The myth of quick-and-easy crime busting may be starting to get in the way of law enforcement. Forensic scientists speak of something they call the CSI effect, a growing public expectation that police labs can do everything TV labs can. This, they worry, may poison jury pools, which could lose the ability to appreciate the shades of gray that color real criminal cases. That, in turn, could discourage prosecutors, who may be reluctant to pursue good circumstantial cases without a smoking gun. "Attorneys may not be willing to go to trial unless you have statistics of one in a million," says criminalist Faye Springer of the D.A.'s forensic lab in Sacramento.

Even rookie criminalists are beginning to rely on snazzy science first and street smarts second. Fischer reports that when he is interviewing job applicants for the L.A. sheriff's lab, one question he asks is what they would do if they came upon a murder victim clutching a plastic bag containing a blue powder. Typically, the applicants tick off the string of high-tech tests they would conduct on the substance. What they never ask is where the body was found. "If it was in a Laundromat, he probably had detergent in the bag," says Fischer.

Knowing when to use and not use the new forensic tools is an instinct best bred in the labs themselves, but the quality of those facilities varies widely. There is no national standard for training required to become a forensic investigator, nor any uniform accreditation procedure for labs. About two-thirds of U.S. forensic labs subscribe to an accreditation system, but it's only voluntary. "When you get a haircut," says Fischer, "even your barber is licensed."

The risks of such casual oversight—coupled with the pressure that labs are under to produce evidence—were underscored last year when Oklahoma police chemist Joyce Gilchrist was fired, allegedly for committing scientific errors and misinterpreting results. The state is reviewing more than 1,000 cases she handled. Gilchrist denies any wrongdoing.

Clearly scientists need to be better trained, and on this score things are improving. The L.A. sheriff's office runs forensics courses for detectives that include fake murder scenes staged at a Residence Inn. The University of Tennessee in Knoxville maintains a politely named Anthropological Research Facility, a body farm where dozens of human remains lie in various states of decay in open fields to help forensic scientists better understand decomposition.

While such work can be grisly, there's no shortage of new recruits anxious to enter the field—thanks in part to the CSI-type shows. Since the programs went on the air, the American Academy of Forensic Scientists has been flooded with e-mail from viewers hoping to enter the field. In 1993 Michigan State University received 60 applications for 12 spots in its criminal-justice program; this year the number rose to 147. At West Virginia University, 200 students were enrolled in the school's forensic-science program in 1999; this year that figure doubled. The University of California, Davis, which already offered an undergraduate forensic degree, has taken the training a step higher, establishing a master's program too. Interestingly, most of the applicants at many of these programs are women: 70% at West Virginia University; 80% at Michigan State. Jay Siegel, a director of Michigan's school of criminal justice, speculates that female students are drawn to forensics because gender bias still limits women's opportunities in other sciences. Polls also suggest that women more than men identify crime as one of society's most pressing concerns.

The more TV dramas draw viewers into the field, the more universities are likely to strengthen their curricula. That, in turn, could help the investigative arts harden, at last, into the true science they need to be. This won't please criminals, but it might also disappoint the new crop of forensic scientists. Raised in a world of CSI bells and Crossing Jordan whistles, they may not be prepared for the fact that forensics is not always fast or fun or pretty. It's a grueling business of trial and error, of investigative dead ends, of repeating the same experiment over weeks or months, until finally, one day, all the tumblers click into place and the bad guy is at last yours. It isn't prime time—but it's not a bad day's work either. —Reported by Dan Cray and Jeanne McDowell/Los Angeles, Amanda Bower, Sora Song and Deirdre van Dyk/ New York, Sarah Sturmon Dale/Minneapolis, Elizabeth Kauffman/Nashville and Elaine Shannon/ Washington

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