Of eggs and frogs’ legs
In an extract from his book, Auckland Museum curator Brian Gill explains how in his 30-year career he’s often called on to solve mysteries for the police, biosecurity agencies and government departments.
In 1998, staff from an antiques auction house asked me to examine an ostrich egg with extensive scrimshaw decoration on the surface. At first glance it was a beautiful and impressive object with finely detailed illustrations inked in black on the pale cream-coloured egg surface. The weight and feel seemed right for an ostrich egg.
But the situation changed under low magnification. In the land vertebrates lab, I had a stereoscopic dissecting microscope that was in constant use for examining small objects on a tray. It was mounted on a large stable arm so it could also be swung out from the bench and used to examine the surface of large objects.
As soon as a section of the egg came into focus I could see minute bubbles trapped in the surface that showed it to be a plastic fake. It had been produced with remarkable skill and it was still beautiful, but it was not the old scrimshaw it pretended to be.
Still on the subject of eggs, there was a case where a woman was caught at Auckland International Airport attempting to smuggle into the country what appeared to be live parrot eggs. The eggs were strapped to her body and she deliberately smashed them when she was caught. I was asked to examine seven of the embryos to ascertain their identity.
The museum collection held a small selection of bird embryos preserved in alcohol but there were no parrots among them. I referred to illustrations in books held by the museum’s library, and it was clear the embryos in question had several superficial features of the beak and feet consistent with their being parrots.
Eggshell fragments were present and in all of them the colour of the shell was white, as is the case with parrot eggs.
I checked and approved a draft brief of evidence prepared by the Crown Solicitor. A few days later two court officials turned up at the museum’s north entrance. As I walked through the building to meet them I ran into them on the grand stone staircase. In this spectacular setting they served me with a summons under the Summary Proceedings Act: I was to appear in the District Court as a witness for the prosecution.
In due course, however, the offenders pleaded guilty and the case did not proceed. In around sixty forensic identifications during my career, I never did get to make a court appearance.
A man from the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries rang one day to say that an unusual live lizard had been dropped off anonymously at a private zoo. He assumed it to be a native lizard. If I were to examine it alive and confirm this, it could be released. Otherwise, it would have to be killed by the ministry and then referred to me for identification.
I met the woman from the zoo in the museum’s main foyer. She had the lizard in a plastic icecream container. ‘‘It bites and it jumps,’’ she warned. I suggested we take the container to my workroom where we could close the doors to confine the area and open it over the large deep sink.
I lifted a corner of the lid, saw a beautiful scaly body, and hauled out a very lively little agamid lizard, which proceeded to bite me ineffectually.
It was certainly not a New Zealand native, and may have been smuggled in from Australia or Asia. I reported this and the man from the ministry’s initial response was ‘‘Oh, bugger!’’
The lizard was a disease threat and would have to be put down.
Another request from the ministry to identify a live reptile involved a snake that had been dumped at an animal rehabilitation centre in Whangarei after being smuggled into the country, probably on a yacht. It was now in the ministry’s offices in central Auckland.
When I entered the large room with the caged snake at centre stage, there were about a dozen people clustered around, including a television crew filming for the evening news. There was an awkward moment as they all stood back, seemingly expecting me to take over and deliver an illuminating verdict.
I said it looked like some sort of non-poisonous constricting snake, but owned up to having no expertise on the subject. How could I have developed any working knowledge of snakes in a country that lacks them?
I certainly wasn’t going to handle the creature for various reasons, not least an awareness of the well-known adage about never appearing live on camera with children or animals.
The snake proved to be a boa constrictor. The media continued to be interested and dubbed it ‘‘Benny the Boa’’. In due course it was put down by a vet.
In 1985, authorities asked me to identify mangled remains found in the undercarriage bay of a DC10 jet that had landed in Auckland after a flight from Los Angeles via Honolulu. The remains were those of a barn owl that must have roosted in the undercarriage and become trapped.
I also received requests from the police. In one case of poaching I established that bones seized from a prepared meal literally removed from a pot on a stove - belonged to a protected native bird, the New Zealand pigeon, or kereru.
In another case, helped by recourse to the museum’s historic skeleton LM131, I confirmed that bones found under an old house were from domestic animals and were not human as feared.
In 2004 I was asked to identify raw meat packaged and labelled as ‘‘chicken thighs’’ on sale in an Asian grocery shop in South Auckland. The Institute of Environmental Science and Research, a government-owned body, was investigating on behalf of the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries and I went to the institute’s laboratory to examine samples.
The meat was packed in mealsized portions on polystyrene trays wrapped in clear plastic film. Superficially it looked just like packaged chicken meat, but on closer examination each ‘‘thigh’’ appeared to be the skinned and trimmed abdomen and legs of a large frog. Through the translucent flesh were apparent the very slender lower leg bones of frogs, which differ from the much thicker leg bones of chickens.
I suggested the appropriate zoological wording for a brief of evidence that was being prepared by the ministry’s investigating solicitor and signed it, but the defendants pleaded guilty at the eleventh hour and witnesses were not required in court. Total fines of around $6000 were split between an individual and two companies, including the grocery store: it was found guilty of ‘‘recklessly selling unauthorised goods’’.
Extracted from The Unburnt Egg: More Stories of a Museum Curator by Brian Gill (Awa Press, $38).