Nick Muzik Muzik itibaren 62600 Lappajärvi, Finland
The Killer of Little Shepherds is the story of a serial killer and how he came to be detected and caught. The fact that there was a serial killer stalking the countryside of late 19th Century France is less surprising than that he was eventually caught and convicted by the nascent field of forensic science. Douglas Starr has written a well researched book and told the story of Joseph Vâcher in an accessible and fluid manner. Although the body of the text itself has very few references or footnotes, there is a reasonable notes and bibliography section at the end of the book which readers can investigate if they wish. The true star of the story is Dr Alexandre Lacassagne, a man in the mould of Grissom or Mac Taylor from the popular CSI franchise. However, where Grissom and Taylor et al solve their crimes in less than 60 minutes, Lacassagne spent months trying to understand the mind of Vâcher and amassing the incontrovertible evidence that not only had he committed the crime he was charged with, but had committed others in just three years in some of the most remote parts of France and that he had done so with premeditation and not, as Vâcher and his legal team had tried to claim, whilst insane. The verdict was vindication of the methods employed by Lacassagne and his team and, as the 20th Century dawned, came to be the standard operating procedures of the world’s police forces. Now, in the 21st Century, science is relied on to prove all manner of crimes, from murder to fraud, and it is believed to be both incorruptible and wholly accurate and there lies the rub – is it? Or can the results be manipulated or misinterpreted? Is there too much reliance on science and not enough on the scrupulosity of rigorous methods of application in the science? Lacassagne himself was certain that investigations had to be carried out methodically, documented at all points, and produced his own handbook as a guide. The well publicised cases of wrongful conviction demonstrate that sometimes, rigorousness is missing in some investigations and reliance on the accuracy of scientific developments such as DNA matching is perhaps at the expense of a thorough and impartial investigation. This book is a timely reminder of where forensic science started and how important it was in bringing the criminal to justice. It is also a reminder that, once upon a time, the victim and their family were the only people who deserved pity – in Britain at least, we seem to have forgotten that.
This is pretty funny overall; it's a collection of diary entries written by a poor college student in Philly. The author now writes for Scrubs, so her days of brokeness are probably over. The bad: She won't shut up about going to Penn and how Ivy League she is. Some of us who managed to somehow not be Ivy League grads are pretty darn smart and capable. I know this because I was accepted to Columbia but declined to go to my non-Ivy alma mater, and I don't think I could've gotten a more brilliant, funnier, more adept group of friends. She also has terrible money management skills; like she talks about going to the club and buying drinks. Maybe I'm just a cheap bastard (something I've been accused of on more than one occasion) but I just can't imagine spending money I don't have on drinks at the club. Of course, I also don't drink, but even if I did... one drink is like eight bucks! Do you know what eight bucks can buy you? A couple of times I found myself completely dumbfounded by her decisions. But hey, it makes for good reading.