In the mid 1980s, when I was starting to think about what I wanted to do when I grew up, the BBC ran a series of documentaries called Indelible Evidence, where real-life cases were dramatised and we learned how science could solve crime. This was the CSI of its day and after seven episodes I knew I wanted to be a forensic scientist.
Forensic science is as captivating to me now as it was then, though I now know telly forensics is not the same as real-life forensics. But telly forensics is everywhere.
If you switch on the television today you can watch, stream or download thousands of crime dramas, immerse yourself in a murder investigation or swap pyjamas for a white suit and ‘walk’ into a blood-spattered crime scene looking for clues.
I could never have predicted that by the time Dexter came along I would be a blood-spatter analyst myself having been trained by Miami-Dade Police. I love Netflix Dexter. No, I adore Dexter. I am his No. 1 fan but I admit that when there are multi-coloured lasers darting across the screen, or Dexter ponders a single blood drop and goes on to recreate the entire attack, my head tips back on its shoulders.
It would be intensely boring if we had to sit for hours on the sofa waiting for a DNA result to come back from the lab
My professional opinion is that telly forensics is best served with a dollop of artistic licence. I love my job but Scandi-slow TV it would not make. It would be intensely boring if we had to sit for hours on the sofa waiting for a DNA result to come back from the lab, or found that when it did the result wasn’t worth waiting for. Why show the size of a real-life crime scene team when Nikki Alexander in Silent Witness can do it all.
I once had the great treat to be invited onto the set of Silent Witness as an advisor and experienced first-hand the way in which the reality of science is interpreted for the good of drama. I was carefully placing individual droplets of theatrical blood in the scene, to accurately represent a spray pattern that would eventually gush from the neck of the victim, when the set director handed me a garden pressure sprayer. It was filled with a red liquid. We pumped it up to max and pulled the trigger. A catastrophic wave of blood landed on the wall. The result was spectacular.