A charred hand clasping a gun. What's strange and what's not, it's a matter of perspective. When there are no fingerprints and no face, that's where I come in. Usually I have the mortuary assistant handle that. Then I try to determine sex, age, race, stature.
Personal identification is last.
There are cases where, much as I hate to say it, I don't even try. When it's three here, you're eating cornflakes back east. Cornflakes getting soggy while I can't sleep. Jets come and go like sliding doors, the rubbing sound of air and metal. TV mimes the effect, yet it's not necessary.