Students Get a Clue in Forensics Courses

Near the tennis courts at Centenary College, a student is itching to set something on fire, and only too happy to oblige when asked to toss a lighted match into a plastic garbage can filled with newspaper.

A thin wisp of smoke appears after a few seconds and flames curl lazily upward.

Another trash pail, this one filled with paper doused in gasoline, is set ablaze. There’s an instantaneous whoosh as flames shoot into the air, the heat warm upon the faces of students 10 feet away, the smoke thick, black and sooty.

On this gray day, Norman Cetuk is teaching about 20 students how to investigate fires: identifying how and where they start, how an accidental blaze might burn. He wants to help them see, feel and smell how vastly different a fire is when powered by an accelerant.

Eventually, they hope to determine why a fire was set and, even more difficult, prove who did it.

It won’t be easy: Only 2% of all arsons in the United States result in convictions.

With the public’s appetite for forensic science whetted by television crime dramas like “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation,” the courses that Cetuk teaches at the tiny college in northwestern New Jersey have become increasingly popular, especially among law enforcement professionals.

Although pleased that television had brought renewed interest to forensics, he said the shows had little to do with reality.

“These type of shows only highlight the glamorous aspects of the job,” said Cetuk, a retired arson investigator. “You don’t see the everyday frustrations, limitations of working within a budget, time constraints, handling 30 to 50 cases a month, the human tragedy that as an officer or investigator you also have to deal with at a crime scene.”

His courses cover such topics as processing crime scenes, examining dead bodies for signs of foul play, collecting tiny fiber evidence, and using fingerprint and DNA evidence in investigations and prosecutions.

Colleges, high schools and even some grammar schools throughout the nation have seen a dramatic increase in the popularity of forensics courses since “CSI” made its debut.

In Virginia, enrollment in Old Dominion University’s criminal justice program increased nearly 14% from 2002 to 2003. In Newport News, a middle school offered forensic science to seventh- and eighth-graders, and 100 immediately signed up. The class now has a long waiting list, as do similar programs in Michigan, Montana and elsewhere.

The American Academy of Forensic Sciences can also attest to the growing interest. Over the last three years, more than 5,000 parents and students have sought information and more than 1,000 teachers have inquired about incorporating forensic science into their lesson plans.

Cetuk insists that his classes be strictly hands-on.

On a recent day, he pours gasoline on a board and lights it so that students can see how the fire follows the fuel trail and leaves a distinct burn pattern. Significantly, once the fire burns itself out, very little of the wood is damaged, in much the same way that a floor set ablaze by an arsonist is blackened but not totally consumed. The board reeks of gasoline and several students recoil from the stench when the board is held near their faces.

Cetuk, who spent 13 years as a Bridgewater police officer and another 16 as an investigator with the Somerset County prosecutor’s office, heading the arson unit, can tell whether an arsonist was left- or right-handed by the burn marks left by flammable liquid splashed on a floor.

Other experiments will expose lies.

Say, for example, the owner of a business that just went up in flames claims that all his company records were burned in the fire.

Cetuk takes a 6-inch-tall stack of newspapers, douses it in gasoline and lights it. Instantly, the pile erupts in flames. Nothing, it would appear, could have survived such a blaze. But after Dave Tynan, a Hackettstown firefighter taking the course, douses it with a fire extinguisher, Cetuk reveals a surprise.

He peels away the charred exterior and opens the middle of the pile to reveal a virtually untouched sports section detailing a New York Giants game. Only the outermost edge of the paper is singed.

“You have a guy saying, ‘My records burned up,’ ” Cetuk said. “I say, ‘Didn’t happen.’ ”

In much the same way, a property owner can be exposed as a liar after claiming that she dropped a lighted cigarette on the floor or in a pile of clothes, and the resulting fire consumed everything.

When Cetuk drops a cigarette on a pile of clothing, nothing happens right away. Only 20 minutes later is there even a hint of smoke rising from it. A fire in a couch or bed can take four hours to really get going, he said.

“If someone says, ‘I dropped a cigarette on it, and it burst into flames,’ uh-uh,” he said.

He takes a lighted highway traffic flare, which burns at 1,800 degrees, and places it on a linoleum-covered board for 15 minutes. It leaves only a small scorch mark. A dropped cigarette, which is infinitely cooler, could not possibly ignite a floor, he said.

This is the kind of stuff that Tynan is eager to learn. He’s one of several working professionals taking the class, hoping to advance their careers.

“A lot of times we see the fires without seeing how they’re investigated,” he said. “It broadens my horizons. This stuff really interests me.”