Posts
There are so many stories to tell. Days, months, years of them. The faces and cases blend together in a collage of memories and realities... each investigation running the gamut from highly aggravating and life-altering, to catastrophic.
To share such stories on a forum like this one requires both caution and respect.
Caution... because there are issues of privacy in all investigations -- legal, ethical and moral.
Respect... because by the time a client hires a private investigator, things in their life have gotten very grim. And a person who is willing to fight for their rights, willing to hire the warriors.... the attorneys, the p.i.'s, the mercenaries .... to do battle for them, deserves respect. Yet at the end of the day, in some cases... I find the respect I initially invested, poorly spent.
The justice system has flaws in its structure.
There are innocent people on death row and guilty people on the streets.
The bad guys look like good guys, and the good guys are often overlooked.... because the bad guys disguised as good guys seduce their targets, victims, subjects.
Let me preface the case study that follows by saying, just because it appears to feature a female victim, men are victims as much, if not more as women from domestic dramas, traumas, confrontations.
We all have our illusions and delusions of love when we think we are falling in love.
But that stage of falling is more like we are being led by forces beyond ourselves that are actually within ourselves.
Because in the first moments of new physical relationships, it is hormones, primal instinct... not our brains... that launch, then drive us. It is instinct, passion, need, desire, want, lust... those are the things that first fuel a fire of attraction that may or may not remain lit.
That initial fire of infatuation either extinguishes itself over time, or continues to grow. Sometimes it's contained. Sometimes it leaps boundaries, burns homes, consumes lives and leaves ashes in its wake. Forget logic, reason, rationality.
Some relationships are so sick, or co-dependent, they're like those birthday candles you blow out that perpetually re-ignite. The abused return to the abuser. The apologies work until the next offense. Then the patterns repeat themselves.
People keep making the same mistakes over and over again until they either get it right. Or die trying.
Case In Point: The Lady In White
Domestics are the most violent of all cases for police calls. That's because passions are ignited like wildfires, weapons are often involved. Lovers scorned can and will hurt or kill each other every day.
This is the story of one domestic... A single vignette from a huge canvas of possibilities I could pick from. My challenge will be to sum up this story, to span many weeks into just a few paragraphs.
It started at sushi bar when I first met my client-to-be...
the beautiful 39 year old white lady dressed in a white blazer, white turtleneck, white pants and white sandals which revealed white tipped french manicured toenails that matched the tips of her fingernails. the sushi bar i was seated next to her at was painted a soft white with a clean white countertop. The sushi chefs wore their white coats and hats.
I got a lot of cases from sushi bars in my early days as a P.I. Sitting by myself, at the sushi bar, ordering in Japanese, chatting with the sushi chef, sometimes sipping sake, maybe reading a book or writing....that draws attention. I wait for someone to talk to me. Or I comment on something they order. Ultimately, people ask what I do. I tell them.
And poof! a case arrives. Just like that.
So that's how I met the lady dressed in white who looked like Sharon Stone, with very short cropped blond. hair. She asked me for my business card when I told her what I did.
When I asked her what she did, she said, "Marketing."
I asked what kind. "Business," she replied.
Then she changed the subject to the one that pays the bills. She wanted to hire me to investigate her new boyfriend.
She is 39 years old she says. She lives in a mansion, (she really used that word), in Redmond (Microsoft-ville) all by herself. I asked if she was married. She hesitated, said no, then started talking again.
She said she hired a counter man/handyman type to put white marble on all her counter tops She said he's actually a very handy and exceptionally smart man. She said you wouldn't know how smart he was to look at him, because he needed major dental work and had a kind of rough appearance. He wasn't exactly ugly, she said, but he needed a bit of fixing up. Besides, she said, it was his soul, his spirit she was attracted to.
She said he was divorced, living in an apartment and had partial custody of a 17 year old daughter.
She said having this man work on the counters of her house... she couldn't help herself. He was so charming, so witty, so strong. One minute they were talking, the next, her botox lips with expensively capped teeth met his smarmy mouth and somewhere in that mix, love blossomed.
She said, they've been intimate two nights a week ever since. He'll spend Mondays and Thursdays nights at her house but had to take care of his 18 year old daughter the other nights. She had never been to his apartment, never met his daughter. Now she wanted him to move in. And she wanted me to check him out.
I asked her what her house is worth. She said a half million dollars.
I ask her what assets she knows he has. She said none.
She said she doesn't want me to get the wrong idea.
She's a smart woman, she said.
Before she moves him into the house, he'll live in a tent in the backyard. The tent was his suggestion, she said. She told him yes he could come in use the shower and bath, but she'd prefer most night to sleep alone and she said he was fine with that.
She said she liked the idea because she felt good having a man around to keep an eye on things.
She didn't tell me why he liked the idea.
I had that one all figured out.
He liked the idea because he could live rent free in a tent in the back yard of a beautiful, evidently rich woman's home...and ultimately move in on her... to fulfill whatever motive he had up his sleeve. And being who I am and what I do, I suspected said motive was nefarious.
She added one more point to the story. He agreed to do handyman work for her around the house and in return, she would pay his dental work, a completely new set of teeth. She guessed this would cost about 25k.
This was told me at the sushi bar.
The next time I spoke to her was at her house. Her "mansion." And that it was.
I parked next to the white Mercedes in her driveway.
She answered the door at 10:00 am in a white cashmere bathrobe that almost reached the floor. Her entire house was white, walls, rugs, furniture, picture frames.
Oddly there was only one personal picture in the living room. The same picture was in her bedroom, above the bed with a white mink-like coverlet on it. The picture was a photo of the lady in white, in white, hugging her white-haired dog, a Husky, who came out of the lily white kitchen to greet me.
She gave me a tour of her home. White staircase to white bedroom, white walk-ins, sitting rooms, bathrooms with white Italian tile and granite.
When we sat down at her white kitchen table, I asked her again what she did for a living.
She again was evasive, said she does some marketing for a friend's company and mainly she'd come into money.
She owns the house outright she said. Money is no object, she continued, as she wrote out a check and handed it to me.
I had her figured as a high class hooker or a trust fund baby who was either into the white thing.. or an obsessive compulsive thing.
I saw no office in the place, it was this make-believe Barbie Doll house in Arctic white.
Now... we fast forward.
I did my investigation. The guy was bad. Very bad. He'd beaten one wife he'd divorced. I called and talked to her, She was still terrified of him. She said she thinks he is evil. She said one time he got mad at the new kitty she just got and threw it out the window and down three stories. Crushed kitty's skull. And that was just the beginning of it all.
So I tell the lady in white this. She stares at me blankly from across her white kitchen table.
I tell her again... he killed a kitten, do you get that?
Her response was, "I'm an animal right advocate, that is disturbing. But people change."
I gave her the rest of his story. I'd done a background and surveillance on him.
He was still married.
His wife lived with a woman who I later I.D.'d via the open living room window and my camera as the wife's lesbian lover. Or part of a threesome involving the handyman.
I told my client that was where he spent the nights because he didn't have an apartment. That's why she never saw his apartment, I tell her. And he didn't have a daughter either. At least I couldn't identify one.
When he told my client he went home to the daughter, he usually boozed it up with Thelma and Louise.... then one, two or three retreated into the bedroom.
I wrapped my summary for her by suggesting she get him out of her life immediately, cut off contact, no tent, no future, no nothing. I also suggested Thelma and Louise may be in on the whole thing.
She seemed oddly calm and said this:
"While the information surprises me, I don't think it will change my mind about letting him move in."
I, of course, was dumbfounded.
I re-stated my case to her.
I showed her the records, the court files, report of interview with the ex wife, photos of the current wife and restraining orders. I show her the residency databases, the fact that he shares a permanent address with a woman he is still married to.
The lady in white calmly said, "Thank you I will take it under advisement."
I pondered the next move. Were she not a client, a good slap upside the head might be in order. Instead, I asked, "Who pays for this place, really? What's going on?"
It was the right question because the rest of the story unfolded.
"It's a secret," she said to me, smilingly mischievously.
She said she used to be a waitress in a diner in Wenatchee which is a more rural city in Eastern WA, reminiscent more of cowboys than metro-sexual city types.
She was living in a trailer with a guy who did too much coke and hassled her all the time. He beat her once, she said. She grew up in Wenatchee, she said and she wanted out.
The area there was all white people, she explained. She had red hair then.
So one day, this man, "a colored man" she called him, he told her he was 82 and was dressed in a very expensive suit, carried a fancy leather briefcase.... and he must have been 6 '3". He ordered eggs, toast and jam from her and she struck up a conversation with him. He was very well spoken she said, very well educated.
Turned out, she said, he was a wealthy man who owned land and was here to settle his dead sister's estate. He was the only one left alive in his family. She owned orchards. He inherited her money and had a lot of his own. There is no one else alive, it was all on his shoulders now, he told her.
He was in town a week. He came back to the diner the next morning, then the next and she courted him, she admitted to me.
On the day before his last breakfast at the diner before heading back to Seattle...
she told him her life was in danger, her boyfriend was in jail and if he was released, he would kill her. She needed to escape.
She told me he instantly asked her to marry him. He would move her to Seattle where he lived. So he, the 82 year old man married the 39 year old, red head turned blond.
She told me she agreed to marry him as long as they didn't have sex.... to which i said "Bullshit.:" She said, "No its true."
It's not about the sex she said. They have a spiritual connection.
Ultimately, she told him Seattle gave her the creeps, so she picked out a house in Redmond in a gated community next to a pond for him to buy her. She told him she had a nervous condition and has to be alone most of the time. All he asked is to spend every Sunday night with her, she told me. She would fix him something special and dress like she did in the diner. She also added that he signed his will.... everything over to her.
So when he dies, not only will the house remain with her because it is in her name, she will also get his house in Seattle, and all his other assets from his entire deceased family, which are significant.
So... she said to me, concluding her story, the handyman is just that. A handyman. She doesn't intend to marry him because she is already married. She just intended to have him handy in case she needed him for "something."
I have pondered that "something" for years now.
Once I walked away from her door, I refused further work for her.
I checked up on her husband for a year or so, he was still alive.
I don't know whether the handyman is around... whether he has a new set of teeth...
whether she was planning to use him as a handy hit-man or a foil for the SODDI defense (Some Other Dude Did It.)
Many single or newly single women are drawn to handymen they hire.
I investigate a lot of these cases. Landscapers, carpet cleaners, roofers, handymen... there are predators in every business where people are alone, vulnerable and in need of an assist.
Predators know many independent women with assets secretly want to be loved and they play white knight until darkness descends and they can separate their prey and their assets. In this case, I'm not sure who was the prey, really. It's like everyone used each other.
Ultimately, I'd say the men were the ones being played by a player, the likes of which I never saw coming.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Drugs Of Choice - Martial Law on Smoking?
Interesting how it works. You do something. It gives you pleasure. You do it again. It continues to give you pleasure. And so you keep doing it.
Doesn't really matter what it is you do, you do it enough, it becomes habit. You want it more.... and more.... until finding it... having it... ingesting it... consumes you. That's what's called an addiction and that's what's happening to me with this blog. It calls me all the time. The challenge is finding the time to write in it before it becomes static, dull, ignored.
Driving into Seattle to deliver cases on the early ferry this morning.... listening to B.J. Shea, on his wonderful radio show "The B.J. Shea Morning Experience (Google it - 6-10am, Seattle 99.9 FM)... B.J. was ranting about how the military is considering banning cigarette smoking among soldiers.
Being of a similar age as B.J., I share most of his rants. I feel the same way he does about certain idiots making idiotic decisions that affect the rest of decent folks out here who have a right to live our lives the way we choose.
However, I am not B.J., so I will spare my rant about politically and religiously driven B.S. Instead, I will weave his story about the ban on smoking in the military into this blog post.
Just one thing before proceeding: I am not a smoker and my father died from smoking cigarettes. I will also say I am married to a retired Marine, 14 years military who smoked from the day I met him and stops every now and then.
That said, I think it is absolutely ridiculous to tell soldiers, going to battle, that not only can they have no more than two beers a month... but they may not smoke a cigarette in
Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, on a ship in stormy or calm seas, in desert and foxhole, on Fort Campbell, Fort Lewis, Madigan, Bumfruck Egypt, anywhere they are stationed, away from family and friends, serving this country... putting their lives on the line for us.
One reason tobacco is the drug of choice for so many people...
one reason why people say it is as hard, if not harder than heroin to quit...
is because the powerful effects of the drug, the nicotine, have on the human body and psyche.
Unlike any other drugs, tobacco has a unique quality. For those addicted to it, it lifts them up when they are depressed, bleak, feeling dark.
It mellows people out when they are hyped, angry, anxious, feeling cornered, freaked.
I must also add that smoking tobacco blackens your lungs, creates a sludgy coat of tar in your body, clogs and ultimately chokes your heart, arteries, clouds your brain, gives you cancer and you die a premature and often painful death. So it's not all fun and games.
I recall working with one retired FBI agent. He laughed as he told me he used to "smoke like a fish, a smoked fish". However, he had a hole in his throat he spoke, then smoked the cigarette through, after telling me his story. It was hard moment to process.
However, those are not things a soldier thinks about after he or she has just deployed, is in a frightening foreign environment, is away from home for the first time, or just saw a buddy blown up.
For a soldier the positive effects of those already addicted to cigarette smoking , added to the camaraderie that comes from a close group gathered like birds (I call them puffins), wings flapping, and swapping stories... there is a something almost sacred among their smoke-filled circles.
And to demand the people in our society who are under stress the most, must not smoke, they must literally go through withdrawal and maintain sobriety in the military ....and have no release... is absurd to me. And in this blogger's humble opinion, worth a post.
I know so many people will disagree with my point of view. I understand every argument to the contrary. I hate the smell the smell of cigarette smoke. I hate that people I love do it. However, I respect every one's right to live their lives as long as it doesn't intrude on mine. So people who smoke in my personal life around me are respectful of how I feel about it. They have a right to smoke, just like I have a right not to.
There are moments, however, on the job, when I must have smoke blown my way to get information. I usually go into people's homes to meet them, it gives me and the attorneys a better sense of who and what we are dealing with.
In some cases, I walk into a living room, see a butt filled ashtray and a nervous subject. Ultimately they say, "Do you mind if I smoke?"
Meaning -- do you mind if I smoke right here in my own home while you talk to me?
I say, "No, of course not. It's your house. And, I'm a second hand smoker anyway."
That answer usually produces a a few seconds of silence... then a laugh.
I on the other hand, have carefully crafted a calculated response that establishes a rapport with someone I am interviewing, while showing respect for what they do even though I do not do it. Respect is key to getting information out of anyone.
And I think not allowing soldiers to smoke is showing a lack of respect to what they do for us. They put themselves on the line for us, so they have the right to make their own decisions on how to cope with physical and psychological traumas they face in the field.
To B.J. I say, "Right on." We need more voices to speak up and drown out the lunacy out there. The President of the United States smokes. Who's going to tell him to stop?
Doesn't really matter what it is you do, you do it enough, it becomes habit. You want it more.... and more.... until finding it... having it... ingesting it... consumes you. That's what's called an addiction and that's what's happening to me with this blog. It calls me all the time. The challenge is finding the time to write in it before it becomes static, dull, ignored.
Driving into Seattle to deliver cases on the early ferry this morning.... listening to B.J. Shea, on his wonderful radio show "The B.J. Shea Morning Experience (Google it - 6-10am, Seattle 99.9 FM)... B.J. was ranting about how the military is considering banning cigarette smoking among soldiers.
Being of a similar age as B.J., I share most of his rants. I feel the same way he does about certain idiots making idiotic decisions that affect the rest of decent folks out here who have a right to live our lives the way we choose.
However, I am not B.J., so I will spare my rant about politically and religiously driven B.S. Instead, I will weave his story about the ban on smoking in the military into this blog post.
Just one thing before proceeding: I am not a smoker and my father died from smoking cigarettes. I will also say I am married to a retired Marine, 14 years military who smoked from the day I met him and stops every now and then.
That said, I think it is absolutely ridiculous to tell soldiers, going to battle, that not only can they have no more than two beers a month... but they may not smoke a cigarette in
Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, on a ship in stormy or calm seas, in desert and foxhole, on Fort Campbell, Fort Lewis, Madigan, Bumfruck Egypt, anywhere they are stationed, away from family and friends, serving this country... putting their lives on the line for us.
One reason tobacco is the drug of choice for so many people...
one reason why people say it is as hard, if not harder than heroin to quit...
is because the powerful effects of the drug, the nicotine, have on the human body and psyche.
Unlike any other drugs, tobacco has a unique quality. For those addicted to it, it lifts them up when they are depressed, bleak, feeling dark.
It mellows people out when they are hyped, angry, anxious, feeling cornered, freaked.
I must also add that smoking tobacco blackens your lungs, creates a sludgy coat of tar in your body, clogs and ultimately chokes your heart, arteries, clouds your brain, gives you cancer and you die a premature and often painful death. So it's not all fun and games.
I recall working with one retired FBI agent. He laughed as he told me he used to "smoke like a fish, a smoked fish". However, he had a hole in his throat he spoke, then smoked the cigarette through, after telling me his story. It was hard moment to process.
However, those are not things a soldier thinks about after he or she has just deployed, is in a frightening foreign environment, is away from home for the first time, or just saw a buddy blown up.
For a soldier the positive effects of those already addicted to cigarette smoking , added to the camaraderie that comes from a close group gathered like birds (I call them puffins), wings flapping, and swapping stories... there is a something almost sacred among their smoke-filled circles.
And to demand the people in our society who are under stress the most, must not smoke, they must literally go through withdrawal and maintain sobriety in the military ....and have no release... is absurd to me. And in this blogger's humble opinion, worth a post.
I know so many people will disagree with my point of view. I understand every argument to the contrary. I hate the smell the smell of cigarette smoke. I hate that people I love do it. However, I respect every one's right to live their lives as long as it doesn't intrude on mine. So people who smoke in my personal life around me are respectful of how I feel about it. They have a right to smoke, just like I have a right not to.
There are moments, however, on the job, when I must have smoke blown my way to get information. I usually go into people's homes to meet them, it gives me and the attorneys a better sense of who and what we are dealing with.
In some cases, I walk into a living room, see a butt filled ashtray and a nervous subject. Ultimately they say, "Do you mind if I smoke?"
Meaning -- do you mind if I smoke right here in my own home while you talk to me?
I say, "No, of course not. It's your house. And, I'm a second hand smoker anyway."
That answer usually produces a a few seconds of silence... then a laugh.
I on the other hand, have carefully crafted a calculated response that establishes a rapport with someone I am interviewing, while showing respect for what they do even though I do not do it. Respect is key to getting information out of anyone.
And I think not allowing soldiers to smoke is showing a lack of respect to what they do for us. They put themselves on the line for us, so they have the right to make their own decisions on how to cope with physical and psychological traumas they face in the field.
To B.J. I say, "Right on." We need more voices to speak up and drown out the lunacy out there. The President of the United States smokes. Who's going to tell him to stop?
Friday, July 10, 2009
Finding Normal
I don't know why I'm drawn to unusual people and circumstances. Maybe they are drawn to me.
Perhaps I am a magnet that attracts the the unique, the different, the aberrations of what whoever "they" is call normal.
Diane Arbus is a photographer, worth googling, who insired me when I was young. She sought out the abnormal within the normal. She was the one who first made me realize our faces are simply masks you can see though... if you look hard enough.
Whoever "They" is, "They say" say... the only place you'll find normal is on your washer/drier setting dial. I say... there is no place called normal, no specific line of demarcation between normal and abnormal. Normal is not a space or place you can see or define, like the horizon line, where the ocean meets the sky.
Normal is only what we know. And what we know is what we've been taught.
Some people, either by nature, nurture or a combination of both, see love, kindness, positive attributes, basic human decency as normal.
Other people, either by nature, nurture, or a combination of both, see the hustle, the con, the hype, the game, the lies, deceptions, delusions as normal.
In my humble opinion, the ten commandment and countless versions of the bible were an attempt to establish a positive based, "normal" pattern of human behavior among the people who moved in those particular religious circles. For some it is normal to beleieve in God. For others, it is normal to believe in a different God. or many Gods. Or no God. Or Mother Earth.
Religious zealots called Native Americans "savages" or "heathens" because they weren't "normal" according to their zealot standards. The Natives Americans called their bluff and lost their ground. But not their faith.
Take all the religious people in the world... the Christians, Catholics, Episcopalians, Jesuits, Jehovah's, Jews, Palestinians, Zen, Amish, Druids, Native Americans, Mormons, etc etc etc... We are all molded by whoever raised us and whatever genes and DNA run our through our individual internal operating systems.
Some people clearly aren't normal. The ones who are easiest to deal with are the ones you see coming. They do not act, appear, or behave by any standards anyone of us would conclude is normal.
Other people appear normal, almost too normal, while underneath, they are ticking time bombs of destruction and death. These are the people who've been taught or self-taught how to act normal even though there's a monster under skin.
Sometimes, the flukes of human nature are created by nature itself. Sometimes, its solely nurture, how we are raised from day one. Sometimes, it's a combination of both.
Othertimes... or at the same time... something's wrong with the wiring in the brain, the circuits, the way thoughts flow through space and time within the brain's confines.
I see the brain as a machine of human origins and components -- a living engine of flesh, neurons, energy, links, processes, all flowing together. This incredibly sophisticated and complex engine has an ability to transport us back through time.... or project us into a future we conceive of living.
Some brains simply need tune-ups to maintain a degree or illusion of normal.
Others need meds.
Some brains are damaged and heal physically over time.
Some brains are irreperably danaged and a persons behavior is affected permanently.
Given a healthy brain to begin with with, we need a balance of additives -- nurture... nurturing... loving to be as close to whatever normal we are trying to achieve. At the very least we need food, shelter, clothing. Educations ups the ante.
To find normal, we need a healthy balance of positive with the negative. An excess of either can be self-destructive.
Too much of the postive can lead a sense of entitlement, narcissim, a self love that excludes all others.
Too much of the negative can lead to a sense of depression, hopelessness, helplessness, self-loathing.
I have always been intrigued by people who teeter totter on the edge of either extreme. But I am even more fascinated by those who have gone over the edge of normal and lived to tell about it.
My mother used to point out the homeless and hapless to me as she raised me. She was a brimming bottle of love overflowing with guidance, love and clever sayings, I call "momisms" that I carry with me... one right here, to this very day.
I remember Mom pointing out one man in particular, he had no legs and his bottom sat on a platform of wood and rollers. He propelled himself down the sidewalk with the palms of his hands.
My mother touched my shoulder as she look to the man and said,
"There but for the grace of God, go I."
I think I was five when I first heard it. She has said it me infinite times since then. And it has taken me decades to figure it out.
"There but for the grace of God go I." If it were not for God... or luck, coincidence, Allah, Buddha, whoever, whatever... that person begging for help on the streets could be me.
You get old enough and wise enough you figure it out>
No matter how hard it gets, no matter how bad you have it, or think you have hit... someone out there has it a whole lot worse.
I have passed my mom's words onto my children. And I say them in my head every time I deal with an investigation where only one thing about the case is certain... it ain't gonna' be normal.
The next case I write about is going to be one of those cases that are many degrees of separation from normal.
If the fates are with me today, I'll post about it later this evening or tomorrow. Stayed tuned. And more important, stay safe out there. Remember... The ones who are often the most dangerous... are the ones who appear the most "normal."
Perhaps I am a magnet that attracts the the unique, the different, the aberrations of what whoever "they" is call normal.
Diane Arbus is a photographer, worth googling, who insired me when I was young. She sought out the abnormal within the normal. She was the one who first made me realize our faces are simply masks you can see though... if you look hard enough.
Whoever "They" is, "They say" say... the only place you'll find normal is on your washer/drier setting dial. I say... there is no place called normal, no specific line of demarcation between normal and abnormal. Normal is not a space or place you can see or define, like the horizon line, where the ocean meets the sky.
Normal is only what we know. And what we know is what we've been taught.
Some people, either by nature, nurture or a combination of both, see love, kindness, positive attributes, basic human decency as normal.
Other people, either by nature, nurture, or a combination of both, see the hustle, the con, the hype, the game, the lies, deceptions, delusions as normal.
In my humble opinion, the ten commandment and countless versions of the bible were an attempt to establish a positive based, "normal" pattern of human behavior among the people who moved in those particular religious circles. For some it is normal to beleieve in God. For others, it is normal to believe in a different God. or many Gods. Or no God. Or Mother Earth.
Religious zealots called Native Americans "savages" or "heathens" because they weren't "normal" according to their zealot standards. The Natives Americans called their bluff and lost their ground. But not their faith.
Take all the religious people in the world... the Christians, Catholics, Episcopalians, Jesuits, Jehovah's, Jews, Palestinians, Zen, Amish, Druids, Native Americans, Mormons, etc etc etc... We are all molded by whoever raised us and whatever genes and DNA run our through our individual internal operating systems.
Some people clearly aren't normal. The ones who are easiest to deal with are the ones you see coming. They do not act, appear, or behave by any standards anyone of us would conclude is normal.
Other people appear normal, almost too normal, while underneath, they are ticking time bombs of destruction and death. These are the people who've been taught or self-taught how to act normal even though there's a monster under skin.
Sometimes, the flukes of human nature are created by nature itself. Sometimes, its solely nurture, how we are raised from day one. Sometimes, it's a combination of both.
Othertimes... or at the same time... something's wrong with the wiring in the brain, the circuits, the way thoughts flow through space and time within the brain's confines.
I see the brain as a machine of human origins and components -- a living engine of flesh, neurons, energy, links, processes, all flowing together. This incredibly sophisticated and complex engine has an ability to transport us back through time.... or project us into a future we conceive of living.
Some brains simply need tune-ups to maintain a degree or illusion of normal.
Others need meds.
Some brains are damaged and heal physically over time.
Some brains are irreperably danaged and a persons behavior is affected permanently.
Given a healthy brain to begin with with, we need a balance of additives -- nurture... nurturing... loving to be as close to whatever normal we are trying to achieve. At the very least we need food, shelter, clothing. Educations ups the ante.
To find normal, we need a healthy balance of positive with the negative. An excess of either can be self-destructive.
Too much of the postive can lead a sense of entitlement, narcissim, a self love that excludes all others.
Too much of the negative can lead to a sense of depression, hopelessness, helplessness, self-loathing.
I have always been intrigued by people who teeter totter on the edge of either extreme. But I am even more fascinated by those who have gone over the edge of normal and lived to tell about it.
My mother used to point out the homeless and hapless to me as she raised me. She was a brimming bottle of love overflowing with guidance, love and clever sayings, I call "momisms" that I carry with me... one right here, to this very day.
I remember Mom pointing out one man in particular, he had no legs and his bottom sat on a platform of wood and rollers. He propelled himself down the sidewalk with the palms of his hands.
My mother touched my shoulder as she look to the man and said,
"There but for the grace of God, go I."
I think I was five when I first heard it. She has said it me infinite times since then. And it has taken me decades to figure it out.
"There but for the grace of God go I." If it were not for God... or luck, coincidence, Allah, Buddha, whoever, whatever... that person begging for help on the streets could be me.
You get old enough and wise enough you figure it out>
No matter how hard it gets, no matter how bad you have it, or think you have hit... someone out there has it a whole lot worse.
I have passed my mom's words onto my children. And I say them in my head every time I deal with an investigation where only one thing about the case is certain... it ain't gonna' be normal.
The next case I write about is going to be one of those cases that are many degrees of separation from normal.
If the fates are with me today, I'll post about it later this evening or tomorrow. Stayed tuned. And more important, stay safe out there. Remember... The ones who are often the most dangerous... are the ones who appear the most "normal."
Thursday, July 9, 2009
The Pit Bull's Death Grip
Click on the title of this post. It will take you to an article about a teen using a pit bull as a missile here in the Northwest.
Over the years I have done my fair share of dog bite and dog mauling cases. I have photographed severe injuries, puncture holes in faces and neck, ripped flesh, grim stuff. Most of the cases involved pit bulls, though plenty of other dog breeds bite, maim and mutilate.
The pit bulls have a bite referred to as a death grip.
Once they bite down, you can't break that grip unless you have the know-how and a means to force the jaws to part. There's a stick trainers use that works, it goes in their mouth vertically during a bite. A taser also helps.
One client, a 24 year old, had neither. She knew and played with her apartment manager's pit bull for years, since it was a puppy.
One day, out of the blue, he bit her arm and wrapped his jaws around her in the death grip.
When I asked what happened next, she said the dog started smelling her, realized she was a friend, let go and skulked into the back bedroom. Joe was less fortunate.
Today's Case - Joe Vs. Pit Bull
Today's case involves a man, let's call him Joe , who was invited by his good friend Rob, to another friends house. Rob called his friend Joe to see if it was okay to bring Joe over. The friend said okay. The friend knew Joe, and Joe had been to the house before.
The house they were going to had a secure link fence all around it. There is a backyard where the family's pit bull is usually chained. Joe knew there was a pit bull at the house, he'd never seen it though, because it was always in the back of the house or in the back yard.
The pit bull's owner had the dog six years. There is a sign on the front of the fence, warning, "Beware of Dog" or something like that.
On the the day of this bite, Joe arrived at the house with his friend Rob.
There were people in the front yard. A 17 year old digging a fence post, another guy who just arrived. The neighbors, many witnesses, were all outside in their yards. It was sunny, warm. Rob opened the gate, they entered the front yard. My client, Joe, following Rob, closed the gate behind him and they all proceeded across the walkway to the steps to enter the house.
The house's owner came out on the porch, greeted the men and said "come inside".
As Joe closed the gate behind him, he saw the pit bull running from the back of the house into the front yard. Joe yelled "watch out!"
Joe said he thinks that's what triggered something in the pit bull, because the dog turned into a laser guided heat seeking missile directed at Joe.
The pit bull went for Joe's throat. Joe has a plate in his neck from a prior work injury, so he instinctively, or deliberately, blocked his throat with his right arm, his good arm (he had surgery in the left years ago). The pit bull grabbed Joes's right arm and Joe grabbed the pit bull with his left arm, got the dog in a headlock, got the dog to the ground in a wresting hold. The whole time the dog had his teeth locked in the death grip on Joe's arm.
It took five grown men to pull the dog off Joe. In the process of pulling of the dog, the dog pulled off chunks of Joe's lower arm.
I write this now after having just left Joe in his hospital bed, recovering after his second surgery to repair the tendons, nerves and muscles ripped out of his arm. One doctor said his muscles looked like ground beef. An infection set in, turned the whole arm septic, they are worried now about mersa and flesh eating bacteria.
I arrived at the hospital just as the nurse was removing his cast and bandages. The officer from Animal Control was in the hospital room too, I saw the radio sticking out of the hospital gown we were required to wear while the wound was being dressed.
Joe said he was glad I arrived while the cast and bandages were off so I could see and photograph the actual wound. It was ugly. My camera closed in on the huge, hideous holes of jagged, deep ripped skin. The camera goes so deep, it took me through the hole inside.
I travel from one corner of the hospital room with my camera to the other to establish environment. Then I focus in close-up on the pain and suffering in Joe's face.
The officer from Animal Control said he was pissed. Though he got the pit bull in quarantine after the owner put up quite a protest, they could find no cases anywhere of reported bites by this dog.
And laws in that particular city north of Seattle says if the dog is registered as a dangerous dog.... and it is in your own yard behind a closed gate... and meets legal confinement requirements/specifications... and it bites someone once.... it is not a crime and not enough to put the dog down.
Thing is, Joe tells the officer, the dog has bitten before. Mostly family members, but also some other guy who doesn't want to be known. The officer said they could find no reports of prior dog bites, or anyone to come forward.
Joe and the Animal Control officer share their anger. I take notes.
Joe wants the dog put down because, he said, there is a 3 year old girl living in the house and Joe knows that dog will get her. The Officer said he knows. He wants the dog down too. The Officer said he is an animal lover and this dog is vicious. It took two officers to get and contain the dog.
The officer said he's very p.o'd they have no longer than Saturday, two days, to find further evidence, or the dog will be sent back to his owner. The officer went through the law for Joe and Joe's wife. He said it three times until it sunk in. I watched their faces drop.
My job begins after this post. I will see if the owner of the home has homeowners insurance, which he probably does. Joe needs money for humongous medical bills, all his lost wags and pain and suffering.
The officer tells me the guy who owns the pit bull owns several properties. If he does have insurance, which is likely the case proceeds. If not, I tell Joe, we step away.
Either way, I tell him, the law firm will pay for his civil investigation. If he has insurance,
we will notify his homeowners insurance, and demand they accept liability. If there's not some kind of pit bull exclusion clause in the insurance policy, then I suspect there will still be a major fight... A.K.A. pissing contest ... between the attorneys and the insurance company.
Meantime, a pit bull sits in quarantine until Saturday awaiting freedom or execution.
And my client Joe, sits in a hospital room for the next week waiting for the infection that has developed in his wound to clear. The bite ripped all the skin and muscle off his right forearm. He is right handed and is a construction worker. He will lose his house if he can't pay the bills.
When the morphine kicks in, Joe tells me and the Animal Control Officer there is some kind of illegal activity going on in that house... he talks about a few things... marijuana... the need for privacy... and the words is, anyone who talks gets retribution.
Before I leave, I tell Joe and the Animal Control officer I will attempt to get someone to speak of another attack through the course of the civil investigation. I said people say things in civil deposition they don't feel safe saying elsewhere. And if they want to avoid deposition all they have to do is talk to me.
The Officer told me to give all the info I find out to Joe. Joe will be the conduit because of a potential inter-agency/legal conflict if information is exchanged any other way. Before he leaves, the Animal Control Officer gives me his card and tells Joe, he thinks he's got a good civil case, but is not optimistic on the criminal one.
As for the pit bull, t minus two days and counting.
Over the years I have done my fair share of dog bite and dog mauling cases. I have photographed severe injuries, puncture holes in faces and neck, ripped flesh, grim stuff. Most of the cases involved pit bulls, though plenty of other dog breeds bite, maim and mutilate.
The pit bulls have a bite referred to as a death grip.
Once they bite down, you can't break that grip unless you have the know-how and a means to force the jaws to part. There's a stick trainers use that works, it goes in their mouth vertically during a bite. A taser also helps.
One client, a 24 year old, had neither. She knew and played with her apartment manager's pit bull for years, since it was a puppy.
One day, out of the blue, he bit her arm and wrapped his jaws around her in the death grip.
When I asked what happened next, she said the dog started smelling her, realized she was a friend, let go and skulked into the back bedroom. Joe was less fortunate.
Today's Case - Joe Vs. Pit Bull
Today's case involves a man, let's call him Joe , who was invited by his good friend Rob, to another friends house. Rob called his friend Joe to see if it was okay to bring Joe over. The friend said okay. The friend knew Joe, and Joe had been to the house before.
The house they were going to had a secure link fence all around it. There is a backyard where the family's pit bull is usually chained. Joe knew there was a pit bull at the house, he'd never seen it though, because it was always in the back of the house or in the back yard.
The pit bull's owner had the dog six years. There is a sign on the front of the fence, warning, "Beware of Dog" or something like that.
On the the day of this bite, Joe arrived at the house with his friend Rob.
There were people in the front yard. A 17 year old digging a fence post, another guy who just arrived. The neighbors, many witnesses, were all outside in their yards. It was sunny, warm. Rob opened the gate, they entered the front yard. My client, Joe, following Rob, closed the gate behind him and they all proceeded across the walkway to the steps to enter the house.
The house's owner came out on the porch, greeted the men and said "come inside".
As Joe closed the gate behind him, he saw the pit bull running from the back of the house into the front yard. Joe yelled "watch out!"
Joe said he thinks that's what triggered something in the pit bull, because the dog turned into a laser guided heat seeking missile directed at Joe.
The pit bull went for Joe's throat. Joe has a plate in his neck from a prior work injury, so he instinctively, or deliberately, blocked his throat with his right arm, his good arm (he had surgery in the left years ago). The pit bull grabbed Joes's right arm and Joe grabbed the pit bull with his left arm, got the dog in a headlock, got the dog to the ground in a wresting hold. The whole time the dog had his teeth locked in the death grip on Joe's arm.
It took five grown men to pull the dog off Joe. In the process of pulling of the dog, the dog pulled off chunks of Joe's lower arm.
I write this now after having just left Joe in his hospital bed, recovering after his second surgery to repair the tendons, nerves and muscles ripped out of his arm. One doctor said his muscles looked like ground beef. An infection set in, turned the whole arm septic, they are worried now about mersa and flesh eating bacteria.
I arrived at the hospital just as the nurse was removing his cast and bandages. The officer from Animal Control was in the hospital room too, I saw the radio sticking out of the hospital gown we were required to wear while the wound was being dressed.
Joe said he was glad I arrived while the cast and bandages were off so I could see and photograph the actual wound. It was ugly. My camera closed in on the huge, hideous holes of jagged, deep ripped skin. The camera goes so deep, it took me through the hole inside.
I travel from one corner of the hospital room with my camera to the other to establish environment. Then I focus in close-up on the pain and suffering in Joe's face.
The officer from Animal Control said he was pissed. Though he got the pit bull in quarantine after the owner put up quite a protest, they could find no cases anywhere of reported bites by this dog.
And laws in that particular city north of Seattle says if the dog is registered as a dangerous dog.... and it is in your own yard behind a closed gate... and meets legal confinement requirements/specifications... and it bites someone once.... it is not a crime and not enough to put the dog down.
Thing is, Joe tells the officer, the dog has bitten before. Mostly family members, but also some other guy who doesn't want to be known. The officer said they could find no reports of prior dog bites, or anyone to come forward.
Joe and the Animal Control officer share their anger. I take notes.
Joe wants the dog put down because, he said, there is a 3 year old girl living in the house and Joe knows that dog will get her. The Officer said he knows. He wants the dog down too. The Officer said he is an animal lover and this dog is vicious. It took two officers to get and contain the dog.
The officer said he's very p.o'd they have no longer than Saturday, two days, to find further evidence, or the dog will be sent back to his owner. The officer went through the law for Joe and Joe's wife. He said it three times until it sunk in. I watched their faces drop.
My job begins after this post. I will see if the owner of the home has homeowners insurance, which he probably does. Joe needs money for humongous medical bills, all his lost wags and pain and suffering.
The officer tells me the guy who owns the pit bull owns several properties. If he does have insurance, which is likely the case proceeds. If not, I tell Joe, we step away.
Either way, I tell him, the law firm will pay for his civil investigation. If he has insurance,
we will notify his homeowners insurance, and demand they accept liability. If there's not some kind of pit bull exclusion clause in the insurance policy, then I suspect there will still be a major fight... A.K.A. pissing contest ... between the attorneys and the insurance company.
Meantime, a pit bull sits in quarantine until Saturday awaiting freedom or execution.
And my client Joe, sits in a hospital room for the next week waiting for the infection that has developed in his wound to clear. The bite ripped all the skin and muscle off his right forearm. He is right handed and is a construction worker. He will lose his house if he can't pay the bills.
When the morphine kicks in, Joe tells me and the Animal Control Officer there is some kind of illegal activity going on in that house... he talks about a few things... marijuana... the need for privacy... and the words is, anyone who talks gets retribution.
Before I leave, I tell Joe and the Animal Control officer I will attempt to get someone to speak of another attack through the course of the civil investigation. I said people say things in civil deposition they don't feel safe saying elsewhere. And if they want to avoid deposition all they have to do is talk to me.
The Officer told me to give all the info I find out to Joe. Joe will be the conduit because of a potential inter-agency/legal conflict if information is exchanged any other way. Before he leaves, the Animal Control Officer gives me his card and tells Joe, he thinks he's got a good civil case, but is not optimistic on the criminal one.
As for the pit bull, t minus two days and counting.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Case De Jour: Pedestrian In Crosswalk
He is 59 years old. Diagnosed with colon cancer that weaved its way through his body like a poisonous snake. He had several surgeries, the last was to place and ostomy bag at his side. He was staying in a rehab place they call "cottages" to recover. It appeared to be a very nice place, in good neighborhood, the staff seemed competent and caring.
He told me how it happened. He decided to take a walk on the 4th of July. The cancer wasn't slowing him down he said. In fact he just bought a bicycle to get some exercise. He showed the bike to me because it was next to where we were sitting, outside his cottage. He was smoking a cigarette. I was listening, taking notes. He was sitting in a wheelchair now, the doctoprs told him he would not be able to walk for a year.
He said he was walking to the store across the street. He stopped at the crosswalk. There was a red car stopped at the crosswalk. The light said walk. He stepped into the crosswalk and the red car that was stopped, with a woman at the wheel, suddenly sped up, into the crosswalk.
He turned to look at her. He said she was looking in the back seat and not at him. He held his hands out, yelled for her to stop. She stepped on the gas, hit him head on. The main impact was to his knees, which knocked him backwards. And then she ran over his legs.
He ended up under the car on his back, only his head sticking out. Plenty of witnesses and good Sams were on the scene. They stopped the DEF driver from fleeing. The driver was trying to back away and when she backed up, he said he was sort of "spit out the front of the car".
He was taken by ambulance to a local hospital. Because he has no health insurance, they spent just 2 hours with him Took x-rays. Then said, "Your right leg is fractured in three places. You have one fracture on the other leg. Here's a wheelchair. Bye." No cast, no treatment.
In other words, "See ya....Wouldn't want to be ya'."
By the time I saw him I was the only one who'd seen his legs and feet since five days earlier when he was in the ER. The staff of the home he was staying in hadn't looked.
I had to consciously calm my stomach and I helped him pull off his socks and saw, then photographed the wounds. The purple, swollen legs, jutting broken bones, deep gashes, dying feet.
He told me he's dying. "I'm living on borrowed time" he said, he explained how deep the cancer was moving in and through his body. He said he thought it was bad enough to have the cancer. Then he gets hit by car. "Talk about dumb luck," he said with a laugh.
I told him I am worried about him and his case on many levels. First, he needs to get another doctor a better hospital, Harborview, where he is normally treated. They are used to trauma.
I tell him we need to get the police report and identify the defendant driver.
We need to find out whether she has insurance. Then... we find or hope for enough insurance money in the policy to cover all his medical bills, let alone a pain and suffering judgement.
I tell him the lawyers will pay for his investigation, and there are no guarantees. If there's no insurance there, we walk away.
He listened intently, and calmly. He seemed so calm and peaceful. I asked him what meds he was on. He is on percocet, nothing else, he said. He said he has come to terms with his life. And death.
All he wanted, he said, was to get a settlement for his son and daughter.
While he's waiting to die, he added, he's taking up knitting and painting. He showed me a scarf he knitted and gave me a picture he painted... two sailboats and a lighthouse against a setting sun. I am touched by the offering, accept it. And we part with a handshake.
I emailed the law firm from the parking lot. And then called his son. The son, a police officer in another city, had not seen his dad or legs since the accident. I told the son his dad is in very bad shape and he needs to get to a trauma hospital ASAP. The son and lawyers got in touch...
and I passed the ambulance arriving as I left the road leading to the man's house.
There is something very rare and gratifying about my job. I get to help. To make a difference.
And no matter how bad my troubles seem, no matter how rough my waters, I have yet to find a life I would trade for my own.
He told me how it happened. He decided to take a walk on the 4th of July. The cancer wasn't slowing him down he said. In fact he just bought a bicycle to get some exercise. He showed the bike to me because it was next to where we were sitting, outside his cottage. He was smoking a cigarette. I was listening, taking notes. He was sitting in a wheelchair now, the doctoprs told him he would not be able to walk for a year.
He said he was walking to the store across the street. He stopped at the crosswalk. There was a red car stopped at the crosswalk. The light said walk. He stepped into the crosswalk and the red car that was stopped, with a woman at the wheel, suddenly sped up, into the crosswalk.
He turned to look at her. He said she was looking in the back seat and not at him. He held his hands out, yelled for her to stop. She stepped on the gas, hit him head on. The main impact was to his knees, which knocked him backwards. And then she ran over his legs.
He ended up under the car on his back, only his head sticking out. Plenty of witnesses and good Sams were on the scene. They stopped the DEF driver from fleeing. The driver was trying to back away and when she backed up, he said he was sort of "spit out the front of the car".
He was taken by ambulance to a local hospital. Because he has no health insurance, they spent just 2 hours with him Took x-rays. Then said, "Your right leg is fractured in three places. You have one fracture on the other leg. Here's a wheelchair. Bye." No cast, no treatment.
In other words, "See ya....Wouldn't want to be ya'."
By the time I saw him I was the only one who'd seen his legs and feet since five days earlier when he was in the ER. The staff of the home he was staying in hadn't looked.
I had to consciously calm my stomach and I helped him pull off his socks and saw, then photographed the wounds. The purple, swollen legs, jutting broken bones, deep gashes, dying feet.
He told me he's dying. "I'm living on borrowed time" he said, he explained how deep the cancer was moving in and through his body. He said he thought it was bad enough to have the cancer. Then he gets hit by car. "Talk about dumb luck," he said with a laugh.
I told him I am worried about him and his case on many levels. First, he needs to get another doctor a better hospital, Harborview, where he is normally treated. They are used to trauma.
I tell him we need to get the police report and identify the defendant driver.
We need to find out whether she has insurance. Then... we find or hope for enough insurance money in the policy to cover all his medical bills, let alone a pain and suffering judgement.
I tell him the lawyers will pay for his investigation, and there are no guarantees. If there's no insurance there, we walk away.
He listened intently, and calmly. He seemed so calm and peaceful. I asked him what meds he was on. He is on percocet, nothing else, he said. He said he has come to terms with his life. And death.
All he wanted, he said, was to get a settlement for his son and daughter.
While he's waiting to die, he added, he's taking up knitting and painting. He showed me a scarf he knitted and gave me a picture he painted... two sailboats and a lighthouse against a setting sun. I am touched by the offering, accept it. And we part with a handshake.
I emailed the law firm from the parking lot. And then called his son. The son, a police officer in another city, had not seen his dad or legs since the accident. I told the son his dad is in very bad shape and he needs to get to a trauma hospital ASAP. The son and lawyers got in touch...
and I passed the ambulance arriving as I left the road leading to the man's house.
There is something very rare and gratifying about my job. I get to help. To make a difference.
And no matter how bad my troubles seem, no matter how rough my waters, I have yet to find a life I would trade for my own.
A Confession
I confess.
I have failed miserably... twice now... at this mission I have assigned myself. A blog, updated daily. I have a lot of excuses. Some are very good. Some clever. Others credible and/or entertaining.
However, I heard this great quote once.
"Excuses are the pillars of fools."
So I will spare the excuses and not label myself a fool.
I think slacker would be a better descriptor.
What an excuse give us is permission to slack off, avoid, deny, ignore, delay, detour, deter. Excuses are an expression of fear or disrespect -- not fear or disrespect of someone outside of us, but the forces within us.
The fear or disrespect of self takes the form of barriers, walls in our head, that keep us from getting what we want done. What matters, is not that the wall is there. What matters is what you do when you get to the wall.
Some just stop at the wall. Others climb over it. Some knock it down. And there are those who turn on their heels, and walk away to another place.
When the going gets tough, some people really get going and growing. Others go down for the count.
Some people step it up, others step away.
Forced to face our demons, we either suck it up and forge forward.
Or we give up.
Survival of the fittest speaks not just to body. it speaks to mind.
That said, this post marks my renewed commitment to daily blogging.
To face my wall called the keyboard on a daily basis.
To prove to myself, if not others...
that there is always time in a single day to do what matters to you.
Even if it's hard to do.
I have failed miserably... twice now... at this mission I have assigned myself. A blog, updated daily. I have a lot of excuses. Some are very good. Some clever. Others credible and/or entertaining.
However, I heard this great quote once.
"Excuses are the pillars of fools."
So I will spare the excuses and not label myself a fool.
I think slacker would be a better descriptor.
What an excuse give us is permission to slack off, avoid, deny, ignore, delay, detour, deter. Excuses are an expression of fear or disrespect -- not fear or disrespect of someone outside of us, but the forces within us.
The fear or disrespect of self takes the form of barriers, walls in our head, that keep us from getting what we want done. What matters, is not that the wall is there. What matters is what you do when you get to the wall.
Some just stop at the wall. Others climb over it. Some knock it down. And there are those who turn on their heels, and walk away to another place.
When the going gets tough, some people really get going and growing. Others go down for the count.
Some people step it up, others step away.
Forced to face our demons, we either suck it up and forge forward.
Or we give up.
Survival of the fittest speaks not just to body. it speaks to mind.
That said, this post marks my renewed commitment to daily blogging.
To face my wall called the keyboard on a daily basis.
To prove to myself, if not others...
that there is always time in a single day to do what matters to you.
Even if it's hard to do.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Post 4th Clean-Up
Writing blog posts takes more time than I thought. So this will be quick update to keep the momentum going until I return tonight.
Three big cases came in over the 4th of July weekend. Today, heading out to see the first one. Motorcyclist rear-ended by a Dodge Caravan (youch), flew into a another Dodge Caravan (double youch.)
Biker bounced off the second van, sent air-born... motorcyclist and bike not separated. They flew together over an embankment, down a gully and into a pond, lake, I'm not sure which. All I know is the motorcycle landed on top of the guy's left side, pulling him under. Meantime, poor guy had to struggle to keep his head above water with his other arm so he could breathe until rescue. His right arm was pulled completely out of its socket (make that a triple youch.)
He's a mechanic and was told by ER docs he probably won't work for a year. Problem is, he's a single dad, has no motorcycle insurance, and has a mortgage. He said he is worried, depressed and feels hopeless. Sure hope I and the lawyers can help him.
Back at you after I meet this guy, check out the scene, the bike, the Caravan and see what we can do. I hope that Caravan has insurance, and a lot of it, because the biker doesn't doesn't.
Rain storms coming which are very good for business. Good thing the rains waited until after the biker was safely pulled out of his quagmire. With the dry spell we have had here in the Pacific Northwest, it is likely I would be investigating a death case had it happened during the rains.
Meantime, may all who read this drive defensively and safely today.
Three big cases came in over the 4th of July weekend. Today, heading out to see the first one. Motorcyclist rear-ended by a Dodge Caravan (youch), flew into a another Dodge Caravan (double youch.)
Biker bounced off the second van, sent air-born... motorcyclist and bike not separated. They flew together over an embankment, down a gully and into a pond, lake, I'm not sure which. All I know is the motorcycle landed on top of the guy's left side, pulling him under. Meantime, poor guy had to struggle to keep his head above water with his other arm so he could breathe until rescue. His right arm was pulled completely out of its socket (make that a triple youch.)
He's a mechanic and was told by ER docs he probably won't work for a year. Problem is, he's a single dad, has no motorcycle insurance, and has a mortgage. He said he is worried, depressed and feels hopeless. Sure hope I and the lawyers can help him.
Back at you after I meet this guy, check out the scene, the bike, the Caravan and see what we can do. I hope that Caravan has insurance, and a lot of it, because the biker doesn't doesn't.
Rain storms coming which are very good for business. Good thing the rains waited until after the biker was safely pulled out of his quagmire. With the dry spell we have had here in the Pacific Northwest, it is likely I would be investigating a death case had it happened during the rains.
Meantime, may all who read this drive defensively and safely today.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Murder On the 4th of July
It was a July 4th many moons ago when an attorney, who is still in practice, murdered his girlfriend, my friend's sister and got away with it.
Jim (a pseudonym) never got convicted for the crime, never got indicted, never spent a night in jail... despite the fact that everyone close to the case, the family, the police, the prosecutor, friends, neighbors, witnesses, they all know he did. I know he did it. But there wasn't enough evidence for two grand juries to take it any further. So Jim the attorney still lives.... practicing law in a city north of Seattle... while my friend's sister Mary (also a pseudonym) is dead, literally dust in the wind.
Every 4th of July since I first took on that case more than 10 years ago, fireworks sound to me like gunshots, because that's how he did it to her. He waited until the fireworks were going off when he put the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. He knew no one could distinguish between a single gunshot and a thousand firecrackers.
He had the whole thing well planned. That's because he's an attorney, and a very smart one at that. So he knew what to do, what not to do. And between the doing and not doings, he got away with murder. Literally.
After he shot her, he put the gun where he thought a suicide victim would drop it. He washed his hands, exited the house, then raced down the road so fast he almost knocked over a group of kids walking along the dirt road towards him. One kid comment on his fixed gaze, his red face, the high rate of speed.
Mary's next door neighbors were expecting her for dinner that night. They received a call from Mary saying she'd be over in a little later, because Jim called and said he was going to stop by to get something. Mary was upset because she knew Jim was going to be with his new girlfriend that July 4th. The girlfriend later admitted, at Jim's urging, she called Mary just to taunt her and tell her so.
Mary told the neighbors she thought Jim was trying to drive her crazy. Ever since they decided to split up, he was meaner than ever. Mary said Jim wanted the beach house they lived in. However, the lease for the beach house, on Indian Tribal land, was in Mary's name and Mary wasn't going to give it up. She told Jim he had to leave.
She had the beach house before Jim moved in with him, she intended to be there when he finally left. Besides, she told her neighbors, her hair dresser, brother and others she trusted... Jim was the one who initially broke it off; he was the one who cheated and lied repeatedly; he was the one who got high, drunk and abusive. The beach house, Mary said, was her sanctuary.
So Jim killed her. Most likely, to get the beach house.
The neighbors, an older couple and 32 years old daughter Jenny who was both Mary's age and close friend, watched from the window, saw Jim come. As soon as his car left their area, Jenny ran to Mary's house, opened the unlocked kitchen door, checked the rooms on her way upstairs to the bedroom. That's when she found Mary, knees bent under her, leaning against her bed in what was described as a prayer position.
Jenny didn't realize Mary was dead until she touched her shoulder, lifted her head, saw the broken teeth, the blood, then it registered. She'd been shot, she was dead. She ran screaming from the house for her parents to call 911. She said to tell the police she was certain Jim killed Mary.
You'd think from there it would be a no brainer. Case closed even before the investigation starts. It was obvious to everyone who knew the story of Mary and Jim, that Jim was a monster in a very handsome shell.... and beautiful, bright, blond-haired, Mary was finally happy Jim was leaving. She was determined not to give him the beach house and was definitely not suicidal as Jim ultimately insisted.
But Jim's story was this: Mary begged Jim to stay and said if he left, she'd shoot herself. And she did.
Jim's behavior after the shooting, was not that of an innocent man. Yet despite all the evidence, witness interviews, a thorough police investigation and the ultimate questioning of Jim... including gun shot residue tests and tests of blood on his pants, which turned out to be animals blood... he got away with it. It went as far as the grand juries and then the criminal investigation came to a complete stop.
I came in on the civil side. When the police didn't file homicide charges, the insurance company decided to call Mary's death a suicide, so they wouldn't have to pay out the life insurance policy she recently took out and left to her nephews and nieces. She had no children of her own.
Her brother hired me in the hopes the civil investigation would prove Mary's death was a homicide and the insurance company would release the insurance benefits to the children. He also figured if the civil investigation proved it was not a suicide, maybe the evidence we got would be enough to re-open the homicide case.
Long story short. Evidence, interviews, forensics, all done on a private basis.
The insurance company is sued, the suicide verdict thrown out and the insurance fund released to Mary's nieces and nephews in a trust.
However, despite our best efforts, countless hours and time, conversations with the lead homicide detective on the case and every other investigating officer, witnesses, 911 tapes, back stories, you name it... we still could take the criminal case no further for reasons that are better suited to a book than a blog.
So on this very day July 4th, when I hear that first firecracker of the night.... and later in bed, while they still go off.... I think about gunshots, Mary and the fact that Jim is still practicing law north of Seattle. He lives in the beach house now, with a woman who looks very much like Mary. And every now and then, I drive by his office, his law practice, watch him coming and going. The case is an obsession of mine, and her brother's.
Every now and then her brother calls. He wants to reopen the investigation, they don't have the funds. Someone wants to do a TV show, news article or movie on the case.
The idea surfaces, then people dig deeper and realize how dangerous such a project would be because Jim is a psychopath. A brilliant one, a dangerous one, who knows how to work the law and play it perfectly.
For every case closed you hear about, there are countless more still open...
simmering, steaming cauldrons of poetic injustice. This would be one of those cases.
The 4th is never a happy day for Mary's brother and her family. It is a bittersweet one for me. I still have Mary's case file in my office. Her brother asked me to hold onto all her personal things, from her wallet and datebook, to her letters and contents of her purse. Her brother says we... he and I... are Mary's voice and it will rise again when the time is right.
This post would be Mary's voice, rising once again, on the the 4th, before the fireworks start.
And right now, I am grateful there is no statute of limitations on murder.
Jim (a pseudonym) never got convicted for the crime, never got indicted, never spent a night in jail... despite the fact that everyone close to the case, the family, the police, the prosecutor, friends, neighbors, witnesses, they all know he did. I know he did it. But there wasn't enough evidence for two grand juries to take it any further. So Jim the attorney still lives.... practicing law in a city north of Seattle... while my friend's sister Mary (also a pseudonym) is dead, literally dust in the wind.
Every 4th of July since I first took on that case more than 10 years ago, fireworks sound to me like gunshots, because that's how he did it to her. He waited until the fireworks were going off when he put the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. He knew no one could distinguish between a single gunshot and a thousand firecrackers.
He had the whole thing well planned. That's because he's an attorney, and a very smart one at that. So he knew what to do, what not to do. And between the doing and not doings, he got away with murder. Literally.
After he shot her, he put the gun where he thought a suicide victim would drop it. He washed his hands, exited the house, then raced down the road so fast he almost knocked over a group of kids walking along the dirt road towards him. One kid comment on his fixed gaze, his red face, the high rate of speed.
Mary's next door neighbors were expecting her for dinner that night. They received a call from Mary saying she'd be over in a little later, because Jim called and said he was going to stop by to get something. Mary was upset because she knew Jim was going to be with his new girlfriend that July 4th. The girlfriend later admitted, at Jim's urging, she called Mary just to taunt her and tell her so.
Mary told the neighbors she thought Jim was trying to drive her crazy. Ever since they decided to split up, he was meaner than ever. Mary said Jim wanted the beach house they lived in. However, the lease for the beach house, on Indian Tribal land, was in Mary's name and Mary wasn't going to give it up. She told Jim he had to leave.
She had the beach house before Jim moved in with him, she intended to be there when he finally left. Besides, she told her neighbors, her hair dresser, brother and others she trusted... Jim was the one who initially broke it off; he was the one who cheated and lied repeatedly; he was the one who got high, drunk and abusive. The beach house, Mary said, was her sanctuary.
So Jim killed her. Most likely, to get the beach house.
The neighbors, an older couple and 32 years old daughter Jenny who was both Mary's age and close friend, watched from the window, saw Jim come. As soon as his car left their area, Jenny ran to Mary's house, opened the unlocked kitchen door, checked the rooms on her way upstairs to the bedroom. That's when she found Mary, knees bent under her, leaning against her bed in what was described as a prayer position.
Jenny didn't realize Mary was dead until she touched her shoulder, lifted her head, saw the broken teeth, the blood, then it registered. She'd been shot, she was dead. She ran screaming from the house for her parents to call 911. She said to tell the police she was certain Jim killed Mary.
You'd think from there it would be a no brainer. Case closed even before the investigation starts. It was obvious to everyone who knew the story of Mary and Jim, that Jim was a monster in a very handsome shell.... and beautiful, bright, blond-haired, Mary was finally happy Jim was leaving. She was determined not to give him the beach house and was definitely not suicidal as Jim ultimately insisted.
But Jim's story was this: Mary begged Jim to stay and said if he left, she'd shoot herself. And she did.
Jim's behavior after the shooting, was not that of an innocent man. Yet despite all the evidence, witness interviews, a thorough police investigation and the ultimate questioning of Jim... including gun shot residue tests and tests of blood on his pants, which turned out to be animals blood... he got away with it. It went as far as the grand juries and then the criminal investigation came to a complete stop.
I came in on the civil side. When the police didn't file homicide charges, the insurance company decided to call Mary's death a suicide, so they wouldn't have to pay out the life insurance policy she recently took out and left to her nephews and nieces. She had no children of her own.
Her brother hired me in the hopes the civil investigation would prove Mary's death was a homicide and the insurance company would release the insurance benefits to the children. He also figured if the civil investigation proved it was not a suicide, maybe the evidence we got would be enough to re-open the homicide case.
Long story short. Evidence, interviews, forensics, all done on a private basis.
The insurance company is sued, the suicide verdict thrown out and the insurance fund released to Mary's nieces and nephews in a trust.
However, despite our best efforts, countless hours and time, conversations with the lead homicide detective on the case and every other investigating officer, witnesses, 911 tapes, back stories, you name it... we still could take the criminal case no further for reasons that are better suited to a book than a blog.
So on this very day July 4th, when I hear that first firecracker of the night.... and later in bed, while they still go off.... I think about gunshots, Mary and the fact that Jim is still practicing law north of Seattle. He lives in the beach house now, with a woman who looks very much like Mary. And every now and then, I drive by his office, his law practice, watch him coming and going. The case is an obsession of mine, and her brother's.
Every now and then her brother calls. He wants to reopen the investigation, they don't have the funds. Someone wants to do a TV show, news article or movie on the case.
The idea surfaces, then people dig deeper and realize how dangerous such a project would be because Jim is a psychopath. A brilliant one, a dangerous one, who knows how to work the law and play it perfectly.
For every case closed you hear about, there are countless more still open...
simmering, steaming cauldrons of poetic injustice. This would be one of those cases.
The 4th is never a happy day for Mary's brother and her family. It is a bittersweet one for me. I still have Mary's case file in my office. Her brother asked me to hold onto all her personal things, from her wallet and datebook, to her letters and contents of her purse. Her brother says we... he and I... are Mary's voice and it will rise again when the time is right.
This post would be Mary's voice, rising once again, on the the 4th, before the fireworks start.
And right now, I am grateful there is no statute of limitations on murder.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
To Ping Or Not To Ping- A True Story
Some people don't want to be found. Others.... the lost, abducted, injured, disoriented... are desperate to be found. The title of this post links you to great article on pinging. It linked me to the memory of one client, a minor, who was lost and may have been helped sooner if she had a cell phone to ping.
M. was a 17 year old girl who used a fake ID to go drinking with her 21 year old boyfriend. Her boyfriend's mom was the bartender at the place where they were partying, which was handy for the boyfriend and the mom. M. looked older than 17, bartender mom felt it was okay, because she could keep an eye on the kids, she told police.
The boyfriend and his mom rented one of the cabins behind the bar, so there was probably more alcohol than blood flowing through the family veins.
My client, illegally served both because she was a minor, and because she was evidently intoxicated, was told by her boyfriend and mom to exit the back door of the bar and walk to the cabins and go to bed. So M. exited the bar by herself. No one accompanied her.
She was in a blackout at that point, she couldn't tell me what happened next, so we sat in silence during my interview, while I studied, then photographed, the huge metal halo attached to her tiny, tattered skull by screws. All she remembered were the first two drinks... then waking up in intensive care.
What I figured happened is this.
She took either her boyfriend's car keys from the bar or the cabin. The, she got in the car, started it, and began a long drive through a very rural area we will call for these purposes Bumfruck , Egypt.
She left the bar about midnight. She was found just after 8 the next morning by a trucker who stopped by the side of the road to take a leak and saw a glint of metal, then what he thought was a big rag doll, dangling upside down from a tree. When he got closer he said, it registered. Human being, girl, just about his daughter's age.
That was the first time I heard the expression, "I almost sucked a valve". The trucker said he thought she was dead.
It was a wonder she survived, he said. Though I wouldn't exactly call that survival a blessing. Because this young lady's life is now, physically, emotionally, financially, mentally, socially in ruins.
By the time I got to and through the case and the attorney did his thing, the bartender was fired, the bar was shut down, sued, and they declared bankruptcy. There was no auto insurance on the car, so nothing for anyone.The boyfriend and mom split town, whereabouts unknown.
Now, maybe 7 years later, I still picture that little girl with the Frankenstein halo on her head, telling me her story for the first time. And I feel it as strongly now as I did then.
If someone had just said NO to her that night or all the nights before that ... NO hanging with that boy... NO drinking... NO walking back to the cabin or anywhere alone.... NO access to cars keys... NO way Jose or Miss Jose. Maybe just one NO would have prevented a lifetime of hurt.
Pinging her phone would have brought paramedics sooner. And it would have made a difference I believe, to her body physically. She just spent too many hours alone in those woods, upside down in that tree.
And if it weren't for the trucker taking the whizz, she might still be dangling, dead for certain.
Now... though alive... she is a bitter, broke, lonely young adult with a crooked neck and a cold heart that does little more than beat. Last I heard, she lives on the streets with other shattered kids.
And she re-surfaces every now and then, in my head, when I hear the word," Ping."
M. was a 17 year old girl who used a fake ID to go drinking with her 21 year old boyfriend. Her boyfriend's mom was the bartender at the place where they were partying, which was handy for the boyfriend and the mom. M. looked older than 17, bartender mom felt it was okay, because she could keep an eye on the kids, she told police.
The boyfriend and his mom rented one of the cabins behind the bar, so there was probably more alcohol than blood flowing through the family veins.
My client, illegally served both because she was a minor, and because she was evidently intoxicated, was told by her boyfriend and mom to exit the back door of the bar and walk to the cabins and go to bed. So M. exited the bar by herself. No one accompanied her.
She was in a blackout at that point, she couldn't tell me what happened next, so we sat in silence during my interview, while I studied, then photographed, the huge metal halo attached to her tiny, tattered skull by screws. All she remembered were the first two drinks... then waking up in intensive care.
What I figured happened is this.
She took either her boyfriend's car keys from the bar or the cabin. The, she got in the car, started it, and began a long drive through a very rural area we will call for these purposes Bumfruck , Egypt.
She left the bar about midnight. She was found just after 8 the next morning by a trucker who stopped by the side of the road to take a leak and saw a glint of metal, then what he thought was a big rag doll, dangling upside down from a tree. When he got closer he said, it registered. Human being, girl, just about his daughter's age.
That was the first time I heard the expression, "I almost sucked a valve". The trucker said he thought she was dead.
It was a wonder she survived, he said. Though I wouldn't exactly call that survival a blessing. Because this young lady's life is now, physically, emotionally, financially, mentally, socially in ruins.
By the time I got to and through the case and the attorney did his thing, the bartender was fired, the bar was shut down, sued, and they declared bankruptcy. There was no auto insurance on the car, so nothing for anyone.The boyfriend and mom split town, whereabouts unknown.
Now, maybe 7 years later, I still picture that little girl with the Frankenstein halo on her head, telling me her story for the first time. And I feel it as strongly now as I did then.
If someone had just said NO to her that night or all the nights before that ... NO hanging with that boy... NO drinking... NO walking back to the cabin or anywhere alone.... NO access to cars keys... NO way Jose or Miss Jose. Maybe just one NO would have prevented a lifetime of hurt.
Pinging her phone would have brought paramedics sooner. And it would have made a difference I believe, to her body physically. She just spent too many hours alone in those woods, upside down in that tree.
And if it weren't for the trucker taking the whizz, she might still be dangling, dead for certain.
Now... though alive... she is a bitter, broke, lonely young adult with a crooked neck and a cold heart that does little more than beat. Last I heard, she lives on the streets with other shattered kids.
And she re-surfaces every now and then, in my head, when I hear the word," Ping."
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Crotch Rocket Vs. VW
A confession to the obvious.
I missed the second day of posting and therefore surrender my Resolute Detective status. However, a relapse is no cause for giving up.
Relapse is part of every recovery process include Blog Recovery.
And so I begin blogging again because the sheer premise -- and the true promise -- of a blog is updates. And the concept of a Private Eye Diary would infer a daily one. Because a blog is not static. It's moving and flowing, with ebbs and tides. Never still or silent.
The challenge comes at the end of the day when you are weary and the case notes await, as do the daily requirements of life. The sun is setting, the weather is chilling and chilling seems to be the order of the evening.
So tonight I write of that. How to chill. How to cool off when things heat up. How to stand your ground when you feel its being pulled out from under you. Why attitude is everything.
I write from two perspectives:
Today's case is a 42 year old man who was riding a motorcycle to work two days ago. He married, has four children ranging from age 15 down to age 4. He is a construction worker, alternates between flagging and truck driving. He has a CDL (Commercial Drivers License). He's been riding motorcycles since he was kid. Never had an accident. And with the Seattle weather in rare sunny form, he chose to ride his bike to work just after sunrise two days ago.
I ask him if he was riding a Crotch Rocket. He said yes and asked how I knew. I said he didn't seem the Harley type.
He had right of way. The DEF, A VW 4-door, new model, had the stop sign. The biker (our client) saw the VW at the stop sign. The biker slowed from the speed limit, 35 to 25. The biker said he recalled thinking the car which was stopped would stay stopped.
Not so. Instead, the VW pulled out from the stop sign at full speed. It was what we accident investigators call a T-Bone, the front of the bike hit the front driver's side quarter panel of the car. The biker slammed his right knee, then the bike on the car when it pulled out in front of him.
The biker flew off the bike, hit his helmet on the hood, did a couple of somersaults before slamming to the ground on his right shoulder, which ripped his rotator cuff. He was unconscious briefly, he said, then awoke to someone saying don't move him, his neck could be broken.
According to a witness, while the biker was flying over the hood of the DEF's car, so was the motorcycle, which did a vertical flip before landing on it's side about 50 feet from the unconscious biker. The witness was sure the biker was dead.
The DEF driver of the car that hit the motorcycle was at fault. We know this not just because of what the witness saw and said. But because of what the DEF driver said to the police officer:
This is why some people call personal injury attorneys, who call their investigators, for help.
In Washington State, bikers don't have to have motorcycle insurance. Some do, though most don't. When I asked one biker why he had none, he laughed and said, if I have a hit I figure I'm dead anyway.
He wasn't so far from the truth.
Some of my biker clients are dead. Many more are not the same people they were before their hits. And since the economy tanked, instead of getting one of these cases a week I get several.
Because of increasing gas prices, more and more people are riding motorcycles to work. From Crotch Rockets to Harley Classics; Scooters to Gold Wings... many of these riders have a lifetime of experience. Others are just learning. Either way, pro or novice, you have no control when a vehicle has decided to run into or over you.
It is for this reason I will never ride on a motorcycle, front or back, ever again.
It is because in every motorcycle case I investigate, my biker clients are not fault. There is nothing they could have done to avoid a hit.
It happened because another driver did not see him; or chose to out-run him; or deliberately wanted to hit him.
In the latter case, deliberation would make the accident a crime. The auto insurance could then deny the claim.
In my experience, the passengers on the back, usually the girls, get it the worst of it. Unless of course, there's no passenger and just the driver.
Then there's no contest.
I have family members and friends who ride motorcycles as both drivers and passengers. And I have never said any of this to them directly. Part of me thinks people ride because they can and they feel the rewards outweigh the risks. I get that... because I feel the rewards of my job far outweigh the risks.
Yet each time I think of someone I love hopping on the back of a bike, arms around someone they trust, I have no trust that they won't return from their road trip as road kill.
I have taken pictures of bikers with the front part of their skull bone removed from their heads and stuck in their bellies until ready to be replaced. Their brains have swelled so big, there's no room for that skull piece until the swelling goes down.
I've photographed broken necks and captured broken spirits in intensive care rooms and rehabs.
I've seen heads split by telephone poles and bikes twisted, turned, flattened, unrecognizable.
I've photographed the toughest leather jackets, chaps, gloves, boots, studded leather belts, shredded by a single impact.
I've watched grown men cry and lose everything they have all because someone didn't see them coming. And it is a proven fact that some drivers simply do not see the bikes even when they are right there. To some people, motorcycles are invisible.
Attitude is everything
So I return to my aforementioned client. Father of four, busted knee cap, torn shoulder, multiple other injuries, currently not working, no health insurance.
I tell him the lawyers will represent him because the person who hit him has insurance, we just don't know how much insurance is there it and if it will be enough to cover everything he needs. He listens, though I realize he doesn't get it it. All he can tell me is he has to be back at work next week because he needs to feed his family, pay the rent.
I tell him I think it will be long time before he returns to work. His employer has demanded a doctors release and his knee cap is busted. I tell him the road ahead will be very rough, yet the miracle of it all is... he is still here. I tell him about my Harley client, still in a coma after 6 months from the same kind of accident.
He then tells me when he saw his bike move to the car then hit it, he said all the stories about facing death are true. The last thought he had was, "I 'm dead and I didn't get to say goodbye to my wife and kids."
He tells me more about that moment, that fine thread between life and death. About being unconscious and then waking up to excruciating pain in his knee and realizing he was still alive. He said the pain was comforting in that it reassured him he still exists.
I tell him he is a miracle.That maybe he has angels guarding him; or maybe some greater purpose here on the planet...because for all intents and purposes, he should be dead. I tell him how many of our biker clients don't make it. I study his calm demeanor, his attitude.
I ask him, when everyone is out of the room, how he really is, how he is coping.
He said he is scared to death. He is sole provider for his family. The economy is horrible. He has a great job and now he may lose it. He talks about how he can't fish or camp or play with his kids.
Then he said what I was told many moons ago, when I felt all was lost.
"Attitude is everything. Guess I gotta' just keep my attitude in check."
I took lots of pictures today. Of him, his bike, his kids, his ripped leathers, his scraped helmet.
I wrote up his case at Starbucks, printed his photos at Rite Aid, and delivered the cases to the attorneys in Seattle, who have already contacted the insurance company of the VW driver.
Now he can get a settlement for his bike... and more important, medical care on a lien against the case.
So when someone makes a lawyer joke, I must admit, i get p.o.'ed.
I am of the opinion that the good ones, the good lawyers/attorneys, are the true warriors in an unjust world. When they wield their swords, they stand up for the weak and fight for their rights. The key, of course, of course is to find the good attorney, the right one, the just one.
As for bikers, I suggest insurance of some kind. If you are in a hit that is not your fault... whether you survive or not, it will come in handy for you.... or your survivors. Without insurance for your bike, you are at the mercy of the insurance company for the DEF. And that insurance company won't play fair.
I missed the second day of posting and therefore surrender my Resolute Detective status. However, a relapse is no cause for giving up.
Relapse is part of every recovery process include Blog Recovery.
And so I begin blogging again because the sheer premise -- and the true promise -- of a blog is updates. And the concept of a Private Eye Diary would infer a daily one. Because a blog is not static. It's moving and flowing, with ebbs and tides. Never still or silent.
The challenge comes at the end of the day when you are weary and the case notes await, as do the daily requirements of life. The sun is setting, the weather is chilling and chilling seems to be the order of the evening.
So tonight I write of that. How to chill. How to cool off when things heat up. How to stand your ground when you feel its being pulled out from under you. Why attitude is everything.
I write from two perspectives:
- Perspective One: having been there, done that.
- Perspective Two: having helped others who have been there, are there doing that.
Today's case is a 42 year old man who was riding a motorcycle to work two days ago. He married, has four children ranging from age 15 down to age 4. He is a construction worker, alternates between flagging and truck driving. He has a CDL (Commercial Drivers License). He's been riding motorcycles since he was kid. Never had an accident. And with the Seattle weather in rare sunny form, he chose to ride his bike to work just after sunrise two days ago.
I ask him if he was riding a Crotch Rocket. He said yes and asked how I knew. I said he didn't seem the Harley type.
He had right of way. The DEF, A VW 4-door, new model, had the stop sign. The biker (our client) saw the VW at the stop sign. The biker slowed from the speed limit, 35 to 25. The biker said he recalled thinking the car which was stopped would stay stopped.
Not so. Instead, the VW pulled out from the stop sign at full speed. It was what we accident investigators call a T-Bone, the front of the bike hit the front driver's side quarter panel of the car. The biker slammed his right knee, then the bike on the car when it pulled out in front of him.
The biker flew off the bike, hit his helmet on the hood, did a couple of somersaults before slamming to the ground on his right shoulder, which ripped his rotator cuff. He was unconscious briefly, he said, then awoke to someone saying don't move him, his neck could be broken.
According to a witness, while the biker was flying over the hood of the DEF's car, so was the motorcycle, which did a vertical flip before landing on it's side about 50 feet from the unconscious biker. The witness was sure the biker was dead.
The DEF driver of the car that hit the motorcycle was at fault. We know this not just because of what the witness saw and said. But because of what the DEF driver said to the police officer:
- his windows were foggy
- he hadn't had his coffee yet
- and he didn't know there was motorcycle coming.
This is why some people call personal injury attorneys, who call their investigators, for help.
In Washington State, bikers don't have to have motorcycle insurance. Some do, though most don't. When I asked one biker why he had none, he laughed and said, if I have a hit I figure I'm dead anyway.
He wasn't so far from the truth.
Some of my biker clients are dead. Many more are not the same people they were before their hits. And since the economy tanked, instead of getting one of these cases a week I get several.
Because of increasing gas prices, more and more people are riding motorcycles to work. From Crotch Rockets to Harley Classics; Scooters to Gold Wings... many of these riders have a lifetime of experience. Others are just learning. Either way, pro or novice, you have no control when a vehicle has decided to run into or over you.
It is for this reason I will never ride on a motorcycle, front or back, ever again.
It is because in every motorcycle case I investigate, my biker clients are not fault. There is nothing they could have done to avoid a hit.
It happened because another driver did not see him; or chose to out-run him; or deliberately wanted to hit him.
In the latter case, deliberation would make the accident a crime. The auto insurance could then deny the claim.
In my experience, the passengers on the back, usually the girls, get it the worst of it. Unless of course, there's no passenger and just the driver.
Then there's no contest.
I have family members and friends who ride motorcycles as both drivers and passengers. And I have never said any of this to them directly. Part of me thinks people ride because they can and they feel the rewards outweigh the risks. I get that... because I feel the rewards of my job far outweigh the risks.
Yet each time I think of someone I love hopping on the back of a bike, arms around someone they trust, I have no trust that they won't return from their road trip as road kill.
I have taken pictures of bikers with the front part of their skull bone removed from their heads and stuck in their bellies until ready to be replaced. Their brains have swelled so big, there's no room for that skull piece until the swelling goes down.
I've photographed broken necks and captured broken spirits in intensive care rooms and rehabs.
I've seen heads split by telephone poles and bikes twisted, turned, flattened, unrecognizable.
I've photographed the toughest leather jackets, chaps, gloves, boots, studded leather belts, shredded by a single impact.
I've watched grown men cry and lose everything they have all because someone didn't see them coming. And it is a proven fact that some drivers simply do not see the bikes even when they are right there. To some people, motorcycles are invisible.
Attitude is everything
So I return to my aforementioned client. Father of four, busted knee cap, torn shoulder, multiple other injuries, currently not working, no health insurance.
I tell him the lawyers will represent him because the person who hit him has insurance, we just don't know how much insurance is there it and if it will be enough to cover everything he needs. He listens, though I realize he doesn't get it it. All he can tell me is he has to be back at work next week because he needs to feed his family, pay the rent.
I tell him I think it will be long time before he returns to work. His employer has demanded a doctors release and his knee cap is busted. I tell him the road ahead will be very rough, yet the miracle of it all is... he is still here. I tell him about my Harley client, still in a coma after 6 months from the same kind of accident.
He then tells me when he saw his bike move to the car then hit it, he said all the stories about facing death are true. The last thought he had was, "I 'm dead and I didn't get to say goodbye to my wife and kids."
He tells me more about that moment, that fine thread between life and death. About being unconscious and then waking up to excruciating pain in his knee and realizing he was still alive. He said the pain was comforting in that it reassured him he still exists.
I tell him he is a miracle.That maybe he has angels guarding him; or maybe some greater purpose here on the planet...because for all intents and purposes, he should be dead. I tell him how many of our biker clients don't make it. I study his calm demeanor, his attitude.
I ask him, when everyone is out of the room, how he really is, how he is coping.
He said he is scared to death. He is sole provider for his family. The economy is horrible. He has a great job and now he may lose it. He talks about how he can't fish or camp or play with his kids.
Then he said what I was told many moons ago, when I felt all was lost.
"Attitude is everything. Guess I gotta' just keep my attitude in check."
I took lots of pictures today. Of him, his bike, his kids, his ripped leathers, his scraped helmet.
I wrote up his case at Starbucks, printed his photos at Rite Aid, and delivered the cases to the attorneys in Seattle, who have already contacted the insurance company of the VW driver.
Now he can get a settlement for his bike... and more important, medical care on a lien against the case.
So when someone makes a lawyer joke, I must admit, i get p.o.'ed.
I am of the opinion that the good ones, the good lawyers/attorneys, are the true warriors in an unjust world. When they wield their swords, they stand up for the weak and fight for their rights. The key, of course, of course is to find the good attorney, the right one, the just one.
As for bikers, I suggest insurance of some kind. If you are in a hit that is not your fault... whether you survive or not, it will come in handy for you.... or your survivors. Without insurance for your bike, you are at the mercy of the insurance company for the DEF. And that insurance company won't play fair.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Why Ask Why?
From the first day I created this blog, my intent was to post daily. I think it's fairly evident I have failed miserably at that mission --- since my last post was June 2nd.
Fortunately, every day is a new day that offers the possibility for change. That day is mine right now. From this point forward a promise -- daily posts from the Resolute Detective.
Why This Blog?
My purpose for creating this blog is both altruistic and self serving.
Altruistic because I believe I have learned things from my work as a P.I. that can, does and will help other people in innumerable ways. Information is power. And power well-placed is what helps people through life's many and mostly unexpected crises.
Self-serving because my head is so full of information, cases, people, problems, solutions, that an off-load is now necessary. I have too many angels and demons running rampant in my mind. They need to be released here in the sanctity of cyberspace, if only to make room for the next chapter, the next case, the next challenge.
Truth be told, from the moment we are born, we are on the path to our own demise. None of us gets out of here alive.
However, our individual and/or collective demises can be occasionally be delayed via careful navigation through life's turbulent and treacherous waters. I am one of those people, a well seasoned P.I., who has traveled and charted those waters. I still do, on a daily basis.
And contrary to popular opinion, in the sea of life, it isn't who you know, but what you know that keeps you afloat.
Information is power and power well-placed can make or break a person.
There are heroes and villains among us; each wields their own sword of power for their own unique purposes.
Some people are good guys, white hats, heroes, generous of spirit, loving, honest, honorable. Others are self-absorbed, self-motivated, narcissistic, out for themselves. Some are self-destructive, others just destructive.
It's human nature that leads, I believe, to the question most asked in the justice system.
"Why?"
And it's the question that never gets answered to the satisfaction of the asker.
Why Me?
Why do people murder? Why do husbands kill their pregnant wives and children? Why do women kill their husbands and babies? Why does anyone kill anyone?
Why do people lie and steal? Why are some people stalkers? Why do people defraud others? Why do people kill themselves? Why do people get kill or abuse children? Why do people abuse themselves? Why did he cheat on me? Why did she leave me? Why Me?
To me, the answer is evident. It's taken me years to figure it out. It's turned the tears in my eyes to glass, it's made my soft heart hard and turned the butterflies in my stomach into piranhas.
Why? Because they can or choose to.
Why? Because it was an impulse. It was a thrill. It was compulsion. It was drugs.
It was his fault. It was her fault. It was their fault. It was some other dude's fault.
It was passion. It was an accident. I don't remember doing it.
It was fear. It was anger. It was the booze. It was the meth. It was my frucked up childhood.
It was self-defense. It was madness. It wasn't me, I would never do anything like that.
In my opinion, the answer to why is because the forces of nature include human nature which is by nature, two polar opposites engaged in a battle for dominance.
The forces of right and wrong, good and evil, freedom and imprisonment, the rich and the poor, happy and sad, the yins and the yangs. The answer to why lies in the ups and downs, the sky and the ground, attraction and repulsion... natural processes like night and day, mountains and meadows, peaks and valleys, sunbeams and lightening rods. People do bad things because they choose to. And people go good things for the same exact reason. Nature is a powerful force.
Add a bad nurturing and you've got a powder keg.
Why Be A P.I. Blog?
Most people never meet an private investigator in the real world.
When I go to parties, or sit next to someone on a plane, and they ask what I do, I know what the next questions will be.
In the beginning I was fairly impressed with myself, becoming a P.I.
I was quite proud of my license, still am. And way back when, I was all too willing to answer questions, tell stories, be one of those guests people want to have at their party.
Then over the years, the stories have become harder to tell. And the images I encounter... the shape shifters, grifters and the cataclysms I am called to deal with over the years...they've receded deep into corners of my brain, only surfacing at night in my dreams.
So the self-serving aspect of this blog is the release of what some might see as demons and angels. Others might see as emotions, experiences, events I have been entrusted with for the purpose of passing on to others who have found their way to this blog.
If you want to know what life of a P.I. is like, look no further. I'll be here now every day. When cases come in, I'll post what I can about those cases. There are privacy laws in place, on both State and Federal levels. So I will respect those laws and ethical boundaries along with my clients' privacy.
What I'm struggling with today is finding a way to open this forum to questions and answers. I am new to blogging and have been told by the tech savvy that message boards are old school. I can't figure out how to post a message board here anyway.
So I'm linking this blog to my Facebook page. Just scroll down to the left side of the blog or friend me, "Susan Ludwig", on Facebook.
I'll use that space to adds friends like you to to our investigation community. Together we can build a collective team of good people... bonding together to fight some of the bad people and hard times that aren't going anywhere.
Questions, comments, reflections, it's all fair game.
“All that's necessary for the forces of evil to win in the world is for enough good men to do nothing.”
Edmund Burke
Fortunately, every day is a new day that offers the possibility for change. That day is mine right now. From this point forward a promise -- daily posts from the Resolute Detective.
Why This Blog?
My purpose for creating this blog is both altruistic and self serving.
Altruistic because I believe I have learned things from my work as a P.I. that can, does and will help other people in innumerable ways. Information is power. And power well-placed is what helps people through life's many and mostly unexpected crises.
Self-serving because my head is so full of information, cases, people, problems, solutions, that an off-load is now necessary. I have too many angels and demons running rampant in my mind. They need to be released here in the sanctity of cyberspace, if only to make room for the next chapter, the next case, the next challenge.
Truth be told, from the moment we are born, we are on the path to our own demise. None of us gets out of here alive.
However, our individual and/or collective demises can be occasionally be delayed via careful navigation through life's turbulent and treacherous waters. I am one of those people, a well seasoned P.I., who has traveled and charted those waters. I still do, on a daily basis.
And contrary to popular opinion, in the sea of life, it isn't who you know, but what you know that keeps you afloat.
Information is power and power well-placed can make or break a person.
There are heroes and villains among us; each wields their own sword of power for their own unique purposes.
Some people are good guys, white hats, heroes, generous of spirit, loving, honest, honorable. Others are self-absorbed, self-motivated, narcissistic, out for themselves. Some are self-destructive, others just destructive.
It's human nature that leads, I believe, to the question most asked in the justice system.
"Why?"
And it's the question that never gets answered to the satisfaction of the asker.
Why Me?
Why do people murder? Why do husbands kill their pregnant wives and children? Why do women kill their husbands and babies? Why does anyone kill anyone?
Why do people lie and steal? Why are some people stalkers? Why do people defraud others? Why do people kill themselves? Why do people get kill or abuse children? Why do people abuse themselves? Why did he cheat on me? Why did she leave me? Why Me?
To me, the answer is evident. It's taken me years to figure it out. It's turned the tears in my eyes to glass, it's made my soft heart hard and turned the butterflies in my stomach into piranhas.
Why? Because they can or choose to.
Why? Because it was an impulse. It was a thrill. It was compulsion. It was drugs.
It was his fault. It was her fault. It was their fault. It was some other dude's fault.
It was passion. It was an accident. I don't remember doing it.
It was fear. It was anger. It was the booze. It was the meth. It was my frucked up childhood.
It was self-defense. It was madness. It wasn't me, I would never do anything like that.
In my opinion, the answer to why is because the forces of nature include human nature which is by nature, two polar opposites engaged in a battle for dominance.
The forces of right and wrong, good and evil, freedom and imprisonment, the rich and the poor, happy and sad, the yins and the yangs. The answer to why lies in the ups and downs, the sky and the ground, attraction and repulsion... natural processes like night and day, mountains and meadows, peaks and valleys, sunbeams and lightening rods. People do bad things because they choose to. And people go good things for the same exact reason. Nature is a powerful force.
Add a bad nurturing and you've got a powder keg.
Why Be A P.I. Blog?
Most people never meet an private investigator in the real world.
When I go to parties, or sit next to someone on a plane, and they ask what I do, I know what the next questions will be.
- Do you spy on people behind bushes?
- Do you carry a gun?
- Is it dangerous?
- How did you become a PI?
In the beginning I was fairly impressed with myself, becoming a P.I.
I was quite proud of my license, still am. And way back when, I was all too willing to answer questions, tell stories, be one of those guests people want to have at their party.
Then over the years, the stories have become harder to tell. And the images I encounter... the shape shifters, grifters and the cataclysms I am called to deal with over the years...they've receded deep into corners of my brain, only surfacing at night in my dreams.
So the self-serving aspect of this blog is the release of what some might see as demons and angels. Others might see as emotions, experiences, events I have been entrusted with for the purpose of passing on to others who have found their way to this blog.
If you want to know what life of a P.I. is like, look no further. I'll be here now every day. When cases come in, I'll post what I can about those cases. There are privacy laws in place, on both State and Federal levels. So I will respect those laws and ethical boundaries along with my clients' privacy.
What I'm struggling with today is finding a way to open this forum to questions and answers. I am new to blogging and have been told by the tech savvy that message boards are old school. I can't figure out how to post a message board here anyway.
So I'm linking this blog to my Facebook page. Just scroll down to the left side of the blog or friend me, "Susan Ludwig", on Facebook.
I'll use that space to adds friends like you to to our investigation community. Together we can build a collective team of good people... bonding together to fight some of the bad people and hard times that aren't going anywhere.
Questions, comments, reflections, it's all fair game.
“All that's necessary for the forces of evil to win in the world is for enough good men to do nothing.”
Edmund Burke
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Re: cell phone spying and daily update.
This is a great article from the "Carolina Investigator" worth reading. With so many houses of cards falling down in the current state of national and international economic collapse, desperation is not only evident, it's running rampant.
Foreclosures, bankruptcies, job losses -- they all add to divorces and family battles - via fistfights, murder or probate.
Knowing how to protect yourself and your privacy is one important key to survival in an age where information is not only power. Information is money. And money is what everyone appears hungry for at the moment.
So take a minute to check out this article I have hopefully... and successfully... linked you to. Just click on the title of this blog entry and that will take you to the link.
Meantime, I am heading off to the ferry to follow up one case and to teach my last class of the year at University of Washington.
Tonight, I will be giving my students the WA State P.I. Operative test. If they pass, and I suspect they will, the state will have a whole new slew of PI's trained by the best facility and instructors in the state. Three of us teach the year-long program and we cover the gamut of the field of private investigation: law, criminal investigation and civil investigation.
It's amazing how many people come to this career later in life. Never a dull moment. Seldom a shortage of business for those willing to think not only outside the box... but sideways.
Foreclosures, bankruptcies, job losses -- they all add to divorces and family battles - via fistfights, murder or probate.
Knowing how to protect yourself and your privacy is one important key to survival in an age where information is not only power. Information is money. And money is what everyone appears hungry for at the moment.
So take a minute to check out this article I have hopefully... and successfully... linked you to. Just click on the title of this blog entry and that will take you to the link.
Meantime, I am heading off to the ferry to follow up one case and to teach my last class of the year at University of Washington.
Tonight, I will be giving my students the WA State P.I. Operative test. If they pass, and I suspect they will, the state will have a whole new slew of PI's trained by the best facility and instructors in the state. Three of us teach the year-long program and we cover the gamut of the field of private investigation: law, criminal investigation and civil investigation.
It's amazing how many people come to this career later in life. Never a dull moment. Seldom a shortage of business for those willing to think not only outside the box... but sideways.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
INCOMING: THIS WEEKEND'S CASES
Friday Night: Soldiers' vs. DUI
Friday, I was winding down for good about midnight. The call came in at 12:25 am from an attorney who wanted me to call two soldiers from Fort Lewis right away -- husband and wife -- who were rear-ended by a truck. I spoke to the wife, she was the passenger in the car they just bought. They were hit by a guy who they described as impaired. They don't know if he was drunk, slow, heavily medicated or what.
The soldier's wife called 911 three times. The 911 operator said they would not come unless ambulances were required.
No one was bleeding, the DEF accepted liability, they exchanged information. And just to be sure, the wife/soldier called her Sargent and he came to the scene to witness the Defendant's impaired behavior. All the cars were totaled, including the pick-up truck they were rear-ended by.
One thing an accident investigator quickly learns is this: when the vehicles are totaled, the people in the vehicles are likely totaled. The people are totaled physically, psychologically, financially, any or all of the above.
What impact does to steel (which is tens of thousands of pounds stronger than flesh, bone, muscles, sinew, spinal column, discs) produces the same effects in the human body.
The soldiers just got out of the ER when I spoke to them. They had ruptured discs, torn muscles, their health, healing and military careers are uncertain.
The irony, the wife/soldier said, is the two had just returned from Iraq, they were out having dinner on their first date back home.
What has them so upset, she said, besides their extensive physical injuries which jeopardize their future in the military...
besides the damage to their brand new car...
besides the obvious impairment of the defendant...
besides the fact the police wouldn't come to the scene....
besides all that...
what has them MOST upset is the fact that the insurance company of the Defendant (the person who hit them)... and the insurance company of the soldiers is the SAME company!
The injured female soldier said that makes no sense, isn't there something wrong with the Defendant being represented by the same insurance company as the victim?
I tell her yes, in my opinion, it is a conflict of interest. And it happens all the time. I tell her in the old days some attorneys wouldn't take on such cases. Now it happens all the time...
whether it's Allstate vs. Allstate, Farmers vs. Farmers; Geico vs. Geico; Hartford vs. Hartford: or USAA vs USAA.
She asks a lot more questions because her adrenalin is flowing. Since we're closing in on 1:00 am and my adrenalin is all used up, I tell her I will answer her questions and ask a few more of her when we meet. I schedule an appointment a few days into the week to give the law firm time to review the case and see if it's a go. I email notes of the call to the law firm, then do the wisest thing possible. I sleep.
Saturday : Pregnant Woman vs. Septic Tank
7:00 am. Phone rings. This case is a "premises case" which is a case that happened in a certain place, or premise.
The potential clients called the lawyers from the neo-natal unit of a hospital where the victim was being treated. The lawyers called me because this is what they consider a mission critical case.
The clients, male and female fiancees, are having a baby. She is nine months pregnant. It is their first. She was injured by a fall and she may now lose the baby.
The couple were staying in their aunt's trailer in a trailer park. The trailer park manager was working on and in a manhole draining a septic tank which was about 10 feet from the aunt's trailer. He had the manhole cover off the manhole, the cover was beside and to the left of the open manhole.
He also had a piece of what was described as a carpet or mat he normally covers the hole with when it's closed to keep the stink of the septic tank at a minimum. That mat was laying on the grass near the manhole cover.
He told one witness he had to leave the scene briefly to make a phone call. Instead of putting the manhole cover back on the open septic tank hole, he left the septic tank hole open, and inexplicably covered it with the mat, which was described to me as a brown thick carpet or rug that was kind of like astro turf.
At the very moment the manager left the septic tank cover open with the mat on it... and walked away to make his phone call.... the 9-month pregnant woman exited her aunt's trailer with her husband to take their dog for a walk. The woman's right foot caught the edge of the mat on the open manhole cover, her right leg fell into the septic tank, scraped down it's concrete side, and her was cut and covered with human and other septic waste. Then her upper body tipped forward until she slammed her 9-month pregnant tummy hard on the manhole cover. Immediately she felt a sharp pain in her tummy and the baby stopped moving.
She was rushed via ambulance to the ER, then neo natal. The baby's health is in question. So is mom's... because when her right leg fell in the septic tank, mom got cuts and scrapes and got sewage in them. There were witnesses present, photos were taken of the open manhole cover and now the properly covered manhole cover. There were more than five witnesses, including the pregnant woman's husband and two men who pulled her out of the septic tank. In addition, two of the paramedics almost fell into the open septic hole and they weren't happy.
No one is sure how the baby is doing. The woman is seriously p.o.'ed and I am hoping the trailer park has insurance to pay for any damages they caused to the woman, the baby
I ask the woman to get me a few things -- the managers name; the rental agreement of her aunt's trailer; the name of the owner of the trailer park. I email the attorneys so they can review the case.
Then I get back to the Saturday that hasn't begun yet.
Sunday A.M.: The Oyster Heist
Today I discover the company a group of my neighbors have hired to harvest oysters off their section of the beach, are a bunch of crooks. Let me clarify. The neighbors aren't the crooks, the company they hired to harvest the oysters are crooks.
I have been suspect of the oyster harvesters since the day they arrived a week or two ago. They promised my neighbors vast sums of money for 70% of the oysters. And if they agree to a 3 year contract, they will get three years of harvesting plus oysters seeding.
Moose and I have oysters on our beach, hundreds if not thousands of them. Port Gamble Bay is among the most clean and remote areas on Hood Canal /Puget sound waters. Every morning and night I walk my dogs along the beach and if the tide is low the oysters are with me.
Something didn't seem right about the oyster harvesting crews. My first encounter with the well organized group of oyster harvesters, left me merely suspicious... though everything seemed legitimate. There were plenty of oysters and the neighbors who owned the tidal rights and the oysters on the land they owned had a right to sell them. They were told they'd get 75 cents a pound and thousands of dollars for property taxes or roads.
The epiphany came this morning, on my walk with the dogs, when I passsed the bags of oysters than had been bound for days now at the water's edge. Two days ago, one worker said they were going to NY. The other said CA. In three days they'd gone nowehere.The oysters were living, breathe creatures confined to steel prisons, croded by the donzens into bags of blue plastic nets sealed with sip ties.
I began talking to neighbors on this Sunday, figured out who the oyster harvesting company is, investigated them, and found out they are scumbags, cheats, liars, thieves and convicted criminals who have not only defrauded people out of thousands of dollars; they have also depleted oyster beds all around the Puget Sounds. They promised people thousands of dollars for their oysters and the people get nothing but empty beds.
I print a few copies of the info I found on the web, and hand deliver it to the neighbors who are home and doing business with the oyster company, or planning to do so. I ask them to notify other people. Tomorrow the Kitsap County Sheriff, the Fish and Wildlife Dept. will also be notified.
If we're lucky the oyster hoist has been stopped in its tracks.
The challenge for me tonight is not creeping out into the evening with my flashlight, scuba knife, and cutting the netting... letting all the oysters go.
However, this is now for the police, the Fish and Wildlife Department, the Health Department and the neighbors who now have the info.... and the oysters.... under their watchful eyes.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
EMAIL OF THE DAY
So.... I am getting emails from people with P.I. questions.
I figured this question/anser thing might be an interesting way to keep helping... and keep posting... on days I'm out working cases and scenes. I've deleted names and contact info from the emails for obvious privacy reasons.
If you have a question to ask and you can figure out how to ask it here, (which i can't because I am trully technically dyslexic) email me or friend me on Facebook.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I figured this question/anser thing might be an interesting way to keep helping... and keep posting... on days I'm out working cases and scenes. I've deleted names and contact info from the emails for obvious privacy reasons.
If you have a question to ask and you can figure out how to ask it here, (which i can't because I am trully technically dyslexic) email me or friend me on Facebook.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi Susan,
I received your email information from Mark. W. First, thank you for offering to assist.
I am interested in learning some basics about background checks. I am planning on leasing a residential property out for some extra income. A friend of mine suggested that I do a background check on the potential renters. My questions are:
· H How can I go about doing this in a cost effective way?
· Is Is it legal for me to conduct background checks provided that I obtain the potential renters’ consent to do so?
Thank you.
Kelly
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi Kelly!
I am getting this question a lot.
It is legal for you to conduct a background check provided you follow your individual state and federal laws. You just have to do backgrounds the right way... within legal parameters... or you can and will be sued in a court of law.
Yes, you will need the renter's consent to run a a background.
Lots of people run backgrounds everyday without consent, but those are not the same kinds of backgrounds which you are doing. Yours is related to a business, in which you have a fiduciary interest. You also have a legal obligation to comply with federal and state public disclosure and privacy laws.
You will obviously need need a rental application from the person your are leasing/renting to. Your will need a release/signature/letter that allows you to do the background and credit check. check.
You will need someone to call previous landlords and references. You will need someone savvy to do that because drawing information out of people can be tricky.
You will need a credit report, and you will definitely need a release for that or the Feds will get you.
In WA State, Investigators have to get a released signed by the person we are running the report on; authorizing the release of his own report and specifically naming the Investigator.
I am not sure how you'd do it exactl... you being a non-Investigator, non-Realtor type, who can legally access the credit report part.
I have heard cases where you have the renter run the report for you. I think there are companies that provide those services for realtors. You can call a local property management firm and pick their brains and they'll give up all the info for free if you are nice enough to them.
You will need to know bad guys and bad girls lie. Big time.
And good people hit hard times. People all over are losing their homes, if you judge them on their good character, need and reference, despite their bad credit, you could be bringing a wonderful, caring family into your home... and your karma could be rewarded.
Or not.
Like mine, your job is a blend of data and deduction.
Re: the bad people -- On their apps, they could say they lived here and here and there...
and they will omit the "there" part where they have some criminal/sex offense charge. There is no one national database that will list national criminal charges unless you work for the FBO, government or police agencies. You have to go yourself, physically, or via cyber-surfing, from state to state...and county to county.... and if you miss a key county or charge, you could ultimately be liable for any illegal activity your renter commits on your property.
A good friend of mine was torn between hiring a leasing company to do this for him, doing it himself, or hiring an investigator. He decided to call a property management company and I haven't heard from him since. So, I suspect he found his answers.
Hope some of this helps!!!!
Sue
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi Kelly!
I am getting this question a lot.
It is legal for you to conduct a background check provided you follow your individual state and federal laws. You just have to do backgrounds the right way... within legal parameters... or you can and will be sued in a court of law.
Yes, you will need the renter's consent to run a a background.
Lots of people run backgrounds everyday without consent, but those are not the same kinds of backgrounds which you are doing. Yours is related to a business, in which you have a fiduciary interest. You also have a legal obligation to comply with federal and state public disclosure and privacy laws.
You will obviously need need a rental application from the person your are leasing/renting to. Your will need a release/signature/letter that allows you to do the background and credit check. check.
You will need someone to call previous landlords and references. You will need someone savvy to do that because drawing information out of people can be tricky.
You will need a credit report, and you will definitely need a release for that or the Feds will get you.
In WA State, Investigators have to get a released signed by the person we are running the report on; authorizing the release of his own report and specifically naming the Investigator.
I am not sure how you'd do it exactl... you being a non-Investigator, non-Realtor type, who can legally access the credit report part.
I have heard cases where you have the renter run the report for you. I think there are companies that provide those services for realtors. You can call a local property management firm and pick their brains and they'll give up all the info for free if you are nice enough to them.
You will need to know bad guys and bad girls lie. Big time.
And good people hit hard times. People all over are losing their homes, if you judge them on their good character, need and reference, despite their bad credit, you could be bringing a wonderful, caring family into your home... and your karma could be rewarded.
Or not.
Like mine, your job is a blend of data and deduction.
Re: the bad people -- On their apps, they could say they lived here and here and there...
and they will omit the "there" part where they have some criminal/sex offense charge. There is no one national database that will list national criminal charges unless you work for the FBO, government or police agencies. You have to go yourself, physically, or via cyber-surfing, from state to state...and county to county.... and if you miss a key county or charge, you could ultimately be liable for any illegal activity your renter commits on your property.
A good friend of mine was torn between hiring a leasing company to do this for him, doing it himself, or hiring an investigator. He decided to call a property management company and I haven't heard from him since. So, I suspect he found his answers.
Hope some of this helps!!!!
Sue
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Granny Gives It Up
Got lucky today. Figured out a way to get a protective granny to give up information on her adult grandson who is in hiding. The grandson did a very bad thing and needs to be served a subpeona before the statue of limitations runs out. We had just 24 hours left, two process serving companies couldn't find him.
I woke up this a.m. with a pre-text epiphany and gave grannie a call. Sure enough, I got her grandson's phone number out of a relcuatnt lips which i imagined were quivering. And got her to confirm the address I thought he could be at.
It's always like highest of highs for a P.I. to find that missing person Did that little hamster dance thing. Then called the attorney, who did same.
Now they are hoping to find a P.I. or server where the grandson lives (Bumfruck, Egypt) so they don't have to pay me for the four hours of round-trip drive time it would take to get to his place, knock on his door and hand him his subpeona. IF he was home.
I like serving supbeonas. Some people run at those moments, right after they I.D. the subject and serve him. To me, the whole thing's a rush. And at the end, the point where the papers leave my hand and enter the subject's, I usually a stick around for a moment or two while the shock sinks in on the subject's part. Those are the moment I breathe in for some odd, clearly jaded reason. And I often add a witty, compassionate, or wry comment depending on how their response goes.
Time now to leave the keyboard, get in the car and cross the water via car ferry to teach my class on investigation at UW. Tonight we have a guest speaker, a death investigator who runs his own private forensic inestigation agency. His company had independant medical examiners, who do autopsies, helped ID bodies, work places like Katrina, disaster zones. He has one case study I have heard many times and it still blows me away. I watch my students watching him and they are focused on him and his every word the full three hours.
Life is good and never dull when you pursue your passion.
I woke up this a.m. with a pre-text epiphany and gave grannie a call. Sure enough, I got her grandson's phone number out of a relcuatnt lips which i imagined were quivering. And got her to confirm the address I thought he could be at.
It's always like highest of highs for a P.I. to find that missing person Did that little hamster dance thing. Then called the attorney, who did same.
Now they are hoping to find a P.I. or server where the grandson lives (Bumfruck, Egypt) so they don't have to pay me for the four hours of round-trip drive time it would take to get to his place, knock on his door and hand him his subpeona. IF he was home.
I like serving supbeonas. Some people run at those moments, right after they I.D. the subject and serve him. To me, the whole thing's a rush. And at the end, the point where the papers leave my hand and enter the subject's, I usually a stick around for a moment or two while the shock sinks in on the subject's part. Those are the moment I breathe in for some odd, clearly jaded reason. And I often add a witty, compassionate, or wry comment depending on how their response goes.
Time now to leave the keyboard, get in the car and cross the water via car ferry to teach my class on investigation at UW. Tonight we have a guest speaker, a death investigator who runs his own private forensic inestigation agency. His company had independant medical examiners, who do autopsies, helped ID bodies, work places like Katrina, disaster zones. He has one case study I have heard many times and it still blows me away. I watch my students watching him and they are focused on him and his every word the full three hours.
Life is good and never dull when you pursue your passion.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Update: Newlyweds who fought at Holiday Inn accept plea deal
The sobbing bride told the judge: "I'm in jail in my wedding gown after being beaten and humiliated. I'm all over the world in the news, and I think that's punishment enough." (Pittsburgh Post-Gazette | Pittsburgh Tribune-Review)
Woozy airplane passenger tries to bite flight attendant's leg
The incoherent and disruptive female passenger was apparently woozy from a combination of pills, alcohol and lavatory hand soap. When she's not under the influence, the woman is "a very intelligent, charming woman," says her lawyer.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Drew Peterson down for the count.
One more manic off the streets.
I am convinced Drew Peterson is a psychopath, sociopath and narcissist. Add compulsive liar to the equation and you’ve got one of those people who believe their own lies.
Try as I might to always be objective, to bring no preconceived notions to a case; sometimes this inner voice speaks to me. It can be a whisper, or a scream. In Peterson’s case, it was a scream.
Call it instinct, psychic message, delusional, gut instinct… it’s nameless to me. It’s just a voice that guides me on my investigations and says… Look here. Try this. Re-frame the picture.
Look again. And again. And look once more.
That same voice has been screaming to me about Peterson’s guilt and the danger his current young girlfriend is in.
At last, he is under arrest for at least one murder. He’s behind cold, steel, unkind bars. And a cop arrested is not in best standing among fellow inmates. There is a prurient pleasure is pondering his fate.
I watch his Perp walk and he appears to revel in it.
His snide smile and sassy comments shine the spotlight on how delusional he truly is.
His defense attorney contends this is cocky attitude is Peterson’s form of coping mechanism. I contend the guy is more than a few beers shy of a six-pack.
Peterson was a police officer. Wife three is dead. His fourth wife is missing. Still, he’s ready to marry wife five.
He was also in the process of negotiating a deal for a reality show in a whore house.
Now, tonight, he is in finally in the big house.
For that on this Saturday evening... one big amen.
I am convinced Drew Peterson is a psychopath, sociopath and narcissist. Add compulsive liar to the equation and you’ve got one of those people who believe their own lies.
Try as I might to always be objective, to bring no preconceived notions to a case; sometimes this inner voice speaks to me. It can be a whisper, or a scream. In Peterson’s case, it was a scream.
Call it instinct, psychic message, delusional, gut instinct… it’s nameless to me. It’s just a voice that guides me on my investigations and says… Look here. Try this. Re-frame the picture.
Look again. And again. And look once more.
That same voice has been screaming to me about Peterson’s guilt and the danger his current young girlfriend is in.
At last, he is under arrest for at least one murder. He’s behind cold, steel, unkind bars. And a cop arrested is not in best standing among fellow inmates. There is a prurient pleasure is pondering his fate.
I watch his Perp walk and he appears to revel in it.
His snide smile and sassy comments shine the spotlight on how delusional he truly is.
His defense attorney contends this is cocky attitude is Peterson’s form of coping mechanism. I contend the guy is more than a few beers shy of a six-pack.
Peterson was a police officer. Wife three is dead. His fourth wife is missing. Still, he’s ready to marry wife five.
He was also in the process of negotiating a deal for a reality show in a whore house.
Now, tonight, he is in finally in the big house.
For that on this Saturday evening... one big amen.
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