Slaughter on a Snowy Morn

The Father of Forensics, the biography of Sir Bernard Spilsbury that I covered in this blog recently, has a new true crime book out, again published by Icon. Slaughter on a Snowy Morn deals with a much less familiar subject, an American case that I had never heard of before this book arrived on my doorstep.

The set-up of the story is rather intriguing. This is taken from the back cover of the book:
‘Sing Sing Prison, New York, July 1916. Charles Frederick Stielow, a 37 year old farmhand with the mind of an infant, is just minutes away from the electric chair for a double murder he didn’t commit. With a vengeful legal system baying for blood, his situation looks hopeless. Eight blocks away, Stielow’s wife sobs helplessly in her hotel room, certain she will never see her husband alive again...’

Evans, who clearly has a great passion for forensic science, concludes that the Stielow case sounded ‘a warning bell about the dangers of junk science’. It also represented a milestone in American jurisprudence: ‘for the first time, scientific testimony helped to overturn a murder conviction’. The story is, for Evans, a conspicuous example of the power of human outrage in the face of injustice.

If you are a true crime fan, then I think you will find Evan’s work interesting. This book didn’t appeal to me quite as much as The Father of Forensics, perhaps mainly because of my great interest in Spilsbury and his important role in the Crippen case, which I retold in Dancing for the Hangman. But it’s good to know something about a case of which I was previously unaware.

The Father of Forensics

The Father of Forensics, by Colin Evans, is sub-titled ‘How Sir Bernard Spilsbury Invented Modern CSI’ and at once it is evident that, although Spilsbury has his detractors, Evans is certainly not among them. This is a positive, but I think reasonably balanced, account of the work of the legendary pathologist, and there is certainly room for more than one way of judging the achievements of this flawed, but remarkable, human being.

I became interested in Spilsbury’s work mainly as a result of his involvement in the Crippen case. The trial of Hawley Harvey Crippen, just one hundred years ago, was the first capital case in which Spilsbury testified, and due to the massive publicity that attended the proceedings, the case made his name. His evidence contributed significantly to a guilty verdict, and it is open to question as to whether, in 2010, the forensic clues would have been interpreted in the same way. For instance, Andrew Rose, in his interesting book Lethal Witness, has a notably different take from Evans’.

Nevertheless, Evans makes good use of the fascinating material at his disposal, offering an account that it is in the traditions of British true crime writing, focusing on the many intriguing cases – some of them surprisingly little-known, like that of Gordon Cummins, a war-time serial killer – that filled Spilsbury’s career.

Evans chronicles Spilsbury’s glory years, as well as his tragic decline, afflicted by ill-health, financial and matrimonial problems, and bereavement. Ultimately, the great man met a horrid end, committing suicide in his own laboratory. Evans’ conclusion is that: ‘’Although he was the finest forensic pathologist of his time and a superb diagnostician, it would be churlish to pretend, as some hagiographers have done, that Spilsbury was immune to error...but claims that he was a mere prosecution puppet, the killing arm of British justice, don’t stand up to close inspection.’ I’m not sure ‘churlish’ is the right word, but I tend to agree with Evans’ sentiment. This is an entertaining read, published by Icon, and likely to be of great interest to those with an enthusiasm for forensics.