately present new legal, ethical and other social questions, presenting challenges to those forensic stakeholders who seek to maintain a stra­ tegic steer. Stakeholders may also be aware of potential future contingencies. It is important to consider the role of discourses articulated in the course of collectively responding to such questions. These discourses themselves may represent signifi­ cant agential responses and hence contributions to biolegal dynamics. Simply put, the act of conversing about forensic science is itself an important part of biolegal­ ity. Through discussion, actors come to understand forensic science, and legal and ethical decisions may be influenced via those discussions. Contemporary scientific (and medical) ethics is based largely around a series of inter­governmental treaties (expert discussion, 2015). Many modern ethical norms in medicine and research science emerged from such international agree­ ments. The ethical discourses on genetic testing which informed and emerged from such agreements primarily relate to scientific research rather than forensic casework. They largely stem from discussions of genetic testing in scientific research or medicine and not explicitly for criminal investigative purposes. This means that the ethical principles underpinning forensic science are not immedi­ ately apparent and have to be inferred. This raises further issues. Who, from the varied community of forensic stakeholders and those who come into contact with forensic science, are able to make ethical decisions? And by what means?

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Inferring the ethics of forensic science is complicated by a constantly changing legislative and scientific landscape. This evolving terrain presents something of a moving target for ethical deliberations. Changing legislation on matters such as the retention of forensic DNA for police purposes provides a challenge to social research which seeks to understand the impact of DNA and attendant regimes on offending. New scientific advances and evolving technology may present further ethical challenges. Public acceptance appears to be a growing priority for the forensic community in England and Wales as a key input to ethical decision­making. There is a perception, however, that public attitudes toward technology may be volatile. A current view, sometimes voiced by forensic stakeholders, is that the projection of a forensic method as anything less than one hundred per cent reliable may have implications for the limits of public acceptability. Projecting science as absolute may facilitate public trust and could promote its use across a relatively wide range of criminal investigations, encompassing serious crime and more routine policing matters. This kind of projection could perhaps support the notion of ‘nothing to hide, nothing to fear’ (HGC 2009) often voiced by those favourably disposed to the widespread implementation of biometric systems such as universal DNA databases. The level of public trust accorded to technology perceived as absolutely reliable may facilitate a greater incursion on individual rights in the name of public safety. On the other hand, any acknowledgment of potential error, no matter how slight the chance, might lead lay audiences to ques­ tion whether incursions into individual rights can be justified. Doubts could also be raised concerning how far such techniques could go in guaranteeing public safety. Hence ethical discourses concerning reliability suggest links with proportionality: One key issue is public perception – how intrusive, are you going too far? An­ other issue of course is how accurate is the technique likely to be? If it is seen as absolute truth, then it may be more acceptable. But if it’s seen as uncertain that ties into how likely it is to be of use, the intrusion into the material of the human genome. How will it be used? Will it be used only for the most egregious crimes, or will it be used for things which are seen as not so serious by the public or as almost socially acceptable crimes? How will it be combined with other data? (Expert discussion 2015) The quote above, however, highlights a dilemma for those seeking to maintain public support of forensic science. It suggests that lay audiences look to science for absolute ‘truths’, but it also indicates the possible reputational risk of acknowledging the uncertainty and conditionality of forensic science. While some may regard this epistemic caution as consistent with scientific propriety, it could also be conceived as a potentially obfuscating matters as far as lay audi­ ences are concerned. An admittance of uncertainty could lead these audiences to question their trust in new science and technology. Biolegality captures the interplay of a wide range of forces which shape the devel­ opment of forensic technologies. Forensic innovation is, however, embedded in a

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wider context of political, economic and organizational interests. By outlining the forensic innovation landscape in England and Wales, the next chapter draws attention to how these interests may challenge conceptions of technological development.

Notes 1. Article 8 states: 1. Everyone has the right to respect for his private and family life, his home and his correspondence. 2. There shall be no interference by a public authority with the exercise of this right except such as is in accordance with the law and is necessary in a democratic soci­ ety in the interests of national security, public safety or the economic well­being of the country, for the prevention of disorder or crime, for the protection of health or morals, or for the protection of the rights and freedoms of others. 2. Forensic DNA profiling was originally seen as providing great promise for solving serious crime, particularly of a sexual nature. DNA profiling, however, provides little help where identity is not an issue. In many cases of rape the offender is known to the victim and so the issue under dispute is consent rather than identity. Cole (2007) has argued that the advent of DNA evidence shifts the onus from identity to consent, which is much more difficult to establish, and where the usefulness of DNA is limited. Hence DNA evidence may make trial hearings more difficult for victims who may be subject to more intense and intimate questioning.

References British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) (2007) ‘All UK must be on DNA database’, BBC News, 5 September. Online at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6979138.stm (accessed 27 September 2013). Cole, S. A. (2001) Suspect Identities: A History of Fingerprinting and Criminal Identification. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cole, S. (2007) ‘How much justice can technology afford? The impact of DNA technology on equal criminal justice’, Science and Public Policy, 34 2: 95–107. Doleac, J. (2012) The Effects of DNA Databases on Crime, Batten Working Paper 2013­ 001, December. Duster, T. (2004) ‘Selective arrests, an ever­expanding DNA forensic database, and the specter of an early twenty­first­century equivalent of phrenology’, in D. Lazer (ed.), The Technology of Justice: DNA and the Criminal Justice System. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, pp. 315–34. Haimes, E. (2006) ‘Social and ethical issues in the use of familial searching in forensic investigations: insights from family and kinship studies’, Journal of Law, Medicine and Ethics, 34 (2): 263–76. Human Genetics Commission (HGC) (2009) Nothing to Hide, Nothing to Fear? Balancing Individual Rights and the Public Interest in the Governance and Use of the National DNA Database. London: HGC. Kayser, M. and Schneider, P. M. (2009) ‘DNA­based prediction of human externally visible characteristics in forensics: motivations, scientific challenges, and ethical considerations’, Forensic Science International: Genetics, 3 (3): 154–61.

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Lawless, C. J. (2009) Helping with Inquiries: Theory and Practice in Forensic Science. PhD thesis, Durham University. Lawless, C. J. (2013) ‘The low­template DNA profiling controversy: biolegality and boundary work among forensic scientists’, Social Studies of Science, 43 (2): 191–214. Lynch, M. and McNally, R. (2003) ‘“Science”, “common sense”, and DNA evidence: a legal controversy about the public understanding of science’, Public Understanding of Science, 12 (1): 183–103. Lynch, M. and McNally, R. (2009) ‘Forensic DNA databases and biolegality: the co­production of law, surveillance technology and suspect bodies’, in P. Atkinson, P. Glasner and M. Lock (eds) Handbook of Genetics and Society: Mapping the New Genomic Era. Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 283–301. Lynch, M., Cole, S. A., McNally, R. and Jordan, K. (2008) Truth Machine: The Contentious History of DNA Fingerprinting. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. M’charek, A., Toom, V. and Prainsack, B. (2012) ‘Bracketing off populations does not advance ethical reflection on EVCs: a reply to Kayser and Schneider’, Forensic Science International: Genetics, 6 (1): e16–e17. MacGregor, A. R. (2014) Annual Report 2014: Commissioner for the Retention and Use of Biometric Material. London: Office of the Biometrics Commissioner. Mansel, C. and Davies, S. (2012) ‘Minors or suspects? A discussion of the legal and ethi­ cal issues surrounding the indefinite storage of DNA collected from children aged 10–18 years on the National DNA Database in England and Wales’, Medicine, Science and the Law, 53 (3): 187–92. Murphy, E. (2010) ‘Relative doubt: familial searches of DNA databases’, Michigan Law Review, 109 (3): 291–348. National DNA Database Strategy Board (2013) Annual Report 2011–12. London: Home Office. National DNA Database Strategy Board (2014) Annual Report 2013–14. London: Home Office. Nuffield Council on Bioethics (2007) The Forensic Use of Bioinformation: Ethical Issues. London: Nuffield Council on Bioethics. Ossorio, P. and Duster, T. (2005) ‘Race and genetics: controversies in biomedical, behav­ ioural and forensic sciences’, American Psychologist, 60 (1): 115–28. Parabon Nanolabs (2015) ‘SnapshotTM Puts a Face on Four­Year­Old Cold Case’. Available online at: http://parabon­nanolabs.com/nanolabs/news­events/2015/01/ snapshot­puts­face­on­four­year­old­cold­case.html (accessed 19 October 2015). Peterson, M. and Robbins, B. (2008) ‘Using the MMPI­A to predict recidivism in adjudi­ cated minors’, Applied Psychology in Criminal Justice, 4 (2): 172–80. Prainsack, B. (2010) ‘Key issues in DNA profiling and databasing: implications for governance’, in R. Hindmarsh and B. Prainsack (eds), Genetic Suspects: Global Governance of Forensic DNA Profiling and Databasing. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, pp. 15–39. R v B (2000) [1999] 7811 R1. Court of Appeal (Criminal Division). Roman, J. K., Reid, S., Reid, J., Chalfin, A., Adams, W. and Knight, C. (2008) The DNA Field Experiment: Cost-Effectiveness Analysis of the Use of DNA in the Investigation of High-Volume Crimes. Washington, DC: Urban Institute Justice Policy Center. S & Marper v United Kingdom (2008) European Court of Human Rights, 4 December, ECHR 1581. Suter, S. M. (2010) ‘All in the family: privacy and DNA familial searching’, Harvard Journal of Law and Technology, 23 (2): 310–99.

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Toom, V. (2012) ‘Bodies of science and law: forensic DNA profiling, biological bodies, and biopower’, Journal of Law and Society, 39 (1): 150–66. Wallace, H. (2008) Prejudice, Stigma and DNA Databases, paper for the Council for Responsible Genetics. Online at: http://www.councilforresponsiblegenetics.org/page­ Documents/PDAFXSTDPX.pdf (accessed 26 September 2013). Williams, R., Johnson, P. and Martin, P. (2004) Genetic Information and Crime Investigation: Social, Ethical and Public Policy Aspects of the Establishment, Expansion and Police Use of the National DNA Database. Project Report, Durham. Youth Justice Board (2005) Risk and Protective Factors. London: Youth Justice Board.

8

Pathways of forensic innovation

Introduction The previous chapter highlighted the challenges that societies face in compre­ hending the social and ethical dimensions of emerging forensic technologies. The contingencies associated with the use and governance of such technologies contribute to how their social and ethical impact is perceived. The discussion also indicated how forensic innovations may become exposed to variable expectations on the part of policy­makers, the police, publics and other stakeholders. These expectations, as well as shaping ethical discourses around new technology, may, in some cases, reflect underlying assumptions about the role of science in society, which may themselves be challenged or perpetuated via further engagements with forensic science and technology. This chapter further explores the conditions through which forensic innova­ tions emerge. Forensic science borrows from a highly variegated knowledge base. Hence innovations derive from multiple channels. Such innovations may reflect a variety of stakeholder interests, including those of policy­makers, funders, law enforcement officials, academic researchers and forensic practition­ ers. This adds further complexity to forensic innovation pathways. In outlining some significant innovation pathways in the UK, this chapter questions the notion that innovation involves a simple translation of ‘pure’ science into technology. Instead, this chapter draws attention to the challenges involved in coordinating the interests of stakeholders. The chapter outlines a series of aspects currently shaping forensic innovation in the UK. These include relations between academic researchers and forensic practitioners, and the role of central policing and govern­ ment authority in the form of ACPO (replaced by the National Police Chiefs Council in 2015) and the Home Office. An increasingly commercial agenda is also impacting upon forensic research and development (R&D), which is also outlined here. The chapter uses the example of digital forensics to illustrate how variegated interests challenge innovation in forensic science and technology. Finally, this chapter builds on Chapter 7 by discussing further how public and police expecta­ tions of forensic technology may hold consequences for innovation. Some earlier perspectives on innovation portrayed ‘pure’ scientific research as directly and unproblematically informing applied research through

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which technology was seen to emerge. These kinds of perspectives also described technology as being commercially marketed to consumers who used it in ways directly envisaged by its developers (Rothwell 1994). Such perspectives associ­ ated with this so­called ‘linear model’ became subject to sustained critique (Freeman 1997). Research has since indicated that innovation involves complex political, economic and socio­ethical dynamics inimical to the idea of the linear model (Hughes 1983; Callon and Law 1988; Fleck et al. 1990; Spinardi 2002). Researchers have also critiqued the framing of technology as the product of expert communities whose innovations are readily and passively accepted by users (Pinch and Bijker 1984). Instead, users of technology have been shown to play a direct role in innovation (Rosen 1993; Kline and Pinch 1996). This chapter considers the current UK forensic innovation landscape in the context of the insights contributed by previous social studies of innovation.

Forensic science research The role and nature of research in forensic science has been an increasing matter of priority in England and Wales. During its lifetime, the FSS demonstrated a significant R&D capacity. During the 1990s, forensic work became more distrib­ uted as other FSPs entered the marketplace in England and Wales. While committed to casework, FSPs have been able to undertake a limited amount of research. In addition to the FSS, employees of other FSPs such as LGC also published research in peer­reviewed journals such as Forensic Science International: Genetics, describing the development or improvement of analytical methods (see, for example, Forster et al. 2008; Dawnay et al. 2014). Chapter 5 described how the epistemic character of forensic science has been the subject of much reflection. Other discussions within forensic communities have focused on more strategic questions concerning forensic education, research and innovation (see, for example, Mennell 2006; Roux and Robertson 2009). Bodies such as the Home Office have played a role in shaping the forensic and policing innovation agenda (see, for example, Home Office 2009, 2012). The desire to establish standards and the introduction of the position of Forensic Regulator also came with a recognition that research was also needed into areas such as evidence interpretation and method development. During the 1990s, the number of degree programmes in forensic science increased notably throughout Higher Education Institutions (HEIs) in the UK. The increasing visibility of forensic science in HEIs began to provide opportuni­ ties for academic staff, sometimes working with external partners, to present research of possible relevance to forensic science and practice. A number of UK HEIs, following the earlier lead of institutions such as Strathclyde University, began to consciously promote their research activities as being of forensic relevance. Different views on the efficacy of such research can be identified. Some work­ ing within the UK HEI system expressed optimism about the quality of forensic science teaching and research offered within academia. Cassella (2008), for

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example, saw HEIs as a positive force to improve the quality of forensic science through accredited courses and increased opportunities to engage with possible research partners. This view was not, however, shared by all. Citing concerns on behalf of ENFSI, Fraser (2009) responded to Cassella by criticizing forensic science departments in HEIs for the lack of published output and for failing to interact with police forces and operational forensic practitioners.1 Fraser portrayed an environment in which the research base of forensic science was diminished, and that academic research on forensics, where it occurred, was largely siloed. This suggested a significant communication gap between academic researchers and the wider practitioner community, and a failure on the part of the former to grasp operational realities and priorities. Other stakeholders experienced a sense of being marginalized from the foren­ sic research agenda. Despite a rise in number and type during the 1990s and 2000s, FSPs sometimes perceived their influence on the strategic development of forensic science to be minimal. In 2009 Mennell and Shaw reported that a group of FSPs felt ‘a lack of input … in determining the strategic development of foren­ sic science’ (Mennell and Shaw 2009: 80). FSPs also expressed concern ‘whether the police saw forensic science as a service that they input into like other services within the police force’ (ibid.). The perception that the police sought to claim ownership of the use of forensic science was seen by FSPs as a disincentive for collaboration (ibid.). Mennell and Shaw reported that FSPs perceived a lack of ability to integrate into policing functions at a strategic level (Mennell and Shaw 2009: 89–90) due to a lack of information regarding policing priorities. FSPs felt they had ‘no opportunities to respond to or inform police priorities on a local or national level other than “one­offs” or local initiatives, that are usually initiated by the SSM [Scientific Support Manager], not operational policing’ (Mennell and Shaw 2009: 90). At the time participating FSPs reported a lack of knowledge ‘of the processes, structures and priorities of the parties involved in the overall investiga­ tion and prosecution of crime (police, Scientific Support Units [SSUs], other FSPs and CJS)’ (ibid.). These knowledge gaps were perceived to create barriers to trust, cooperation and innovation. ‘The lack of trust by the SSUs [may have been] born from misunderstandings and a shortfall in knowledge surrounding the value of forensic science’ (quoted in ibid.: 90). FSPs who contributed to the Mennell and Shaw report regarded the procure­ ment and supply process as seriously stifling research and innovation. During subsequent studies conducted by the author, FSP caseworkers employed in one organization expressed concerns that procurement models such as the NFFA were impacting upon R&D activity (Lawless 2011; see also Chapter 4 of this volume). Similar views were expressed during hearings of the House of Commons Select Committee on Science and Technology in 2011 and 2012/13. The Committee heard that while casework represented opportunities to innovate, time pressures (e.g. attendance at multiple crime scenes throughout the day) prevented the necessary periods of reflection to pursue innovative strategies. Smaller FSPs perceived their own contribution to police work was being

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overlooked by forces and that the police seemed reluctant to grant small FSPs sufficient operational access which could facilitate innovation. The police may not necessarily have shared this view. The demise of the FSS was, however, perceived by some as a serious blow to UK innovation. In 2015, for exam­ ple, one police representative lamented the closure of the FSS, suggesting that the police had a good working relationship with the latter on innovation. According to this individual the demise of the FSS had caused a divergence of innovation routes: I think what used to happen is the Forensic Science Service used to engage with us and say, ‘this [technology] is on the line we need to start working together’. Occasionally they’d develop [technology], they’d say ‘this is what you need to use’. Unfortunately over the last five years that’s not available to us. We haven’t got that single route in. (Police representative, 2015) The closure of the FSS was followed by a review undertaken by Bernard Silverman, Chief Scientific Advisor to the UK Home Office, on R&D activity relating to forensic science (Silverman 2011). Silverman described the research landscape as ‘varied and in some ways fragmented’, with scope for ‘improvement in the degree of linkage and communication’ to facilitate innovation (Silverman 2011: 2). Silverman found forensic research in the UK to be spread across a range of different sites, including FSPs, university departments and government labo­ ratories. A variety of research activities were highlighted in the Silverman report, from ‘blue­sky research, strategic research informed by applications, transla­ tional research and development, and the improvement and advancement of methodology already deployed in practice’ (ibid.). A key issue identified by Silverman was the potential need for greater communication across stakeholders concerning the development and validation of innovations, particularly across the boundary between forensic practitioners and scientists who may be conducting research of potential forensic relevance. Organizations such as the Forensic Science Society (now the Chartered Society of Forensic Sciences (CSFS)), and the Association of Forensic Science Providers were portrayed by Silverman as potential foci for coordinating communication. A number of recommendations emerged from the Silverman review. These included roles for the Forensic Science Regulator in facilitating links across the stakeholder community, and in the promotion of authoritative reviews of the scientific basis of forensic methods, encouraging journals to formulate peer­ review processes for the publication of such reviews. Silverman also paid attention to relations between forensic science and the oversight and support of research in the higher education sector. Partly due to its inherently cross­disciplinary nature, forensic science had for some time been regarded as a difficult fit within methods for evaluating UK HEI research in the form of the Research Assessment Exercise (RAE). The successor to RAE, the Research Excellence Framework (REF), placed more significant emphasis on the impact of research beyond academia. This was viewed by Silverman as ‘an opportunity for forensic science research to

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demonstrate its importance’ (Silverman 2011: 2–3) in the context of academia. Forensic science did not, however, feature as a specific ‘Unit of Assessment’ relating to specific areas of research within the 2014 REF. This effectively amounted to a lack of recognition of the academic status of forensic science. Despite this lack of recognition, the increasing emphasis of the REF to meas­ ure the societal ‘impact’ of HEI research may signal a greater willingness on the part of the national Research Councils to support research of forensic relevance in the future. Forensic science has been increasingly regarded as a loci for promoting cross­disciplinary activity across the UK’s Research Councils, who are key providers of funding for HEIs.2 Questions remain, however, regarding whose interests are represented in such initiatives. To what extent do such research projects deliver operationally significant knowledge, or are the signifiers pertaining to crime, security and forensic science, often prevalent in such funding calls, merely a veneer for research which ultimately serves existing academic agendas (Fraser and Williams 2009: 489)? Relations between academic research and forensic stakeholders continue to vary. Issues around commonality of purpose are apparent. In discussions held in 2014, some forensic stakeholders expressed a desire to guide academics toward innova­ tion challenges, rather than the latter setting their own perceived research agenda for forensic science. Among the UK forensic stakeholder community, there is, however, considerable variance regarding which innovation challenges are viewed as priorities. This possibly reflects the inherent heterogeneity of forensic science and indicates another challenge to establishing a cohesive research base.

The Association of Chief Police Officers Until April 2015, the Association of Chief Police Officers (ACPO) led and coordinated the direction and development of the police service in England, Wales and Northern Ireland (Home Office 2011: para. 1.1). Founded in 1948, ACPO was replaced in April 2015 by a new body, the National Police Chiefs Council (NPCC). ACPO played a prominent role in overseeing forensic science and innovation. ACPO held what it described as a ‘Forensic Portfolio’. The portfolio structure was intended to develop ‘a co­ordinated approach to delivering solutions to policing’ (ibid.: para. 2.4). It aimed to ‘ensure that the maximum benefits [could] be derived from forensic science within the fiscal and organisational constraints placed upon the police service’ (ibid.: para. 2.5). The ACPO Forensic Portfolio Board oversaw a series of subgroups, including performance and standards, business standards, DNA strategy, forensic data­ bases, and pathology and forensic procurement (Home Office 2011). The Science and Innovation subgroup also comprised part of the Forensic Portfolio Board structure. The Science and Innovation subgroup included representation from a range of other stakeholders, such as the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS), the Forensic Regulator, and the Home Office Scientific Development Branch (HOSDB). The Science and Innovation subgroup also included representation from now­defunct organizations such as

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the National Policing Improvement Agency (NPIA) and Serious Organized Crime Agency (SOCA) (whose functions have been subsumed in the National Crime Agency (NCA)). ACPO’s Forensic Science and Innovation subgroup liaised with researchers, provided guidance on ‘research activity in order to align with police priorities’ and identified ‘opportunities from research activity that [could] be utilised in the operational policing environment’ (National Policing Improvement Agency quoted in Home Office 2011: p.126). This subgroup was also aimed at allowing the criminal justice system to speak with one voice on scientific needs (ibid.). Thirty of the 43 police forces in England and Wales were involved with the portfolio system. The MPS did not participate in the system, making decisions regarding the adoption of innovations independently. The ACPO Forensic Portfolio Board nonetheless interacted with an array of other key actors and initiatives. This included Innovate UK (formerly the Technology Strategy Board), the Forensic Science Special Interest Group and the Biometrics Board. The ACPO Forensic Portfolio system was part of a wider governance network for forensics and biometrics strategy, which also included Specialist Groups set up by the Forensic Regulator, and specific projects relating to forensic information systems, quality standards and legislative developments such as the 2012 Protection of Freedoms Act (PoFA). Alongside this, ACPO tasked a Forensics Delivery Board (FDB) with devel­ oping user groups for service delivery, which included training requirements. The Forensics Delivery Board also commissioned and coordinated expert networks to assist them with delivering change in specific forces. The FDB encompassed a series of named business leads in the areas of Crime Scene Investigation, footwear analysis, imaging, quality, fingerprints, DNA, CCTV, hi­tech crime, drugs, innovation and performance. Many of these leads were based in the police. Under this system, the successful passage of new innovations into policing was reliant on the perception of an actual or potential police requirement. The ACPO Science and Innovation Board determined whether a ‘police require­ ment’ could be identified for a specific innovation. If such a requirement was identified, an innovation could then be developed with the assistance of the Innovate UK Forensic Science Community (described further below), who were able to identify technological needs and an expert network through which the innovation could be validated. Innovations could then be trialled and possibly deployed at a local or national level. Even if an innovation did not meet any immediate police requirement, the Science and Innovation Board was able to devote resources to understanding how a specific innovation could assist policing. It is difficult to ascertain just how much progress the ACPO system made in meeting police needs and in shaping a more strategic posture toward forensic R&D. Police forces continue to experience issues in relation to technology, including a lack of integration and interoperability, with ‘systems and processes not talking to each other’ (presentation by police representative, 2014). In the

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post­ACPO era, challenges remain in facilitating systematic communication and a sense of shared purpose between forces: We’ve got forty­three police forces in England and Wales, which are basi­ cally forty­three separate fiefdoms, and do exactly what they want. And trying to herd them is like herding cats! (Police representative, 2015) Economic drivers may yet, however, drive forces further in pursuing innovation along more cooperative lines. Forensic science continues to cost forces consider­ able sums of money, and budgetary considerations play a key role in commis­ sioning certain forms of forensic science. We have got limited funding. So whatever we’re taking forward together, we’d need to take forward together and make sure it’s the way that we want to go. Many times from colleagues within policing, when I refuse to undertake a particular forensic analysis of some type, they come back to me and say ‘what price justice?’ Well the price of justice forensically for [this police force] is £5.9 million. (Police representative, 2015) The ACPO innovation agenda appeared to be predominantly police­led rather than science­led, with technology used to enhance policing functions. There appeared to be less emphasis on the specific needs of forensic practitioners. For example, during the lifetime of ACPO the Forensic Regulator advocated the need for improved understanding of evidential interpretation methodology (discussions with author and FSR representative, 2014). It is uncertain whether such research would have been compatible with the ACPO structure. This is despite moves towards more police in­housing of forensic laboratories. At time of writing, it remains to be seen how the innovation agenda will evolve under the National Police Chiefs Council, and how this new body will work with stakeholders such as the Forensic Regulator.

Home Office Centre for Applied Science and Technology Police procurement of new technology may be independent of the Home Office, but through its Centre for Applied Science and Technology (CAST) the latter is able to provide some influence. In seeking to address crime and security priorities, CAST works with industry and academia to facilitate understanding of operational needs and realities, and collaborates with these partners to develop new technology where no readily available off­the­shelf options exist. CAST also engages in ‘hori­ zon scanning’, anticipating the relationship between future policing challenges and technology. This encompasses a range of emerging issues, currently including the possibilities and risks of driverless vehicles and the forensic challenges posed by the introduction of polymer banknotes. The latter pose issues such as the risk of counterfeiting and their capacity to retain illegal substances such as cocaine. The horizon is naturally constantly changing and new issues may emerge over time.

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CAST comprises approximately 250 staff representing a range of scientific and engineering disciplines, including ICT, chemistry, mathematics, physics, electrical and electronic engineering, mechanical and civil engineering and materials science. Four police advisers provide insight to assist with the development of technology for operational use. A key role for CAST is to identify and address perceived capability gaps in police and security capacity, working alongside end users. In addition, a team of capability advisers work across disciplinary teams. Capability advisers are ‘senior experts with specialist domain knowledge and skills in contraband detection, crime prevention and community safety, cybercrime and cybersecurity, forensic science, identity assurance, protective security, public order and surveillance’ (Mallinson 2015). At the time of writing, specific forensic activity undertaken within CAST is reported to include research around finger­ print enhancement, digital imaging, drug analysis, digital forensics, vehicle forensics, ‘real­time’ forensic technology, quality standards and proficiency test­ ing, PoFA implementation and improvements to DNA technology. CAST also operates a Security Innovation and Demonstration Centre (SIDC). The SIDC has been described as an ‘open innovation centre focussed on security challenges’, to facilitate ‘partnership between government, industry, academia and users’ (Mallinson 2015). SIDC facilities include laboratory and demonstra­ tion spaces at CAST sites. The SIDC is intended to provide ‘access to end users and their environments for rapid real world evaluation of new concepts’ (Mallinson 2015). It therefore enables external partners to gain access to potential investors and to the operational field in order to test and possibly refine new innovations. The SIDC is also aimed at encouraging international partners to invest in UK technology. The conversion of ideas into technology and the exploi­ tation of UK intellectual property is regarded as a priority by the Home Office. This also reflects an additional driver aside from crime and security concerns, namely the policy aim of promoting economic growth.

The commercial dimensions of UK forensic innovation The Silverman Review suggested a role for the Technology Strategy Board, now known as Innovate UK, in supporting forensic innovation through the formation of a relevant Knowledge Transfer Network (KTN). One such KTN, the Forensic Science Community, was launched in November 2012 (Innovate UK 2014), with the express purpose of facilitating improved communication and networking for R&D among the diverse array of forensic stakeholders. Innovate UK also promotes the Forensic Science Community through a broad programme of events relating to specific forensic specialisms, such as DNA, evidence interpretation, fingerprints, digital forensics and fire investigation. Innovate UK’s obligation to encourage the commercial exploitation of science and technology can be ascertained from its Internet presence, which describes its task in terms of ‘commercializing new ideas with business’ and offering ‘support and services to help business develop new products and services – and bring them closer to market’ (Innovate UK 2014). Innovate UK’s commercial commitments

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to forensic innovation can also be discerned in reports, one of which is entitled ‘Taking Forensic Science R&D to Market’. Such statements indicate an increasing orientation to meeting policing and forensic needs in ways which are commer­ cially exploitable. Innovate UK also supports Small Business Research Initiatives (SBRIs). This involves calls for research on projects such as drug and alcohol testing through the skin or the detection of clandestine activity at borders. SBRIs may support small busi­ nesses through the funding of around £12,000 for proof­of­concept work. A series of ‘forensic expos’ have been held to attract the interest of such organizations. The SBRI system faces certain challenges. One issue concerns identifying when an innovation problem might require the input of a business currently not involved in forensics. Businesses may require assistance in attracting custom from the police and developing their products via forensic innovation pathways. Determining the size and potential of the forensic market has for some time been a topic of much debate. A report produced by Mckinsey & Co. for the NPIA in 2008 identified a series of risks associated with the forensic market, including lack of stability, lack of investment confidence and slow innovation and supply chain issues, which contributed to uncertainties about the future size and shape of the market. The latter also reflected a lack of clarity about how the forensic market would develop (McKinsey & Co. 2008). The 2011 Commons inquiry heard mixed views about the size of the market and controversies over the methods for estimating its size and potential (House of Commons 2011). The precise scope of commercial opportunities within the forensic sector remains contentious. One complicating factor regarding commercial exploitation concerns uncer­ tainties over how to establish the precise value of forensic science. This is a ques­ tion which has been discussed regularly among forensic stakeholders in England and Wales. It has been recognized that forensic science can be evaluated in potentially numerous ways. As one Home Office representative ventured about forensic science in 2015: Do we know the price but not the value? (Home Office representative, 2015) Understanding the true impact of forensic science to the English criminal justice system is still considered problematic by stakeholders. Assessing value in terms of convictions is considered an inappropriate proxy. English stakeholders also recognize value in terms of the potential of forensic science to exonerate as well as incriminate. Other pieces of forensic scientific evidence may never come under courtroom scrutiny. This knowledge may, however, produce leads which are then pursued supported by other forms of evidence, which may include non­scientific sources of information. Judging the ‘value’ or ‘effectiveness’ of forensic science can therefore be regarded as a complicated matter. The perceived cost­benefit of forensic science does not just apply to police forces. The effective use of forensic science also has financial

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impacts for the courts system. The presence of convincing forensic evidence may compel guilty pleas and reduce the time juries have to sit, therefore reducing the expenses liable to jurors. Uncertainty about how to measure the value of forensic science and technology leads to uncertainty in terms of how to price it, and exactly to whom it should be marketed. This compounds uncertainty about both the precise size of the market and the potential opportunities for entrants to the market. The presence of different framings of the value of commercialized forensic science exposes differences in the standpoints of criminal justice stakeholders. These stakeholders may also differ in their perceptions of precisely what ‘products’ should be a priority. Digital forensics represents one instructive example, as discussed in the next section.

Digital forensics The landscape of contemporary UK forensic innovation raises some questions over to what extent the voices of operational police officers and forensic practi­ tioners are being heard. The area of digital forensics represents a case in point. Although ‘digital forensics’ defies easy description, it can be broadly construed as the process of recovering data files from computerized devices. Such data is of increasing importance to police investigators. It might subsequently constitute evidence in the investigation of whether a potential ‘cybercrime’ has occurred, such as fraud or the possession of indecent images. Crime scene examination increasingly involves mapping the online transactions of persons of interest or victims, alongside more established forms of forensic evidence such as DNA or fingerprints. It is now standard casework practice to want to know the ‘digital profile’ of victims and suspects. This may involve, for example, details of social media or online banking activity. In 2014, a National Crime Agency representa­ tive described this as the emergence of a ‘whole new operating model’ but also accused the ‘digital world’ of ‘not facing up to that challenge’. Digital forensics is currently perceived to concern itself with anticipating the use and misuse of new technology and how forms of digital data may assist inquiries. The key task for digital forensics practitioners is how to extract data from a device, or as one expert put it: The key questions are: ‘How do we get data out of it [a device]? How do we make sense of that data? How do we manage that data? Each new app creates a small new problem in one of those questions. (Digital forensics practitioner, 2014) The increasing variety of digital devices which can connect online (such as, inter alia, ‘smart’ televisions and games consoles – sometimes referred to as ‘the internet of things’) compounds these issues. This is due to the variety of file formats which may be encountered by digital forensics practitioners, who often lack the means of convert­ ing these files into formats which allow them to view and analyse the files. New devices may involve new file formats, yet investigators struggle to keep up. Digital

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forensics investigators require ‘codecs’, programs or devices that are able to convert one file format into another. One investigator stated the problem succinctly as: I’ve got this problem – I’ve got this crime to investigate but I haven’t got the codec [for a device?] – so I can’t investigate. (Digital forensics practitioner, 2014) Numerous codecs may be required to meet the needs of specific investigations. There is currently no commercial incentive, however, to develop codecs on a case­by­case basis. One particular codec may only be specific to a certain case and may not be useful in subsequent investigations. The absence of a specific codec may, however, prevent a particular investigation going ahead which might relate to a serious crime. Discussions with experts indicated that the latter felt that the police often did not understand the challenges digital forensic practitioners face: Police don’t know what is possible. (Digital forensics practitioner, 2014) Another key concern relates to the perceived independence of practitioners conducting digital forensic work. The majority of digital forensics work is performed by police forces in­house, who may approach external providers only in the event of an excessive workload. It has been perceived by external FSPs that the tendency towards in­housing prevented an understanding of what kind of digital forensic methods are used within police forces. In discussions in 2014, an NCA representative expressed concern about the independence of practitioners performing digital forensics work. Those who perform data extractions may also be directly involved with the investigations, which has led to concerns about bias, or certain data being selectively emphasized while the significance of other data is overlooked. Here, the concern relates to perceived best practice in forensic science redolent of CAI principles, in that the importance of interpreting resultant evidence was emphasized over its mere recovery. Concerns about possible bias were perceived to be linked to infrastructure and resourcing issues. As one prac­ titioner stated: ‘We say [to the police] we charge you for your forensic needs, but the police say we provide you with the infrastructure in which you do your work’ (Digital forensics practitioner, 2014). Digital forensics practitioners also appear to struggle with backlogs of devices from which to extract data and the length of time it takes to complete an extraction. Whenever an extraction occurs, a verifiable duplicate of the data has to be made, which therefore doubles the time of each procedure. There are ques­ tions over what kind of resources could assist digital forensic practice. Digital forensics has to respond not only to criminal justice concerns but also externali­ ties presented via new technological developments from companies such as Apple and Microsoft. New devices may come with new file formats, which further compounds the complexity of digital forensic work. It may take a

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considerable period of time for practitioners to learn how to work with new technology: When the iPhone 6 comes out, there will be a period of several months when no one will do anything with it. And then someone will crack it. (Digital forensic practitioner, 2014) Lines of communication between manufacturers of digital devices and the digital forensics community have been relatively weak, representing another issue facing innovation in this area. Digital forensics encapsulates some of the issues facing forensic R&D. While innovation challenges have been identified, many of these are not perceived to be commercially viable, as in the case of developing case­specific codecs. A capabil­ ity gap remains which could be met through greater engagement with technology manufacturers, yet commercial priorities on the part of the latter may hinder this from being met. Much digital forensics work is being conducted in­house. It does seem, however, that the police are often not well­informed customers, and some forces seem to lack awareness of the innovation needs in this area. The impor­ tance of the ‘digital profile’ in current and near­future police work is recognized at a high level, but it is unclear how operational priorities may be met. The challenge of extracting data for use on an individual case­by­case basis appears to be currently overlooked. This problem does not, however, present opportunities for solutions which may be commercially exploitable. Digital forensics practitioners view one solution as improved communication between individual experts, developing networks of practitioners who could approach new technologies on a case­by­case basis, learning together from each experi­ ence and developing a base of collective knowledge. This, however, would not lead to any specific new inventions. This contrasts with the rhetoric surrounding ‘big data’ which has been proclaimed as providing numerous commercial oppor­ tunities, which includes (but is by no means restricted to) forensic science and security. The commercialization and big data agendas also risk overlooking other key priorities. The interpretation and understanding of forensic evidence presented in the form of statistics is currently a key priority for the Forensic Regulator, and one which cuts across a vast range of forensic disciplines. Yet here the opportuni­ ties for commercial exploitation seem scant, even though evidence interpretation is recognized by the forensic community as a long­standing issue. Moreover, it is unclear whether this is an issue which could readily receive research funding support. Aside from the sciences, socio­legal research, for example, could also play a role in supporting research in evidence interpretation. Funding opportuni­ ties for socio­legal research may, however, be few and far between. The way in which quantitative data is interpreted invites a critical qualitative approach (Lawless and Williams 2010). It is unclear, however, whether related research proposals might appeal in a funding environment which currently appears to favour quantitative social research methods.

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Managing expectations Aside from the commercial agenda, forensic innovation has to contend with the expectations of its users in the criminal justice system and those of the general public. Concerns about the perceived admissibility of new forensic technologies in the adversarial system may play an increasing role in innovation trajectories. At a meeting attended by the author concerning DNA phenotyping in 2015, there was a palpable sense of caution in introducing this technology into the courts, and a sense of apprehension that such evidence could be misunderstood. One interlocu­ tor suggested that the inaccurate presentation of new technologically mediated evidence in court could hold adverse consequences for innovation: If technology is used wrongly in courts it will set it back two years. (Expert discussion, 2015) Chapter 2 described concerns over the claimed ‘CSI effect’, an apparent phenom­ enon in which public understanding of science is skewed by inaccurate media portrayals of forensic science. The ‘CSI effect’ has been used to describe how the media has possibly contributed to distorted public expectations. While it remains an open question whether or not the CSI effect actually exists, forensic stakehold­ ers are increasingly aware of the potential disparity between expectations of forensic science and what it can actually achieve: One point is technology versus perception. It’s sort of an endemic problem in all of forensic science with the CSI effect, particularly with this type of technology [DNA], where you do get the comments and the scaremongering, ‘we’re going to scan all your DNA, and know everything about you’. In order for it to be some­ thing accepted by people there does need to be much more education and possibly re­education of people as to what the technology is, and what its limitations are. (Expert discussion, 2015) Similar concerns relate to police expectations of forensic science. One experi­ enced policing figure observed how investigative priorities regarding the use of forensic science have changed: Going back to when I started as a detective in the late seventies, early eight­ ies, the traditional way of investigation was to first look at confessions, and if we couldn’t get a confession, we’d look for witnesses, and if we couldn’t get a witness, or witnesses, to the crime, we’d then start looking at forensics. I look at young officers now, detectives, and that principle has been turned on its head completely. You very rarely get confessions nowadays, witnesses are very reluctant to get involved in the criminal justice system, and the first thing we ask now is ‘what have we got from forensic science? What science have we got to help us prove this case?’ And I get frustrated sometimes with young detectives because if they haven’t got any science, they give up, and we almost stop the investigation if the science is not there. (Police representative, 2015)

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This remark illustrates the high expectations that contemporary police officers may place on forensic science. It highlights the current authority bestowed on science ahead of other forms of intelligence and evidence. During a discussion among forensic stakeholders about DNA phenotyping in 2015, the concern was expressed that the police might place too much faith in science: Do you think the police officers investigating crimes will have realistic expectations about what this technology can do for them and when they can realistically apply it, or is there going to be a kind of CSI effect where people think ‘oh it happened in one case and we got a good result there, so let’s just run with it for X, Y and Z as well’? (Expert discussion, 2015) This participant expressed concern that investigators might rely solely on new scientific techniques, without being aware of the potential limitations or uncer­ tainties surrounding technology, which might only become apparent further on in the criminal justice process. The portrayal of police expectations expressed here suggests at least two areas of risk. First, the high expectations placed on new forensic science may not be matched by results in actual operations while potentially valuable non­scientific evidence is disregarded. Second, high expectations may risk investigators assuming the infallibility of methods which may actually become open to contestation in an adversarial context. The aura seemingly created by media around science in the service of law enforcement is recognized as a challenge by UK forensic stakeholders (expert discussion, 2015). Stakeholders have also perceived a need to engage with publics around new forensic technologies. This is particularly so where social and ethical issues have been identified, as in the case of DNA phenotyping. A recurring theme in related discussions among stakeholders concerns the perceived need to ‘educate’ publics in the ‘realities’ of using forensic science in casework. Such education has often been deemed necessary given the perceived distorting influence of media portrayals in dramas such as CSI. Recall here that Chapters 2 and 6 introduced the concept of ‘deficit’ and ‘surfeit’ discourses which have emerged through socio­ logical critiques of policy­maker assumptions concerning the public understanding of science. Contemporary discussions surrounding certain forensic methods, rather than emphasizing unquestioning public acceptance of science, indicate a more cautious approach to public engagement. Rather than deficit­type discourses which may emphasize the authority of science, the expressed desire to educate audiences in the limitations of forensic science instead reflects surfeit­type discourses. As described in Chapters 2 and 6, the surfeit model assumes that publics are overexposed to inaccurate images of science (Cole 2015). The surfeit model captures the perception, on the part of some forensic stakeholders, that media representations overstate the certainty and utility of science, leading to unduly heightened expectations on the part of the police and public. The surfeit model also suggests a possible desire to ‘protect’ technology from the potential idiosyn­ crasies of adversarial scrutiny.

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The current innovation landscape for forensic science in England and Wales could also be expressed in social­realist discourses, as introduced in Chapter 6. Such a discourse might emphasize the role of users, such as police forces and the Former ACPO Innovation Board, as actors which could allow or constrain the potential of new science. (The replacement of ACPO also suggests how the nature of user groups themselves may change.) Social­realist discourses might also invoke the role of market forces and commercial potential in shaping the course of forensic innova­ tion. A social­realist discourse could, for example, depict digital forensics as being held back due to the lack of alignment between commercial imperatives and techno­ logical requirements. Awareness of the social embeddedness of forensic innovation, as expressed in social­realist discourses, may be overlooked if deficit­ or surfeit­type assump­ tions predominate in stakeholder discourses. Instead, deficit and surfeit discourses may frame the expectation management of forensic innovation as simply concerning certain types of law–science interactions, such as concerns about the court’s and jurors’ reception of new forensic evidence. Such discourses, however, mask underlying issues, such as the challenge of coordinating the wider series of interests in which forensic innovation is embedded. As well as commercial pres­ sures, the continuing struggle to coordinate the research interests of academic researchers and forensic practitioners may act as a hindrance to successful inno­ vation. Indeed the latter example indicates differing expectations about what fruitful forensic research might produce. The advent of the Research Excellence Framework (REF) complicates the matter. The impact agenda of REF puts pres­ sure on academia to justify its wider societal role, which has led to an interest in contributing to forensic science. On the other hand, the current REF system does not recognize forensic science as an academically distinct discipline. The very idea of ‘innovation’ might itself be contested among forensic stakeholders.

Conclusion Through introducing some key features of the forensic innovation landscape in the UK, this chapter has sought to show that development pathways do not take a smooth course from pure research to application. Innovation pathways are chal­ lenged by the current fragmented and diffuse nature of collectives associated with emerging fields of forensic research. Establishing a research base from UK HEI activity is hampered by the difficulties forensic science experiences in relation to the REF system. The interdisciplinarity of forensic research does not square with the disciplinary demarcations of the ‘Units of Assessment’ used in the current REF. Moreover, academic researchers and research users do not always see eye to eye over which are the most important research questions to address. Academic interests may not equate with perceived criminal justice priorities. Much innova­ tion has been police­led, through initiatives such as the ACPO Science and Innovation Board, although challenges remain concerning the coordination of activity between individual forces. Official bodies such as the Home Office also vie for influence in setting the research agenda for forensic science and policing

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needs. Commercial FSPs have seemingly struggled to engage in R&D while day­ to­day operational commitments, organized by arrangements such as the NFFNG, take priority. Forensic innovation in the UK has been increasingly linked with national economic growth and a desire to increase commercial opportunities. The example of digital forensics, however, suggests that perceived criminal justice needs may not fully align with a market agenda. Another concern that can be raised is that a market agenda may challenge or even risk overriding ethical and civil liberties concerns. Commercial providers of biometric technology have been accused of overstating the utility of their prod­ ucts, putting an interest in profit ahead of any real security impact. Linked to this may be a concern that biometric or surveillance technologies may represent an overreaction to an issue, or may try to address a security threat which does not exist or is overamplified (Klauser 2009). Differing interests may push and pull innovation in varying directions. Previous social studies of technology have drawn attention to the heterogeneity apparent in stakeholder communities, and have been able to show how differing interests within these communities compete to influence the development of technology (Pinch and Bijker 1984). Such insights may inform understanding of how tensions over forensic innovation exist among a variety of different actors, positioned differ­ ently in time and space and holding different interests. They include the police, lawyers, forensic practitioners, policy­makers, civil servants and also the public. Qualitative social research is well­placed to explore how forensic science is used in casework, how forensic evidence is comprehended and how forensic innovation is organized. More importantly such research could explore why tech­ nological trajectories emerge in the way they do. This work could include longi­ tudinal studies of technology development, focusing on social­structural dimensions of forensic innovation together with a focus on the interactions between different stakeholders over the course of time. For example, the definition of ‘digital forensics’ has been observed by a group of leading stakeholders to be open to interpretation, with narrow and wider definitions possibly coexisting (Marshall et al. 2013). This suggests that the composition of actors claiming relevant expertise in the field could vary across spaces and time. In sociological terms, the ‘communities of practice’ (Lave and Wenger 1991; Wenger 2000) associated with digital forensics may vary. One must consider, given this potential variability, how certain actors may come to be included or excluded from such communities of practice, and how this might affect the development of the field. Processes of inclusion or exclusion may influence, for example, how successfully a piece of new technology is integrated into police operations. The membership of a specific technological community of practice could also possibly influence which scientific questions are addressed and which remain overlooked (Halfon 1998). Emerging areas of forensic interest are challenged by uncertainty over whose expertise is best placed to lead research. The question of exactly who participates in the development of an emerging technology may change over time. New foren­ sic technology may be emergent and only partially known. It may evolve in ways which may be difficult to anticipate. Technological challenges may encompass

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new areas of science and engineering, and hence the community of practice around a technology may widen. There may, however, be disagreements among stakeholders over who may claim expertise in an emergent technology or uncer­ tainty over who should make decisions about it. The gateways to inclusion in these communities of practice may be fluid and more or less permeable over time. The discussion of DNA phenotyping in Chapter 7 and data presented here suggest that the UK forensic community is increasingly concerned about public reception of new forensic technologies. There also appears to be heightened awareness in legal attitudes to new technology and their exposure to the jury system. While forensic innovation poses questions about the membership of technological communities of practice, interactions with users also present issues around both expectations of technology and the extent to which users engage with the innovation process. The possibility of differing discourses of scientific engagement (deficit, surfeit, social­realist) developed in Chapter 6 offers a potential framework for under­ standing how participation in communities of practice is constructed. The way in which such discourses mobilize themselves may reflect actors’ negotiations of different spaces within the landscape of forensic innovation. They may indicate how innovation pathways, involving emerging science, negotiate a landscape potentially beset by scientific controversies, disquiet among and between legal and scientific communities, commercial and organizational pressures, and concerns about civil liberties. Histories of forensic innovation could be traced using the possibility that deficit, surfeit and social­realist discourses may enable new forensic science to alter the distance and the extent to which it engages with law and wider society in the course of its development. cPUS research has critically investigated how deficit and surfeit discourses construct certain conceptions of ‘the public’ which may or may not be justified. Deficit and surfeit discourses may reflect certain assumptions about ‘the public’ on the part of expert communities. Various publics and civil society groups may however engage in discussions over science policy, including those relating to forensic tech­ nology (Rabeharisoa and Callon 2004; Yearley 2006; Horlick­Jones 2007; Anderson et al. 2011). Ethical concerns may drive such debates. Through engaging in forms of technological politics, a wider group of actors could help shape the way in which forensic technologies are used and hence understandings of the technology itself. Questions over public engagement raise the issue of the wider role social research can play in illuminating the challenges related to forensic innovation. In summarizing and elaborating upon the themes of this book, the final chapter discusses these possibilities further.

Notes 1. Fraser (2009) also suggested a series of questions which academia could help address which are of relevance to this volume. These included: •

• •

How valuable in educational terms is a degree in forensic science? How good is the evidence base for forensic practices? Why is there virtually no available funding for forensic research?

Pathways of forensic innovation •

•

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Why is it that police knowledge of forensic science generally remains poor? What contribution does science make to justice? (Fraser 2009: 41)

2. The author was involved in such activity in 2010.

References Anderson, C., Stackhouse, R., Shaw, A. and Iredale, M. (2011) ‘The National DNA Database on trial: engaging young people in South Wales with genetics’, Public Understanding of Science, 20 (2): 146–62. Callon, M. and Law, J. (1988) ‘Engineering and sociology in a military aircraft project: a network analysis of technical change’, Social Problems, 35 (3): 284–97. Cassella, J. (2008) ‘Forensic science on trial – still! Response to “Educating the next generation” [Science and Justice, 48 (2008) 59–60]’, Science and Justice, 48 (4): 197–9. Cole, S. A. (2015) ‘A surfeit of science: the “CSI effect” and the media appropriation of the public understanding of science’, Public Understanding of Science, 24 (2): 130–46. Dawnay, N., Stafford­Allen, B., Moore, D., Blackman, S., Rendell, P., Hanson, E. K., Ballantyne, J., Kallifatidis, B., Mendel, J., Mills, D. K., Nagy, R. and Wells, S. (2014) ‘Developmental validation of the ParaDNA1 screening system – a presumptive test for the detection of DNA on forensic evidence items’, Forensic Science International: Genetics, 11: 73–9. Fleck, J., Webster, J. and Williams, R. (1990) ‘The dynamics of IT implementation: a reassessment of paradigms and trajectories’, Futures, 22 (6): 618–40. Forster, L., Thomson, J. and Kutranov, S. (2008) ‘Direct comparison of Post­28­Cycle PCR purification and modified capillary electrophoresis methods with the 34­Cycle “Low Copy Number” (LCN) method for analysis of trace forensic DNA samples’, Forensic Science International: Genetics, 2 (4): 318–28. Fraser, J. (2009) ‘Letter to the Editor’, Science and Justice, 49 (1): 41–2. Fraser, J. and Williams, R. (2009) ‘Introduction: themes and debates in contemporary forensic science’, in J. Fraser and R. Williams (eds), Handbook of Forensic Science. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 487–90. Freeman, C. (1997) The Economics of Industrial Innovation, 3rd edn. London: Pinter. Halfon, S. (1998) ‘Collecting, testing and convincing: forensic DNA experts in the courts’, Social Studies of Science, 28 (5–6): 801–28. Home Office (2009) Home Office Science and Innovation Strategy 2009–2012. London: HMSO Home Office (2011) Review of Research and Development in Forensic Science: Other Responses. London: Home Office. Home Office (2012) Home Office Science and Innovation Strategy 2012–2015. London: HMSO. Horlick­Jones, T., Rowe, G. and Walls, J. (2007) ‘Citizen engagement processes as infor­ mation systems: the role of knowledge and the concept of translation quality’, Public Understanding of Science, 16 (3): 259–78. House of Commons Select Committee on Science and Technology (2011) The Forensic Science Service. London: HMSO. Hughes, T. (1983) Networks of Power: Electrification in Western Society, 1880–1930. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press.

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Innovate UK (2014) Innovate UK homepage at: https://www.gov.uk/government/organi­ sations/innovate­uk (accessed 7 October 2014). Klauser, F. (2009) ‘Interacting forms of expertise in security governance: the example of CCTV surveillance at Geneva International Airport’, British Journal of Sociology, 60 (2): 279–97. Kline, R. and Pinch, T. (1996) ‘Users as agents of technological change: the social construction of the automobile in the rural United States’, Technology and Culture, 37 (4): 763–95. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. (1991) Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lawless, C. (2011) ‘Policing markets: the contested shaping of neoliberal forensic science’, British Journal of Criminology 51(4): 671–89. Lawless, C. and Williams, R. (2010) ‘Helping with inquiries, or helping with profit? The trials and tribulations of a technology of forensic reasoning’, Social Studies of Science, 40 (5): 731–55. McKinsey & Co. (2008) Researching the Forensic Science Market – Intelligence Study for Policing. Commissioned on behalf of the National Policing Improvement Agency. Mallinson, S. (2015) ‘An overview of the Centre for Applied Science and Technology – current and future research requirements’. Seminar at Northumbria University Centre for Forensic Science, 3 March. Marshall, A., Higham, S. and Dyhouse, T. (2013) Digital Forensics Capability Review. Horsham: Electronics, Sensors, Photonics Special Interest Group. Mennell, J. (2006) ‘The future of forensic and crime scene science part II: a UK perspec­ tive on forensic science education’, Forensic Science International, 157S: S13–S20. Mennell, J. and Shaw, I. (2009) ‘ACPO Future Forensics: Toward A Strategy for Forensic Science’. Northumbria University, unpublished draft. Pinch, T. and Bijker, W. (1984) ‘The social construction of facts and artefacts: or how the sociology of science and the sociology of technology might benefit each other’, Social Studies of Science, 14 (3): 399–441. Rabeharisoa, V. and Callon, M. (2004) ‘Patients and scientists in French muscular dystro­ phy research’, in S. Jasanoff (ed.), States of Knowledge: The Co-Production of Science and Social Order. London: Routledge, pp. 142–60. Rosen, P. (1993) ‘The social construction of mountain bikes: technology and postmoder­ nity in the cycle industry’, Social Studies of Science, 23 (3): 479–513. Rothwell, R. (1994) ‘Towards the fifth­generation innovation process’, International Marketing Review,11 (1): 7–31. Roux, C. and Robertson, J. (2009) ‘The development and enhancement of forensic exper­ tise: higher education and in­service training’, in J. Fraser and R. Williams (eds), Handbook of Forensic Science. Cullompton: Willan, pp. 572–601. Silverman, B. (2011) Research and Development in Forensic Science: A Review. London: Home Office. Spinardi, G. (2002) ‘Industrial exploitation of carbon fibre in the UK, US and Japan’, Technology Analysis and Strategic Management, 14 (4): 381–98. Wenger, E. (2000) ‘Communities of practice and social learning systems’, Organization, 7 (2): 225–46. Yearley, S. (2006) ‘Bridging the science – policy divide in urban air­quality management: evaluating ways to make models more robust through public engagement’, Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy, 24 (5): 701–14.

9

The possible future relations between forensic science and social research

Introduction Through examining various aspects of forensic science, this volume has illumi­ nated a series of systems, practices and discourses. These variously reinforce, challenge and reconstruct particular notions of the epistemic character of forensic science (and indeed science in general), while simultaneously shaping relations between heterogeneous communities of forensic stakeholders. The examples presented across the chapters of this volume highlight the discursive and epistemic fluidity of forensic science. Chapter 2 outlined the increasingly complex relationship between fiction and ‘fact’ and representations and ‘realities’ of forensic science. Chapter 3 described how UK forensic science emerged through the intervention of the central government authority but has since adopted the practices of other, more established scientific disciplines in the form of learned societies and peer­reviewed journals. Scientific societies within and across other jurisdictions represent other sites where the identity of forensic science has been negotiated and shaped. These developments, however, exist in a certain tension with varying notions of ‘professionalism’ in the light of concerns about quality standards across a highly diverse range of specialisms. The commi­ nuted character of forensic science leaves it susceptible to contested assertions about who, within its community, can be deemed a true ‘scientist’ and who is a mere ‘practitioner’. Such assertions may reflect differing perspectives on the epistemic character of forensic science. Accounting for this fluidity tests classical sociological perspectives on professions and science. The practical heterogeneity of forensic science has rendered it vulnerable to emerging regimes of performance monitoring and accountability in England and Wales, as explored in Chapter 4. While these regimes have sought to fix expecta­ tions on the part of users, closer examination reveals contested ideas about foren­ sic science and practice, which in turn highlight its distinctly social dimensions. The findings of Chapter 4 also raise methodological issues. Quantitation, whether as a means to study forensic science and practice or to evaluate it, may risk constructing an epistemically impoverished depiction of police scientific support. The vulnerability of forensic science to such projections highlights struggles to capture the epistemological identity of reconstructive reasoning. The recent turn

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towards approaches based on Bayes’ Theorem in some jurisdictions, as intro­ duced in Chapter 5, suggests that efforts to reflect the ‘essence’ of forensic reasoning are performative of the course of events which reasoners come to comprehend. In making their reasoning accountable to themselves through self­ consciously ‘forensic’ practices, investigators were compelled to overcome sources of ambiguity made visible by Bayes’ Theorem. This in turn enabled them to reconstruct narratives as they progressed through the course of making sense of events. In contrast to idealized accounts of Bayesian reasoning, the instances described in Chapter 5 suggest that the application of Bayes’ Theorem could be considered a mode of becoming and of reconstructing professional identity as much as reconstructing events. The use of Bayes’ Theorem in forensic practice therefore entails a more complex series of sociologically relevant processes which are silenced in scientific and philosophical accounts of hypothesis genera­ tion and testing. These chapters echo previous STS research (Coopmans et al. 2014) in caution­ ing against the assumption that scientific practices simply involve creating repre­ sentations which correspond directly to a passive world. Instead, the accounts described here suggest that forensic practices exert complex consequences. Constructing evidence may entail a series of negotiations within and between science, law, policing and policy. While forensic science is vulnerable to mana­ gerial interventions, its enactment entails the ordering of understandings and relations between stakeholders. The construction of forensic evidence simultane­ ously constitutes practices which project notions about what forensic science is. Chapter 6 suggested that contested ideas about scientific evidence and emerg­ ing forensic technology reflected a series of discourses relating to different rela­ tions between science, law and society at large. These discourses of engagement, typologized as ‘deficit’, ‘surfeit’ and ‘social­realist’, are performative in that they mediate how science may differentially position itself relative to law and society at large. The performativity of forensic representations may also extend toward matters of ethics. In emphasising the role of discourse in comprehending ‘biolegality’, Chapter 7 drew attention to the importance of ethical discussions in responding to and anticipating interactional contingencies which play a key role in the evolu­ tion of relations between science, law and society at large. In discussing actual and possible contingencies, ethical discussions create spaces of possibility that may shape how forensic technology is known and thus how that technology may develop. Chapter 7 also highlighted how differing discourses around public engagement with science may reflect assumptions made by one group (experts) about the assumptions of others (publics), which in turn could affect ethical discourses concerning reliability, proportionality and the limits of use of new methods such as phenotyping. Chapter 7 also raised concerns about the risks that technology may inadvertently reconstruct prejudicial attitudes. While forensic science may both induce contingency, and be subject to contingency, it emerges in worlds which may view it through old lenses. The reception and comprehen­ sion of technology may reflect enduring societal attitudes.

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Chapter 8 indicated how forensic innovation entails complex producer–user relationships and illuminated the challenges faced in coordinating the interests of stakeholders. This chapter highlighted the possibility of exploring in more detail the means through which actors may be included or excluded from technological communities of practice and how that might change over time. Chapter 8 also hinted that the performative potential of engagement discourses could play a role in shaping communities of practice engaged in forensic innovation. An attention to engagement discourses and their mobilization represents one potentially fruit­ ful research strategy to understand relations between potentially heterogeneous and variable communities of practice involved in forensic innovation. The examples presented throughout this book highlight the contributions framings, projections, accountable actions and discourses make to the unfolding process of co­production between law, science, technology and society at large. In doing so, the book emphasizes the importance of practices through which forensic science and technology is discussed and represented, and suggests that they function as mechanisms of co­producing law, science and broader societal relations. The examples presented here are consistent with previous STS research which has drawn attention to the social and material infrastructures in which the produc­ tion of scientific data is embedded. These infrastructures can also be considered sites where representations of scientificity are produced and reproduced (Coopmans et al. 2014). In the course of (re)producing scientific representations and representations of science, relations between actors may be reconstituted. ‘Representation’ therefore has multiple meanings in relation to science. In the accounts of forensic science presented here, ‘representation’ variously relates to, for example: visual depictions of forensic scientific data (e.g. fingerprints, DNA profile electropherograms, etc.); media portrayals of forensic science; claims made concerning the professional status of forensic science; the rendering of forensic practice as lists of ‘products’ in service agreements; assertions made about the epistemological ‘essence’ of forensic science; or the accountable prac­ tices through which forensic reasoning becomes known. ‘Representation’ can also, however, be interpreted in terms of political representation (Jasanoff 2004). This opens up questions of ‘who represents forensic science?’, or ‘who speaks for forensic science?’ This volume has indicated that these questions may be signifi­ cantly contested. These contestations also demonstrate how meanings of repre­ sentation become conflated. Those who seek to speak for forensic science may understand it, describe it and hence shape its status in particular ways, which may not necessarily meet with recognition or agreement from other forensic stakeholders. Forensic science, encompassing as it does a wide variety of stakeholders and a multitude of different claims to expertise, evades easy epistemological characteri­ zation. Its status is instead fluid, emergent, unstable and open to interpretation. The situation is compounded by the differing expectations held by stakeholders about what forensic science can, or should, contribute to criminal justice. These differing expectations may inform particular views which could be translated into

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contending voices who seek to speak for forensic science. This raises the question of how communities may be able to negotiate between these different voices while still recognizing the contingent character of science in the service of crimi­ nal justice. Aligned to this are questions about how can, or should, various stake­ holders participate in the future of forensic science. A future social research agenda could continue to address questions, such as: How do different stakeholders work together? How do these stakeholders develop, understand and evaluate new forensic technologies? How do stake­ holders incorporate technology into their own worldviews, and what assump­ tions might they make about the responses of other stakeholders to the same technology? In more general terms, how do stakeholders view the claims to authority of others – for example, what assumptions might scientists make about the law and how might lawyers critique those assumptions? What impera­ tives drive the development of new technology – to what extent do wider soci­ etal and policy concerns, such as the desire for economic growth and the marketization agenda, shape forensic innovation? What attitudes do forensic stakeholders exhibit regarding the relationship between society and technology? Does forensic technology influence societal change or does it reflect social interests and priorities? Other questions merit interest from researchers. How resilient are ideas about the authority of the law or the scientific method or other wider social norms which may be impacted by developments in forensic science? Much research merely describes the construction of forensic evidence and its impact on relations between science, the law and society at large. A series of other questions relate to ethical concerns. How can forensic science evolve in an ethical and socially just manner? The role of discourse merits some further reflection.

Ethics and discourse In their study of forensic DNA profiling, Williams and Johnson (2004) described a series of ethical discourses which framed DNA in a variety of ways. Williams and Johnson highlighted three distinct ethical discourses which they respectively termed ‘genetic exceptionalism’, ‘genomic minimalism’ and ‘biometric pragma­ tism’. Genetic exceptionalism was related to the perception of DNA as a unique, essential element of an individual’s sense of self. This discourse portrayed DNA as something not to be treated lightly, linking it with a strong sense of the poten­ tial intrusion of privacy. Genetic exceptionalism was associated with those who opposed the expansion of police powers to collect DNA from arrestees. In contrast, the genomic minimalist discourse was seen to frame DNA as nothing more than a fairly empty series of numbers akin to a barcode and therefore not of significant ethical concern. Williams and Johnson observed that genomic mini­ malism was often associated with actors who supported universal DNA data­ bases. Biometric pragmatism, on the other hand, was seen to regard the ethical status of DNA as contextually shaped. Biometric pragmatist discourses might frame unknown DNA recovered from crime scenes as being no less different than

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other forms of recovered evidence, a position consistent with genomic minimal­ ism. Yet biometric pragmatism may also frame DNA as a potential object of phenotyping. The possibility of revealing more essential bodily qualities may see the focus suddenly shifting nearer to genetic exceptionalism. Thus the same tech­ nology can be ethically depicted in different ways which capture different onto­ logical assumptions on the part of audiences. Biometric pragmatism captures the way in which those ontological assumptions may be highly contextually situated and liable to a degree of slippage depending on certain circumstances and tech­ nological affordances. Ethical discourses may themselves be articulated, and circulate among a vari­ ety of spaces, potentially linking sites of policy­making and public engagement. While genetic exceptionalism and genomic minimalism suggest a degree of rela­ tive semantic fixity, biometric pragmatism suggests that ethical discourses also capture a degree of indeterminacy surrounding technology. Ethical discourses can therefore invoke a sense of positionality to technology, capturing how perceptions of its ontological and ethical status may vary from space to space. That positionality is bound up in the way technology is described. In this volume, Chapter 7 indicated the importance of exploring ethical discourses and vocabularies apparent in discussions over emerging forensic tech­ nologies. A range of terms have become associated with ethical discussions about forensic DNA in England and Wales, such as ‘privacy’, ‘public safety’, ‘propor­ tionality’ and ‘reliability’. The type of terms which are routinely employed in discussions in this jurisdiction, may, to an extent, reflect the wider socio­political traditions of Western democracy and English law, and norms of public consulta­ tion and participation. The specific vocabularies which link science and policy reveal histories to which researchers should be attuned. An example, admittedly somewhat removed from forensic science, is nonethe­ less instructive in highlighting the way in which policy discourses pertaining to science may vary. Climate change policy discourse has been marked by changing vocabularies over time. Previously, the concept of ‘prevention’ was prevalent in discussions. Once consensus emerged that climate change was irreversible, the term ‘mitigation’ gained ground. Now, following awareness of the potential severity of environmental and social changes, ‘mitigation’ is increasingly being replaced by ‘adaptation’ (Tanner et al. 2015). In discussions of climate change and natural hazards, it has been recognized that the meaning of ‘vulnerability’ has changed over time, evolving from a ‘rather negative concept to a concept that relates directly to more positive notions like resilience and adaptive capacity’ (ENSURE 2011: 5). Terms like ‘vulnerability’ and ‘resilience’ display an open­ ness to interpretation which may be advantageous, enabling such terms to circu­ late among varied groups of stakeholders. While stakeholders’ own interpretations may vary, such terms can nonetheless function as points of coordination. An interest in examining a particular meaning may serve to identify stakeholders, who can them come together to debate that meaning further (Lawless 2015). However, terms like ‘resilience’ may also reflect political interests. It has been argued that the interpretation of ‘resilience’ as pertaining to the ability

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of societies to return to normality after an event might reflect a politically conservative orientation (Tanner et al. 2015). Alternatively, associating ‘resil­ ience’ with individual capacity to respond to climate change events could reflect a neoliberal discourse used to justify the abrogation of responsibilities by the state. This raises questions such as resilience for whom and in what form. These examples point to an opportunity to critically explore vocabularies surrounding the use of forensic technology, such as ‘reliability’, ‘proportional­ ity’, ‘privacy’, etc., and to explore how technology co­emerges with the meanings of these terms. Chapter 7 indicated how the term ‘reliability’ projects a number of possibilities which impact upon normative discussions over the application of phenotyping. In scientific and policy discussions, the assumption was expressed that publics might regard a ‘reliable’ technology as something which produces absolute, definitive and immutable answers about criminal cases. A technology perceived as such might be assumed to be more acceptable to publics, boosting its operational potential. On the other hand, concerns have been expressed that the police may place a great deal of potentially mistaken dependence on such technologies perceived as absolutely reliable. Previous studies of DNA have shown that images of immutability can be brittle and responses to perceived scientific failings can be volatile. Other communities, such as scientists, may interpret ‘reliability’ differently. These groups are more likely to emphasize ‘reliability’ of forensic evidence as more conditional, subject to probabilistic reporting. While this reflects a sense of epistemic caution, such an invocation of conditionality has been perceived to potentially muddy the waters in terms of public trust. The notion of reliability, as well as invoking normative and ethical concerns, simultaneously highlights matters of epistemological difference. Terms such as reliability are at once both interpretive and performative. Regarding the former, they are open to the interpretations of specific actors, but they also reflect an actor’s assumptions about how other actors might interpret the same term. A term like ‘reliability’ can also be considered performative in that it can shape how certain actors such as policy­makers frame social impacts around forensic technologies. Relations of scientific engagement could also be said to be interpretive and performative. Deficit, surfeit and social­realist discourses express varying inter­ pretations concerning science’s relationship with society. As suggested in Chapter 6, such discourses may also be considered performative through their potential to differentially position science relative to the law and society at large.

Discourses of engagement The deficit and surfeit models have previously been used to describe the framing of relations between science, publics and policy. This volume has introduced the concept of the social­realist model, which further illuminates the role of discourses in constructing relations between science and society at large. Deficit, surfeit and social­realist discourses convey different relations between representations of

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forensic science and audiences. Together they facilitate understanding of how certain forms of hegemonic discourse and authority perpetuate themselves. Science may be expressed by deficit, surfeit­ or social­realist­type discourses as it simultaneously claims epistemic authority and seeks audience acceptance. One should also consider the possibility that such discourses could potentially manifest themselves in relation to other forms of authority such as law. A ‘legal deficit’ model could, for example, manifest itself in statements such as: The law’s rulings on matters of the admissibility of expert evidence should be respected. Audiences merely need to be educated in the ways of the law. On the other hand, a legal surfeit model could manifest itself via the perception that non­legal audiences have an absolutist view of the law as simplistically ruling on matters of right and wrong. Publics may perceive certain legal decisions to be unjust, but a surfeit view might suggest that proper procedure has to be followed, regardless of how publics perceive the outcome (the R v B case could be an example of this, albeit one which did lead to a change in legislation). Chapter 6 indicated that some lawyers’ concerns about the encroachment of scientific witnesses on their perceived domain of expertise could also be construed as reflecting a surfeit­type discourse. It could be said that such concerns reflect a desire to maintain a set of practices regarded as intrinsic to the law which may not be recognized by external interlocutors. It is possible to infer legal surfeit discourses and legal social­realist discourses as well. This possibility is suggestive in Gary Edmond’s reflections on STS research on law. Edmond (2011) suggests that while STS has focused on science’s place in wider society, it should pay greater attention to the ways in which the law is embedded in society as well: We may need to develop a more subtle account of why some courts were more exclusionary, why particular cases became significant … factors such as judicial personalities and ideology, traditions of interpretation, the resources provided to defence attorneys and the unwillingness to pay for defence expert witnesses, the reasons scientists become involved in legal proceedings, corporate and institutional interests, media representations of crime and the forensic sciences, patterns of precedent and deference, judicial technical literacy, the way trials and appeals might be used strategically, etc. (Edmond 2011: 143) Some of the factors listed in the quote above are intrinsic to the outcomes of legal decision­making and hence could be the subject matter of legal surfeit discourses (see Chapter 6). These include judicial personalities and ideology, interpretative traditions, patterns of precedent and deference, the scientific and technical liter­ acy of the judiciary, and the strategic use of trials and appeals. On the other hand, others in the list suggest a series of extrinsic social factors which could be

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invoked in social­realist discourses. These include resource constraints for defence lawyers, the ability or inability to hire defence expert witnesses, scien­ tists’ motivations for being involved in trials, corporate and institutional interests, and media portrayals of crime, law and forensic science. Some of this volume’s findings have suggested that deficit, surfeit and social­realist discourses surrounding science are performative in that they facilitate a variable distancing effect between science and wider society. Legal engagement discourses may, however, exert different effects. Chapter 6 indicated that legal deficit discourses may have framed a certain disengagement between science and the law over the epistemological basis of expert DNA evidence. Surfeit discourses could also reaffirm law’s status relative to other forms of authority. Some of the issues highlighted by Edmond (2011), which could be associated with legal social­realist discourses, suggest a range of exogenous factors which could influence legal outcomes. Legal social­realist discourses could emphasize matters of social justice and inequality. In contrast to science, however, legal social­realist discourses potentially exert an undermining effect. Scientific social­ realist discourses uphold scientific knowledge claims by demarcating spaces of possibility (this technology could prove to be valid if it wasn’t for certain social constraints). Legal social­realist discourses, on the other hand, may invoke a series of pathologies which render law vulnerable to efforts to deconstruct its authority. The possibility of legal deficit, surfeit and social­realist discourses suggests that all claims to authority are susceptible to being expressed in such ways. Further understanding of the implications for various authoritative claims (science, law, sociology, economics, etc.) and how various discourses of engage­ ment interrelate represent opportunities for further inquiry. Sociology is itself not immune to such discourses. A brief consideration of deficit and surfeit models reveals these possibilities: • •

Deficit model example: Sociology encompasses the study of the totality of social processes – society could participate in it, but they have to be aware of it, and accept sociological theory. Surfeit model example: Lay audiences tend to make certain assumptions about what sociology is about – they may assume it involves quantitative studies, or it could be woolly relativism, but contemporary sociology is a highly variegated field. Yet we sociologists still desire society to engage with our findings – but how may sociologists convey to lay audiences in the heterogeneity of sociological theory and methods?

Deficit and surfeit discourses as applied to social sciences raise some interesting implications. A sociology deficit model, for example, seems to resemble some­ thing akin to an enduring Marxian view that the ‘point of history is not to inter­ pret the world, but to change it’. The possibility of sociological surfeit discourses raises a dilemma. Such discourses may express a view that publics still need to

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be ‘educated’, but could demonstrate agnosticism about the way in which socie­ ties can and should understand the complexities of sociological theory and method. Sociological surfeit discourses may also imply an ethical concern over how publics ought to utilize sociological knowledge. Sociological social­realist discourses may project a sense in which sociological knowledge could be applied to society, but that various factors, such as percep­ tions of what constitutes ‘impact’, the vested interests of proposal reviewers or the opinions of journal editors, get in the way. In some ways social­realist discourses might echo a Marxist­type conception of false consciousness among society and hence may be considered similar to a sociological deficit­type discourse. It could also imply, however, that sociological claims to knowledge are susceptible to being influenced by the same factors which sociology identifies as shaping other claims to authority. This implies further that sociologists should apply their perspective to themselves. This issue of reflexivity has been debated among STS scholars (Woolgar 1988). It has prompted some reflection about the kind of practices STS researchers use to convey their ideas (Ashmore 1989). Others more sceptically disposed to reflexivity have sought to justify the position of STS relative to wider society. Some research has sought to establish a norma­ tive theory to identify when claims to expertise may be justified, including STS itself (Collins and Evans 2002). Debates about the place of STS within society have also addressed the issue of its relation with other recognized forms of authority, including science and the law. This is discussed further in the following section.

Social research and reflexivity STS researchers on forensics have recently reflected on how their own practice is perceived by domains such as the law and their engagements with other claims to authority. Simon Cole has been called to testify as a witness in criminal trials to provide evidence on the scientific basis of fingerprint evidence. In a pre­trial hearing for one such case, People v Hyatt, Cole’s evidence was ruled as inadmis­ sible, as Cole himself was regarded by the court as a ‘historian’ and not someone experienced in fingerprint analysis himself. Such instances have prompted reflec­ tion from scholars (Lynch and Cole 2005; Fuller 2006; Cole 2009; Lynch 2009).1 Michael Lynch has asserted that such encounters between the law and STS are problematic. Lynch (2009), following Edmond and Mercer (2006), draws atten­ tion to how courts have interpreted STS in ways which have puzzled the latter community of scholars. Using one such example, Lynch argues that if the law applies a surfeit approach to STS, it ‘reads selectively and incorporates fragments within a local corpus of precedents and other texts, which are brought to bear on the problem at hand’ (Lynch 2009: 111). Such reflections highlight how the law’s comprehension of evidence from STS and social research more generally (including, but not limited to, such disciplines as criminology or anthropology) poses challenges. Experiences such as those of Cole in the Hyatt trial expose perceptual differences between STS and the law.2

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This has raised questions over the extent to which STS should engage with the law (Lynch 2009). Debates over such questions may, however, overlook the fact that social research is already increasingly embedded within criminal justice structures, as highlighted in what follows. Many reflections concerning the relationship between social research on science and technology and the law have, so far, largely focused around STS researchers testifying in court. It is important, however, to recognize that social research can also interact with forensic science and criminal justice at other times and spaces not limited to the courtroom. Indeed, too close a focus on the court­ room overlooks the gradual but noticeable level of engagement between social researchers and forensic stakeholders elsewhere. For example, social science has been represented on the Steering Group of the Innovate UK Forensic Community for some time. Elsewhere, EUROFORGEN­NoE (European Forensic Genetic Network of Excellence) comprises a ‘virtual centre of forensic genetic research’ (Euroforgen 2015), encompassing geneticists and other researchers from nine European countries. Funded by the European Commission’s 7th Framework Programme, one of the five Euroforgen work packages explicitly involves explor­ ing the societal dimensions and ethical and legal aspects of forensic genetics through social science (Euroforgen 2015). These examples highlight the importance of looking away from the courtroom and considering other spaces where social research may engage with, and possi­ bly even intervene in, the development of forensic science and technology. Numerous developments continue apace. For example, Information and Communications Technology (ICT) represents a key priority area of forensic interest. Digital forensics represents a growing means by which crime is investi­ gated. Cybercrime and cybersecurity are themselves key public safety and national security concerns, and it is likely the forensic community will be increas­ ingly called upon to address such threats in the future. Maintaining suitable law enforcement and judicial frameworks will need to allow for the fast pace of technological change. It remains to be seen whether criminal justice systems can cope. One emerging issue, for example, concerns the rise of so­called ‘cloud’ computing, where online systems are used for data storage. The rise of cloud computing raises a series of questions of sociological and criminological interest. Does cloud computing present new opportunities for criminal activity? If so, what are they and how may they be detected and policed? What roles are there for the forensic community in dealing with potential cloud crime? How might different law enforcement bodies work together on a problem which transcends jurisdictions? Similar questions could also be applied to other ICT developments, such as the risks and opportunities posed by the emergence of so­called ‘big data’ systems. A rich vein of social studies of technology has explored the ways in which users interact with technology. This work has highlighted differences between producers’ assumptions about users and how users actually engage with technol­ ogy. This suggests that social research could play a significant role in facilitating

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better understanding of how ICT may be used to commit crime and how such crimes may be countered. Social research is also set to address the challenges of policing cybercrime across jurisdictions, charting the way in which information about cybercrime flows across borders. Forensic linguistics is another emerging area of interest. The increasing use of high­tech communication technology has exposed further possibilities to try and identify persons based on their patterns of spoken and written communication. This may involve studying spoken dialects or figures of speech in order to isolate unique identifying features. The composition of written communications such as e­mails or text messages has also been used as evidence to ascertain the identity of individuals. Elsewhere, linguistic methods have been employed to try and verify the identity of those making claims for asylum. In addition, there are ongo­ ing efforts to develop forensic phonetics technology for automated voice recogni­ tion systems. Social research could play a potential role in both developing and critically analysing these techniques. Sociolinguistics, the study of societal and cultural factors in language use, is one such body of work which is already involved in forensic linguistics research. However, social researchers, including sociolinguists, socio­legal scholars and other social scientists, have been prominent in identifying perceived shortcomings in forensic linguistics techniques. Researchers have drawn attention to the complexities apparent in the relationship between language and origin. Such work indicates that language may not map directly onto geographical boundaries. Displacement may affect language use (Eades 2010). Linguistic and phonetic analysis is challenged by the lack of population level data which could help establish probabilities that a linguistic or phonetic feature may match with an individual. Analysts in these fields rely on speech processing software, but also on their own trained ears. Establishing a match between commu­ nication features and an individual significantly relies on the personal experience and background of the analyst. There has already been at least one notable contro­ versy concerning voice recognition systems. In 2007, a paper was published in the International Journal of Speech, Language and the Law which strongly criticized the claims made about voice recognition systems marketed by the company Nemesysco. This paper was later redacted after alleged pressure by the latter. Forensic linguistics and phonetics represent potentially significant empirical topics for STS. As in studies of fingerprinting and forensic DNA profiling, STS could compare how claims for the credibility and objectivity of forensic linguis­ tics and phonetics are established and how these claims might be challenged in courtroom proceedings. STS researchers should also be attentive to the scientific and technical debates within these fields, and whether they reflect perceived controversies, as in the Nemesysco case. Opportunities therefore exist to study how a new range of scientific controversies might play out in the wider legal arena and in society at large. It is also important moreover to consider the ethical issues surrounding the application of these systems. The relationship between the perceived technologi­ cal reliability of linguistic systems and the implications for social justice raises

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matters of epistemic risk. One may wish to question, for example, just how aware law enforcement officials may be of the limitations of linguistics technology in asylum cases. Too much trust in what is epistemologically contestable technol­ ogy may hold consequences for social justice. A third example of engagement between social research and forensic science concerns ‘citizen’ forensic science. In Mexico many citizens have been kidnapped by powerful criminal gangs. Yet law enforcement and judicial services have often been corrupted and unable to assist the families of victims. In response, these families have increased their own knowledge of forensic techniques through available resources such as the Internet. Families have shared knowledge and skills between themselves, strengthening ties within and between Mexican civil society groups representing the victims of criminal gangs. Citizen forensic science is currently the subject of a Participatory Action Research (PAR) project, currently being undertaken by Ernesto Schwarz­Marin and Arely Cruz­Santiago of Durham University, which is investigating the kind of citizenship brought about by wider access to forensic science (CFC 2015). PAR projects are potentially fruitful in the relationships which may emerge between social researchers and publics. It invites a reflexive series of questions to be addressed, concerning how publics might view the role of social research in forensics. The previous examples bring the distinction between social science as analysis or critique and social science as intervention closer together. Indeed, some cases may directly challenge that distinction, as in the case of PAR projects. The increasing intimacy of the relationship between social research and forensic science raises issues about how knowledge produced from the former might be interpreted and used by forensic stakeholders. Social research, if it continues to engage more closely with forensic science, could play an instrumental role in the future development of the latter. Given the social and ethical impacts highlighted in parts of this book, normative and ethical questions should be thought of as applying equally to social research as the science and technology it addresses. What role should social research play in forensic innovation? And what might ‘ethical’ social research in the context of forensics mean? It is likely that such questions do not engender easy answers, and as such present a challenge to the constraints of this volume. However, this chapter has already indicated how engagements between STS, science and society have previously prompted reflection and discussion, including whether the kind of critical, constructivist posture adopted by much STS toward science and technol­ ogy should be applied to itself (Woolgar 1988). Social research, in engaging more closely with forensic science, could, however, turn attention to how specific meanings of ‘social research’ become negotiated and locally recognized in particular forensic projects. Social research­ ers should also pay attention to the impact these locally accountable meanings of ‘social research’ may exert on processes of forensic innovation. What are the impacts of particular framings of social research and what do they say about social research in return, in terms of how it might become appropriated or

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interpreted by other stakeholders? This may allow researchers to consider how accountable meanings of ‘social research’ might reflect similarly localized constructions of ‘ethics’. Rather than trying to argue in the abstract, it may be that, given the contingent unfolding nature of law­science­society relations, it is more worthwhile to regard ‘ethics’ as a signifier whose meaning is locally constructed in accountable, reflexive and indexical ways. Part of this approach could involve studying the potential relations of deficits, surfeit and social­realist discourses between differing authorities, including social research. Of possible interest is how ‘ethics’ might get reflexively defined in the course of these projects. This volume has described how social­realist discourses involve scientists, and potentially other actors, invoking the existence of exoge­ nous factors as impacting upon the potential validity of their claims. Such discourses could potentially invoke a wide variety of factors. These could possi­ bly involve matters of ethics, for example: We could show this scientific claim is valid, but the experiment was barred by our ethics committee. Other scientists might wish to reflexively embed themselves within ethical discourses through such statements as: We believe this is scientifically possible, but we are reluctant to do so as we believe it holds unethical consequences for society. How might social­realist discourses (of science and possibly STS) emphasize or silence ‘ethics’? A key feature of social­realist discourses therefore is that references to ‘ethics’ could be foregrounded or may be silenced through reference being selectively made to other social factors. Studies of social research in forensic innovation could also focus on how social research is viewed by other actors. For example, how might other stakeholders view the place of social research in relation to scientific development – as an integral part of innovation or as anterior to it, something to be undertaken once a technology has been developed and written about in peer­reviewed journals? Or might social research be accepted as making a potential contribution when a technology might be recognized as possible but not materially produced? Might social research be regarded as simply concerning itself with facilitating the public ‘acceptance’ of a technology, or in canvassing ideas and possibilities about the public having a deeper role in forensic science, as in the example of citizen forensic science? How might such assumptions about social research be made visible and reinforced? Chapter 5 described how one branch of sociology, ethnomethodology, studies the ways in which meaning is established via the analysis of the highly localized, interactional practices through which these meanings emerge. Such practices may involve conversational stratagems or routines, or even embodied practice. Harold Garfinkel, often regarded as a highly influential figure in the emergence of ethnomethodology, claimed that he decided upon the term during the course of writing up studies of jury deliberations (Garfinkel 1968). He became interested in how jurors pursued ‘some kind of knowledge of the way in which the organised affairs of the society operated’ (ibid.: 15). Garfinkel recounted how they appeared to be reflexively concerned with certain relevant social postures and talked of ‘wanting to be legal’ and ‘of being legal’. However, when pressed on what they

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meant by these terms, the jurors seemingly struggled to define what it meant to be ‘legal’. Garfinkel claimed it showed an awareness of the need to fix the mean­ ing of the kind of terms used in everyday conduct. The jurors conducted them­ selves as practical reasoners, with no credentials or professional expertise for collecting and assessing evidence, conveying an argument or making judgments. Yet the jurors still discussed ways of comprehending and categorizing terms such as ‘facts’, ‘reasons’ and ‘evidence’. The commonsensical manner in which they went about deliberating over such terms did not, however, reflect the idealizations of the sciences. Garfinkel saw their methods for making sense and defining such terms as phenomena to be studied in their own right. Ethnomethodology provides a guide to viewing stakeholder discussions through the lens of how participants establish and contest the meanings of and use terms like ‘science’, ‘facts’, ‘evidence’ and ‘truth’. How do heterogeneous groups come to agree on what such terms and others such as ‘privacy’, ‘public safety’, ‘reliability’, etc. mean? Do groups look to certain individuals, other groups or institutions for guidance on these terms, and thus do hegemonies emerge? Through what practices might these hegemonies be challenged? How might ‘scientific’ terms be linked with or distinguished from other, ostensibly non­scientific terms relating to domains such as law or commerce? How might this reinforce or undermine scientific authority? Taking the insights of ethnomethodology further may be to question whether ‘deficits’, ‘surfeits’ and conceptions of wider social constraints are themselves inter­ subjectively and contingently constructed in exchanges between different forms of authority. The previous discussion of different kinds of deficit, surfeit and social­ realist discourses surrounding various claims to authority (science, law, sociology, etc.) suggests that exchanges between those authority claims are spaces where perceptions of ‘deficits’, ‘surfeits’ or perceived social constraints are enacted. We should pay attention to the possibility that the invocation of deficit, surfeit and social­realist discourses by one form of authority could performatively construct relations between other forms of authority. If so, one may need to be attentive to the conditions which allow these performative constructions to occur. On the other hand, invocations of deficit, surfeit and social­realist discourses between different authority groups may be the first step in further engagement as they begin to chal­ lenge assumptions about the other which may facilitate a learning process. In addition to the examples described above, other empirical topics confront social research on forensics which should feature prominently on any future agenda. Some of these topics are outlined in what follows.

The international agenda The international dimensions of forensic science represent a significant topic for research. One example of the growing international significance of forensic science concerns the Prüm Treaty (Prainsack and Toom 2010, 2012), which has been agreed by all EU member states. The Prüm Treaty formalized the exchange of certain forms of forensic data, namely DNA, fingerprints and car registrations.

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A number of EU Member States, including Austria, Bulgaria, Finland, France, Germany, Luxemburg, the Nertherlands Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia and Spain routinely compare DNA profiles. The Prüm regime is intended to facilitate the sharing of forensic data. Under the terms of the Prüm regime, DNA profiles obtained from crime scene traces (DNA traces) stored in one national database may be compared against profiles stored in the databases of other Prüm countries. The Prüm regime is intended to facilitate a system whereby DNA profiles uploaded to a nation’s own DNA databases may be compared daily on an auto­ mated basis against all other DNA databases in Prüm signatory states. In June 2007, the EU Council of Ministers of Justice and Home Affairs decided to transpose core parts of the Treaty into EU Law. By August 2011, all EU coun­ tries had to comply with the Decision. Countries with no centralized national forensic DNA databases, such as Italy, Greece, Malta and the Republic of Ireland, were required to do so to allow law enforcement officers in other member coun­ tries to search for potential matches of DNA and fingerprints. While a subset of EU member states have implemented parts of the Prüm regime, not all member states have ratified the treaty. Progress has therefore been slow, and it is currently unclear when a full system of routine forensic data exchange will come into being. There is a need for more data regarding the number of arrests and convic­ tions that have stemmed from transnational data exchange within the EU. The manner in which police forces utilize transnational exchange, and the impact upon relations between police forces across borders, are questions which invite further scrutiny. Such issues point to wider questions, such as whether the Prüm regime represents genuine technological progress or is simply a political gesture. The Prüm system has been criticized for risking making wider groups of people vulnerable to becoming ‘objects of surveillance and investigation because of the calculability of their criminal risks to others’ (Lynch and McNally 2009: 284, quoted in Prainsack and Toom 2010: 1124). The Prüm regime’s emphasis on certain forms of evidence could potentially shift the focus of international policing from certain crimes onto others. The exchange of DNA, fingerprints and registration data could divert transnational police activity towards certain physical crimes to people or property but away from other recognized transnational threats such as fiscal or computer crime. The globalization of forensic science presents further challenges. A focus group arranged by the author in 2010 sought the views of scientists and other employees of a major UK FSP. During the discussion, concerns were raised about moves by that FSP to conduct work abroad. Employees asserted the possibility that they could be obliged to conduct work in jurisdictions where human rights norms differed considerably from UK values, a potentially uncomfortable pros­ pect. The relationship between contemporary forensic science and Western values has been relatively well addressed. The impact of forensic science on non­ Western governmental norms is, however, less well­understood (Jasanoff 2010). The perceived ‘objectivity’ associated with science could be seen as a saviour in jurisdictions where the rule of law is vulnerable to corruption or political influ­ ence. On the other hand, technologies of surveillance could be used to reinforce

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authoritarian rule. Understanding whether forensic science and technology chal­ lenges non­democratic rule or can be appropriated by authoritarian regimes is a question which invites further inquiry. One reason for optimism lies in the increasing use of forensic science to shine new light on violations committed by previous governments. In South America, for example, forensic science has been used to identify those who ‘disappeared’ during brutal military rule in Argentina and Brazil. Forensic science has also been used to identify victims of the Bosnian civil war. Forensic scientists have found themselves working along civil society groups representing the victims of past regimes and conflicts. The increasing globalization of forensic science can be seen in the flow of knowledge and skills across countries in regions such as Central and South America. Forensic work may also be outsourced from one jurisdiction to another, possibly involving the transport of material across long distances. This kind of outsourcing could present logistical challenges which may affect the integrity of evidence. What kind of techniques are used to maintain chains of custody during the international outsourcing of evidence? Do language and nomenclatural barri­ ers present problems for upholding paper trails? Are there differences in stand­ ards for handling evidence between certain jurisdictions – and even where common standards are claimed across borders, how sure can we be that these standards are followed on the ground? These kinds of questions are also relevant given the increasing application of forensic science to Disaster Victim Identification (DVI). Mass fatality incidents, whether accidental or resulting from human actions, may transcend national borders. For example, international coop­ eration in DVI played an important role in the aftermath of incidents such as the 2004 Asian tsunami. These empirical examples represent an extra challenge for the concepts outlined in this volume. Consideration of the international dimensions of forensic science raises further issues relating to how discourses may circulate. Differing political and cultural traditions could combine with language differences to suggest an even more complicated set of discourses surrounding forensic science. Space precludes the opportunity to capture this complexity, other than to suggest that this too represents possibilities for future research.

Conclusion This volume began by considering how STS perspectives can illuminate forensic science in new ways. This book has challenged ideas regarding the role for social research on forensic science. It has sought to go beyond thinking about questions of cause and effect, such as questions about the effect of DNA profiling on offending. This is not to downplay the significance of such research. This book acknowledges that such data, if generated through suitable rigorous research, is an invaluable aid to policy­making. Yet to fully understand such issues, this book asserts that they need to be complemented with other inquiries of a qualitative nature. The latter relates to understanding how forensic science is used, how representations of

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forensic science are constructed through its use, and what impact these representa­ tions exert on collective attitudes about science and society as a whole. This book has sought to demonstrate the value of a critical view of the struc­ tures and systems underpinning forensic science. To do so is to highlight a series of fluidities and contestations that pervade the generation and use of forensic scientific knowledge across a range of spaces. This book has examined the contingency and interdependency at the heart of the evolving relationship between science, the law and society at large. It has shown how representations of forensic science are constructed and the consequences of these constructions. A challenge from a policy perspective is to understand how contingency, if not able to be fully anticipated, can at least be managed. While it may not be possible to predict exactly what future course relations between forensic science and soci­ ety will take, this book has aimed to highlight in detail the varied dynamics involved in this relationship. These phenomena hold great significance for sociolo­ gists and forensic stakeholders alike.

Notes 1. Another notable example of STS in court, albeit in a non­criminal hearing, was the testimony of Steve Fuller, Professor of Sociology at Warwick University, in a trial which involved a dispute over the teaching of Intelligent Design. 2. Ostensible similarities have previously been observed between STS and the law in the way they apparently seek to ‘deconstruct’ scientific evidence. Closer inspection, however, reveals fundamentally different underlying motivations across the two domains for doing so (Lynch 1998).

References Ashmore, M. (1989) The Reflexive Thesis: Wrighting Sociology of Scientific Knowledge. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Ciencia Forense Ciudadana (CFC) (2015) Online at: http://cienciaforenseciudadana.org (accessed 11 August 2015). Cole, S. A. (2009) ‘A cautionary tale about cautionary tales about intervention’, Organization, 16 (1): 121–41. Collins, H. and Evans, R. (2002) ‘The third wave of science studies: studies of expertise and experience’, Social Studies of Science, 32 (2): 235–96. Coopmans, C., Vertesi, J., Lynch, M. and Woolgar, S. (eds) (2014) Representation in Scientific Practice Revisited. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Eades, D. (2010) ‘Nationality claims: language analysis and asylum cases’, in M. Coulthard and A. Johnson (eds), The Routledge Handbook of Forensic Linguistics. London: Routledge, pp. 411–22. Edmond, G. (2011) ‘The building blocks of forensic science and law: recent work on DNA profiling (and photo comparison)’, Social Studies of Science, 41 (1): 127–52. Edmond, G. and Mercer, D. (2006) ‘Anti­social epistemologies’, Social Studies of Science, 36 (6): 843–54. ENSURE (Enhancing resilience of communities and territories facing natural and na­tech hazards) (2011) ENSURE Final Report. Online at: http://cordis.europa.eu/publication/ rcn/14275_en.html (accessed 12 August 2015).

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Euroforgen (2015) Online at: http://www.euroforgen.eu (accessed 25 July 2015). Fuller, S. (2006) ‘A step toward the legalization of science studies’, Social Studies of Science, 36 (6): 827–34. Garfinkel, H. (1968) ‘The origins of the term “ethnomethodology”’, in R. Turner (ed.) (1974) Ethnomethodology: Selected Readings. London: Routledge Education, pp. 15–18. Jasanoff, S. (2004) ‘Ordering knowledge, ordering society’, in S. Jasanoff (ed.), States of Knowledge: The Co-Production of Science and Social Order. London: Routledge, pp. 13–46. Jasanoff, S. (2010) ‘Foreword’, in R. Hindmarsh and B. Prainsack (eds), Genetic Suspects: Global Governance of Forensic DNA Profiling and Databasing. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, pp. xix–xxiv. Lawless, C. (2015) Understanding the Sociomaterial Boundary Qualities of Livelihood Resilience to Climate Change: Toward a Methodological Framework for More Systematic Social Analysis, United Nations University Institute for Environment and Human Security Working Paper 7, February, online at: http://collections.unu.edu/view/UNU:2853 (accessed 12 August 2015). Lynch, M. (1998) ‘The discursive production of uncertainty: the O.J. “Dream Team” and the sociology of knowledge machine, Social Studies of Science, 28 (5–6): 829–68. Lynch, M. (2009) ‘Science as a vacation: deficits, surfeits, PUSS, and doing your own job’, Organization, 16 (1): 101–19. Lynch, M. and Cole, S. A. (2005) ‘Science and technology studies on trial: dilemmas of expertise’, Social Studies of Science, 35 (3): 226–40. Lynch, M. and McNally, R. (2009) ‘Forensic DNA databases and biolegality: the co­production of law, surveillance technology and suspect bodies’, in P. Atkinson, P. Glasner and M. Lock (eds), Handbook of Genetics and Society: Mapping the New Genomic Era. Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 283–301. Prainsack, B. and Toom, V. (2010) ‘The Prüm Regime: situated dis/empowerment in transnational DNA profile exchange’, British Journal of Criminology, 50 (6): 1117–35. Prainsack, B. and Toom, V. (2012) ‘Performing the union: the Prüm Decision and the European dream’, Studies in History and Philosophy of Science C: Studies in Biomedical and Biological Sciences, 44 (1): 71–9. Tanner, T., Lewis, D., Wrathall, D., Bronen, R., Cradock­Henry, N., Huq, S., Lawless, C., Nawrotzki, R., Prasad, V., Rahman, M. A., Alaniz, R., King, K., McNamara, K., Nadiruzzaman, M., Henly­Shepard, S. and Thomalla, F. (2015) ‘Livelihood resilience in the face of climate change’, Nature Climate Change, 5 (1): 23–6. Williams, R. and Johnson, P. (2004) ‘Wonderment and dread: representations of DNA in ethical disputes about forensic DNA databases’, New Genetics and Society, 23 (2): 205–23. Woolgar, S. (ed.) (1988) Knowledge and Reflexivity: New Frontiers in the Sociology of Knowledge. London: Sage.

Index

Page numbers in italic refer to figures or tables. Added to a page number ‘n’ denotes notes. abductions 29 abductive reasoning 82–3, 99n1 academic research: brain drain of forensic scientists towards 75; CSI effect 27, 34; police use of scientific support 60; relations between forensic stakeholders and 148 academic schools 42 accountability 62, 75, 76, 97, 163 accreditation 47, 49, 50–4, 62, 76 acting out (scenarios) 98 activity records 61 activity­level propositions 88, 89 administrative objectivity 5 admissibility 3, 104, 107, 108, 110, 111, 155–6 advanced liberal policies 59, 76 adversarial courts 2, 65, 155 Afro­Caribbean males: representation on the NDNAD 127 age of persons: NDNAD profiles and 127 agency 98 ‘all known offenders’: capturing profiles for 126 Alston, Candra 136, 138 American Academy of Forensic Sciences (AAFS) 47–8, 55, 56n2 anthropometry 10, 41, 123 anti­CSI effect 30 ‘appeasement’ strategy 28 Aronson, J.D. 8 arson investigation 90 Article 8 (ECHR) 129 articulate collectives 4 assemblages of administration 5

assertions (probabilistic) 88 assessment process (CRFP) 53–4 Assimakopoulos, D. 64, 76n1 Association of Chief Police Officers (ACPO) 77n2, 107, 148–50 Association of Forensic Science Providers (AFSP) 85, 147 attitudes 50; of media to scientific expertise 30; of police to science/ scientific integration 44, 61; shaping the uses of forensic technology 139; towards Bayes Theorem 84; volatility of, towards technology 140, see also prejudice; societal attitudes attrition models 61 Audit Commission 66 Auguste Dupin 22 Australia 51, 61–2, 104, 105, 113 authority: of DNA evidence 9, 104, 116; of expert witnesses 115; of forensic science 1; forensic technologies and 7; of police to take fingerprints and DNA 131, see also epistemic authority; scientific authority; state authority; technocratic authority autopsies (fictional) 24 ballistics 25 Barnard­Wills, D. 29 Bayes Theorem 12, 65, 164; abduction associated with applications of 83; ambiguity in constructing propositions 91–6; application of, as performativity 97; attempts to introduce to jurors 103; criticised as impossibly information­hungry 99n3; in forensic

182

Index

science 85–9; in investigation 89–91; ongoing application of 96; police­ practitioner relations 84; reduction of interpretation errors 112; role in shaping forensic practice 96–7; sceptical attitudes towards 84; use in UK and US 83–4 Bayesianising 95, 98 BBC 23 Beck, Ulrich 11, 12 best practice 49, 51, 56, 62, 65, 154 ‘best value’ principles 67 bias: in selective forensic examination 71 big data 155 The Big Sleep 22 The Bill 23 biolegality 138–9, 140, 164 biometric data: administering collection of 123–4; deletion 129–30, 131; as markers of identity 10; retention 124, 125, 126, 129, 130, 131, 132, see also DNA profiles; fingerprints biometric pragmatism 166–7 biometric technologies 11, 138, 159 Biometrics Board 149 Biometrics Commissioner 129, 130, 131 biopolitics 160 Birmingham Six case 50 bite­mark analysis 25 blue­sky research 147 Bones 23 boundary work 40 brain drain 75 British Academy of Forensic Sciences (BAFS) 49 Budowle, Bruce 108–9, 111–12, 114 bureaucratic processes 5 bureaucratic rationality 12 business management ethos 66 Caddy report 107, 108, 109, 119n2 Cagney and Lacey 23, 24 Caldwell, Harry 47 Camps, Francis 49 capability advisors (CAST) 150 capacity (laboratory): news media focus on real and fictional 33 Case Assessment and Interpretation (CAI) 84–5, 87, 89, 90, 96 Casella, J. 145–6 categorical uniqueness 12 categorization: of ethnic minorities 127–8; participation of forensic science in 10; social research and acceptance of 9;

of specific offences 131; technologies and 138 celebrity crime 28–9 Cellmark 8, 72 Centre for Applied Science and Technology (CAST) 150–1 Channell, Judge 42 character development (fictional) 24 Chartered Society of Forensic Sciences (CSFS) 48, 49 Chisum, W.J. 56n1 choice: in public services 59 Christie, Agatha 22 circumstances: activity­level propositions 88 ‘citizens’ forensic science 174 citizenship 7, 174 civil liberties 29, 99n1, 128, 159, 160 civilian medical practitioners 41 Clarke, A. 9 classification see categorization cliques 76n1 cloud computing 172 ‘codecs’ programs 153–4 cognitive practices: evidential interpretation 69 cold case reviews 9, 31, 105, 133 Cole, Simon 26, 27, 33, 34, 47, 141n2, 171 collaborative networks 64 collective identity 41 collegiality 46, 50, 55 Collins, H. 39 Collins, Wilkie 22 commercial dimensions see private sector communication: between digital device manufacturers and the digital forensics community 154; between the FSS and police 67; in forensic research 147; lack of, between laboratories 45, 46, see also dramatic dialogue; open dialogue communities: and shaping of scientific knowledge 3, see also expert communities; forensic community communities of practice 159, 160, 165 competence assessment 54 competency testing 53 competitive tendering 54 computer models 61 conditional approaches 12 conditionality 140, 168 confessions 50, 156 consensus (scientific) 39–40, 46, 108, 113 contamination of samples 106 contextual utilities 63–4

Index contingency 5, 125 contract arrangements 68, 71, 72 Cooley, C.M. 25 cooperation 43, 146 cost­benefit 152 cost­effectiveness 73, 74 Council for the Registration of Forensic Practitioners (CRFP) 53–4 court cases: news media and 29 court judgements: and scientific agendas 116 court proceedings: epistemological labour 103 courtroom rhetoric 6 Cracker 23 credibility 4, 5, 6, 103, 104 crime: dramas and skewed representations of 24; investigation see investigation(s); newsworthiness 28–9; theories of, and the media 29 crime scene examination 62, 64, 153 crime scene examiners: hypotheses development 99n1; impact of media portrayals 24, 27–8; interest in framing ‘key attributes’ of 61–2; performance evaluation 61, 75; police use and views of 60–1; self­perception and shaping of role 62 Crime and Security Bill (2010) 129 crime stories/narratives 6, 29 criminal justice 138, 172 Criminal Justice Act (2003) 124, 125–6 Criminal Justice and Police Act 1997 (CJPA) 125 Criminal Justice and Police Act 2001 (CJPA) 124, 125 Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994 (CJPOA) 124, 125 criminal justice systems: embeddedness of forensic science in 4; estimating true impact of forensic science 152; Royal Commission 50–1 Criminal Procedure and Investigations Act (section 64) (1996) 124 Criminal Reconstruction: A Practical Textbook for Magistrates, Police Officers and Lawyers 42 criminal type(s) 10, 123, 134, 137 criminalistics 42, 82 criminality 10, 24, 41, 123, 137, 139 criminalization 128 Crippen murder trial 43 ‘critical/constructivist’ Public Understanding of Science (cPUS) 21, 160

183

Crofts, Marion 105 cross­examination 2–3, 45, 103 Crown Prosecution Services (CPS) 107, 148 Cruz­Santiago, Arley 174 CSI 6, 23, 24 CSI Britain 31, 32, 35 CSI effect 24–8, 32, 33–4, 35, 156 CSI infection 34 cultural labels 136, 138 culture­science boundary 32 cybercrime 172 cybersecurity 172 Daemmrich, A. 8 Dando, Jill 92 data sets: proposition construction 96 Daubert requirement 111 De Forest, P.R. 52 decision to arrest: and inclusion on the NDNAD 126, 127 decision­making: ethical 140; legal 2, 3, 169 deduction 82, 99n1 defence propositions 86, 87, 88, 92–3, 96 defendant’s effect 26 deficit­model discourses 20–1, 117, 118, 157, 158, 160, 168–9, 170, 175 degree programmes 145 deletion of biometric material 129–30, 131 demarcation problem: in science 3, 40 Departmental Committee on Detective Work and Procedure (Home Office, 1938) 44 detective capacity 43 detective fiction 21–2, 35 detective reasoning 63 determinism 25 Dexter 23 Dickens, Charles 22 differentiation: within forensic community 53 digital devices 153–4 digital forensics 153–5, 159, 172 digital profiles 153, 155 Dioso­Villa, R. 26, 27 Disaster Victim Identification (DVI) 178 disclosure 117, 136 discourses: biolegality 139; construction of knowledge and power relations 11, see also deficit­model discourses; ethical discourses; social­realist discourses; surfeit­model discourses discrimination 127–9

184

Index

disenfranchisement 110 Dixon, Sir Arthur 43 DNA evidence: authority of 9, 104, 116; forensic dramas and mystique of 25; interpretation see evidential interpretation; material­discursive entanglings 11; overstated and hasty conclusions from presence of 132; prisoners’ perceptions of 9; production of credible 4, see also fingerprints; trace evidence; transfer evidence DNA matches: in cold case reviews 105; evaluating significance of 90; non­definite proof of guilt 128; probability(ies) 90, 99n2, 108, 115 DNA profiles: as articulate collectives 4; capturing for ‘all known offenders’ 126; the CJPA as a response of failure to remove from databases 125; data sharing 177, databases, see also forensic databasesdeletion 129–30, 131; familial searching 133–4; history of forensic use of 105; interpretation 30–3, 83, 104, 107, 116; objective image 116; retention 124, 125, 126, 129, 130, 131; storage in numerical format 124 DNA profiling 124, 141n2; awareness of Bayes Theorem 83; cold case reviews 9; creation of molecular ‘barcodes’ 10; ethical discourses 166–7; in forensic drama 25; government control, United States 8; and identification of presence at crime scenes 10; news media portrayal 29; private sector role 8, see also low­template DNA (LT­DNA) profiling; phenotypic profiling DNA samples/sampling: cases and developments in 129–33; contamination 106; investigative utility 124; legislation governing 124, 125, 126 DNA typing/testing see DNA profiling DNABoost 30–3, 35 Doak, S. 64, 76n1 Double Indemnity 22 Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan 22 Dragnet 23 dragnets 135 dramas (forensic) 23–8 dramatic arc 23 dramatic dialogue 25 dramatic uncertainty 23–4 Duster, T. 128

e­fits 136 economic models 97 economic rationality 59, 65 economics: and innovation 150 economy: UK promotion of, in police service 66 Edmond, Gary 3, 104, 169, 170, 171 ‘educate’ strategy 28 effectiveness 66, 67, 76, 152 efficiency 66, 76 embodied practices/performance 95, 96, 97, 98, 175 engagement discourses see deficit­model discourses; social­realist discourses; surfeit­model discourses England and Wales: admissibility rulings 104; call for universal National DNA database 128; development of forensic science 8; early twentieth century police forces 43; efforts to accredit practitioners 53; forensic innovation 144–61; governance of forensic science 59–77; jurisdictional relations 131; oversight for standards 54; Royal Commission on examination of criminal justice system 50–1; state influence in forensic science 56; suspension of use of LT­DNA 107; use of Bayes Theorem 83–4 epistemic authority 28, 104, 169 epistemic reform 66, 83, 99n1 epistemic risk 12, 174 epistemological identity: forensic science 50, 55, 76, 81–5, 99, 163 epistemological labour: court proceedings 103 epistemological practices: evidential interpretation 98 epistemological questions: science, technology, law and 6 epistemological significance: of forensic science 2 error(s): fictional drama and 25 essentialism 25 ethical decision­making 140 ethical discourses 166–7; concerning reliability 140, 164; genetic testing 139 ethics/ethical issues: CPUS research 160; DNABoost 32; familial searching 134; forensic linguistics and phonetics 173–4; inferring 139–41; market agenda and overriding of 159; phenotypic profiling 138; sampling and retention of DNA 126; science and technology 6, 29;

Index sociological knowledge 171, see also medical ethics ethnic classifiers 136 ethnicity: categorization practices 127–8; familial searching and 134; forensic dramas and stereotyping 24; phenotypic profiling 134, 135; representation on the NDNAD 127 ethnography 63, 65, 97 ethnomethodology 97, 98, 175–6 EUROFORGEN­NoE 172 Europe: accreditation programmes 51; fingerprinting 41; influence of CAI framework 85 European Convention on Human Rights 129 European Court of Human Rights 129, 132 European Network of Forensic Science Institutes (ENFSI) 49, 50, 85, 146 evaluation of evidence 4 evaluative opinion: acceptance of 114–16, 118 evaluative studies 60–5 Evett, Ian 83 evidential interpretation: Bayes Theorem 84, 112; CAI assumption 85; cognitive practices 69; commercial arrangements as hindering a holistic approach to 72; epistemological practices 98; face­ to­face consultations 65; fictional dramas 24; involvement of complex ratiocinations 4; scientific 6, 86 Exchange Principle (Locard) 42–3, 81–2 exclusion 39, 50, 135, 159 expansion plan (NDNAD) 126 expectations: of forensic innovation 155–8; of forensic science 165–6; of jurors 27; of the public 25, 26, 156 expert collaborators 61 expert communities 39, 46, 56, 145, 160 expert networks 149 expert witnesses: acceptance of evaluative opinion 114–16, 118; credibility, competence or relevance 103, 104; discouraged from using probabilistic methods 84; erosion of trust in 30; exposed to scrutiny of legal professionals 2–3; perception of influence at the expense of counsel 110; Runciman Commission 50, 51; training 8 expertise: Bayes Theorem perceived as a return to subjective 84; in court hearings 104; forensic 44, 52, 55; in leading research, uncertainty about 159; public

185

service 59; scientific 30, 103; scientific societies 46 External Visible Characteristics (EVCs) 134–5 eyewitness testimony 4, 25, 42, 50 factual media 29 Falconio, Peter 105 familial searching 133–4, 137, 139 fear: surveillance technology and 30 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) 8 fiction (forensic) 21–8, 35 film 23 finance 99n4 financial models 97 fingerprint analysis 10, 47 fingerprinting 25, 41–2 fingerprints: authority of police to take 131; cataloguing of known offenders 123–4; retention of 125, 130 Forensic Access 72 Forensic Alliance 67 forensic analysis: forensic dramas 25, see also DNA profiling; fingerprinting forensic community: attitudes and inclusion in 50; desire for differentiation in 53; global nature 40, see also forensic stakeholders forensic data: exchange of 176–7 forensic databases: call for a universal national 128; construction of suspect identities 8–9; propositions and availability of suitable background 90; as a reflection of concern for future danger 11, see also National DNA Database of England and Wales Forensic DNA Typing Act 1994 (Netherlands) 134 forensic evidence: admissibility see admissibility; inadmissibility; contingent status of 5; credibility 4, 5, 6; CSEs and recovery of 61, 62; detective reasoning 63; determining scientific status of 3; ensuring relevance of 62; evaluating significance of 4; impartiality 71; inaccurate presentation 156; infallibility 6–7, 138, 157; influence on perception 10; integrity 4, 5, 106, 178; interpretation see evidential interpretation; interrelationships 4; material sources 4; meaning­making 4–7; media critiques of fictional findings 33; miscarriages of justice and

186

Index

renewed scrutiny of 12; ‘mystique’ 25; objectivity 5; in older models of investigation 87; policy­oriented studies 61; as reducing the person to a body that leaves traces 11; reliability see reliability; representations 6; Science and Technology studies 3, 7; as in a state of becoming 5; transformation during investigation process 4, see also DNA evidence forensic expertise 44, 52, 55 forensic experts 23, 44 forensic genetic body 7 forensic identification 10, 11, 123, 134 forensic innovation: ACPO 148–50; awareness of social embeddedness of 158; Centre for Applied Science and Technology 150–1; commercial dimensions 151–3; context 140–1; differing interests 159; digital forensics 153–5; managing expectations 155–8; producer­user relationships 165; research 145–8; tensions over 159 forensic knowledge: collective understandings 1; expert 62; the ISFG and promotion of 49; practice, organization and performance 4–7, 12–13; production of 7; shaping of 3; ‘vertical integration’ strategy in stabilization of 8; within the legal system 6 forensic laboratories: fingerprinting 41; multiple, privatized 66; news media critique of fictional 33; qualitative studies 64; recognition of need to raise standards 51; regional network of 43, 44, 45, 46, 48; role of social practices in work of 64–5, see also police laboratories forensic linguistics 173 forensic market 152 Forensic Marketplace Management Team (FMMT) 70, 71, 72, 74 forensic medicine 41, 49 forensic pathology 49 forensic phonetics 173 Forensic Portfolio (ACPO) 148 Forensic Portfolio Board (ACPO) 148–9 forensic reasoning 62, 164; Bayesian see Bayes Theorem; embodied, enacting form of 95; qualitative studies 63; reflections on epistemological identity of 81–5 forensic science: academic schools 42; actors see forensic community;

application of molecular biology 7; authority 1; categorization of individuals 10; cost­benefit 152; definitional debates 48, 50; degree programmes 145; development of 1, 8, 40–6; as embedded in criminal justice systems 4; epistemological ‘reconstruction’ of 99n1; establishing precise value of 152; estimating true impact of 152; and identity see identity; low priority status, in 1970s and 1980s 50; marketization 65–75; media portrayal see media portrayal; NFFA/NFFNG frameworks 74; objectivity 7; origin of term 1; police attitudes towards 44; power, institutions and networks 7–10; prisoners’ perceptions 9; public support 140; and research see research; scrutiny of methods 103; as a source of social control 9; standardization and accreditation 8, 50–4, 56, 59, 68, 69, 74; UK described as ‘world leader’ in 30; vulnerability of new forms, to criticism 104 Forensic Science Advisory Council 50 Forensic Science Community 151 Forensic Science International: Genetics 49, 111–14, 145 forensic science practitioners (FSPs): definitional debates 55; disciplines and specialisms 1; epistemological differences 55; fictional portrayal 23; identification with a global community 40; interest in bidding for a presence with NFFNG 71; and marketization 66, 67, 69–70; media portrayals and pressures facing 25, 27–8, 35–6; news media critiques of the CSI effect 33; participation in NFFA 68; partnership approach 73, 74, 76; perceived contribution to police work 146; registration council 53–4; research by 145; role strain 27; standardization and concerns about job satisfaction 51; use of term 52, see also crime scene examiners; forensic scientists; police­ practitioner relations Forensic Science Regulator 54, 107, 147, 148, 150, 155 forensic science research 145–8; commercial agenda 144; declining incentive to invest in 74; evaluative 60–5; the FSSoc and promotion of 48; LR­based methods 115–16

Index Forensic Science Service (FSS) 46; amalgamation of MPL into 44; change in status of 67; closure announcement 70; demise of, seen as a blow to innovation 147; DNA profiling 105; DNABoost 30–3, 35; financial difficulties 70; as a hindrance to a competitive market 77n2; interpretation of DNA profiles 104; Interpretation Research Group 83, 84; McFarland review 67; participation in NFFA 68; phenotypic profiling 134; private firms in competition with 67; product­based charging 67; public sector reform 59; R&D capacity 145; rivalry and isolation 55; Silverman review 147; transformation programme 70 Forensic Science Society (FSSoc) 48–9, 50, 51 Forensic Science Special Interest Group 149 forensic scientific societies 46–50, 55, 163 forensic scientists: brain drain 75; concern about diminished status in terms of police relations 74; CSI effect and role confusion 33; definitional debates 55; desire for differentiation/distancing 53; ethnographic study of Swedish 65; role 86; scrutiny of practices 51; valued as key resource 64–5 forensic services: contract arrangements 68; epistemic reform 66; oversight of suppliers 51; pricing 67, 72; procurement 68, 71, 73, 74, 146, 148; standardisation 68, 74 forensic stakeholders 1; biolegality 139; future social research agenda 166; marginalisation from research agenda 146–7; new technologies and perceived need to engage with publics 157; relations between academic research and 148, see also forensic science practitioners; juries; legal professionals; police; public(s) forensic technologies: alteration in understandings of societal principles 7; cold case reviews 9; DNABoost 30–3; ethical discourses and indeterminacy of 167; government control 8; innovation and concerns about perceived admissibility 155–6; integration into police operations 159; media critiques of fictional 33; new social orderings 138; news media portrayal 29; perceived

187

need to engage with publics 157; public acceptance 160; reduction of people to carriers of data 7; role of contingency in development of 125; scrutiny of 103; social institutions and attitudes 139; and surveillance society 7; too much trust in contestable 174; vocabularies surrounding use of 168 Forensics Delivery Board (FDB) 149 Fraser, J. 146, 160n1 Frye requirement 110, 111 functionalism 39, 55 Game, Sir Philip 43 Garfinkel, Harold 175–6 gatekeepers 28, 111 ‘general acceptance’ criterion 110, 111–12 genetic exceptionalism 166, 167 genetic informants 134 genetic information: dramatic dialogue 25 genetic markers 49 genetic suspects: ability to constantly monitor 9 genetic technology 104 genetic testing: ethical discourses 139 Genewatch 135 genomic minimalism 166, 167 genotype matches 133 George, Barry 92 Ghoshray, S. 27 Gil Grissom 26 global community of practitioners 40 globalization 11, 177–8 Golden Age of Detective Fiction 22 ‘Govco’ status: of the FSS 67 ‘governing by identity’ 11 government control: forensic technologies 8 government surveillance: as a challenge to public trust 30 Greer, C. 29 Gross, Hans 39, 42 group identity 41 Hackett, Paul 31 Haimes, E. 134 handwriting 25 Harrison, Dr Wilson 43 health traits: phenotyping and identification of 137 healthcare needs: criminalization of people with 128 hegemony(ies) 28, 34, 117, 118, 169, 176 Heinemann, T. 9 Henson, Mark 105

188

Index

heredity 10, 123, 137, 139 Herschel, William 41 hierarchy of propositions 88–9, 90, 992, 112 higher education institutions 145–6 Hill Street Blues 23 Hoare, Sir Samuel 44 Hoey, Sean Gerard 106–7 Holden, Dr H.S. 43 holism 51 Home Office 54; Centre for Applied Science and Technology 150–1; Departmental Committee on Detective Work and Procedure 44; as instrumental in development of forensic science 44, 46; regulation of FSS 67; Scientific Development Branch (HOSDB) 148 hope: surveillance technology and 30 horizon scanning 150 House of Commons Select Committee on Science and Technology (2011) 70–1, 146, 152 House of Commons Select Committee on Science and Technology (2013) 72, 146 Huey, L. 27–9, 35 human body 11, see also forensic genetic body Human Genetics Commission (HGC) 128 human­object relations 98 hypothetico­deductive method 82, 99n1 identification see forensic identification; non­forensic identification identity: of forensic science 50, 52, 55, 56, 76, 81–5, 99, 163; forensically­mediated 7, 8, 10–11, 134; mass media and 28, see also collective identity; suspect identities ideologies 28 imaginaries 28 immutability 7, 104, 116, 124, 168 impartiality of evidence 71 in­house digital forensics 154, 155 in­house laboratories 70–1 inadmissibility 83, 103, 108, 116, 125, 171 incarceration 9, 126 inclusion: on DNA databases 128, 129, 132; and professions 39, 50; technology into police operations 159 indefinite retention of DNA 129 indexicality 97, 98 induction 82 infallibility 6–7, 138, 157 inferences/inferential hypotheses 64, 83, 88, 90, 138

informal contexts: discussions of best practice 65 information: police appeals for 29; public exposure to too much 34 information and communications technology (ICT) 172–3 information sharing 65 Innes, M. 9, 63, 64 Innovate UK 149, 151–2, 172 Institut de Police Scientifique 42 Institute of Forensic Photography 42 institutions 7–10 integrity of evidence 4, 5, 106, 178 intelligence: phenotypic profiling for 136 inter­propositional ambiguity 91, 92, 94 interests 11 ‘interim notification’ process 131 International Academy of Criminalistics 42 international agenda 176–8 International Association for Identification (IAI) 47, 56n2 International Journal of Speech, Language and the Law 173 international professional bodies 48, 49–50 International Society for Forensic Genetics (ISFG) 49–50 interpretation: DNA profiles 30–3, 83, 104, 107, 116; spectrum of 86, see also evidential interpretation Interpretation Research Group (FSS) 83, 84 intra­propositional ambiguity 91 intrusion 134 intuition 86 investigation(s): change in meaning of forensic objects during 5; drawing on memory of 89; enacting Bayes Theorem in 89–91; incorporation of forensic evidence in detective reasoning 63; police­led model 85–6; qualitative studies 64; role of factual media and 29; role of forensic scientists 86; transformations of forensic evidence during 4 Jamieson, Allan 52, 53, 56, 82, 108, 109 Jasanoff, S. 104 Jasinskyj, Tony 105 Jeffreys, Sir Alec 105 Johnson, P. 166 Journal for Forensic Identification 47 Journal of the Forensic Science Society 49 journals 46, 49, 51 judicial interpretations: admissibility 104 juridical medicine 41

Index juries: attempts to introduce Bayesian reasoning to 103; deliberations 174–5; expectations 27; offence­level propositions 89 jurisdictional relations 131, 138 justice: perceived failure of state to deliver 12, see also criminal justice; miscarriages of justice; social justice Kappen, Joseph 133, 134 Kappen, Paul 133 Kayser, M. 135 Kellner, D. 28 Kind, Stuart 44–5, 46, 48, 50, 55 Kirby, D. 23–4 Kirk, Paul 82 Kitzberger, M. 9, 26 knowledge: establishing reconstructive 89; interests, discourses, materiality and construction of 11; stakeholders’ interpretation and use of 174, see also forensic knowledge; scientific knowledge; tacit knowledge knowledge transfer 64 Knowledge Transfer networks (KTNs) 151 Kopple, R. 65–6 Krane, Dan 24–5, 106 Kruse, C. 11, 65 laboratories see forensic laboratories; police laboratories laboratory scientists 53 Lacassagne, Alexandre 42 law: STS engagement with 172 law­science relationship: co­production and re­reproduction 119; complexity of 2–3; science vs medicine 40–6; and technology 6, 103–20 law­sets 3 lawyers 2–3, 5, 56, 110 learned societies 46 legal decision­making 2, 3, 169 ‘legal deficit’ discourses 169 legal evidence 4 legal medicine 41 legal professionals 2–3, 49, 53, 110 legal reasoning 83 legal research: on CSI effect 27 legal social realist discourses 169, 170 legal surfeit discourses 169 legislation: police powers to same and retain DNA 124, 140 Ley, B.L. 25 LGC 67, 72, 73, 145

189

Lifecodes 8 likelihood approach 84 likelihood estimates 90, 91 likelihood ratios 87–8, 115–16, 118 Lindh, Anne 105 linguistics (forensic) 173 Locard, Edmond 39, 42–3, 81–2 logic: and interpretation 86 ‘looping’ effect 33, 35 Low Copy Number (LCN) DNA analysis 105, 114 low­template DNA (LT­DNA) profiling 104; acceptance of evaluative opinion 114–16; debates within Forensic Science International: Genetics 111–16; deficit­type discourse 117, 118; jurisprudential and regulatory interventions 105–11; need for specialist software 112 Ludwig, A. 61 Lynch, M. 5, 103, 104, 171 Lyon, D. 11 McCann case 29, 30 McFarland Review 67 Machado, H. 29 MacKenzie, D. 99n4 McKinsey & Co. report (2008) 152 McLaughlin, E. 29 McNally, R. 103 Maguire Seven 50 Maloy, John 41 Manlove Forensics 73 markers of identity 10 market competition 66, 67 marketization 59, 65–75 Marsh, Ngaio 22 mass media 28 Massari, S. 11 materiality 4, 11, 98 mathematical formulae 97, 98 May, Sir John 50 M’charek, A. 64, 135 meaning­making (evidential) 4–7 meaningful interpretation 86 media portrayals 20–36, 165; fictional 21–8, 35; influence of 20; PUS research 20–1, see also news media; television dramas Medialink 31, 32 medical ethics 137, 139 medical jurisprudence 41 medical pathologists 43 medical practitioners 41

190

Index

medicine: science versus, in law 40–6 Medicine, Science and the Law 49 Megnath case 110, 111, 112, 118 memory: police organizational 63; of previous investigations, drawing on 89; and social control 9 Mennell, J. 146 mental health problems: and likelihood of inclusion in the NDNAD 128 Mercer, D. 171 Metropolitan Police Act (1829) 41 Metropolitan Police Laboratory (MPL) 43, 44 Metropolitan Police Service (MPS) 43, 131 Mexico 174 mini­competitions (FMMT) 71 minors: inclusion on the NDNAD 129 miscarriages of justice 12, 29, 30, 40, 50, 83 molecular ‘barcodes’ 10, 137 molecular biology 7, 8 monetary measurement 66 monitoring: genetic suspects 9, see also performance monitoring; surveillance monopoly epistemics 66 Mopas, N. 32 moral orientation: media interest 29 moral panics 29 moral sensibility 34, 65, 99n1 Mordini, E. 11; The Murders in the Rue Morgue 21–2 Murdoch, Bradley 105 mutually exclusive propositions 96 ‘mystique’ of scientific evidence 25 narrative (crime) 6, 29 National Crime Agency (NCA) 149 National DNA database: call for a universal 128 National DNA Database of England and Wales (NDNAD) 7, 105; biolegality 138; cases changing the course of 129–33; concerns over discrimination 127–9; construction of suspect identities 8–9; development of 124–7; role in risk management 12; use of, in development of DNABoost 32 National Forensic Framework Agreement (NFFA) 68, 72, 73–4, 75, 76, 146 National Forensic Framework Next Generation (NFFNG) 70, 71–2, 73–4, 75, 76, 77n4 National Police Chiefs Council (NPCC) 148–50

National Policing Improvement Agency (NPIA) 68, 149, 152 National Vocational Qualifications (NVQs) 51, 53 NCIS 23 Nemesysco 173 neo­Weberianism 39, 55 neoliberal policies 59 Netherlands 134–5 networks 7–10, 64, 149, 151 new penology 12 new public management 59, 76 New Zealand 110, 111, 113 news media 6, 28–34 news values 29 newsworthiness 28–9 Nineteen Eighty-Four 30 ‘noir’ genre 22 Nolan, T.W. 24 non­forensic identification 86–7 non­qualifying offences 130–1, 132 non­science 3, 40 non­scientific knowledge 3 Northern Ireland: cross­jurisdictional relations 131; forensic laboratory 45; R v Hoey 106–7; temporary suspension of use of LT­DNA 107 ‘nothing to hide, nothing to fear’ 140 Nuffield Council on Bioethics 128 objectivity 5, 7, 65, 138, 177 objects (forensic) 5 offence­level propositions 88, 89 offences: classification of specific 131; qualifying/non­qualifying 129–31, 132 offending: effect of DNA databasing on 132, see also reoffending Office of the Forensic Science Regulator 54 The Ontogeny of Criminalistics 82 ontological questions 98, 113 onus of proof: phenotypic profiling as a reversal of 135 open dialogue 65 open innovation centre 151 organic objectivity 65 organizational memory 63 Orwell, George 30 oversight: for standards, England and Wales 54; of suppliers of forensic science 51 Parabon Nanolabs 136 participatory action research 174 partnership approach 73, 74, 76 passport/password: human body as 11

Index the past: police control of 9 Peel, Sir Robert 41 peer­reviewed journals 49, 145 Peirce, Charles Sanders 82 People v Hyatt 171 People v Megnath 110, 111, 112, 118 perceived error: IAI attribution of, in fingerprint examination 47 perception(s): of CSEs 61; of expert credibility and competence 104; forensic evidence and 10, see also prisoners’ perceptions; public perceptions Pereira, Barbara 45–6 performance assessment 59, 75 performance evaluation 60, 61, 62, 75 performance management 59 performance monitoring 65, 76, 163 performance review 56 performativity 97, 98, 99n4, 164 phenotypic profiling 134–8, 139, 160 phone hacking 30 phonetics (forensic) 173 photography 123 physiognomy 10, 123 Poe, Edgar Allan 21, 22 police: attitudes towards science 44; authority to take fingerprints and DNA 131; awareness of potential of science 44; categorization of ethnicity 127–8; communication between the FSS and 67; expectations of forensic science 156–7; forensic science and control of the past 9; government promotion of economy, efficiency and effectiveness 66; legislation governing sampling and retention of DNA 124; organizational memory 63; overstated and hasty conclusions from presence of DNA 132; requirements, for specific innovations 149; role strain 27 police chief’s version 26–7 Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1983 (PACE) 124, 125, 131 police force(s): cooperation between 43; creation of first 41; early twentieth century, England and Wales 43; news broadcasts and information appeals 29; participating in the NFFNG 77n4; Scottish 45, 61 police laboratories 42, 43, 45, 56n1, 66, 70–1 Police National Computer (PNC) 131, 139 police operations: integration of technology 159 police procedurals: crime fiction 22–4 police surgeons 41

191

police­led model (investigation) 85–6 police­practitioner relations: Bayes Theorem 84; concern about diminished status of forensic scientists 74; CSI and misleading portrayal of 24; evaluative studies 60–1, 63, 76; innovation 147; trust 73 policy discourses 167–8 political representation 165 politicians 3 possibility spaces: engagement discourses and 170 post­mortems 41 posterior probability 87, 89 The Postman Always Rings Twice 22 power 7–10, 11 Prainsack, B. 9, 26 prejudice 13, 123, 138, 139, 164 presumption of innocence 135 pricing: forensic services 67, 72 primary transfer 108, 115 Prime Suspect 23, 24 prior probability 87, 90 prisoners’ perceptions: forensic science 9 privacy 126, 131, 134, 167, 168, 176 private sector: competency testing 53; forensic science services 54; impact on R&D 144; providers of biometric technology 159; role in development of forensic science 8; scientific support 67; UK forensic innovation 151–3 probabilistic assertions 88 probabilistic methods/systems 65, 116 probability theory 12, 83, 86, 88, 96, 99n1, see also Bayes Theorem procedural normal interpretation: of scientific integration 61 procurement 68, 71, 73, 74, 146, 148 producer­user relationships 165 producer’s effect 26 product specifications 72 product­based charging 67 professional associations 46–54 professional boundaries 53, 55 professional identity 56 professionalism 39, 40, 54, 56, 62, 163 professions 39, 53 professor’s version 26 proportionality 140, 164, 167, 168 propositions 86–8, 96; ambiguity in constructing 91–5; hierarchy of 88–9, 90, 99n2, 112; mutually exclusive 96 prosecution propositions 86, 87, 88, 92, 96 Protection of Freedoms Act 2012 (PoFA) 129, 130, 131, 132, 138, 139, 149

192

Index

Prüm Treaty 176–7 public(s): CSI effect 34; expectations of 25, 26, 156; media attention and concerns of 29; shaping of scientific knowledge 3; technologies and the need to engage with 157; trust see trust public acceptance 140, 160 public perceptions 26, 27, 140 public safety 29, 140, 167, 172, 176 public services 59 Public Understanding of Science (PUS) 20–1, 33–4, 160 ‘pure’ scientific research 144–5 qualifying/non­qualifying offences 129–31 qualitative studies: best practice 65; crime scene work and the use of forensic evidence 64; difficulty of access to investigations 64; forensic laboratories 64; forensic practices 63; police­practitioner interactions 76; technological trajectories 159 quality assurance 65 quality control 56 quality of evidence 111, 120n3 quality of forensic practice 70–1, 83 quality standards 54, 59, 67, 149, 151, 163 quantitation 124, 163 quantitative studies: effect of DNA databases on offending 132; performance evaluation 60, 62, 75; scientific integration 63 R v B 125, 133, 138, 139, 169 R v Dlugosz 115, 116 R v Hoey 106–7, 112 R v MDS 115, 116 R v Pickering 115, 116 R v Reed and Reed 108–11, 115, 118 R v T (2010) 83–4, 115, 118 R v Weller 115 racial discrimination 136 radio dramas 23 rationality 39, 61, see also bureaucratic rationality; economic rationality; scientific rationality realist aesthetic 23, 24 reality(ies): CSI effect 32, 33, 34; mathematical formulae and 97; media portrayals and distortion of 35; ontological questions concerning constitution of 98 ‘reasonable doubt’ doctrine 27 reasoning: by juries 103; Peirce’s differentiation of 82–3, see also

detective reasoning; forensic reasoning; legal reasoning recidivism 10, 41, 123, 137 reciprocity 65 reconstructive knowledge 89 reductionism 25, 755 Reed, Terence and David 108–11 reflexivity 97, 98, 171–6 register: of practitioners 53 Reiss, Rudolphe 42 relationships: academic community and forensic stakeholders 148; criminal justice and biotechnology 138; gene activity and the environment 136; human­object 98; impact of familial searching on 134; producer­user 165; sharing best practice 65; transactional customer­supplier 73, see also law­ science relationship; police­practitioner relations relevance 62, 98, 112, 114 reliability 12, 120n3, 167; of DNA evidence 9; ethical discourses 140, 164; fingerprints 42; as interpretive and performative 168; of laboratory practices 113; LT­DNA 106, 108, 109, 110, 111; phenotypic profiling 136 reoffending: DNA retention as a tacit assumption of 126 representation(s): of crime in forensic dramas 24; of forensic evidence 6, 165; political 165; in relation to science 165, see also media portrayals reproducibility 8, 12, 106, 110, 111, 114, 117 Republic of Ireland 85 reputational risk 140 research: biolegality 139; phenotypic profiling 138; pure, scientific 144–5, see also academic research; forensic science research; social research Research Assessment Exercise (RAE) 147 Research Councils (UK) 148 research and development: declining incentive to invest in 74 Research Excellence Framework (REF) 147–8, 158 resilience: in policy discourse 167 retention of biometric material 124, 125, 126, 129, 130, 131, 132 rhetoric 6, 29–30 Ribaux, O. 84, 99n1 right to privacy 126 risk(s) 7, 11–13, 126, 140, 152, 174 risk management 12

Index risk society 11, 12 ‘risky’ individuals 126 rivalry 46, 55 role confusion 33 role strain 27 Royal Commission on Criminal Justice 50–1, 66–7 Royal Society 55 Royal Society report (1985) 21 Royal Statistical Society 55 Runciman Commission 51 S & Marper cases 129–33 Saks, M.J. 27 Santos, F. 29 Sayers, Dorothy 22 scenarios (acting out) 98 Schneider, P.M. 135 School of Forensic Science (Lausanne) 42 Schwarz­Marin, Ernesto 174 Schweitzer, N.J. 27 science: CSI as a challenge to the boundary of culture and 32; demarcation problem 3, 40; lack of questioning, by news media 30; tensions between society and 2; understandings in court 104, see also forensic science; law­science relationship; Public Understanding of Science Science & Justice 49, 51, 52 Science and Innovation Board 148–9, 158 Science and Technology Studies (STS) 2–3, 5, 7, 97, 98, 103, 164, 165, 169, 171, 172, 173, 179n1, 179n2 scientific authority 11, 35, 117, 137, 176 scientific claims 2–3, 5, 12, 21, 40, 55, 65, 117, 118, 170 scientific consensus 39–40, 46, 108, 113 scientific controversies 39, 107, 160 scientific evidence: interpretation 86, see also forensic evidence scientific expertise 30, 103 scientific information: public exposure to too much 34 scientific integration 61, 63, 64, 75 scientific judgements 86 scientific knowledge 2, 3, 7, 11–12, 52, 104, 170 scientific rationality 55, 63, 74 scientific social realist discourses 170 scientific support 46; Dixon’s plan for a national system of 43; growth in private firms offering 67; police management of 66; research on police use and views of 60–1

193

Scientifics Ltd 67 scientists 3, see also forensic scientists; laboratory scientists Scotland: cross­jurisdictional relations 131; forensic science sector 45; police perceptions of CSEs 61; temporary suspension of use of LT­DNA 107 secondary transfer 108, 115 security 172 Security Innovation and Demonstration Centre (SIDC) 151 Sedley, LJ Stephen 128 semantic uncertainty 91 serious crime investigation 63, 64 Serious Organized Crime Agency (SOCA) 149 Shaw, I. 146 Sherlock 24 Sherlock Holmes 22, 23, 24, 35, 42 short­term culture 74 silent witnesses 4 silo mentality 84 Silverman Review 147, 151 skilled workers 53 Small Business Research Initiatives (SBRIs) 151–2 Snapshot 136 Snowden, Edward 30 ‘social behaviour’: inclusion in definition of forensic science 48, 55 social control 9, 28 social embeddedness: forensic innovation 158 social framing: crime, news media and 29 social interactions: and formation of cliques 76n1 social justice 170, 173, 174 social myths 28 social orderings: forensic technologies and new 138 social organization culture: forensic laboratories 64 social practices: forensic laboratory work 64–5 social research: and forensic science 2, 9, 163–79; professions/professionalism 39–40, 56; technology 159, 172–3, see also ethnography; ethnomethodology; qualitative studies; Science and technology Studies social sensibilities 99n1 social­realist discourses 117–18, 157–8, 160, 168–9, 170, 171, 175 societal attitudes 137, 139, 164

194

Index

society: risk as prime organizing element of modern 11; tensions between science and 2 sociolinguistics 173 sociological deficit discourses 170 sociological social­realist discourses 171 sociological surfeit discourses 170–1 soft data 89 source­level propositions 88, 90 South America 178 specialisms 50 Specialist Groups 149 specialized education centres 41 Spilsbury, Sir Bernard 43 Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) 51, 64 standardization 8, 50–4, 56, 59, 68, 69, 74 state: influence on forensic science 56; perceived failure to deliver justice 12 state authority 7, 12 statistical ambiguity 92–5 statistics 10; in legal reasoning 83, see also probability theory stereotypes 24 stigmatization 128, 129 strategic research 147 Stratton: Alfred and Albert 41 ‘strong accusation’ rhetoric 29–30 ‘strong prosecutors’ effect 26 structural mode: of scientific integration 61, 75 A Study in Scarlet 22 sub judice 64 sub­source propositions 99n2 subjective experience: meaning­making 5 subjective interpretation: in LT­DNA 106 subjectivity 109 surfeit­model discourses 33–4, 117, 118, 157, 158, 160, 168–9, 170, 175 surveillance 9, 29 surveillance society(ies) 7, 29, 30 surveillance technologies 30, 177–8 suspect identities 8–9, 11, 137 suspicion: between early laboratories 45; and inclusion on the NDNAD 126, 127 The Sweeney 23 tabloid media 28, 29–30 tacit knowledge 65 Taking Forensic Science R&D to Market 152 Talbot Wright, B. 99n1 technical assistance 60–1, 75 technocratic authority 12 technology(ies): genetic 104; harnessing by state to reaffirm authority 12; law

and 6; police issues in relation to 149; social studies 159, 172–3, see also biometric technologies; digital forensics; forensic technologies; information and communications technology; surveillance technologies Technology Strategy Board 149, 151 technology­mediated surveillance 29 television dramas 6, 23, 24, 35, see also CSI tertiary transfer 108, 115 Tomlinson, Valerie 108, 109, 110 toolmarks 4, 25, 83 Touche Ross survey (1987) 66 trace evidence 4, 11, 42, 62, 83 training 8, 82 transactional customer­supplier relationship 73 transfer evidence 42, 87, 88, 108, 109, 115 transformation of evidence 4 transformation programme (FSS) 70 translational research 147 transparency 59, 65, 68, 83, 85 Trenchard, Lord 43 ‘trial by media’ 29 ‘true crime’ literature and television 28 trust: in contestable technologies 174; erosion of, in expert witnesses 30; news revelations as a challenge to public 30; police­practitioner 73; SSU’s lack of 146; in technology 140 Tryhorn, F.G. 43 Turvey, B.S. 56n1 Twain, Mark 22 uncertainty: in cross­examinations 3; news media and 30; over whose expertise should lead research 159; regarding value of forensic science and technology 152; reputational risk of acknowledging 140; in scientific endeavours 111; transparency about 65, see also dramatic uncertainty; semantic uncertainty United Kingdom: accreditation programmes 51; described as ‘world leader’ in forensic science 30; forensic fiction 23; forensic innovation 151–3; influence of CAI framework 85; status and identity of forensic science 55; use of Bayes Theorem 83, see also England and Wales; Northern Ireland; Scotland United States: accreditation programmes 51; admissibility rulings 104; ‘epistemic

Index reform’ to forensic sciences 66; fingerprinting 41; forensic fiction 23; government surveillance as a challenge to public trust 30; police laboratories 66; standardization of DNA profiling 8; use of Bayes Theorem 83 Units of Assessment (REF) 148, 158 universal DNA database: call for a 128 user interaction: with technology 172–3 utility of DNA 124, 132 validation 8, 51, 106, 107, 110, 112, 119n1, 147, 149 validity 106, 107, 111, 117, 120n3 value: of forensic science 152 value­for ­money 66, 67 variability 111, 117 ‘vertical integration’ strategy 8 visual cues 89–90 vocational qualifications 51, 53 voice recognition systems 173 vulnerability: of forensic science to external interventions 56; in policy discourse 167

195

vulnerable persons: crime and media attention 29; inclusion on the NDNAD 128 Waking the Dead 6, 23 Wales see England and Wales Walton, D. 82 Ward, J. 41 Watson (Sherlock Holmes) 22 ‘weak accusation’ discourse 30 ‘weak prosecutors’ effect 26 Weetnam, J. 63 Weir, Judge 106, 107, 109, 119n1 white criminals/victims (fictional) 24 Williams, R. 60, 63, 64, 166 window­case legislation 134 The Wire 23, 24 women: careers, forensic science 45–6; portrayal, forensic dramas 24 work packages 68, 75, 172 wrongful convictions 9 young black males: representation on the NDNAD 127