Dr Julie Roberts has spent 25 years knee-deep (sometimes literally) in the reality of forensic anthropology and archaeology. She’s worked crime scenes, war zones, and mass fatality incidents. She’s the person they call when remains are discovered – usually with a phone call and photos asking “Is this actually human?” (You’d be surprised how often it isn’t.)
She’s also the person who advised on The Body Farm TV series — until, as she puts it, “they ignored my advice on their crazy plots and sacked me after two scripts because I argued with them.” Silent Witness didn’t fare much better: “Emilia Fox was lovely when she came to the lab, but they also ignored my advice.”
Here’s the thing – and this is something I’ve learned from thirty years in policing – the reality is always more interesting than the fiction. It’s just not always more telegenic.
The Glamour Gap (Or: Why Nobody Sits Next to Julie on the Train)
Let’s get this out of the way first: “We usually look a mess,” Julie admits. “Tired, no makeup, no false nails, bad eating habits because we’re always driving up and down the country, roots need doing because we never get a chance to visit the hairdresser – or we’re constantly cancelling appointments.”
Forget the pristine lab coats and perfect hair. Think more: exhausted scientist who’s been reconstructing burnt bone fragments for twelve hours straight and still can’t shake that particular smell despite three showers.
“The smell lingers for days,” Julie says. “People avoid you on public transport.”
(I remember that smell from my policing days. There’s nothing quite like it. And before you ask – no, Vicks under the nose doesn’t help.)
What Really Happens When the Call Comes In
When remains are discovered, it’s not the dramatic rush you might imagine. If it’s late at night? They’ll wait until morning. The scene gets guarded overnight by some poor PCs who’ve drawn the short straw. The first contact is usually a phone call with photos – “Is this human or not?”
If it is human and suspicious, then the real work begins. Not the high-tech, VR-enhanced, AI-powered analysis you see on TV, but painstaking, methodical documentation.
Photography. Environmental sampling. Drawing maps and plans. Making inventories.
“Most of what we do is very low tech and reliant on our own expert knowledge. We don’t have bright shiny labs and lots of VR going on.”
What they do have is expertise and patience. And Julie’s favourite thing: mechanical fits – reconstructing fragments of bone like the world’s grimmest jigsaw puzzle. “It’s the most satisfying thing ever. Particularly in mass fatality incidents where you have multiple individuals and fragments you can’t get DNA from. You can actually build a person from fitting the pieces together.”
(There’s something profound about that, isn’t there? Building someone back together so their family can say goodbye properly.)
The April Jones Case – When Tiny Fragments Tell Huge Stories
Some cases stay with you forever. For Julie, it was the murder of five-year-old April Jones in 2012.
“We had only a few tiny burnt fragments of bone to work with, and the analytical methods required to prove they belonged to April were destructive, so we had to consider carefully which tests to do.” They had to use proxy samples for DNA. Julie had to seek help from a professor in Milan for histological analysis because it wasn’t routinely used in the UK.
Standing in court, presenting those findings while April’s parents sat watching, facing a defence team and their own anthropologist – that’s the reality of forensic anthropology. It’s not glamorous. It’s heartbreaking, meticulous work that carries the weight of bringing answers to devastated families.
“The defence team was aggressive. Giving evidence was challenging, particularly as April’s parents were present throughout.”
This is what we don’t see on TV: the human cost, the weight of responsibility, the parents watching as you explain how you identified their child from fragments smaller than a fingernail.
Three Myths That Need Burning (Unlike Bodies, Which Don’t)
Myth 1: Bodies burn to nothing “It’s very difficult to burn a body to dispose of it. It takes sustained effort to keep the fire going, and then further effort to dispose of the burnt bones.”
Even in extreme heat or explosions, there’s always something left. Even if it’s just tiny fragments. Here’s the ironic bit – tooth enamel, which seems so hard and durable? Shatters in heat. It’s the protected tooth roots that survive better.
Myth 2: Decomposition follows a timeline In warm summer months, a face can become skeletonised in three or four weeks. Sometimes less. Yet in other conditions, it can take decades. “Decomposition is highly variable.”
Sorry writers – there’s no convenient timeline for your plot.
Myth 3: Forensic anthropologists do everything “We are not pathologists, fingerprint experts, DNA scientists, footwear mark experts, chemists, biologists, entomologists, soil scientists…” Julie’s list goes on.
They’re experts in human skeletal anatomy, growth and development, biomechanics, decomposition, and human modification to remains (burning, dismemberment – the cheerful stuff). Many, like Julie, are also forensic archaeologists who help search for and excavate remains. That’s it. That’s enough.
The Naples Job (Or: When Church Work Gets Weird)
Just when you think you’ve heard everything, Julie mentions: “I have got an interesting tale about an examination I was asked to do by the Catholic Church. It involved a trip to Naples and an effigy of Saint Philomena (life-sized and allegedly stuffed with her bones) which took a very sinister turn. I need more time to tell you about that one.”
(I’m definitely following up on this.)
The Human Side
When Julie’s not identifying remains or advising on accuracy, she’s trying to escape the world of crime. She doesn’t read much crime fiction – “I try to escape the subject outside of work!” Instead, she’s a big fan of Matt Haig and recently couldn’t put down Liane Moriarty’s Here One Moment.
“I like books with a philosophical or human-interest slant and a touch of humour,” she says.
Which makes sense, really. When your day job involves reconstructing humanity from fragments, you probably need your downtime to involve the living.
The Writer’s Takeaway
So what does Julie want crime writers to know above all else?
It isn’t glamorous. It’s messy, dirty, smelly work done by dedicated professionals who care more about getting answers than looking good. Your forensic anthropologist character shouldn’t be solving everything – they should be part of a team, each with their own expertise.
And please, for the love of all that’s sacred, don’t have them interviewing suspects. They’ll be too busy doing something far more important – like trying to identify tiny fragments of bone that represent someone’s child, parent, or partner.
That’s the real drama. That’s the story worth telling.
The truth is – and I’ve seen this from both sides now, as a copper and as someone who helps writers get it right – the reality of forensic anthropology is both more mundane and more profound than fiction captures. It’s not about the technology or the glamour. It’s about patience, expertise, and the weight of responsibility to the dead and those they’ve left behind.
It’s not that complicated, really. It’s just human.
Dr Julie Roberts BA (Hons), MSc, PhD, ChFA, FRIA, MCIfA is one of my Crime Fiction Experts – a brilliant team of specialists I’ve assembled over the years to help writers get the details right. She’s a Chartered Forensic Anthropologist with over 25 years of experience and currently works with Alecto Forensic Services as their scientific advisor and senior practitioner, and Liverpool John Moores University as a senior lecturer in forensic anthropology. If you need authentic forensic anthropology advice for your crime fiction, drop me a line at policeadvisor.co.uk.
