I was one of the best fingerprint examiners in the world. I could do things the FBI thought impossible. I could memorize fingerprints. The nearby agencies, including local offices of federal agencies that had their own labs, came to me for help. One day in a trial a new-hatched defence attorney tried to make me seem neglectful because I hadn't sent the prints from the crime scene to the FBI for verification. The FBI will not look at prints that have already been identified locally. I tried to get that across to him. Finally I said, "Sir, you don't understand. I don't ask the FBI for help. The FBI asks me for help." The courtroom went dead silent. The lawyer choked a bit and looked frantically at the judge, who knew me quite well. The judge slowly nodded. The lawyer choked a few more times, said, "No further questions," and returned to his seat. I was the only person in the five-state area in which the silver burglar was hitting who got him on fingerprint evidence. He never left fingerprint evidence . . . except when he did. Every other police agency quit looking, because his MO was unmistakable. We didn't. A detective got prints from a bamboo tree he had used to climb in a window, and I got several prints from items he had handled inside the house. After the trial he was being led back to the jail and I was walking down the hall. He stopped and said, "I want to talk to that lady." The bailiff told him he couldn't talk to the witness, but I said I wanted to hear what he had to say. He said, "Lady, you're the smartest cop I ever saw, and I hope to God I never see you again." I think that was the best compliment I ever got. I have other accomplishments. But I consider my police work the most important. The lawyer probably believes that: - the author is unintelligent - not enough information - the author is respected by many - the author is respected by few people
the author is respected by many