Behind the Yellow Tape: On the Road With Some of America's Hardest Working Crime Scene Investigators (21 page)

Behind the gates and lockers and other organizational accoutrements hangs the CSI Unit’s shoulder patch, designed by none other than Mark Hanf. It’s just pinned there on a cork-board, without any fanfare (and without any real approval). The patch was created, displayed, worn, and traded proudly by the fledgling unit. The existence and acceptance of the patch by the police department is akin to a rite of passage, making the unit an officially accepted part of the agency.

Mark conceived the entire unit, creating a survey instrument for other large agencies across the United States in an effort to determine how their departments handled crime scenes. The Seattle CSI Unit’s beginnings were auspicious, with the unit starting out on a six-month trial basis. Mark recruited seasoned veterans to the unit from among interested people from various detective units. He also put together the mini-crime scene investigator school and sent all of the new recruits through it over a period of a few months. The design of the unit was to get experienced investigators with an interest or a penchant for crime scene work to work in the newly formed unit. Many departments don’t have this luxury when creating a crime scene unit, often putting unseasoned cops without much experience into either investigations or crime scene work. An even worse trend around the country is using civilian crime scene technicians who have little or no police experience whatsoever and a sum total of training from a one-hour videotape on how to dust for prints. This is not to say that civilians can’t make excellent crime scene technicians; they most certainly can—as long as they have the requisite training and experience. But taking fresh college grads and putting them on the street is not the way to run a crime scene unit.

Investigator Mark Hanf shows off the Seattle Police Department’s
well-stocked crime scene van.
HALLCOX & WELCH, LLC

We have heard of several cases in which an untrained investigator made a leap in logic based on what was presumed to be the situation, relying on simple visual clues and statistical probability rather than on the evidence. For instance, victims of hypothermia can sometimes suffer heart attacks, tearing at their clothes and bare chests because of the pain. To an untrained investigator, it might look like a homicide. But someone with experience will know better. Suicides are another good example. It is a common belief that people who want to kill themselves won’t stab themselves with knives. But they will, and they have. And in a few cases the suicidal person has begun with one knife, sawed at his throat, and then, unsatisfied with the results, moved on to a bigger and sharper knife to finish the job. Again, to an unseasoned investigator, several different blade marks on a victim’s throat might look like foul play was involved, rather than self-inflicted wounds.

The group Mark amassed for the crime scene unit certainly had that crucial investigative experience. But some administrators of the Seattle Police Department didn’t think the unit, regardless of their experience level, would be busy enough to last six months. Fortunately for Mark and the rest of the team—if unfortunately for Seattle’s crime statistics—they couldn’t have been more wrong. Nowadays, the unit is so busy not only with responding to crime scenes but also performing other administrative duties, such as public presentations and training, they can hardly keep up with all of the casework. And just as in all good bureaucracies, none of the original naysayers can be found. History has been rewritten, and now everybody claims to have always been in favor of the creation of the unit.

The area known as Capitol Hill in Seattle is home to an eclectic mix that might be termed
counterculture
, with a large gay community, wannabe grunge rockers, and twenty-somethings dotting the historic sidewalks adjacent to magnificent mansions. It is the second most densely populated area in Seattle, with a very active night scene, including bathhouses, bars, and the occasional rave party. On March 25, 2006, the Capitol Hill Arts Club had been the scene for a special zombie-themed rave party titled “Better Off Undead.” Partygoers had decked themselves out in pale makeup and squirted themselves with fake blood. After hours of waving glow sticks, playing with Hello Kitty dolls, sucking on pacifiers dipped in ecstasy, and lying around in “cuddle puddles” (groups of ravers lying around massaging each other), a crowd moved on to a nearby house popular with the goth crowd for an after-hours party. Ravers are a very friendly bunch and invite anyone and everyone to join in their festivities. Residents of the house had bumped into an unassuming guy at the rave and had unwittingly invited him back to the party. Little did they know that for some, it would be the last invitation they would ever extend.

The inconspicuous guy they had so graciously invited was named Kyle Aaron Huff. Kyle was a twenty-eight-year-old troubled transplant from Montana who had moved to Seattle in 2002. Here he expanded his level of discontent as an unemployed loner with an agenda no one was aware of—a “revolution” against sex and the hippie culture; a revolt against popularity. The young ravers continued with their after-hours party, not knowing that Kyle had a premeditated plan to murder these people, who he felt had contributed to his growing paranoid isolation. One witness said that throughout the entire party, while everyone else was talking, laughing, and having a good time, Kyle just leaned against a wall, silent, looking mad, with his arms crossed over his chest. Then as quietly as he’d entered, he left the party and went down the street to his truck—gathering up, among other things, a Winchester Defender pump-action shotgun and a Ruger P-94 pistol. (Later, officers would find an AR-15, more ammunition, and gas cans full of gasoline still in the bed of his truck.) He also donned two bandoliers completely loaded with shotgun ammunition as well as a pistol holster loaded down with multiple magazines. He meant to kill—there’s no question about that.

As Kyle once again approached the residence, he stopped three times to spray-paint the word
Now
on the sidewalk. Many have theorized about his choice of word, ranging from blaming the Nirvana song “I Want to Know Now” to simply a motivational tool he used to persuade himself to go through with his plan. Regardless, he continued on up the sidewalk with shotgun and pistol in hand. His first victims were two kids on the porch, whom he shot with both guns. He shotgun-blasted another poor soul in the chest who later died from the massive wounds sustained, and who fell back into the house yelling, “I’ve been shot!” Kyle continued walking over the bodies, trying to push his way inside to continue his killing spree. Others in the house tried to bar him from entering, but one of the victims’ legs kept the door from closing, and Huff managed to push his way in. Panic ensued, and kids ran in every direction, many through the kitchen to the back door, while several escaped from windows to the safety of the outside. Others merely hunkered behind couches, hoping and praying not to be seen. Kyle quickly shot five others, killing three, while yelling, “I’ve got enough ammunition for everyone,” as he proceeded to the second floor of the house. At the top of the steps, he blasted two holes into the bathroom while two kids hid in the corner of the hallway. He did not pursue them. As a matter of fact, he didn’t pursue anyone else at all, though he really could have killed virtually every last one of them. Instead, Kyle roamed the bedrooms, walked downstairs into the basement, and then exited the dwelling.

By this time, phone calls were rapidly coming in to the police department from residents who had heard the shots being fired. As luck would have it, a patrolman near the house arrived approximately two minutes after the melee began, at nearly the same moment that Kyle came out the front door. One of the injured victims stumbled out of the house as the officer approached, while Kyle came out the opposite side and began walking toward the cop. The officer told him to drop his weapon, but instead without hesitation Kyle opened his mouth, inserted the gun barrel, and blew his own brains out before the officer had even completed his sentence, putting an end to what will forever be known as the Capitol Hill Massacre. In the final tally, six young people ranging in age from fourteen to thirty-two were killed (seven if you count Kyle), and two were seriously wounded.

At midafternoon the next day, Mark took us to 2112 East Republican Street—the exact address of the Capitol Hill Massacre. It had been repainted, with new residents now living in the home; it hardly appeared like the scene of the worst crime the city had witnessed in twenty-five years. “What did you think when the call came in?” we asked Mark as we parked conspicuously across the street. The house has become sort of an attraction, a shrine, which people visit on the anniversary of the massacre. “I knew it was going to be an APE,” Mark replied, with a fiendish grin. An APE, we learned, is an Acute Political Emergency—code for “Hey, I wanna see a dead body and I want it solved tonight.” Crime scenes that are or become APEs are tough to work because the media wants a story and the department brass want to get into the scene as soon as possible. “I had to keep telling everyone to take a breath,” Mark continued. “Telling them it was just like any other crime scene. I hate to sound callous, but you have to look at [the bodies] as evidence; they are not people anymore. The fact that it wasn’t a whodunit made everybody calm down a little; otherwise, the stress level would have been even higher.” In essence, whether the crime is a simple burglary or a homicide, the system for working a scene is the same. And there is no difference between a homicide with one victim and a high-profile homicide with multiple victims, except that there’s more pressure for answers and people want them immediately. But giving in to pressure to work a crime scene faster is when mistakes can be made. Ultimately, the Seattle CSI team worked the scene for two days, rotating shifts so that the scene was always being worked by someone with a fresh set of eyes.

“Was there anything unusual about the case?” we asked Mark as we stared at the old house. Beyond the obvious, of course. “The only thing that came up was that the suspect had a twin brother,” Mark replied. This caused a few moments of consternation, considering that the suspect had shot himself in the face, thereby making a visual identification nearly impossible. A homicide supervisor on the scene went into the suspect’s wallet to identify him, which is not standard protocol (technically a body is the property of the medical examiner, and no one else is to touch it until the ME has completed the examination). “You’ve got to be flexible at times, and there are exceptions to every rule,” Mark said, regarding the need to obtain Huff’s identification. “We just record what happened in our report so there are no questions later.”

Seattle Police Department’s Crime Scene Unit works the horrific
scene at the Capitol Hill Massacre.
PHOTO TAKEN BY ALAN BERNER, COURTESY THE
SEATTLE TIMES

After the scene had been worked and the suspect, Kyle Aaron Huff, had been positively identified through fingerprints, the case was essentially over from the investigative perspective. But as with any crime or occurrence, everyone still wanted to know why. Why did this person commit such a random, violent act? The Seattle Police Department formed a third-party panel to look into the case and psychologically dissect Kyle’s motives to help ease the community’s pain. The three-month investigation and analysis of Kyle’s behavior concluded that he was a loner with no romantic relationships who liked video games and hard-core music. In an attempt to get inside Huff’s psyche, investigators searched his computer and interviewed his relatives and acquaintances. They found that he and his twin brother had both moved to Seattle from Montana, and though he’d tried, Kyle had never seemed to fit in. Based on the panel’s investigation, it appeared that Kyle had originally sought out the rave crowd to make friends. But the culture of the ravers, particularly their affinity for being very touchy-feely, may have put him off (Kyle had never had a real romantic relationship with a girl). Many people may have viewed the panel’s conclusions as simple guesstimates, based on conjecture, had it not been for another unbelievable event, the last epiphany regarding the Capitol Hill Massacre.