Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Crime and the Five Senses
What toll do crimes have on the five senses? Sight, touch, smell, taste, and hearing, each one a simple ability that the human body was capable of doing. And all of them were involved in the complex business of crime scene investigating.
When a snowflake landed on the tongue of a young girl, the sense of taste came into the picture. When a father felt his baby's hand for the first time, that was touch. When a man made love to a woman and smelled her perfume, the sense of smell came onto center stage. When a lonely man looked out upon the sunset and died simultaneously with the day, that was sight. When the sound of a bullet zooming at screaming speeds rang in the air, the ability of hearing took dominance over all.
Five simple senses, one complex occupation. And now here he was left alone to reflect on the subject.
He would start with the sense of hearing. It was something he had almost lost in recent years, and, after the operation, he had grown closer to it.
The ability of hearing played a key role in crime scene investigation. Although one may have foolishly questioned the logic in this statement, it was true. In crime scene investigating, part of the job was to, interrogate, to question, to draw the information not just from words alone, but also from body language. The body's posture, the feeling ever-present in the eyes, the movements, and, most of all, the tone of a person's voice. But, without the sense of hearing, how could tone be determined? Of course, he had the ability to read lips, but others did not.
Besides, reading lips only allowed him to know the words a person spoke, not the tone in which the person spoke them. It was merely a catalyst he used when no other option was available, and he did not wield it proudly. Rather, it was more of a secret, kept inside for him and only him to know.
He was losing his focus on the topic at hand, slowly but surely slipping onto another more personal topic, and so, he collected his private thoughts for later and continued onward.
Either way, if someone wished to become a crime scene investigator, that person would need to possess the ability of hearing. If the person did not, then the qualifications for the job were not met.
That person, hopefully, would come to realize the error of their ways and move on to another fantasy. But that usual wasn't the case.
Not wanting to delve deeper into the feelings of rejection a person had when refused something desired, he swiftly moved on to the sense of sight.
The ability to see was one of the important senses, if not the most important sense a crime scene investigator must have. Their job was based upon sight.
When looking at a victim, seeing the coagulated blood in a pool of forever-red tide, a crime scene investigator must be thorough. If a single hair or fiber was neglected to be spotted by the usually-lucid eye of an investigator, the outcome could drastically change. An innocent man or woman may have to suffer through the torments of jail, while the criminal slinks away, stealthily wiping the blood from their hands and disposing of the incriminating evidence quickly and painlessly.
It was all very a simple look in a complex warren that was the occupation. Except, this time, the senses were woven into the maze.
A look, he chuckled. Of course, there was no pun intended. So, he digressed.
Sight epitomized the word "important" in this job, for, without it, the whole basis of this career would crumble and crush everything else that was needed to perform correctly in a crime scene investigator.
Believing that he had established the significance of that trait, he continued, moving onto the topic of taste.
Honestly, taste was not a valued sense in crime scene investigation. Of course, he recalled the time he had placed a rock in his mouth to see if it was porous like a bone, but that was more in the field of touch.
All in all, a crime scene investigator could neglect the sense of taste to heighten their other senses. The trait of taste was a benefit of being a human. Had he the choice to discard it, he would have.
Finding this whole ordeal to be rather amusing, he progressed to the next sense: smell.
Unlike taste, smell contributed to the field of crime scene investigating.
The nose of an investigator must have been prime, fit, and keen. The key was perception. A slight chemical smell, the pungent scent of a decaying body, a floral aroma that emanated from a dress.
And, as always, the putrid odor that came along with crime. The finely-shaped proboscis needed to be fine-tuned to every smell capable of being created.
It reminded him of the time when the baby boy died. It was a staged kidnapping, and emotions had run excessively through their bodies. And, on the floor of the nursery a pine scent emitted from a single spot on white carpet. Unfortunately, it was nothing of importance to the case, but, had it been, things may have not gotten so difficult for him.
Even he had emotions.
Restraining the tears as they tried to force their way out, he transitioned his focus over to the last topic: touch.
Touch, although not as important as sight, ranked towards the top of the list. On two lists actually. One was the list of credentials a crime scene investigator must have, and the other was the list of things that instigated his emotions.
On many an occasion touch had transformed him into a human, peeling away with swift, svelte fingers the mask he wore, which thereafter allowed his emotions to escape.
Again, like the time he held the baby boy, the white blanket draping over his arms as he walked away with the tiny victim in his arms. Like the time Catherine had embraced him before surgery. Like the other times when he had the grim opportunity to touch a corpse, to touch death, to touch untainted pain and misery.
Like so many other times that he didn't want to remember and couldn't.
And then there was the time he had said something he would never forget:
"The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves."
And it was true. But, even through latex gloves, emotions escaped. Latex to skin. Skin to latex. Glove to thigh. Glove to chest. Glove to here, latex to there. Latex, latex glove to everywhere. With his weapons, his protectors, he had touched the anatomy of the human body, and yet, he felt no satisfaction in doing so. He only felt melancholy, depression, antagonism. Some days, as he sat alone in his office, reflecting, his regrets would stir from their slumber, and they would attack his conscience. Girl, age twelve, he had touch her arm, and it was cold with death. (One attack on that memory by a lion of remorse.) Man, age twenty, he had touched his chest, and there was no heart beat. (Two attacks on that remembrance by a tiger of shame.) Woman, age thirty, pregnant, and yet, when he touched he abdomen, he felt not a stray sign of any life. (More bludgeons, more lions and tigers and pangs of guilt for that sorrowful memory.) And there were so many more. More death than life. Less life than death.
But, it was his job, and so, he regained his objectivity and let himself become cold.
(Too bad emotion wasn't a sense. His were strong.)
It was his occupation. It was his career. It was his claim to fame. It was his day. It was his night.
It was his life.
A life of working with death.
Sighing, he composed himself, and began to think about the toll crime had on the five senses. What toll death had on the five senses?
But, fearing that he would become to vulnerable because of his feelings, he stopped.
What toll did the crime have on the five senses? Or, rather, what toll did the five senses have on crime?
(Or what toll did the five senses have on him?)
He would leave that for another day.
(Tin Man Grissom, no matter how much it hurts you to admit it, you have much more than the five senses.)
Yes, he did.
He had emotions too.
And, because of that, he was human.