Macey’s crime scene photography was vivid and detailed. She was considered one of the best photographers’s the department had. Her imagery captured the scene in its entirety telling a graphic story that wasn’t for the faint of heart. Even seasoned cops shuddered when they witnessed a crime scene through her lens but they were always grateful for her work which often sealed the culprit’s fate.
There was nothing random about Macey’s photos; she prepared a detailed account any jury could clearly understand. She began at the entrance point the perp had used and inched her way through each room until she reached the victim leaving “no stone unturned” sadly capturing the cruelty of their last moments on earth. It wasn’t pretty; it was in some cases horrific, but even the family of victims who’d have preferred never witnessing the gruesomeness were grateful when the perp was captured and imprisoned for their barbarous acts.
Although she snapped the nastiness of the attack, in whatever form it had taken, there was also a delicacy and caring that shielded the victim’s privacy as much as possible without compromising the integrity of her work. She somehow managed to portray the essence of the victim, their vulnerability at that moment, ensuring they were real and no one was left in doubt they deserved respect and there was accountability for what had been done.
Some were left with indelible scars after seeing their loved ones in these, their final moments, but the story had to be told in its entirety so everyone present knew the perp’s mindset capabilities and intent. It was important to Macey they didn’t walk on a technicality. Her work proved beyond the shadow of a doubt there was nothing harmless or random in their violent betrayal of family or friend. The victim deserved their day in court, with someone telling the story they couldn’t.
When she was finished her shift, no matter the time of day or night, Macey would find solace in using her photography to soothe her soul. Shots of a night sky, blossoms newly budding, children at play, the laughter on the face of a gurgling baby. She had photos of friends and lovers walking together, some intimately wrapped around one another, grandparents sitting on a park bench, chuckling over something in the paper. These she would develop and after choosing the best of the bunch, frame and place on the wall to enjoy later.
Her work was invaluable and was why she was able to continue doing what she did. The day might come when she may not be able to continue, but for now, she’d found a way to cope with the heinous acts perpetrated by sick individuals and still look at life with all it’s renewed freshness vitality and promise.