December 4th, 2008 by Oskar Kennedy

In this era of forensic science procedural dramas, we’ve all seen some variation on this scene. The Peanut Butter Killer has struck again. Bodies are showing up all over the greater Metroville area; the victims are suffocated, their mouths filled with cheap, store brand peanut butter.
Rod Beardly is a grizzled detective, a 17-year veteran of the Metroville PD. He is convinced that the killer is Johnny Broomwielder, the impossibly charismatic janitor at Metroville High. Detectives interrogate Broomwielder on tape for hours, and he answers question after question in his low, growly baritone. The PBK is clever, however, and the DA says that lack of forensic evidence at the scene makes an indictment impossible.
After several months, there is a huge break in the case. A pretty blond woman, Lisa Loveinterest, is attacked by the PBK. Lisa is allergic to peanut butter; her wild coughing and flailing spooks the killer, and Lisa is able to escape. Detective Beardly and his partner, Stu Sidekick, interview Lisa in the hospital. Lisa is understandably upset. Although she did not get a clear look at her attacker’s face, she vividly remembers his high, squeaky voice.
The detectives leave dissatisfied. Lisa’s description of the attacker’s voice seems to clearly rule out their prime suspect. A few days later, they’re casting about for new leads when Lisa calls. It turns out that she had just called home to leave a message for herself when she was attacked. Her phone was still active, and her answering machine has recorded the voice of the killer.
Cut to a dimly lit room, with shiny, stainless steel surfaces, huge computer screens, and vaguely scientific looking equipment. On one of the screens, there are two brightly colored squiggles. The detectives are talking to Larry Labtech, who explains (in a very expositionary tone) that the green squiggle is a digitized picture of Johnny Broomwielder’s sexy snarl, while the red squiggle represents the killer’s childlike squealing. Labtech taps a couple of random keys, and the squiggles merge together. They overlap perfectly. This voiceprint proves that Johnny Broomweilder is the Peanut Butter Killer.
The detectives charge over to Metroville High, where they interrupt Broomweilder in the act of stuffing peanut butter into the mouth of an unconscious vice principal. Stu is wounded in the struggle, but they manage to bring Broomweilder down. Lisa and Beardly later fall in love and get married, and their kids always get baloney sandwiches in their school lunches.
It’s a satisfying story. Sadly, as with so much in Hollywood, it’s largely fantasy.
As portrayed in popular entertainment, voiceprinting is on the order of DNA. Every individual has a unique pattern buried in the sound of their voice. No matter how hard the speaker tries to disguise his voice, the computer will, to mix sensory metaphors, sniff it out.
As Discovery News is reporting, this turns out to be a drastic overstatement of the evidentiary value of computerized voice analysis. Each voice isn’t unique in the same way that fingerprints are. The sounds that speech is composed of overlap in individuals. In addition, physiological effects, such as fatigue or illness, and environmental factors like ambient noise or recording quality can all change the voice significantly.
Certain components of speech, like the pronunciation of some consonants, can be isolated and identified, but this isn’t enough to single out an individual. At best, it’s useful for eliminating suspects who don’t exhibit certain hard to disguise speech habits.
So put voiceprinting, along with crystal clear enhanced photos and instantaneous DNA matches, on the list of investigatory tools that don’t quite live up to their Hollywood hype. And remember that, to solve a serious (fictional) crime in under an hour, you’ll have to take some license with real world forensic tech.