Englisch Lernen mit Unexpected Circumstance (eBook)

Forensic science

Die forensische Wissenschaft

Forensic science has always been a passion for Damien Morin. Delving deep into the evidence to deduce the cause of death, or finding the small details of a crime amidst the blood and carnage. It was now his final year of studying forensic pathology and though it made him feel like an arrogant prick, he could not deny the facts: he was bounds and leaps ahead of his class. Damien had a keen eye for detail—the ones that even other forensic scientists overlooked stood out plain as day to him.

He had grown up in the London orphanage of St Clements, reading and keeping to himself. The other children were adopted and he was left alone. He had made friends and lost them many times, eventually developing a tendency to keep to himself.

Six students stood around a mock crime scene. A drug den with a dummy dressed up like a hippie, various bottles and syringes lying around him. In coveralls and latex gloves the group roamed, making their observations. One besuited figure moved much more slowly. Carefully checking each area and closely scrutinizing the body, even looking beneath the fingernails and always, always making meticulous notes on his clipboard. He was determined not to miss any sign pointing away from the obvious conclusion.

The guest lecturer entered, one Doctor Helena Debreu, a chief forensic investigator for the metropolitan police. She was in her forties and wore sensible shoes and a suit to match, with little jewellery and makeup. A professional, as one would expect.

As soon as she entered the class dutifully assembled in front of the crime scene. Helena went down the line and read the clipboards of each of the class members, stopping only if there was a particularly good one. Helena only stopped next to Gina Webb as she proceeded down, marking her paper as excellent before telling her to wait outside. The girl nearly jumped for joy as she left the room. Finally she came to Damien and she stopped again. Reading through she noticed he had spotted the injection marks beneath the fingers, the unusual slump to the body and the multiple injection points on the arms. Like Gina he had pointed to murder, while the rest of the class had concluded accidental overdose.

Standing outside he looked over to the nervous Gina; she was sitting by the window and anxiously rubbing her hands. He sat next to her, trying to be as unassuming as possible, and smiled as best he could.

“So what did you put down?” he asked, trying not to sound crass or unpleasant.

She replied quietly “Murder, the body was lying as if it was dumped, not as if it had slumped that way organically upon death. It didn’t appear natural.” She looked up at him “How about you?”

“Injection marks under the fingernails, and the body was obviously dumped, not splayed out like it had died of overdose. Though I didn’t mention it looking unnatural,” he paused “you have a good eye.”

She smiled, but they were cut off as Helena came out to talk to them, “Very good, you two. Almost flawless, though neither of you spotted the strange syringe near the body or the stupid way the dummy was dressed,” she paused to look at them both. Neither said anything. “A hippie, in this day and age? Anyway, you both noticed that it was murder. The rest of your class is on clean-up now, but I’ve been called out to a real murder scene and I’d like for both of you to come.”

She had barely finished speaking when Gina blurted “I’d love to.”

Damien did not respond in kind. “I’m sorry, I have work after this, and I’m on a tight budget, can’t afford to miss it.”

“I understand. Well Gina, you can ride with me to Commercial Street. I want you to pay close attention but touch nothing.” Helena took off with the girl.; Damien noticed a faint flicker of disappointment as he walked away to his bicycle, stopping to look back on them. His view of them was abruptly blocked as the class came out, many of them hurrying on to something else, or back to their cars as they went home.

Outside the building Damien unlocked his bike, not seeing the three men approaching, led by Gerard Buckler, a classmate. Though how he got into the course was a mystery to Damien, he must have relatives somewhere important. All of a sudden they jumped him and Gerard punched him in the stomach. Breaking free, Damien returned the favour by smacking Gerard in his weak shoulder, causing a faint but audible crack. Gerard screamed as Damien rode away, the other guys looking around as if for an escape, and Damien sped away thinking about the past.

The Italian restaurant where Damien worked was fairly stereotypical. A new high class chef had recently turned it around and they were now pulling in a much richer clientele; when Damien joined the staff it was a cheap place where you could get a meal for just over ten pounds. Now you were lucky if it was under thirty. Gone were the cheap, red and white checkered tablecloths; the menus were bound in leather, and the ceiling fan had been replaced by a very decent air conditioner. Everything about the place spoke volumes about its class. It looked inviting, even if you couldn’t afford it.

Damien’s apartment was right next door; a good building, but not modern. It overlooked the alley between his building and the restaurant as well as the road in front. Damien didn’t have much money, but he had made his home liveable. As he changed into his work cloths he could hear an argument in the alley, the chef and some unknown man were rowing, and as he peered out he could see a coated figure walk away and the chef pulling out a cigarette. Whatever it was, it was over now, and Damien needed to get to work.

Die forensische Wissenschaft war immer eine von Damien Morins Leidenschaften. Tief in die Beweise einzutauchen, um aus ihnen die Gründe des Todes abzuleiten oder die kleinen Details inmitten des Blutes und des Gemetzels zu entdecken. Er war nun im letzten Jahr seines Studiums der forensischen Pathologie und auch wenn er sich deswegen wie ein arroganter Mistkerl fühlte, konnte er die Fakten nicht leugnen: er war seiner Klasse meilenweit voraus. Damien hatte ein waches Auge für die Details – auch die, die andere forensische Wissenschaftler übersahen, zeichneten sich für ihn glasklar ab.

Er war im Londoner Waisenhaus St. Clements aufgewachsen, wo er viel gelesen und die Gesellschaft anderer gemieden hatte. Die anderen Kinder wurden adoptiert und er blieb allein. Er hatte Freunde gefunden und sie viele Male verloren, was vielleicht die Tendenz, sich abzuschotten, ausbildete.

Sechs Studenten standen um einen nachgestellten Tatort herum. Eine Drogenhöhle mit einer als Hippie gekleideten Puppe, um die mehreren Flaschen und Spritzen herumlagen. Die Gruppe wanderte in Arbeitsoveralls und Latexhandschuhen umher und stelle ihre Beobachtungen an. Eine Figur in Anzug lief viel langsamer, inspizierte jedes Areal sorgsam und untersuchte den Körper genau, sie sah sogar unter den Fingernägeln nach und machte immer, wirklich immer akribische Notizen auf ihrem Clipboard. Er war entschlossen, nicht ein Zeichen zu übersehen, das von der offensichtlichen Schlussfolgerung abweichen könnte.

Der Gastdozent kam herein, zusammen mit Doktor Helena Debreu, einer leitenden forensischen Ermittlerin der Metropolitan Police. Sie war in den Vierzigern und trug zu ihrem Anzug festes Schuhwerk, dazu etwas Schmuck und Make-up. Ein Profi, könnte man annehmen.

Sofort nach ihrem Erscheinen versammelte sich die Klasse pflichtbewusst vor dem Tatort. Helena ging durch die Reihen und las die Clipboards jedes der Klassenmitglieder und hielt nur inne, wenn eines besonders gut war. Helena blieb während des Durchschreitens nur bei Gina Webb stehen und kennzeichnete ihre Aufschriebe als exzellent, bevor sie sie anwies, draußen zu warten. Das Mädchen sprang beinahe vor Freunde, als sie den Raum verließ. Als letztes kam sie zu Damian und hielt wieder an. Während des Lesens stellte sie fest, dass er die Injektionsmale unter den Fingern, das ungewöhnliche Zusammensinken des Körpers und die zahlreichen Injektionsstellen auf den Armen bemerkt hatte. Wie auch Gina, hatte er auf Mord getippt, während der Rest der Klasse von einer versehentlichen Überdosis ausging.

Draußen sah er zu der nervösen Gina rüber; sie saß neben dem Fenster und rieb sich ängstlich die Hände. Er saß neben ihr und versuchte, so unaufdringlich wie nur möglich zu sein und lächelte, so gut es ging.

„Was hast du denn aufgeschrieben?“ fragte er und versuchte dabei nicht unhöflich oder unwirsch zu klingen.

Sie antwortete ruhig „Mord, der Körper lag, als sei er arrangiert worden und nicht, als sei er aufgrund des Todes natürlich so zusammengesunken. Es erschien nicht natürlich.“ Sie sah ihn an „und du?“

„Injektionsmale unter den Fingernägeln und der Körper war offensichtlich arrangiert worden, er lag nicht, als sei er an einer Überdosis gestorben. Ich habe jedoch nicht angemerkt, dass es unnatürlich aussah“ er hielt inne „du hast ein gutes Auge.“

Sie lächelte, doch dann wurden sie unterbrochen, da Helena herauskam, um mit ihnen zu sprechen. „Sehr gut, ihr beiden. Beinahe...