We each get to borrow a point-and-shoot camera. The cameras are for the university’s forensic-science students, so we need to be careful not to drop them or smudge the lenses.
Stacey sighs. “Look at all this unnecessary packaging,” she says as we unpack the cameras from the boxes they are stored in.
Samantha and Lloyd are going to give us a lesson in forensic photography so we can go back outside and document the crime scene.
Muriel raises her hand. “Samantha, are we also supposed to take notes?” she asks. I can tell Muriel wants to be Samantha’s favorite.
“Absolutely,” Samantha says. “Always have your notebook ready.”
Muriel glows.
Nathaniel slouches lower in his chair and sighs loudly. “I thought this was camp. Not school.”
If Samantha thinks Nathaniel is being rude, she does not let it show. “Forensic scientists don’t go anywhere without their notebooks. Taking detailed notes at a crime scene is super important. Besides, this is just going to be a mini-lesson,” she tells Nathaniel. “And there’s no test at the end of the week…though you guys will be using forensic science to solve a case. If that’s okay with you, of course.” Even though Samantha’s face is serious, I know she’s teasing Nathaniel.
Nathaniel lifts his head. “That part sounds okay.”
Nico keeps shifting in his chair, as if he can’t get comfortable. “If you want us to take notes,” he says, “I think you may have overlooked one small detail.” He pauses. “We don’t have anything to write with!”
We all laugh—even Samantha. Lloyd grabs a box from a nearby table. Inside is a packet of ballpoint pens that say University of Montreal Department of Forensic Science on them. I vow never to throw mine away, even when it runs out of ink.
Stacey is sitting next to me. She has opened her notebook to the first page and is making a list of all of our names.
Lloyd starts the lesson. “Like Samantha just said, recording case notes in your notebooks is extremely important. As you take notes, you want to try and answer the questions who, what, where, when and how.”
“What about the why?” Muriel asks.
“I’ll get to that in a minute, Muriel.” Lloyd extends his arm like he is stopping traffic. “So as I was saying, forensic scientists try to figure out: Who was there? What type of crime was committed? Where are the boundaries of the crime scene? When was the crime committed? And how was the crime committed? We don’t ask why—that’s the detectives’ job.”
“Always use a pen to take notes,” Samantha adds. “And if you have to cross something out, make sure you initial it. Otherwise, your notes may not hold up in court. You guys got all that?”
“Hold up in court,” Nico repeats the words to himself. “Cool!”
“All right then,” Lloyd says. “Let’s talk about forensic photography. What makes forensic photography so important is that it provides a permanent visual record of a crime scene. Once you move something at a crime scene, it never goes back to the way it was. So if a case goes to trial, forensic photography lets people who were not at the scene know what things looked like. Which is why forensic scientists need to take photos as soon as possible after a crime has occurred, in case evidence is moved”—Lloyd drops his voice as if he is about to tell us something terrible—“or tampered with.”
Lloyd looks at Samantha. It must be her turn to talk.
“Forensic scientists need to take three kinds of photos at a crime scene.” Samantha pauses, and I figure that’s because she wants us to write this next part down so we’ll remember it. Now I open my notebook and write the numbers 1, 2 and 3. I hope Samantha notices that my University of Montreal Department of Forensic Science pen is poised for note taking. Muriel is not the only one who wants to be Samantha’s favorite.
“The three kinds of photos are overall, mid-range and close-up. You’ll want to use your camera’s wide-angle setting for overall shots.” Samantha gives us a minute to find the wide-angle setting on our cameras. “When we go outside, you should try to shoot the whole street corner. That would be an example of an overall. A mid-range photo might include the car with the bicycle sticking out from underneath it. A close-up could be just the handlebars or the front tire. Remember to use the zoom for those close-ups. Can you figure out where your zoom is?” We all fiddle around with our cameras until we find the way to control the zoom.
“And keep a detailed list in your notebook of every photo you take,” Lloyd says. Stacey nods. I guess she likes lists. “That way you’ll avoid confusion afterward,” Lloyd explains.
Muriel’s arm shoots up into the air. “Why don’t forensic scientists just take pictures with their cell phones? Wouldn’t that be a lot easier?”
Lloyd shakes his head. “The resolution isn’t high enough on a lot of cell-phone cameras. If your photograph is blurry, you risk losing important evidence. Plus your cell phone might be seized, and everything on it could be looked at in court.”
“Wow, I never would have thought of that,” Muriel says.
I am writing so much down, I have to shake out my wrist. Except for Nathaniel, the others are also taking tons of notes.
“I’m glad you guys are psyched about forensics camp.” Samantha does not look at Nathaniel when she says that. Probably because he has just yawned and not bothered to cover his mouth. “Now that you’re equipped with cameras, notebooks and pens”—Samantha glances at Nico—“we’ll head back outside. You have forty-five minutes to record your observations and take the three kinds of photographs we discussed. But before we go, we need to brief you on the facts of the case.”
I open my notebook to a fresh page.
Lloyd takes the fact sheet out of a file folder and reads it to us in a solemn voice. I close my eyes, and for a moment I let myself imagine that I am a forensic scientist being briefed by a police officer.
“A cyclist was struck by a car at twenty-one hundred hours last night.” I get a little thrill when Lloyd says twenty-one hundred hours instead of 9 PM. I know from my Junior Encyclopedia of Forensic Science that forensic scientists use a twenty-four-hour clock to avoid confusion. “The cyclist was taken to hospital by ambulance. The driver fled the scene on foot.” Lloyd looks up at us. “Any questions?”
Mason bites his lip. “Is the cyclist all right?”
I nudge Mason. “News flash. It’s a made-up case. There wasn’t really a cyclist. So you don’t have to worry about him.”
“Actually, it’s an excellent question, Mason,” Samantha says. “And it also demonstrates your compassion for others.” Is it my imagination, or does she shoot me a stern look when she says that? I hope she doesn’t think I lack compassion for others. It’s only Mason I lack compassion for. “We want you to take this case as seriously as you would a real one, and information about the victim is always important. For your information, the cyclist remains under observation at the hospital. Had he remembered to wear his helmet, he probably would have been okay.”
I don’t bother writing that down, though Stacey seems to be recording every word. She has the smallest handwriting I have ever seen. Maybe it’s a way of saving trees. I feel slightly guilty that I am already on page three of my notebook.
When we get outside, the others crowd around the bicycle. Nico and Muriel argue as they snap photographs. Muriel elbows her brother. “Move! I’m trying to get a closeup shot.”
“Me too!”
“I’m older than you are!”
“Three minutes doesn’t count,” Nico mutters, but I guess they do, because he moves over.
Mason and Stacey take notes. Nathaniel’s notebook is open, but as far as I can tell, he has not written anything down.
“Hey, hey, no touching!” Lloyd calls out when Mason squats down and runs his fingers over the dented bike bell. “You’re tampering with the evidence!”
I am the only one who thinks to check the inside of the car. Samantha is behind me, and I can sense her reading over my shoulder as I record my observations. I hope she is impressed. Six beer bottles, four open, on the floor, passenger side.
I take three sets of photos, including overall photos of the whole scene, mid-range photographs of the car floor and close-ups of the open beer bottles.
Afterward, when I tell the others about the beer bottles, Samantha points out that the driver might have been drinking, which could explain why he or she fled the scene.
First a missing bike helmet and now beer bottles? If you ask me, it’s a suspicious combination. Forensics Camp better be about solving cases—not about life lessons for thirteen-year-olds.
The others do not seem to notice—or mind—that Samantha and Lloyd have slipped in the life lessons.
“Whose car is it anyway?” Nathaniel asks. “Once we know that, we’ll know who did it.”
“Not necessarily,” Samantha tells him. “The police ran the license plate in their system. It turns out this car was stolen.”
“Which means,” Lloyd adds, “we’re going to have to dust for fingerprints. Any chance you guys might be interested in learning how to do that?”
We all say yes or of course at the same time.
At improv camp, we each performed a four-minute improv act. At planetarium camp, we saw one of Saturn’s rings. At cooking camp, we learned to make profiteroles.
But learning to dust for fingerprints is better than all that other stuff combined.
I might even be able to put up with a few life lessons along the way.