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The Killer of Little Shepherds: The Case of the French Ripper and the Birth of Forensic Science (Anglais) Broché – 29 mars 2012


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One

The Beast

On a drizzly spring evening in 1893, in the French provincial city of Besançon, nineteen-year-old Louise Barant was walking along the riverside promenade when she crossed paths with a man wearing the dress uniform of the French army. His name was Joseph Vacher (pronounced Vashay). “Ugly weather, isn’t it?” he said, and automatically she responded, “For sure.” Normally Barant, tall and wholesome-looking, with curly blond hair, would not have spoken to a stranger, especially one as brutish-looking as he; but Vacher projected a kind of disarming innocence, and the sergeant’s chevrons on his sleeve reassured her.

So they chatted and walked and shared dinner in a café. They learned that they both came from small towns: she from Baume-les-Dames, a pretty village near the Swiss border, and he from Beaufort, a nondescript hilltown southeast of Lyon. As they lingered over shared stories about their pasts, he told her he had never felt this comfortable with anyone, and she, too, sensed she could speak freely and easily. Yet she felt a shiver of doubt when she looked up from her meal and saw his eyes burning into her. Later that evening, he ardently proposed marriage. When he vowed that he would kill her if she ever betrayed him, she realized she had made a terrible mistake.

In the weeks that followed, he pursued her relentlessly. Like other men who live easily with violence, Vacher knew how to interweave threat, regret, self-pity, and charm in an attempt to prolong the relationship. Louise, who was a stranger to the town and worked as a housemaid, tried desperately to avoid him, inventing endless excuses for not being available. Once, taking pity as victims sometimes do, she agreed to meet him at a dance. They were standing awkwardly among the merrymakers when a soldier approached to talk to Louise. Vacher lunged at the man with such fury that the soldier and Louise ran from the dance hall.

Now she knew that she would never be safe in the same town as Vacher. Too afraid to reject him directly, she made up a story that her mother had forbidden their marriage and had ordered her home. The distance did nothing to quell his obsession. He kept mailing her love letters. Finally, she responded in the clearest possible way: “It would be best if you stopped writing to me . . . Everything is finished between us; I do not want to go against the wishes of my mother. Furthermore, I do not love you. Adieu, Louise.”

She hoped that would finally end things between them. Besides, she knew that if he left his unit to find her, he would face charges of desertion. But her departure and final letter had sent him into such a series of rages that the regimental doctor diagnosed him as having “nervous exhaustion” and gave him a four-month medical leave. He immediately headed to Baume-les-Dames, stopping to buy a revolver along the way.

Any of the soldiers in Vacher’s barracks would have told Louise not to get involved with the twenty-three-year-old sergeant in the first place, for something wild and violent dwelled within him. They had witnessed his manias and explosive temper: How once, when a soldier lagged in formation, Vacher swiftly and without warning kicked him in the groin; or how, during alcohol-induced tantrums, he would hurl heavy wooden bureaus across the room, roar like an animal, and rip handfuls of hair out of his forearms. Once, when he was passed over for promotion, he drank himself senseless, tore apart the barracks, and slashed with a razor at anyone who came near. He ended the episode by taking the blade to his own throat. After that incident, he was hospitalized and transferred to another company.

Yet at times, Vacher could appear deferential, and, when necessary, even charming. Undoubtedly, he behaved that way when he first met Louise, although under the stress of rejection the beast had reemerged.

Arriving in her village, he spent days trying to persuade her mother and family to accept him, only to succeed in frightening them as well. On the morning of June 25, 1893, he went to the house of Louise’s employer for a final confrontation before taking the train back to Besançon. Louise opened the door, recoiling when she saw him.

“Why are you afraid, Louise?”

“I’m not afraid,” she said unconvincingly.

“Look, I don’t want to harm you. I’ve come here peacefully to demand the things that you owe me.”

He had become obsessed with reclaiming the letters and trinkets he had given her, and money he had spent taking her to dinner. She gave him all that he demanded, but still he kept talking about needing more. As he rattled on about his various resentments, she furtively backed her way up the marble stairway. The more he spoke, the more agitated he became.

“When I think that you don’t want me, Louise . . . We would have been so happy! Listen, you don’t know what I am capable of doing. I have already told you and I repeat: I’m crazy about you! Come away with me.”

She told him that if he did not leave immediately, she would wake her boss, who would eject him. Vacher slipped his right hand into his pocket.

“So you do not want to come with me, then?”

“No!”

He pulled out the revolver and began firing. The first bullet entered her mouth, shattered two teeth, ripped through her tongue, and exited her cheek. She screamed and collapsed. Two more shots grazed the top of her head as she fell and another smashed into the wall. Then Vacher turned the gun on himself, firing two bullets into his face.

The explosions echoed so loudly in the hallway that her employer’s family rushed down from their bedrooms and passersby ran in from the street. They found Louise crumpled on the stairs, Vacher staggering blindly, his face covered with blood. He lurched four or five steps out the door before collapsing in the street.*





And so began the public life of Joseph Vacher, one of the most notorious serial killers of his century, who slaughtered more people than the infamous Jack the Ripper. Although the incident with Louise Barant was the first of Vacher’s legal encounters, he had perplexed and discomfited the people around him for years. Neighbors in Beaufort remembered him as a child who was quick to pick an argument, and unusually violent in schoolyard scuffles. Once, when asked to guard the family’s livestock, he took the animals to a meadow and broke some of their legs. He

spent a couple of his teenage years in a monastery but was expelled for unspecified indiscretions. He was drafted and stationed with the Sixtieth

*Both survived, because the dealer who had sold Vacher the revolver loaded the cartridges only with half charges—just enough powder to stop an aggressor but not necessarily to kill him.

Regiment in Besançon. Although he thrived under the army’s strict discipline, he showed violent outbursts there, as well. All along, people found him strange, but as he himself had said to Louise, they had no idea of what he was capable.

Crimes of passion were notoriously common at the time, leniently punished, and often blamed on the victim. After he shot Louise, Vacher spent a couple of weeks in a hospital. He was then sent for observation to the public asylum in the nearby city of Dole, where doctors were to determine if he was sane enough to stand trial. The “Certificate of 24 Hours,” documenting the patient’s first day in the asylum, reported he was “calm, responds meekly to questions and regrets the act he has committed.” It described in detail how the shooting had disfigured him—a scarlet furrow ran the length of his right jaw; yellowish pus oozed from the right ear—stigmata that would mark him for life. With each breath, his right cheek fluttered like an unfettered sail, for one of the bullets had severed a facial nerve. When he spoke, he could barely open his mouth, and the voice that emerged was nasal and slurred.

He seemed a defeated man, rather than a menacing one. Yet over the weeks, as Vacher healed and became stronger, a more paranoid and violent character emerged. Quietly at first, and then more stridently, he accused the doctors at Dole of plotting against him. Day after day, he demanded to see a surgeon to remove the bullet from his ear. When medical personnel arrived for the procedure, Vacher accused them of trying to kill him and bolted from the operating room.

On July 20, according to hospital records, he experienced a “crisis of agitation.” He screamed at doctors and fought with his roommates. Sometimes he sat rocking on the side of his bed. “At certain moments he raises his head and focuses his eyes as if listening to invisible voices,” wrote Dr. Léon Guillemin, adjunct doctor at the facility. “During such times he has the facial expression of a madman.”

Inwardly, Vacher seethed. He hated the institution and everyone in it. According to him, the doctors were heartless and the patients were swine. Later, in a long, embittered letter to the authorities (Vacher would prove to be a prolific letter writer), he would write that the asylum was “everything that is dirty and abominable,” where he was forced to sleep “on a grubby flea-infested mattress.” The food was barely edible, he said, and the guards often stole it. Unsupervised patients often abused one another and took special delight in tormenting the blind. “They pushed them and spit in their faces. Some even pushed them outside naked in the snow.” At times, he thought of killing himself. “And I was not the only one . . . some people could not take this treatment, and committed suicide.”

Contrary to Vacher’s accusations, the alienists at Dole considered themselves sympathetic and attentive. (Alienist was the era’s term for a psychologist, as mental patients were seen to be “alienated” from themselves.) Printed materials from the asylum described their treatments as “gentle, tolerable, humane, and more in agreement with modern ideas.” Unlike in the past, inmates were not shackled to the walls or beaten for offenses they unwittingly committed. “All the coercive methods that tortured the sick patients have been abandoned . . . the fate of the sick [who come to the asylum] is nothing other than completely humane.”

When Vacher was admitted, the asylum’s director was preparing to move the patients to a new facility, a cluster of pavilions in a pastoral setting just outside of town, a notable improvement on the present fortresslike edifice. Scores of such facilities were being built throughout Europe.

Still, conditions at Dole were not what they should have been. A late-nineteenth-century visitor to the asylum noted that many patients still lived behind bars in dank cells and received inadequate personal care. In truth, this asylum, like many others, had far too many inmates. The population of insane people had exploded in France (and throughout Europe and in the Americas, as well) due to the epidemics of alcoholism and syphilis, and to the increasingly common diagnosis of mental disease. In time, insanity became a catchall diagnosis for all sorts of deficiencies, including dementia, homelessness, and criminal behavior. As a result, asylums became dumping grounds for the overflow from prisons, almshouses, workhouses, and the streets. By the time Vacher entered the asylum, the state-run system was housing more than twice the capacity it was designed for. Dole, built for five hundred patients, was bursting with more than nine hundred—at least 15 percent of whom were criminals. (Faced with such impossible conditions, even the most dedicated alienist could lose heart. When the director of the Villejuif asylum in Paris was asked what he found most effective for patients, he replied, “We wait for them to die.”)

Doctors had put Vacher in a special high-security wing, but, as in many asylums at the time, oversight was lax. On the night of August 25, 1893, Vacher sneaked out of his room, found a long wooden beam, leaned it against the wall, and shimmied over it to freedom. He was heading to Baume-les-Dames to find Louise. An all-points bulletin went out over the telegraph, with a special notification to the police in Louise’s village. It would not be hard to identify the fugitive: He wore the asylum’s standard-issue gray cotton shirt and trousers and there was no mistaking his disfigured face.

A couple of weeks later, some soldiers in Besançon caught sight of him. Local policemen jailed him. A few days later, he was put on a train, headed back to the asylum. His guards had instructions to handcuff him and to keep him in view at all times. As the train rumbled on, Vacher asked the guards if he could get off at the next stop to go to the bathroom. “You’ll have to wait,” they said. They had no intention of letting him off the train, even if manacled, for a minute. He persisted. Finally he offered to stand right in front of the guards and urinate out the door. They paused; the train was flying along at top speed, and it seemed there was no way he could even think of making that leap and surviving. He shuffled to the door, opened his pants, and, before they could react, heaved himself out. He hit the talus, then rolled and scampered off like a jackrabbit as the train roared away.

Two days later, police, alerted by some village children, found him eating dinner at a farmer’s house. They took him to the Dole asylum in chains. His condition grew worse. Increasingly “in the grip of melancholic ideas,” he tried to commit suicide by slamming his head against the corner of a wall. “We frequently have to take energetic measures to prevent him from harming himself,” wrote the doctors in a “situation report” of October 26, 1893.

Meanwhile, Dr. Guillemin had arrived to make an official assessment of the inmate’s sanity. He interviewed Vacher, physically examined him, spoke to his minders, and pored over his records. Guillemin diagnosed Vacher as “a deliriant with a persecution complex of the first order.” He had suffered this condition for most of his life. The symptoms, not always evident, would occasionally and dramatically appear. The rejection by Louise aggravated the condition as never before, the doctor said, and triggered the homicidal behavior. At the asylum, Vacher continued to suffer severe paranoia, aggravated by auditory hallucinations. He imagined the “entire world is in league against him,” wrote Guillemin. “From the moment he arrived at Dole, [Vacher felt] his doctors neglected him, ignored him, did not want to care for him, and wanted him to die. We have done our best for him, but he accuses us of trying to kill him, and shows no signs of being cured.” --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

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'The Killer of Little Shepherds is so fascinating and beautifully written that it reads as much like a novel as a real-life account as it navigates the twists, turns and drama that followed fresh developments in forensic science' Sunday Express



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54 internautes sur 57 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
The psycopath and the professor 11 septembre 2010
Par Tracy Hodson - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit ( De quoi s'agit-il? )
From 1894 until 1897, the quiet French countryside became the hunting ground of Joseph Vacher, a murderous psychopath known as "The Killer of Little Shepherds" who, like Ted Bundy a century later, would begin his life's work after being rejected by the woman with whom he was obsessed. Author Douglas Starr has written a riveting book of enormous scope, masterfully detailing both Vacher's case and the concurrent first "golden age of forensic discovery." He focuses primarily on Dr. Alexandre Lacassagne, France's leading expert in the field of legal medicine and professor at the University of Lyon, who played a crucial role in bringing Vacher to justice, and who mentored and inspired countless other scientists and students to pursue a wide variety of disciplines in the burgeoning field of forensics. Many important investigative techniques emerged during this time--the use of body measurements to identify and track captured criminals and suspects, the identification of bullets through the unique rifling marks made by individual firearms, the microscopic examination of hairs, fibers, and blood types, the analysis of wound and blood-spatter patterns--all of which form the basis of modern forensics. In addition to such purely scientific advances, the nature, cause, and appropriate treatment of insane persons in general and insane criminals in particular was being passionately debated all over Europe and in the United States. What to do about, and with, a violent offender who was deemed insane was at the forefront of jurisprudence, as was the question of what determines legal insanity--the court's answer to which would ultimately decide Vacher's fate. In alternating chapters, Mr. Starr reveals the life histories of his two main protagonists, illuminating the horrific crimes of the one and the crime-solving genius of the other, until Vacher is caught and the two men's careers intersect, impacting the lives of both.

This comprehensive, elegantly written book covers not just Vacher's crimes, but other interesting cases which challenged the expertise, talent, and instincts of Laccasagne. It sets the scene with plenty of background, from the explosion of crime rates in France (and elsewhere in Europe) as Industrial Revolution technologies displaced laborers, creating a wave of vagabonds who migrated from one area to another in search of work and charity, to the difficulties created by the lack of an organized rural police force to meet the challenges of this onslaught of "undesirables." As rural France tried to cope with these huge numbers of "wild men," those who tended to criminality often evaded capture or prosecution--Vacher was able to evade detection for three years, despite often daily interaction with the citizenry. During those years he walked nearly from one end of France to the other, killing as he went. Rural doctors, too, were fighting an uphill battle--often inadequately educated and working in conditions that made even a high degree of competence moot, the probability of getting reliable information about the state of a body from either the crime scene or the postmortem was regularly compromised. In an attempt to combat this problem Lacassagne prepared and distributed a step-by-step protocol for forensic autopsy, but the ability to follow these steps was often destroyed by those very conditions his protocol was meant to counteract (one important autopsy done on one of Vacher's victims was performed at night, by lamplight, in the middle of a misty field).

Mr. Starr traveled to the remote areas where Vacher's crimes were committed, saw many of the exhibits he describes, spoke with descendants of Dr. Lacassagne, and observed many, rather grim, forensic autopsies. His prose is so rich with detail that the reader is immersed in the experiences of the protagonists--this is not a book researched from the author's computer or armchair. There are many interesting sidebars, including an amusing debate about a skull allegedly belonging to guillotined assassin Charlotte Corday and the significance of its physical characteristics, as well as a lively discussion by the scientists of the day about the methods of the fictional, and wildly popular detective, Sherlock Holmes. A detailed description of of Lacassagne's Criminal Museum is illuminated by several pages of photos and drawings of its exhibits, and pages from the newly emerging penny press (the start of the "yellow journalism" that continues to wreak havoc with investigations and trials today) are reproduced. All of this attention to the mise-en-scène in which Laccasagne and his colleagues worked brings events, as well as time and place, vividly to life. Throughout, Mr. Starr evinces real feeling for his subjects, even the violent and self-aggrandizing Vacher. This is a book filled with strongly drawn characters--criminals and investigators alike--whom Mr. Starr never forgets were real people, especially those whom Vacher killed. In many such accounts the victims of such violent deaths remain mere ciphers, but in "The Killer of Little Shepherds," those little shepherds are clothed in real flesh, and their dignity remains intact.
26 internautes sur 29 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Very Interesting Story of Earlier Serial Killer and Forensics Methods 20 septembre 2010
Par Burgmicester - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit ( De quoi s'agit-il? )
The Killer of Little Shepherds is a very engaging blend of early forensics methodology and the story of one of the worst serial killers in history. Although admitting to eleven gruesome and grisly murders, nearly twenty-five murders were attributed to Joseph Vacher of France. The governmental establishment, due to idiosyncrasies and communication breakdowns, allowed Vacher to be released from an asylum and even from a jail cell because they had no idea who (or maybe what) they had captured. Vacher thanked God (as he believed that God was watching over him) and went out and killed again and again.

Douglas Starr nicely mixes in the advances in the field of forensics (called Criminal Anthropology at the time) as it pertained to the investigation of Joseph Vacher and other murderers at that time. Doctor Alexandre Lacassangne was Vacher's arch enemy and continued to advance forensics from a police department of bullies beating and torturing their captives into a confession to a more scientific based discovery. There are explanations and examples of how the police would accuse a suspect of a crime with absolutely no evidence at all. Dr. Lacassagne's efforts were to find the scientific methods that would allow a non-emotional examination of the facts leading to a suspect. The case of Joseph Vacher was Dr. Lacassagne's showcase.

I was impressed with the author's ability to carry the story of Vacher as he interwove the science and psychological breakthroughs in that era. It was amazing to learn about the French leaders in forensic science. This book brings a look at just how many stellar performers in that era were French.

The last sections of the book concentrate on the discussion of when a person is actually responsible for his/her actions - criminally insane. Joseph Vacher insisted that he was insane and that he was not responsible for his crimes. Again, the Vacher case was perfect for this discussion and Starr presents the case without any agenda.

I would definitely recommend this book to anyone that is interested in history of forensic science and how it related to one of the greatest trials of one of the worst serial killers of all time. Starr is extremely well researched and writes with absolutely no preconceived conclusions or any agenda. The concepts in this book are controversial (death penalty, criminally insane, preconditioned criminal dispositions, etc.) and were handled with expert skill.
25 internautes sur 29 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Science and crime solving in the 19th century 10 septembre 2010
Par Nancy O - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit ( De quoi s'agit-il? )
Set in 1890s France, The Killer of Little Shepherds contains two simultaneously-told stories. First, there's the account of Joseph Vacher, who roamed the countryside of France and left only gruesome death in his wake. The second story is that of Alexandre Lacassagne, head of the department of legal medicine at the University of Lyon, who pioneered many forensic techniques in the areas of crime-scene and post-mortem analysis, and was what we would now call a criminal profiler.

Starr begins his story with army Sergeant Joseph Vacher's full-on obsession with a young woman named Louise Barant, a housemaid. After only one dinner, Vacher proposed marriage, and then later told her that if she ever betrayed him, he would kill her. She tried to avoid him and put up every reasonable excuse for not seeing him, but it didn't help. On a four-month leave from the army, Vacher came after her, she refused him, and he shot both Louise and himself. Both survived, and Vacher was put into two different asylums for a total of ten months, then released. With really nowhere to go, Vacher became a vagabond. As he wandered the countryside, he committed the most heinous crimes, with young shepherd boys and young women favorite targets. Because he would wander from department to department, by the time the crimes were discovered, he would have been long gone, thus avoiding detection.

Starr then interweaves his account of Vacher with the story of Alexandre Lacassagne, who was a pioneer in the study of forensic methodologies, including criminal profiling. He also discusses others in the field of criminology including Alphonse Bertillon and Cesare Lombroso, and explains developments in science and psychology that aided in the advancements of legal medicine and crime detection. He also examines the phenomenon of "vagabondage," noting the correlation between unemployment, the increase of people on the move, and the correlating upswing in crime.

Both strands of this book come together when Vacher is caught, imprisoned, and sent to trial, leading to some pretty major questions. For example, was Vacher insane at the time he killed, or was he perfectly rational? And what exactly legally constituted insanity? Is there any way to know if insanity is based on physical causes? What type of punishment is suitable if a murderer is found to be insane? Many of these questions sparked international debates, but they also led to further developments in the field of psychology, which was growing rapidly, as was the gap between medical science and legal codes. And when a person is known to be a "monster," even if he is insane, how can the legal system justify putting him in an asylum where, if he's crafty enough, he'd fake being well and be let out to kill all over again?

Starr expertly catches the era surrounding the crimes of Vacher and the work of Lacassagne and others. He acknowledges work being done in other countries around the same time period, such as Italy, the United States and Great Britain so as to broaden the scope of developments in the science of criminology. He also examines other crimes as well as the limitations of the local rural police departments in the capture of criminals.

I got very caught up in Vacher's story, and I liked the book. The early efforts focused on forensics and criminal profiling are really interesting, and if you're into this kind of thing, you'll be rewarded. It's quite obvious that Starr contributed immense amounts of original research to the production of this work. The stories of Vacher's victims are also lurid enough so that if you're not interested in the field of forensic study, you'll still find something in the book that will interest you. I do think he could have done without the "postscript" chapter and gone right to the epilogue, but that's nit picky on my part. Overall, it's a good book that will keep you reading.
4 internautes sur 4 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Killer of Little Shepherds 25 janvier 2012
Par Paul J. Markowitz - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché
At the tail end of the 19th Century, while France was still roiling with events of the Dreyfus Affair and while nearby England was in the midst of the terror of Jack the Ripper - in rural France a far more horrendous killing spree was taking place. For nearly three years a psychopathic serial killer was roaming the French countryside killing, raping, and mutilating young men and women. This "Jack the Ripper of the Northeast" killed at least eleven people, maybe as many as twenty-five. Some of the victims were shepherds, but what they all had in common were that they were young, small of stature, vulnerable and alone. They would all be killed quickly and mercilessly and then raped and/or mutilated in death. The viciousness of their deaths frightened and paralyzed much of the country.
Raising this story above the typical true crime saga is not the riveting yet repulsive tale of a psychotic killer, but the parallel story of the coming of age of forensic science that would prove crucial to the fate of Joseph Vacher, the "Killer of Little Shepherds".
Joseph Vacher was one of the most notorious serial killers of his century, slaughtering more people than Jack the Ripper. He was a clever and diabolical ex-soldier who had been released from a mental asylum where he had been placed after badly disfiguring his girlfriend and himself in a botched murder-suicide. After serving only ten months in the asylum, he convinced the doctors in charge that he was now sane. He would then begin his three-year odyssey of wandering throughout much of France committing the vilest of crimes, and then simply walking quickly to another district where news had not reached the community of the horror in his wake.
Vacher may very well have gone on undetected for many more years had he not made the mistake of committing several of his atrocities in the Lyon region of France. For unbeknownst to him, the Lyon area was the home of the investigating Magistrate Emile Fourquet - a young, intelligent and ambitious policeman, and even more importantly Dr. Alexandre Lacassagne - head of the department of legal medicine at the University of Lyon and one of the most pre-eminent experts in the world in the field of forensic science which was just coming into its own.
In fact Lacassagne and his associates were largely responsible for many of the new developments in the field of forensic medicine that would bring the field into the modern era and remain the state of the art for over half a century. Along with these technological advances in forensic medicine there were social, technological and economic factors that would lead to a media explosion with the advent of the so-called "penny press" with crime being a common sensationalistic focus of their reportage. In fact, the Vacher case received considerable coverage in both Europe and America, but unlike Jack the Ripper it quickly faded from historical celebrity due to the fact that there was a definitive discovery of the murderer.

The work of Fourquet and Lacassagne made the outcome of the trial of Vacher an obvious and expeditious one as to whom the murderer was. However it was largely due to the meticulous examination, the testimony, and the reputation of Lacassagne in the world of forensic medicine that would find Vacher sane and thus responsible for his actions. This would ultimately seal his fate in a trial that was both contentious and widely followed.
This book ends with a fleeting attempt to deal with the conundrum of why serial killers simultaneously intrigue and repulse us. It may be a never-ending quest to understand and label the behavior of the most deviant of our society. We try to explain their behaviors through the tragedies of their earlier lives or to find an explanation in the possible malformations of their brains, largely to give us some comfort. But what is often the situation, as in the case of Joseph Vacher, there is ultimately no simple or even logical explanation for the existence of such pure evil. We continue to strive to explain and understand it, but in the meantime all we know for sure is that it does exist. "We can only study it and try to keep it at bay."
3 internautes sur 3 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Best True Crime ever 28 mars 2011
Par Valerie L. Blaine - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié Achat vérifié
The Killer of Little Shepherds is the best true crime story I have ever read. I am a student of Criminal Justice with an interest in forensics and this book kept me captivated, and found it hard to put down. Many names in this book have come up in my studies which made it even more interesting. The author really gets into the mind of a serial killer as well as appreciation for the lack of an organized police department of the time. I definitly recommend this book to anyone who is a fan of true crime or forensic investigation. The Killer of Little Shepherds: A True Crime Story and the Birth of Forensic Science
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