Oct. 11, 1999

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There are rules to this business. You learn them as you go:

Don’t ask a lot of questions.

Remember your manners.

And always, always, wear gloves and goggles.

Some folks clean houses. Lyndell Shepherd cleans up after lives are stopped short by violence, despair or neglect.

Shepherd is a crime-scene cleaner. He does what very few others choose to do — get rid of the mess left behind in homes and other places after law-enforcement officials comb them and medical personnel remove the victims.

At least once a week, Shepherd, a 33-year-old Louisville entrepreneur, answers a call in the wake of a homicide or suicide attempt, either successful or unsuccessful.

It’s up to the families of the victims or the property owner to summon Shepherd. Contrary to what many people think, police and coroners are not responsible for cleaning up a death scene.

‘‘This is something that no family member should have to see,’’ said Shepherd, whose company takes on all manner of difficult cleaning jobs, from crime scenes to filthy apartments to sewage spills.

He often works in the shadow of major news stories. In June, he was hired to clean the house of an Oldham County couple slain by an intruder. Such high-profile cases can be troublesome, he said, because he often knows more about the victims than he would like to.

‘‘The strangest situation is when the wife or the husband has killed the other,’’ Shepherd began. ‘‘And you’re in their home seeing photos of them all around, pictures of them at the beach together, getting all huggy. And there you are, cleaning up.’’

Shepherd, who sounds a little too weary for a man his age, began doing this 10 years ago, after several other business ventures soured. He was trying to make a go of an industrial cleaning service when he was hired to clean up a home where a man had committed suicide.

It was difficult. There was more blood than he had imagined. But he managed. And as he went about his work, he saw an opportunity.

His business changed direction. Shepherd renamed his company Infectious Disease Control Inc. and began spreading the word through police officers, paramedics, coroners and funeral directors — anyone connected to unnatural, untimely or unattended death. That, along with multiple listings in the yellow pages (‘‘Specializing In Suicide/homicide’’), has resulted in a steady stream of work.

All but non-existent a decade ago, crime-scene cleaning companies have set up shop in most major cities. There is even a trade group — the American Bio-Recovery Association.

Some companies, like Crime Scene Clean-Up in suburban Baltimore, were started by former medical examiners. In Philadelphia, a conversation involving a police officer, a college professor and a budding businesswoman led to Trauma Scene Restoration Inc.

‘‘We had asked her (the officer) who cleans up after they leave the scene, and she said that no one did, that it was up to the family of the victim,’’ said Becky Della-Rodolfa, one of the partners. ‘‘My business sense kicked in. This was a demand with no supply, and that means money.’’

In Louisville, Shepherd’s is the only advertisement of its kind in the phone book. For $65 an hour, plus the cost of disinfectants, brushes, rags and whatever else he needs for the job, Shepherd will come at any time of the day or night. He arrives in a plain white van — clients prefer such discretion.

Shepherd, usually assisted by one of six part-time employees, begins working once police have gone. He removes all traces of the incident, washing walls, ripping up carpet, and disposing of soiled bedding and furniture. He puts everything into red ‘‘bio-hazard’’ bags and takes them to a medical-waste incinerator.

Decompositions present an entirely different set of challenges. In addition to removing stains, Shepherd uses special chemicals and exhaust fans to remove the odor of death.

Such was the case in July, when 71-year-old William Childers, who lived alone in Lyndon and kept to himself, died. Five days passed before anyone found the body, recalled his nephew, William Borie.

Borie scanned the Yellow Pages and found only one company — Shepherd’s — that offered cleanup services in this situation. Shepherd removed soiled carpet and linoleum and used industrial-strength fans to vent the house for a couple of days.

‘‘I don’t know what we would have done’’ without Shepherd’s service, Borie said. Now, he added, ‘‘you can’t even tell something happened in there.’’

There is little government oversight of the kind of business Shepherd does. States such as Ohio have started requiring licenses, but Kentucky does not. Shepherd, who has a state permit to haul medical waste, said he wishes there were more regulations, mainly because they would lend credibility.

Over time, Shepherd said, he has learned to steel himself to the gore. It is dealing with grieving families that often gets to him. Although he does not feel qualified to provide much counsel, Shepherd said he tries to offer comforting words. The best approach, he said, is to be polite, work quickly and ask no nosy questions.

Shepherd resists the urge to get philosophical about his work. He said he has not culled any great wisdom in his role as death’s janitor. Still, he goes to church regularly and has stopped drinking. Too many suicides, he said, seem to involve liquor.

‘‘You better have a personal relationship with God if you are going to do this,’’ he said. ‘‘It makes you realize that life is fragile.’’

It is usually to his family — Shepherd is unmarried but has several siblings in the area — that he turns when he needs to get away from the business.

‘‘When you come out (of a job), you are definitely ready to be around live people,’’ he said.

Sometimes he catches himself wishing for an assignment with no human toll, like cleaning up a sewage spill or degreasing factory machinery — other services his company provides.

‘‘Oh, Lord, yes,’’ Shepherd said. ‘‘You have to change pace. You can’t do this job forever.’’

He has begun to sell shares in his company to investors and has gotten jobs throughout Kentucky and also in Indiana, Ohio and Illinois. With an eye toward expansion, he is negotiating to open branches in Indianapolis, Lexington and Bowling Green.

Local police take a hands-off approach to businesses like Shepherd’s. Officer Aaron Graham, a Louisville police spokesman, said his department shies away from recommending specific companies to crime victims.

Shepherd figures he gets only a portion of what business is out there. Most people don’t know that this service exists, or that some insurance policies will pay for it, he said. Some police officers and paramedics drop his name, but many others do not. Advertising is tricky, largely because there is no really tasteful way to sell this kind of service.

‘‘It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if we never got another suicide or homicide call,’’ he said. ‘‘Unfortunately, it’s a thriving business.’’

Copyright 1999, The Courier-Journal