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To look at her, you'd think she was someone's elderly aunt, maybe even grandmother.
She was married to a short, stout man who drove her work every morning and picked her up every night. They had no children. It was just the two of them.
They lived their lives like proverbial clockwork.
He was on disability due to an industrial accident that left him unable to work, yet able to drive.
At 8:45 every morning, he dropped her off in the parking lot, watched her walk in the door, then drove back home.
At 4:45 pm every day, he was back in the parking lot.
He always arrived 15 minutes early and listened to the car radio while he waited.
Then she exited the building, walked to the passenger door, opened it, leaned over and kissed him on his right cheek. Always the same thing every day.
She never seemed to change. She always wore flowered shirts, cardigan sweaters, long pleated skirts, dark nylon stockings and black Mary Jane's with a 1" square heel. She was the "loving old lady" out of central casting... with short silver curly hair, chubby pink cheeks and an ever present smile.
She brought plates of homemade cookies to work, decorations for the holidays and she gave extravagant gifts to co-workers, friends and her only living relatives, her sister and husband.
She was the book keeper for a company that manufactured metal parts.
She'd been there every day since it was started by two brothers -- nearly 35 years earlier. It had grown to more than 50 employees.
Day after day, she quietly came and went... cooking the cookies... and the books.
And what a secret chef she was!
No one realized she'd been skimming off the top for 20 of her 35 years with the company.
It wasn't until an IRS audit that the deception revealed itself.
She'd stolen more than $450,000 from the company and spent every cent of it.
Some money went to the little sun porch and swimming pool she added to the back of her house.
Some went to the Ethan Allen furniture she bought for her humble 2 bedroom ranch house with the sun porch and swimming pool out back.
Some went to the elaborate gifts she bought co-workers, family members and friends.
What was left went into the slot machines at a casino not too far from her home.
None of it went where it should have. To the IRS.
My family was the recipient of two of her gifts more than a decade and a half before her fraud was uncovered.
At that time, she was just the kind, elderly lady with a big heart and evidently, big budget.
I remember I looked at the expensive gifts she'd mailed across the country to us with the price tags still on them --- and thought it odd -- not only that she would send such expensive gifts to the family of one of her co-workers; but that she would want us to know what those gifts cost.
I wrote a thank you letter about her excessive kindness and noted her unnecessary, appreciated expense.
Then, years... states... lives.... parted.
And it wasn't until almost 16 years later that the IRS investigation uncovered her financial fraud. The money she was supposed to be paying them and others went into her pocket book.
I was shocked when I was told of her skimming, scamming and sentencing.
She was arrested, tried, got three years in jail and ordered to pay restitution on every cent she stole.
Her excuse was the one almost every one like her uses.
"I only meant to do it once and then pay it back. Then I did it again, and again... and fully intended to pay it back. Soon I was in too deep."
She did the jail time, but never paid back a single penny.
Instead, she and her husband declared bankruptcy, left the state and moved into a fifth wheel parked on her sister's property where they remain to this day.
Because of her actions and the unpaid taxes, the company she worked for also had to declare bankruptcy.
They closed their doors shortly after her conviction.
That, of course, meant all the employees who worked at the company also had nowhere to work.
Which mean their families also suffered.
The gifts she had given my family had long ago been given to others in our life travels.
No way to get them or give them back.
I am still bothered though, to this day, by how easily I accepted the expensive gifts without a clue where they really came from.
The effects of financial fraud are similar to the effects of a pebble tossed into a still pond.
When the pebble impacts, there's a ripple effect that causes individual rings to form from the center outwards.
With fraud, each ring represents lives affected and often ruined by the perpetrator of that fraud.
Who commits financial fraud?
Could be Bernie Madeoff or the kindly old lady accountant.
Could be the guy or girl you met on the net.
Could be someone you never met.
Could be an employee or your twin sister or your brother.
Could be the house cleaners you had for years who suddenly left town with a pile of cash you thought was secreted away.
Could be the house sitter you hired who got your mail and your ID.
Could be someone who targeted you -- just because you have money and they don't.
A few years back I worked a case for a friend whose ex-girlfriend stole his checks and wrote $40,000 worth -- the entire contents of his checking account --- while he was overseas for four months.
Because he discovered the crime at the four-month mark, the statute of limitations to contest a claim had expired according to his bank. He had three months to report such a crime and he'd get his money at back.
At month four he was just too late.
The best we could do was get her charged criminally, indicted and convicted on more than 30 counts of theft.
She too got jail time and restitution my friend will never see.
Today I talked with a friend whose sister was recently taken for 16k by a guy she barely knew and invited into her home.
And a few weeks ago I was contacted by another friend who believes our mutual wealthy elderly friend is being defrauded and targeted by his new younger and materialistic wife. We both think she will sooner or later try to kill him for his life insurance money once she's gone through all his assets and cash. She has literally shut the door to our friendship with him and keeps his family away.
I could write paragraphs about the financial frauds I have investigated or been privy to over the many years I've been at this business.
Suffice to say.... what I have learned from each and everyone of them is this:
Watch your assets. And tell others you care about to watch theirs.
In these hard economic times "everyone" is what fraudsters consider "fair game."
Even you.
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If you need a Private Investigator who is also a Forensic Accountant, just click on the title of this blog. It will take you to the website of my friend and favorite in the field, Mark Wilson who calls himself the "Forensic Bean Counter."
Friday, November 6, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Betty's Descent
Betty told me her only child... her beloved son.... 17 years old, was a passenger in a car that was going 120 mph when it hit three trees.
Evidently, the vehicle missed a curve, went airborn and bounced from tree to tree until the third tree stopped it.
Betty's son got 135 staples in his head and a massive brain injury.
He broke his neck, his right collar bone, three of his right ribs, broke two bones in his leg and a bunch of small bones in his ankle. His spinal column was in bad shape too. It took the Jaws of Life to release him. He would be confined to wheelchair for life.
There was no auto insurance for the car he was in, she said.
Betty's own auto insurance had lapsed months earlier.
The kid driving the car died. His parents lived in a mobile home, paycheck to paycheck.
There was no money to go after, Betty said.
Her son was now in a "special home."
Betty told me this was just of a string of "unfortunate episodes" in her life.
Right after her son's accident, her father died.
Two months after that, her mother had a stroke.
Between the the family chaos and the stress resulting from it,
"I snapped," Betty said.
She started taking more and more of the Xanax the doctor prescribed to help her sleep and to stave off her panic attacks.
Then she moved to Ritalin to "keep me moving because its balances out the Xanax."
And when she fell off her chair and hit her back while drunk, the doctor prescribed painkillers.
She topped off her chemical cocktail with a vodka chaser... or two... or three.
Starting with breakfast, ending with a shot before bed.
Then one day, she decided to go somewhere, she could not recall.
She got into her SUV, which she also could not recall.
Nor did she recall turning her SUV into a missile that took out a parked car and a city street light.
Fortunately, the only person she took out was herself.
Arrested at the scene, a DWI, hospitalizations, surgeries, and jail time brought her back to her senses, she said.
Until... Betty's husband left her and moved on to a younger woman.
Then she lost her job, her health insurance and her home.
She told me all this for no reason, except to tell someone -- because we both know no one can change the past.
We either linger on the past or dwell in it...
attempt to bury it or "forgetaboutit"... and move on.
When I met with Betty she lived with her sister, slept on the living room sofa.
"I'm essentially homeless" Betty said without emotion. "I can tell my welcome is wearing thin."
Betty's grip on life grew even thinner since our first and last meeting.
One Saturday evening, the night before she was scheduled to leave her sister's and move into a shelter, she was alone in the house.
Betty decided she couldn't take the physical, emotional and financial pain any longer.
She took over 50 10mg. Xanax she'd collected, drank a whole bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold.
And just before she felt like she was going to pass out, she put a plastic bag on her head and sealed it with duct tape. (That's a use the duct tape originators never imagined, I am certain.)
Whoever "they" is... "they" say.... when we reach our ultimate limits, the break point where we can take no more, we either commit homicide or suicide.
I talked about that with another P.I. over lunch today.
We both agreed if we snapped we'd take ourselves out before we'd take anyone else out.
I got the whole story over the phone, about how Betty did herself in.
It consumed me for a while, her death.
Did I suspect she was suicidal when I met her?
No.
Could I or anyone have stopped her?
Doubtful.
Yet there is a lesson in this madness. And that would be this:
There is always, up until the very end, a choice.
And even when you think you've exhausted those choices, there are still other choices.
Had Betty told someone what she was thinking, things may have turned out differently.
Or not.
Bottom line is you never know how the story is going to end... unless you end it yourself.
Then, and only then, is all hope lost.
Evidently, the vehicle missed a curve, went airborn and bounced from tree to tree until the third tree stopped it.
Betty's son got 135 staples in his head and a massive brain injury.
He broke his neck, his right collar bone, three of his right ribs, broke two bones in his leg and a bunch of small bones in his ankle. His spinal column was in bad shape too. It took the Jaws of Life to release him. He would be confined to wheelchair for life.
There was no auto insurance for the car he was in, she said.
Betty's own auto insurance had lapsed months earlier.
The kid driving the car died. His parents lived in a mobile home, paycheck to paycheck.
There was no money to go after, Betty said.
Her son was now in a "special home."
Betty told me this was just of a string of "unfortunate episodes" in her life.
Right after her son's accident, her father died.
Two months after that, her mother had a stroke.
Between the the family chaos and the stress resulting from it,
"I snapped," Betty said.
She started taking more and more of the Xanax the doctor prescribed to help her sleep and to stave off her panic attacks.
Then she moved to Ritalin to "keep me moving because its balances out the Xanax."
And when she fell off her chair and hit her back while drunk, the doctor prescribed painkillers.
She topped off her chemical cocktail with a vodka chaser... or two... or three.
Starting with breakfast, ending with a shot before bed.
Then one day, she decided to go somewhere, she could not recall.
She got into her SUV, which she also could not recall.
Nor did she recall turning her SUV into a missile that took out a parked car and a city street light.
Fortunately, the only person she took out was herself.
Arrested at the scene, a DWI, hospitalizations, surgeries, and jail time brought her back to her senses, she said.
Until... Betty's husband left her and moved on to a younger woman.
Then she lost her job, her health insurance and her home.
She told me all this for no reason, except to tell someone -- because we both know no one can change the past.
We either linger on the past or dwell in it...
attempt to bury it or "forgetaboutit"... and move on.
When I met with Betty she lived with her sister, slept on the living room sofa.
"I'm essentially homeless" Betty said without emotion. "I can tell my welcome is wearing thin."
Betty's grip on life grew even thinner since our first and last meeting.
One Saturday evening, the night before she was scheduled to leave her sister's and move into a shelter, she was alone in the house.
Betty decided she couldn't take the physical, emotional and financial pain any longer.
She took over 50 10mg. Xanax she'd collected, drank a whole bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold.
And just before she felt like she was going to pass out, she put a plastic bag on her head and sealed it with duct tape. (That's a use the duct tape originators never imagined, I am certain.)
Whoever "they" is... "they" say.... when we reach our ultimate limits, the break point where we can take no more, we either commit homicide or suicide.
I talked about that with another P.I. over lunch today.
We both agreed if we snapped we'd take ourselves out before we'd take anyone else out.
I got the whole story over the phone, about how Betty did herself in.
It consumed me for a while, her death.
Did I suspect she was suicidal when I met her?
No.
Could I or anyone have stopped her?
Doubtful.
Yet there is a lesson in this madness. And that would be this:
There is always, up until the very end, a choice.
And even when you think you've exhausted those choices, there are still other choices.
Had Betty told someone what she was thinking, things may have turned out differently.
Or not.
Bottom line is you never know how the story is going to end... unless you end it yourself.
Then, and only then, is all hope lost.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Playing The Part
Leroy Cook, my favorite "PI Pundit," wrote an excellent article called "A Private Investigator's Many Roles." In fact, I don't think I could've said it better myself. Which is why I'm posting it here.
Just click on the title of this post and it will get you to Pursuit Magazine and Leroy's article.
We Private Investigators learn our greatest lessons outside the classroom and on our own.
Like a child who learns not to touch a red hot burner by touching it that first time...
P.I.'s learn how to dodge bullets only after being fired at.
This business is truly one of trial by fire.
When we're doing a surveillance and we are seen by the subject, we call that "being burned."
I've been burned on a surveillance or two. Ok, maybe a few.
It's hard not to be seen, figured out, especially in this paranoid world.
Savvy investigators call the local police before staking out a certain area.
They let the police know who they are and why they are there just in case worried neighbors call in.
Yet, despite our best efforts, sometimes, things turn.
When we're burned, we call it it a day and drive away.
And maybe... come back the next day.... in a different car.
I especially like what my favorite PI Pundit has to say about how a good P.I. has to be a good actor. The roles we play are what get a reluctant subject or witness to talk. Or an overly anxious client who's flipping out... to stop, breathe and mellow out.
Just click on the title of this post and it will get you to Pursuit Magazine and Leroy's article.
We Private Investigators learn our greatest lessons outside the classroom and on our own.
Like a child who learns not to touch a red hot burner by touching it that first time...
P.I.'s learn how to dodge bullets only after being fired at.
This business is truly one of trial by fire.
When we're doing a surveillance and we are seen by the subject, we call that "being burned."
I've been burned on a surveillance or two. Ok, maybe a few.
It's hard not to be seen, figured out, especially in this paranoid world.
Savvy investigators call the local police before staking out a certain area.
They let the police know who they are and why they are there just in case worried neighbors call in.
Yet, despite our best efforts, sometimes, things turn.
When we're burned, we call it it a day and drive away.
And maybe... come back the next day.... in a different car.
I especially like what my favorite PI Pundit has to say about how a good P.I. has to be a good actor. The roles we play are what get a reluctant subject or witness to talk. Or an overly anxious client who's flipping out... to stop, breathe and mellow out.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Big Bullies
We P.I.'s walk a fine line in our search for the truth and the means in which we express it.
There are always parameters to consider, boundaries to respect, borders to be drawn.
And within those confines... there are mountains to climb, hurdles to leap, boulders to move.
Private Investigation can be a very challenging business.
When a case comes in from someone I don't know.... asking me to find someone they have lost touch with... my first question is: "why?"
There's always a reason.
That reason will either be the truth or a lie.
"My first real boyfriend. "
"My long lost girlfriend."
"My father's brother."
"I'm big fan of his and want to mail him a letter."
"We lost touch so long ago."
"Childhood friends"
"I want to know if he or she is still alive."
My second question is "what will you do with that information?"
Then there is a third, and fourth question.
And finally, my declaration.
"If I find the person.... and there are no guarantees I will... I will give them a letter from you or a message from you. However, I will not give you their address, phone, location unless they want me to."
The locates, like the backgrounds, can be the bread and butter of many a P.I.'s business.
However, the butter can spoil and the bread can mold and you could be poisoned by your own case.
Find a woman hiding from an abusive or psychotic male and you may have murder on your hands.
Miss a couple of states in your background search and you've got a sex offender employed in an elementary school.
Violate someone's rights in a pre-employment search and you've got yourself a lawsuit.
That's why some P.I.'s back away from backgrounds and hide from locates.
There was a rumor going around among my fellow investigators many moons ago.
The rumor was the Department of Licensing was calling Investigators in a sort of "sting" -- to see if they would find information about a person and hand it over, without respecting the subject's privacy or rights.
I think the rumor was fact.
There is great need for caution because some clients can be dangerous to a P.I.'s professional health.
Case in point are the cases of P.I.'s directing stalkers to their victims.
Many are the horror stories of adopted children reunited with parents who turned out to parasites, or predators.
And there will always and forever be the darkest of the domestics... when love turned to hate.
Then hate tainted the mind... and what was once a sea of love, became a poisoned swamp.
Recently someone told me they were getting a "friendly divorce."
I said there was no such thing as a friendly divorce.
A divorce is war, any way you look at it.
It is never a coming together, it is always a tearing apart.
As the current economy continues to tank, we know what rises to the surface.
And a P.I. never really knows if the person hiring us is being real, or just tossing us a line.
While bad acts are good for business, they are bad for the planet.
The P.I.'s karmic quest is to balance the two.
In this investigator's opinion.... there are generations of little bullies who've grown into big bullies.
Many of them have found their way into influential positions that can make or break a person and their business.
Private Investigators see these big bullies all the time.
They are the subjects we pursue because they are pursuing our clients.
When we were kids, brawn beat brain.
As adults, brain beats brawn hands-down...
provided, you play your cards right.
There are always parameters to consider, boundaries to respect, borders to be drawn.
And within those confines... there are mountains to climb, hurdles to leap, boulders to move.
Private Investigation can be a very challenging business.
When a case comes in from someone I don't know.... asking me to find someone they have lost touch with... my first question is: "why?"
There's always a reason.
That reason will either be the truth or a lie.
"My first real boyfriend. "
"My long lost girlfriend."
"My father's brother."
"I'm big fan of his and want to mail him a letter."
"We lost touch so long ago."
"Childhood friends"
"I want to know if he or she is still alive."
My second question is "what will you do with that information?"
Then there is a third, and fourth question.
And finally, my declaration.
"If I find the person.... and there are no guarantees I will... I will give them a letter from you or a message from you. However, I will not give you their address, phone, location unless they want me to."
The locates, like the backgrounds, can be the bread and butter of many a P.I.'s business.
However, the butter can spoil and the bread can mold and you could be poisoned by your own case.
Find a woman hiding from an abusive or psychotic male and you may have murder on your hands.
Miss a couple of states in your background search and you've got a sex offender employed in an elementary school.
Violate someone's rights in a pre-employment search and you've got yourself a lawsuit.
That's why some P.I.'s back away from backgrounds and hide from locates.
There was a rumor going around among my fellow investigators many moons ago.
The rumor was the Department of Licensing was calling Investigators in a sort of "sting" -- to see if they would find information about a person and hand it over, without respecting the subject's privacy or rights.
I think the rumor was fact.
There is great need for caution because some clients can be dangerous to a P.I.'s professional health.
Case in point are the cases of P.I.'s directing stalkers to their victims.
Many are the horror stories of adopted children reunited with parents who turned out to parasites, or predators.
And there will always and forever be the darkest of the domestics... when love turned to hate.
Then hate tainted the mind... and what was once a sea of love, became a poisoned swamp.
Recently someone told me they were getting a "friendly divorce."
I said there was no such thing as a friendly divorce.
A divorce is war, any way you look at it.
It is never a coming together, it is always a tearing apart.
As the current economy continues to tank, we know what rises to the surface.
And a P.I. never really knows if the person hiring us is being real, or just tossing us a line.
While bad acts are good for business, they are bad for the planet.
The P.I.'s karmic quest is to balance the two.
In this investigator's opinion.... there are generations of little bullies who've grown into big bullies.
Many of them have found their way into influential positions that can make or break a person and their business.
Private Investigators see these big bullies all the time.
They are the subjects we pursue because they are pursuing our clients.
When we were kids, brawn beat brain.
As adults, brain beats brawn hands-down...
provided, you play your cards right.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Favorite True Crime Book Reviewer Is Back!
Yvette Kelly, who writes an amazing true crime book review blog I am shamelessly addicted to, was the victim of a crime and it's taken some time for her re-emerge. Check out her account and follow her blog. It's one thing to write about it others' stories, to investigate them. It's another thing to live through them. Here's her first hand account.
I'll be back later this eve with my own blog post about a guy I saw Friday night with a story to tell that surprised even this seasoned investigator. Need to write up a few cases first. So please check back.
Meantime I'm glad Yvette is back.
At least she thinks she is.
Recovery from crime takes a huge amount of time. And then, I wonder, do we ever really recover? Link below or on title to this post.
True Crime Book Reviews: I think I am back!!
I'll be back later this eve with my own blog post about a guy I saw Friday night with a story to tell that surprised even this seasoned investigator. Need to write up a few cases first. So please check back.
Meantime I'm glad Yvette is back.
At least she thinks she is.
Recovery from crime takes a huge amount of time. And then, I wonder, do we ever really recover? Link below or on title to this post.
True Crime Book Reviews: I think I am back!!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
The Horror! The Horror!
Click on the title of this post to link to an article Called The Horror! The Horror! written by Paula Uruburu of Hofstra University. I found the story on In Cold Blog. Paula knew Dawn Defoe one the victims of the mass murder in the notorious house. She knew the family.
It's a a great true crime tale on a Halloween night like this.... when the allegedly thin veil between the spirit world and the living one reveals itself.
It's a a great true crime tale on a Halloween night like this.... when the allegedly thin veil between the spirit world and the living one reveals itself.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
The Rotten Rottie
It started off like any other day. I had another Private Investigator with me on this day. He was armed. I was not.
And I'd like to clarify I did not ask him to come armed, that was just what he did by nature whenever he accompanied me to some of the rougher neighborhoods I often frequent.
It wasn't until the day was done he showed me to his new gun, a Glock 40 Semi Automatic.
I was very glad he chose not to use it. In my opinion, that's what the police are for.
That said, I asked him to accompany me for two reasons. I was going to a bad place, one of those apartment complexes that a white girl like me is noticed the minute I exit my vehicle. Normally this is not a problem because I am there to help someone in those apartments...so word has already been circulating that an investigator.... "My Investigator"... is coming. So the gang bangers and busy bodies just leave me be.
On this day, however, I was hired to photograph a dog, a Rottweiler, living in the apartment manager's unit. The Rottweiler bit one of the tenants of the apartment. And what added insult to injury was the fact that the bitten tenant was one the apartment manager's friends.
My assignment was to get a picture of the dog still tied up outside the apartment manager's door, despite the bite. I thought it absurd the manager would have a vicious dog to begin with, let alone leave it tied up outside after it attacked one person.
I photographed the victim and the bite just before going to see the dog.
The dog bit the attorney's client on the arm.
"He had me in the death grip" I recall her telling me.
I asked what every investigator asks countless times.
"And then what happened?"
"He sniffed me," she said, "realized he knew me...that I was a friend.... and let me go"
I photographed the white wrap on her arm and then the shredded flesh underneath it as the victim's mother unwrapped the wound so she could treat it and I could see it.. As I took my pictures I could not help thinking of all the dogs my clients have in their homes... how they run to greet me...and how one of them could smell one of my dogs on me... and get me in a death grip.
My unfamiliar scent, would tighten... not release... that death grip.
So after I photographed the injury, my job was to photograph the dog. I couldn't get too close but did climb to the top of the small metal fence to snap pictures of the dog who paced like a wild hungry lion.
Meantime the P.I. behind me, in the driver's seat of my vehicle who kept watch, said, "someone's watching you." I kept clicking away.
The dog noticed me and then turned my way, started barking viciously, my camera closed in on him pulling at his chain as I got close ups of his killer jaws.
"There are more guys heading your way. You got enough pictures, get out of there!"
I ignored him and kept snapping the dog until I heard my partner's command, "Now! Leave!"
I turned, ran, and lept into the passenger seat as my partner and savior of the day peeled away from the curb.
"That was close" I said, the adrenalin rush raw and fresh.
"Still close," my partner said as he looked in the rear view mirror. "They're following us."
We were being chased by a car full of gang-bangers. This was not good.
Though, given the choice of getting a ticket by the police... or being shot by gang bangers we chose option A.
We ran several red lights and took some quick turns until we found our way to I5 and headed north, weaving in and out of traffic, then exited quickly enough to lose them.
I delivered the pictures of the victim's wounds and the close-ups of the vicious dog's grizzly whites to the attorney two days later.
As I shared our adventure with the attorney, I couldn't tell whether he wasn't listening... or he just didn't care. All the attorney wanted was his shots, he got them and was already onto the next case.
We pushed the limits that day for someone who really didn't care that we did.
There was a lesson in that for me.
Some attorneys see their investigators as teammates, others as tool-heads.
I prefer to work for the former.
And I'd like to clarify I did not ask him to come armed, that was just what he did by nature whenever he accompanied me to some of the rougher neighborhoods I often frequent.
It wasn't until the day was done he showed me to his new gun, a Glock 40 Semi Automatic.
I was very glad he chose not to use it. In my opinion, that's what the police are for.
That said, I asked him to accompany me for two reasons. I was going to a bad place, one of those apartment complexes that a white girl like me is noticed the minute I exit my vehicle. Normally this is not a problem because I am there to help someone in those apartments...so word has already been circulating that an investigator.... "My Investigator"... is coming. So the gang bangers and busy bodies just leave me be.
On this day, however, I was hired to photograph a dog, a Rottweiler, living in the apartment manager's unit. The Rottweiler bit one of the tenants of the apartment. And what added insult to injury was the fact that the bitten tenant was one the apartment manager's friends.
My assignment was to get a picture of the dog still tied up outside the apartment manager's door, despite the bite. I thought it absurd the manager would have a vicious dog to begin with, let alone leave it tied up outside after it attacked one person.
I photographed the victim and the bite just before going to see the dog.
The dog bit the attorney's client on the arm.
"He had me in the death grip" I recall her telling me.
I asked what every investigator asks countless times.
"And then what happened?"
"He sniffed me," she said, "realized he knew me...that I was a friend.... and let me go"
I photographed the white wrap on her arm and then the shredded flesh underneath it as the victim's mother unwrapped the wound so she could treat it and I could see it.. As I took my pictures I could not help thinking of all the dogs my clients have in their homes... how they run to greet me...and how one of them could smell one of my dogs on me... and get me in a death grip.
My unfamiliar scent, would tighten... not release... that death grip.
So after I photographed the injury, my job was to photograph the dog. I couldn't get too close but did climb to the top of the small metal fence to snap pictures of the dog who paced like a wild hungry lion.
Meantime the P.I. behind me, in the driver's seat of my vehicle who kept watch, said, "someone's watching you." I kept clicking away.
The dog noticed me and then turned my way, started barking viciously, my camera closed in on him pulling at his chain as I got close ups of his killer jaws.
"There are more guys heading your way. You got enough pictures, get out of there!"
I ignored him and kept snapping the dog until I heard my partner's command, "Now! Leave!"
I turned, ran, and lept into the passenger seat as my partner and savior of the day peeled away from the curb.
"That was close" I said, the adrenalin rush raw and fresh.
"Still close," my partner said as he looked in the rear view mirror. "They're following us."
We were being chased by a car full of gang-bangers. This was not good.
Though, given the choice of getting a ticket by the police... or being shot by gang bangers we chose option A.
We ran several red lights and took some quick turns until we found our way to I5 and headed north, weaving in and out of traffic, then exited quickly enough to lose them.
I delivered the pictures of the victim's wounds and the close-ups of the vicious dog's grizzly whites to the attorney two days later.
As I shared our adventure with the attorney, I couldn't tell whether he wasn't listening... or he just didn't care. All the attorney wanted was his shots, he got them and was already onto the next case.
We pushed the limits that day for someone who really didn't care that we did.
There was a lesson in that for me.
Some attorneys see their investigators as teammates, others as tool-heads.
I prefer to work for the former.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Teen Drinking
There's an area north, then west of where I live, where you cross the Hood Canal Bridge which takes you to the northern tip of the Olympic Penninsula. When you hit Port Angeles and hang a left, there's a highway that goes up to the Olympic Mountains to a place called Hurricane Ridge, which I've written about here before.
It was on this road the accident happened. Another investigator joined me on a scene investigation in which we were asked to assess a driver's liability. Because the location was remote, the highway narrow and the tasks complex, I did not feel comfortable working the case alone. The investigator I brought with me was armed. We were as likely to encounter a cougar as we were a psycho.
What happened in the accident we were investigating was allegedly this:
The attorney's client, who is essence was our client, let's call him "Darren"... was asleep in the back seat of a male friend's car while driving the mountain road at night. The driver was drunk, 18, the front seat male passenger was 18 and had been drinking with him. As did our potential client Darren, also 18. They'd been friends since childhood.
What the driver contended was this:
A he took a curve, there was a pile of gravel that had been dumped before sunset by a road crew for laying out the following day.
The driver said he hit the gravel and that's what caused the accident.
The car flipped vertically from head (front end), to toe(rear end) before landing upside down in the bushes in a culvert by the side of side of the road.
Our guy Darren , the guy in the back seat who was sleeping or passed out drunk, remembered waking up after the accident on the roof of the car and climbed out through the broken windshield.
Everyone survived. Darren was the most injured, his cheekbone and eye orbit were shattered. His right knee was crushed, his right leg was broken.
His medical bills started off sky-high with the airlift.
And there were years of surgeries ahead guaranteed to send those medical bills into the stratosphere.
There was minimal insurance on the car Darren was driving. 25K per occurance, 50k per accident. Darren had no car and therefore, no auto insurance of his own.
Darren's parents had no auto or health insurance
So what's the victim of a drunk driver with the lowest of insurance limits to do?
Claim faulty road construction.
The sue the state.
Problem was it wasn't faulty road construction.
We measured the scene, the skid marks, photographed the road from all directions, correlated our scene sketch to the ones attached to the police report. We got pictures of chunks of wood ripped from massive tree trunks by the metal 2500 pound missile.
We both became one with the car, the road, the curve and the path it took when it went airborn and landed upside down in the tree.
There was no pile of gravel to be found anywhere. No road obstructions.
There was however, twice the legal limit of alcohol in the drivers blood. Just about the same amount Darren's.
Plus there was a road sign indicating a curve up ahead, a speed limit sign that said 35 mph. The car was going an estimated 65 mph.
We advised the attorneys not to take the case and they concurred.
Parents never know what their kids are up to once they start driving.
Auto accidents are the number one cause of death among teenagers. Alcohol ups the ante considerably.
So if you teach your kids nothing else, teach them about not getting into a car with anyone who's been drinking. Themselves included.
If you tell them this true story, maybe they'll even get the point.
It was on this road the accident happened. Another investigator joined me on a scene investigation in which we were asked to assess a driver's liability. Because the location was remote, the highway narrow and the tasks complex, I did not feel comfortable working the case alone. The investigator I brought with me was armed. We were as likely to encounter a cougar as we were a psycho.
What happened in the accident we were investigating was allegedly this:
The attorney's client, who is essence was our client, let's call him "Darren"... was asleep in the back seat of a male friend's car while driving the mountain road at night. The driver was drunk, 18, the front seat male passenger was 18 and had been drinking with him. As did our potential client Darren, also 18. They'd been friends since childhood.
What the driver contended was this:
A he took a curve, there was a pile of gravel that had been dumped before sunset by a road crew for laying out the following day.
The driver said he hit the gravel and that's what caused the accident.
The car flipped vertically from head (front end), to toe(rear end) before landing upside down in the bushes in a culvert by the side of side of the road.
Our guy Darren , the guy in the back seat who was sleeping or passed out drunk, remembered waking up after the accident on the roof of the car and climbed out through the broken windshield.
Everyone survived. Darren was the most injured, his cheekbone and eye orbit were shattered. His right knee was crushed, his right leg was broken.
His medical bills started off sky-high with the airlift.
And there were years of surgeries ahead guaranteed to send those medical bills into the stratosphere.
There was minimal insurance on the car Darren was driving. 25K per occurance, 50k per accident. Darren had no car and therefore, no auto insurance of his own.
Darren's parents had no auto or health insurance
So what's the victim of a drunk driver with the lowest of insurance limits to do?
Claim faulty road construction.
The sue the state.
Problem was it wasn't faulty road construction.
We measured the scene, the skid marks, photographed the road from all directions, correlated our scene sketch to the ones attached to the police report. We got pictures of chunks of wood ripped from massive tree trunks by the metal 2500 pound missile.
We both became one with the car, the road, the curve and the path it took when it went airborn and landed upside down in the tree.
There was no pile of gravel to be found anywhere. No road obstructions.
There was however, twice the legal limit of alcohol in the drivers blood. Just about the same amount Darren's.
Plus there was a road sign indicating a curve up ahead, a speed limit sign that said 35 mph. The car was going an estimated 65 mph.
We advised the attorneys not to take the case and they concurred.
Parents never know what their kids are up to once they start driving.
Auto accidents are the number one cause of death among teenagers. Alcohol ups the ante considerably.
So if you teach your kids nothing else, teach them about not getting into a car with anyone who's been drinking. Themselves included.
If you tell them this true story, maybe they'll even get the point.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Suicide By Cop
It's been a while since I posted. I just got back from a conference... 91 licensed P.I.'s all in one place... talking about things related to the business of Private Investigation.
We P.I.'s are, by nature and avocation, solitary creatures. Put us all in one room with the best in the business ...teaching, speaking, sharing.... and you can't help but be a sponge and soak it all in. There is great pleasure in learning, particularly from the best of the best.
When it was over, a small group of us splintered off before heading home. We caught a quick happy hour before parting ways: sharing backgrounds, swapping stories, discussing cases.... feeling comfortable, maybe even "normal," in the company of those who walk in the same moccasins I do.
And so, the topic of this blog came up. One of the people with us was "Lil," the subject of my last blog. The previous post about Lil and Ed wasn't a particularly meaningful post in terms of lessons learned, helpful advice or investigative technique.
We talked about the blog, she told the others about the post and we we laughed again, all of us, at how tough we can be and what wooses P.I.'s are when threatened by a flu bug named after a pig.
As we discussed how the rest of our Saturday night would play out, I said what I really wanted to to was catch the next ferry out and write a blog. The writing I said, is like a hunger, a craving that must be fed.
That led to to a discussion of what I would blog about.
After all, my brain was somewhat weary, the hour late. The group suggested I blog about our evening, or one of the tales we were telling. The laughter was rich, deep and resonant.
"I already know what I want to write about," I declared. "Suicide by Cop."
"Too serious" I recall someone saying.
I explained this was a story that has been with me for years.
One of our table-mates was former cop turned P.I.
He understood, I think, the need to sometimes release the tension in a way other than humor. Often, the telling of a darker truth can be liberating.
And that is the story I will tell tonight.
I have never written about it. Yet this story, this case is real.
It was the first time I realized some people who want to commit suicide really do choose to have others take them out rather than doing it themselves.
And some people choose to commit suicide by cop.
Yet, as so often happens in life, things seldom go down the way you'd expect.
So here's what went upside down.
I was told by a Seattle woman who tried to hire me, that her brother was in jail in Los Angeles for a second time.
She told me the first time he was broke, had taken to robbing banks and got caught.
He was sent to prison and he wasn't happy about it. He said "jail sucked big-time" and he had no choice but to "do his time."
Though he did say to anyone who'd listen, he would never stay in prison again.
If he was arrested, he said, he'd eat a plastic fork in jail which he was fairly certain would kill him.
That was a concept that was both original and hard for me to wrap my head around.
When he was released from prison, he was sent to live with my prospective client's older sister, in Los Angeles.
He repeated the story about eating the plastic fork if he was arrested to a number of witnesses because he said he would prefer suicide rather than staying in prison.
And it wasn't long before he repeated his prior past habit of bank robbing.
He wasn't very good at it.
While he pointed a gun at the teller, the alarm was set off while he was in the bank.
As he headed out out of the final bank he was ever to rob, the bank was surrounded by police. He walked out the front door, lifted his gun and allegedly aimed it at a police officer. He was shot four times and went down.
Amazingly enough, he lived.
There was triage, an airlift and a very long hospital stay.
End result, he was a paralyzed from the waist down. At 24, his sister told me, he would waste his life away in prison in a wheelchair.
However, someone in the family got the brilliant idea that it wasn't his fault he was stuck in the position. It was the fault of the police. They paralyzed him and wanted to to file a lawsuit against the police, the City of Los Angeles, , whoever, for civil damages. The family wanted me to work the case.
I passed.
Then three years passed before I saw his sister again.
To my complete and total amazement, he won a $9 million judgement.
I still haven't figured that one out. Mainly because I don't care to.
Some things not worth fathoming... are still worth writing about.
We P.I.'s are, by nature and avocation, solitary creatures. Put us all in one room with the best in the business ...teaching, speaking, sharing.... and you can't help but be a sponge and soak it all in. There is great pleasure in learning, particularly from the best of the best.
When it was over, a small group of us splintered off before heading home. We caught a quick happy hour before parting ways: sharing backgrounds, swapping stories, discussing cases.... feeling comfortable, maybe even "normal," in the company of those who walk in the same moccasins I do.
And so, the topic of this blog came up. One of the people with us was "Lil," the subject of my last blog. The previous post about Lil and Ed wasn't a particularly meaningful post in terms of lessons learned, helpful advice or investigative technique.
We talked about the blog, she told the others about the post and we we laughed again, all of us, at how tough we can be and what wooses P.I.'s are when threatened by a flu bug named after a pig.
As we discussed how the rest of our Saturday night would play out, I said what I really wanted to to was catch the next ferry out and write a blog. The writing I said, is like a hunger, a craving that must be fed.
That led to to a discussion of what I would blog about.
After all, my brain was somewhat weary, the hour late. The group suggested I blog about our evening, or one of the tales we were telling. The laughter was rich, deep and resonant.
"I already know what I want to write about," I declared. "Suicide by Cop."
"Too serious" I recall someone saying.
I explained this was a story that has been with me for years.
One of our table-mates was former cop turned P.I.
He understood, I think, the need to sometimes release the tension in a way other than humor. Often, the telling of a darker truth can be liberating.
And that is the story I will tell tonight.
I have never written about it. Yet this story, this case is real.
It was the first time I realized some people who want to commit suicide really do choose to have others take them out rather than doing it themselves.
And some people choose to commit suicide by cop.
Yet, as so often happens in life, things seldom go down the way you'd expect.
So here's what went upside down.
I was told by a Seattle woman who tried to hire me, that her brother was in jail in Los Angeles for a second time.
She told me the first time he was broke, had taken to robbing banks and got caught.
He was sent to prison and he wasn't happy about it. He said "jail sucked big-time" and he had no choice but to "do his time."
Though he did say to anyone who'd listen, he would never stay in prison again.
If he was arrested, he said, he'd eat a plastic fork in jail which he was fairly certain would kill him.
That was a concept that was both original and hard for me to wrap my head around.
When he was released from prison, he was sent to live with my prospective client's older sister, in Los Angeles.
He repeated the story about eating the plastic fork if he was arrested to a number of witnesses because he said he would prefer suicide rather than staying in prison.
And it wasn't long before he repeated his prior past habit of bank robbing.
He wasn't very good at it.
While he pointed a gun at the teller, the alarm was set off while he was in the bank.
As he headed out out of the final bank he was ever to rob, the bank was surrounded by police. He walked out the front door, lifted his gun and allegedly aimed it at a police officer. He was shot four times and went down.
Amazingly enough, he lived.
There was triage, an airlift and a very long hospital stay.
End result, he was a paralyzed from the waist down. At 24, his sister told me, he would waste his life away in prison in a wheelchair.
However, someone in the family got the brilliant idea that it wasn't his fault he was stuck in the position. It was the fault of the police. They paralyzed him and wanted to to file a lawsuit against the police, the City of Los Angeles, , whoever, for civil damages. The family wanted me to work the case.
I passed.
Then three years passed before I saw his sister again.
To my complete and total amazement, he won a $9 million judgement.
I still haven't figured that one out. Mainly because I don't care to.
Some things not worth fathoming... are still worth writing about.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Swine Flu
I think we were both a little too tense today. It just happens, two people share a single moment that can be a force for a positive or negative release of pent up tension.
As a P.I., you develop other investigator friends.
And when you hit a crossroads in a case.... like when you are asked to do something questionable.... you question someone else you trust about whether it's worth, or legal, doing. In my case, my advisors and friends happen to include investigators and attorneys.
I was on my way to a case this morning talking on my cell to a female Private Investigator friend named Lil. As I grow my business in the day's ahead, Lil will be one of my key operatives. Her favorite work is undercover.
So Lil and I had been playing telephone tag. On my trip to the IRS this a.m. (what a joy to be audited) Lil called. We talked a litle while about our days ahead .
I tend to live in 24 hour increments so we started there... and I noticed she sounded particularly anxious.
"Where are you?" I asked. She said she'd give me the nutshell version.
Lil's boyfriend, a single widow.... we'll call him Ed.... lives with his two girls. My friend Lil, a single mom divorced from a very handsome charming psychopath who tried to posion her, lives with her daughter in separate house.
The two separate houses are a good thing in my opinion.
Because blended families, when not handled right are dynamite.
So while Ed and Lil love each other, they also love their independence. Therefore, they maintain separate residences.
Regardless, Lil tells me breathlessly that she just ran to Costco, bought a case of chicken soup and saltines.... and she's on her way to Ed's front porch... juggling her cell phone on her ear as we speak... to drop the soup and saltines by the front door, ring the bell and run away.
"Why run away?" I ask.
"Ed and the two girls have the swine flu" she whispers. I hear her drop the soup by the door, "I'm ringing the bell now" she rasps...
Then I hear her footsteps and she runs to car, starts it, and says, "I'm back and outa' here."
I couldn't help myself. It was like a dam had burst. I started laughing.
"They ALL have the swine flu?" I asked .
"All three of 'em," Lil said as she started laughing. Before we knew it we were gasping for air.
"Somethings seriously wrong with us." I said, "People are dying from this."
And that only caused us to laugh harder.
"Why don't you blog about this missy?" Lil said, giggling. " Why don't you write about how we tough PI's face stare down rats and walk through piss and deal with bums, metheads and lunatics. Yet you say swine flu and we run like chickens."
And off we went again. Laughing at something not meant to be funny.
It's like... you have to let it out somehow.
Police have shrinks. Who do PI's have? Each other.
We are a rare breed of people. Some of us choose to be highly visible, almost transparent with an eye for the public eye.
Others, like me, are public reluctantly.
I am here with said reluctance, responding to the economic turndown in an attempt to stay in tune with the new media.
I also see this as a means to do some good -- to educate the general public and to add legitimacy to a profession that has been unfairly tarnished in media portrayals and by unethical sleazeball P.I.'s.
And let me add one more note.
I woke up early this am to a call from another friend.
She also had the swine flu.
She is in private practice and has lost two weeks work. Her husband was just laid off. I spent my morning beachwalk on the cell phone plumbing her depths... and mine... to see if there was a financial way out. She was terrfied and I have been there.
So I don't take this stuff lightly.
Swine flu is taking out many people now, it's no laughing matter.
Unless, of course, it becomes an excuse to release the stresss we all feel.
And you have a blog to write about it on.
As a P.I., you develop other investigator friends.
And when you hit a crossroads in a case.... like when you are asked to do something questionable.... you question someone else you trust about whether it's worth, or legal, doing. In my case, my advisors and friends happen to include investigators and attorneys.
I was on my way to a case this morning talking on my cell to a female Private Investigator friend named Lil. As I grow my business in the day's ahead, Lil will be one of my key operatives. Her favorite work is undercover.
So Lil and I had been playing telephone tag. On my trip to the IRS this a.m. (what a joy to be audited) Lil called. We talked a litle while about our days ahead .
I tend to live in 24 hour increments so we started there... and I noticed she sounded particularly anxious.
"Where are you?" I asked. She said she'd give me the nutshell version.
Lil's boyfriend, a single widow.... we'll call him Ed.... lives with his two girls. My friend Lil, a single mom divorced from a very handsome charming psychopath who tried to posion her, lives with her daughter in separate house.
The two separate houses are a good thing in my opinion.
Because blended families, when not handled right are dynamite.
So while Ed and Lil love each other, they also love their independence. Therefore, they maintain separate residences.
Regardless, Lil tells me breathlessly that she just ran to Costco, bought a case of chicken soup and saltines.... and she's on her way to Ed's front porch... juggling her cell phone on her ear as we speak... to drop the soup and saltines by the front door, ring the bell and run away.
"Why run away?" I ask.
"Ed and the two girls have the swine flu" she whispers. I hear her drop the soup by the door, "I'm ringing the bell now" she rasps...
Then I hear her footsteps and she runs to car, starts it, and says, "I'm back and outa' here."
I couldn't help myself. It was like a dam had burst. I started laughing.
"They ALL have the swine flu?" I asked .
"All three of 'em," Lil said as she started laughing. Before we knew it we were gasping for air.
"Somethings seriously wrong with us." I said, "People are dying from this."
And that only caused us to laugh harder.
"Why don't you blog about this missy?" Lil said, giggling. " Why don't you write about how we tough PI's face stare down rats and walk through piss and deal with bums, metheads and lunatics. Yet you say swine flu and we run like chickens."
And off we went again. Laughing at something not meant to be funny.
It's like... you have to let it out somehow.
Police have shrinks. Who do PI's have? Each other.
We are a rare breed of people. Some of us choose to be highly visible, almost transparent with an eye for the public eye.
Others, like me, are public reluctantly.
I am here with said reluctance, responding to the economic turndown in an attempt to stay in tune with the new media.
I also see this as a means to do some good -- to educate the general public and to add legitimacy to a profession that has been unfairly tarnished in media portrayals and by unethical sleazeball P.I.'s.
And let me add one more note.
I woke up early this am to a call from another friend.
She also had the swine flu.
She is in private practice and has lost two weeks work. Her husband was just laid off. I spent my morning beachwalk on the cell phone plumbing her depths... and mine... to see if there was a financial way out. She was terrfied and I have been there.
So I don't take this stuff lightly.
Swine flu is taking out many people now, it's no laughing matter.
Unless, of course, it becomes an excuse to release the stresss we all feel.
And you have a blog to write about it on.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Auto Accident Survivors
Okay, so I have this saying:
"When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on."
For me, one knot usually does the trick.
Today I tied several knots. And go figure... I'm still here.
It seem many of my client's universes collided at the same and I got lots of calls of panic between cases. So there was a lot of listening while driving, some soothing, then a re-direct of those calls to the law firm. I explained I am out of the loop until I come back later.... if and when needed for witness interviews, further investigation, deposition or trial.
I explain that I am a subcontractor, not an employee of the law firm.
I'm a cost in a legal action, like medical records, police reports, experts, copies... all the out of pocket expenses an attorney has to invest to land or win a case. If the attorneys don't in they pay no costs.
What I do, is come in a white horse (actually a blue Trail Blazer), at the beginning of a case, as close to the time of injury as possible. I have the easiest part of the job because once I get to a injured victim's hospital room or house, they want me there. They see me... an agent of the attorney... as an agent of hope.
What I, the Private Investigator is, in essence, is a messenger, evaluator...
and a legitimately and gainfully-employed voyeur.
I am the eyes and ears of the attorney in the field.
I strive to weed out the scammers from the truth-tellers...
the sizzle from the substance...
the prospective clients who are into claims for the money and not the healing.
I strive to protect both clients and attorneys from false claims or the smaller ones, where the return on the attorney's investments would not be in the client's or attorney's best interest.
For instance, in cases where insurance limits are 25k and medical bills are already 30k, it doesn't make sense to hire an attorney and give him or her a third..
Unless...
the only insurance company you are dealing with is your own.
That would make it an UIM claim (Uninsured Motorists Or Underinsured Motorist)... which means your insurance company is allowed by certain state laws to take an "adversarial posture." Once a UIM claim is opened by your insurance company, they can act like the Defendant.
That is why attorneys take on clients who have to sue their own insurance company to get benefits they paid for... when the other guy, the car at fault, has no insurance or too little to cover a fair settlement.
I hope that's not too boring a tale. But those are the facts of auto accident investigation, among many. I do more vehicle collisions than any kind of accident and I have learned how to drive as a result.
Mellow.
No road rage, no left lane driving,
No hanging in groups.
And never, ever will I drive in front of a semi because, according to to one friend, a former Investigator and Instructor for a State Patrol's Major Accident Investigation squad, something like 80% of all semi's allegedly have faulty brakes.
Now that's I've totally pushed your paranoia button, let me take it one step further.
This being both diary and confessional, let me tell you ever so briefly about who I saw today.
There was the old lady in whose bedroom room I sat. She was a passenger in a car that was hit head on by a teenager texting. The elderly woman got punched and burnt bad in the face by an airbag deployment. She is 92. She also broke her hip when it hit the door and her back, she said, "is sorer than hell."
She told me, in the same matter-of-fact way we talked about the torrents of rain hitting the roof of her retirement home, that she could die any minute.
"And maybe it'll be from the accident. or maybe because I'm old," she said. "Truth be told, I Iived to 92 able to walk on my own, now I'm in a wheelchair and if the sons of a bitches who hit me take one more thing... one more day... one more year off my life... I want them to pay me or my kids."
All I could think to say, which now, as I reflect was quite stupid... was, "you go girl."
Though it did make her laugh.
What didn't make me last was my last stop of the day. It was a little boy, age 8 comatose with a brain injury in ICU. It's hard to think of anything to say to parents who are facing such a tragedy on so many levels. The little boy was in a crosswalk when a drunk driver hit and ran. She was stopped at a light by Good Sams who chased and held her there until the police report.
"What if the drunk driver has no insurance?" the father asked. "All we have is about 100k in UIM (Under or Uninsured Motorist).
I told Dad there were no guarantees in this business, though the job of the Investigator is to look for all sources of liability. Meaning we look for sources of insurance money.
"It is possible," I explained slowly as I studied the police report. " to investigate the last place the drunk driver drank. We might be able to make an over-service case."
According the Police Report, the officer said the DEF Drunk Driver admitted she had a few shots at local bar before exiting. The same bar had video cameras, I was told. There'd been a stabbing there before.
So if the DEF arrived drunk or was over-served, perhaps we could request or subpeona the bar's videos. Then maybe we could tap into the bar's insurance company... to cover their little boy's medical bills. Because it was within 5 minutes of exiting the bar, the DWI DEF hit the little boy and attempted to run.
And so as I crossed the Puget Sound tonight... just about sunset... I thought of the little boy in a coma and the old lady in a wheelchair and the irony was inescapable.
I... free, safe, healthy heading home on my White Horse... the Washington State ferry... until tomorrow and whatever it brings.
Meantime to my new FB friends and blog readers including my new students at UW....
It was a pleasure meeting you all last night.
It's a little intimidating... the backgrounds some of you have.
I suspect, however, I'll get over it.
"When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on."
For me, one knot usually does the trick.
Today I tied several knots. And go figure... I'm still here.
It seem many of my client's universes collided at the same and I got lots of calls of panic between cases. So there was a lot of listening while driving, some soothing, then a re-direct of those calls to the law firm. I explained I am out of the loop until I come back later.... if and when needed for witness interviews, further investigation, deposition or trial.
I explain that I am a subcontractor, not an employee of the law firm.
I'm a cost in a legal action, like medical records, police reports, experts, copies... all the out of pocket expenses an attorney has to invest to land or win a case. If the attorneys don't in they pay no costs.
What I do, is come in a white horse (actually a blue Trail Blazer), at the beginning of a case, as close to the time of injury as possible. I have the easiest part of the job because once I get to a injured victim's hospital room or house, they want me there. They see me... an agent of the attorney... as an agent of hope.
What I, the Private Investigator is, in essence, is a messenger, evaluator...
and a legitimately and gainfully-employed voyeur.
I am the eyes and ears of the attorney in the field.
I strive to weed out the scammers from the truth-tellers...
the sizzle from the substance...
the prospective clients who are into claims for the money and not the healing.
I strive to protect both clients and attorneys from false claims or the smaller ones, where the return on the attorney's investments would not be in the client's or attorney's best interest.
For instance, in cases where insurance limits are 25k and medical bills are already 30k, it doesn't make sense to hire an attorney and give him or her a third..
Unless...
the only insurance company you are dealing with is your own.
That would make it an UIM claim (Uninsured Motorists Or Underinsured Motorist)... which means your insurance company is allowed by certain state laws to take an "adversarial posture." Once a UIM claim is opened by your insurance company, they can act like the Defendant.
That is why attorneys take on clients who have to sue their own insurance company to get benefits they paid for... when the other guy, the car at fault, has no insurance or too little to cover a fair settlement.
I hope that's not too boring a tale. But those are the facts of auto accident investigation, among many. I do more vehicle collisions than any kind of accident and I have learned how to drive as a result.
Mellow.
No road rage, no left lane driving,
No hanging in groups.
And never, ever will I drive in front of a semi because, according to to one friend, a former Investigator and Instructor for a State Patrol's Major Accident Investigation squad, something like 80% of all semi's allegedly have faulty brakes.
Now that's I've totally pushed your paranoia button, let me take it one step further.
This being both diary and confessional, let me tell you ever so briefly about who I saw today.
There was the old lady in whose bedroom room I sat. She was a passenger in a car that was hit head on by a teenager texting. The elderly woman got punched and burnt bad in the face by an airbag deployment. She is 92. She also broke her hip when it hit the door and her back, she said, "is sorer than hell."
She told me, in the same matter-of-fact way we talked about the torrents of rain hitting the roof of her retirement home, that she could die any minute.
"And maybe it'll be from the accident. or maybe because I'm old," she said. "Truth be told, I Iived to 92 able to walk on my own, now I'm in a wheelchair and if the sons of a bitches who hit me take one more thing... one more day... one more year off my life... I want them to pay me or my kids."
All I could think to say, which now, as I reflect was quite stupid... was, "you go girl."
Though it did make her laugh.
What didn't make me last was my last stop of the day. It was a little boy, age 8 comatose with a brain injury in ICU. It's hard to think of anything to say to parents who are facing such a tragedy on so many levels. The little boy was in a crosswalk when a drunk driver hit and ran. She was stopped at a light by Good Sams who chased and held her there until the police report.
"What if the drunk driver has no insurance?" the father asked. "All we have is about 100k in UIM (Under or Uninsured Motorist).
I told Dad there were no guarantees in this business, though the job of the Investigator is to look for all sources of liability. Meaning we look for sources of insurance money.
"It is possible," I explained slowly as I studied the police report. " to investigate the last place the drunk driver drank. We might be able to make an over-service case."
According the Police Report, the officer said the DEF Drunk Driver admitted she had a few shots at local bar before exiting. The same bar had video cameras, I was told. There'd been a stabbing there before.
So if the DEF arrived drunk or was over-served, perhaps we could request or subpeona the bar's videos. Then maybe we could tap into the bar's insurance company... to cover their little boy's medical bills. Because it was within 5 minutes of exiting the bar, the DWI DEF hit the little boy and attempted to run.
And so as I crossed the Puget Sound tonight... just about sunset... I thought of the little boy in a coma and the old lady in a wheelchair and the irony was inescapable.
I... free, safe, healthy heading home on my White Horse... the Washington State ferry... until tomorrow and whatever it brings.
Meantime to my new FB friends and blog readers including my new students at UW....
It was a pleasure meeting you all last night.
It's a little intimidating... the backgrounds some of you have.
I suspect, however, I'll get over it.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Balloon Boy
Before I head out, which involves many hours on the road, I know what talk radio will be covering today. The little boy allegedly swept away in the dad's balloon.
Was it a fraud?
Or were the parents justified because they truly believed their kid went up in the balloon? Investigators have to remain objective,...however.... it appears the local police chief has already convicted the weatherman (the kid's dad) in the court of public opinion.
Will police press charges next week?
Will authorities attempt to recoup the cost of their in flight and road rescues?
Hard for me to imagine its a publicity stunt. Though stranger things have happened.
Just know, once the wind comes out of this balloon story, another tale will be inflated by the media to take its place.
When the media rides the winds of our justice system, storms inevitably follow.
Objectivity is what makes an investigator different than a judge, jury or the media.
The truth ultimately reveals itself in the facts.
In this investigator's experience, people with nothing to hide, hide nothing.
Was it a fraud?
Or were the parents justified because they truly believed their kid went up in the balloon? Investigators have to remain objective,...however.... it appears the local police chief has already convicted the weatherman (the kid's dad) in the court of public opinion.
Will police press charges next week?
Will authorities attempt to recoup the cost of their in flight and road rescues?
Hard for me to imagine its a publicity stunt. Though stranger things have happened.
Just know, once the wind comes out of this balloon story, another tale will be inflated by the media to take its place.
When the media rides the winds of our justice system, storms inevitably follow.
Objectivity is what makes an investigator different than a judge, jury or the media.
The truth ultimately reveals itself in the facts.
In this investigator's experience, people with nothing to hide, hide nothing.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Chest Tube
He was movie star handsome. A dead-ringer for a young Hugh Jackson.
So let's just call him Hugh.
Just 24 years old.
His shirt was buttoned down to expose his chest. Full six pack present.
There was just one near fatal flaw to Hugh's look of perfection.
That was a horizontal plastic box sticking out of his chest with tubes connected to it.
It's purpose was to keep his left lung lung inflated.
If it doesn't work, and we will know that tomorrow.... he will need lung surgery for the deflated lung he got when he as hit.
Hugh was driving, his 4 and 6 year old sons in the booster seats behind him in his fully paid for 99 Toyota Corolla, with only 75,000 miles on it, he said. A young woman came from his right, and ran a stop sign. Fortunately there were plenty of witnesses, including an ambulance behing the car that ran the stop sign.
Hugh was airlifted to Harborview, the kids taken to Mary Bridge. Mom, Hugh's ex met the kids there.
It happen Friday, 3 days ago. The hospital send Hugh home after five hours with the thing in his chest because he had no medical insurance or Personal Injury Protection on his auto insurance. I met him yesterday, Sunday, in his living room and handed in his case this morning.
After visiting Hugh Sunday morning, I headed north to " Deliverlance Land"at the base of the Cascade Mountains.
Dad, the client the attorney sent me to see, was rear-ended by a drunk driver and can't work because he blew three discs in his back and one in his neck.
Everyone in the house, Mom, Dad and two kids, including the 6 month sneezing baby had a "cold' they said.
I kept hearing swine snorfing in in my head.
I decided not to shake hands. They bought my excuse that I didn't want to expose them to anything. I decided to to leave my pen they used to sign their documents behind.
And when I got in my car, I swathed myself in the antibiotic hand stuff in my vehicle.
Then... wrote a note to self.
"Get swine flu shot. Tell Doctor my job is just like a health care worker and I should be one of the ones who get the vaccine first. "
The swine flu is heading here to Seattle mas rapido from Vancouver B.C.
I made the 7:30 ferry home last night (Sun), wrote up the cases, assembled the photos which I processed at stops throughout the day, wrote up the notes, the invoices then climbed in the sack by midnight.
Made the 7:50 ferry out this morning, dropped the cases at the law firm in Seattle. Then met one more injury victim and her husband in Federal Way. She was 7 months pregnant and a passenger, her husband driving, at the time of the hit. The seat belt pressed hard on her belly. The airbag deployed. The baby's heartbeat is slow now, they are watching it closely.
And then, there's tomorrow.
A brain injury in the morning....
a trip the vet for my rescue pup Bubba who has an ear infection...
a visit to a collision yard to photograph "Hugh Jackman's" car...
then to the the law firm to drop off cases.
After that, dinner with a friend in downtown Seattle....
then to UW by 6:00 to meet the new students in this years P.I. class.
I teach spring semester, though we three teachers work as a team. And this year, we have more students than we ever have had. At the beginning of every school year, all three teachers sit with the students, we go around the room, get to know them, we hear where they came from and why they want to be P.I.s. It's always fascinating because we have students of all ages, from the 20's to a couple 75 years old. We also tell our stories.
I am writing this kind of day-to-dayness... because I figure its better than writing nothing.
And after all, this is a diary... albeit the Diary of A Private Eye.
So tonight I say:
Dear Diary,
I am wiped out.
Weary to the bones.
Smelling the chicken thighs coated in olive and garlic slowing roasting near the potatoes.
I closed my last case file of the night before writing this blog,
Time to eat and then...
in just a few hours, close my eyes.
Problem is, we P.I.'s dream about cases.
And we wake up thinking about them.
So it never really stops.
So let's just call him Hugh.
Just 24 years old.
His shirt was buttoned down to expose his chest. Full six pack present.
There was just one near fatal flaw to Hugh's look of perfection.
That was a horizontal plastic box sticking out of his chest with tubes connected to it.
It's purpose was to keep his left lung lung inflated.
If it doesn't work, and we will know that tomorrow.... he will need lung surgery for the deflated lung he got when he as hit.
Hugh was driving, his 4 and 6 year old sons in the booster seats behind him in his fully paid for 99 Toyota Corolla, with only 75,000 miles on it, he said. A young woman came from his right, and ran a stop sign. Fortunately there were plenty of witnesses, including an ambulance behing the car that ran the stop sign.
Hugh was airlifted to Harborview, the kids taken to Mary Bridge. Mom, Hugh's ex met the kids there.
It happen Friday, 3 days ago. The hospital send Hugh home after five hours with the thing in his chest because he had no medical insurance or Personal Injury Protection on his auto insurance. I met him yesterday, Sunday, in his living room and handed in his case this morning.
After visiting Hugh Sunday morning, I headed north to " Deliverlance Land"at the base of the Cascade Mountains.
Dad, the client the attorney sent me to see, was rear-ended by a drunk driver and can't work because he blew three discs in his back and one in his neck.
Everyone in the house, Mom, Dad and two kids, including the 6 month sneezing baby had a "cold' they said.
I kept hearing swine snorfing in in my head.
I decided not to shake hands. They bought my excuse that I didn't want to expose them to anything. I decided to to leave my pen they used to sign their documents behind.
And when I got in my car, I swathed myself in the antibiotic hand stuff in my vehicle.
Then... wrote a note to self.
"Get swine flu shot. Tell Doctor my job is just like a health care worker and I should be one of the ones who get the vaccine first. "
The swine flu is heading here to Seattle mas rapido from Vancouver B.C.
I made the 7:30 ferry home last night (Sun), wrote up the cases, assembled the photos which I processed at stops throughout the day, wrote up the notes, the invoices then climbed in the sack by midnight.
Made the 7:50 ferry out this morning, dropped the cases at the law firm in Seattle. Then met one more injury victim and her husband in Federal Way. She was 7 months pregnant and a passenger, her husband driving, at the time of the hit. The seat belt pressed hard on her belly. The airbag deployed. The baby's heartbeat is slow now, they are watching it closely.
And then, there's tomorrow.
A brain injury in the morning....
a trip the vet for my rescue pup Bubba who has an ear infection...
a visit to a collision yard to photograph "Hugh Jackman's" car...
then to the the law firm to drop off cases.
After that, dinner with a friend in downtown Seattle....
then to UW by 6:00 to meet the new students in this years P.I. class.
I teach spring semester, though we three teachers work as a team. And this year, we have more students than we ever have had. At the beginning of every school year, all three teachers sit with the students, we go around the room, get to know them, we hear where they came from and why they want to be P.I.s. It's always fascinating because we have students of all ages, from the 20's to a couple 75 years old. We also tell our stories.
I am writing this kind of day-to-dayness... because I figure its better than writing nothing.
And after all, this is a diary... albeit the Diary of A Private Eye.
So tonight I say:
Dear Diary,
I am wiped out.
Weary to the bones.
Smelling the chicken thighs coated in olive and garlic slowing roasting near the potatoes.
I closed my last case file of the night before writing this blog,
Time to eat and then...
in just a few hours, close my eyes.
Problem is, we P.I.'s dream about cases.
And we wake up thinking about them.
So it never really stops.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
It's Raining Accidents
Car accidents happened 24/7. They happen during commutes to and from work, shopping, taking kids to school, going to the doctor, checking the PO Box.
Unlike the big cities where many commute via mass transit.... here where I live, and in most places, the car is an extension of the body. Most of us need a car to get somewhere.
It is vital to my job because I go to the injured who can't get out of their homes or hospital beds.
So I drive... ever drive.
Yesterday I logged 182 miles.
Tomorrow I head to a small mountain town... which will require a ferry crossing, a freeway trip north then up mountain road east to the base of the Cascades.... amid what is predicted to be a torrential downpour. The town I'm going to tomorrow is like a scene out of Deliverance. But that's another blog post, another time.
Today, I was stationary, writing up cases, answering calls from attorneys who refer their weekend injured my way.
A man I just spoke with told me he was calling from his living room. He was released from the hospital with a collapsed lung and a tube sticking out of his chest. He's supposed to call a doctor for a "follow" Monday, can barely speak and has no clue what to do.
He said yesterday, at 5:00 pm... he, and his passengers -- two sons, age 5 and 8 -- had right of way on a two lane road when a female driver, 23, allegedly on a cell phone, pulled out in front of them from a stop sign on their left. They couldn't stop in time. They T-Boned her. There were poilce, ambulances, ER's
And then phone call for me this morning and we were on the case by 11:00 am.
So I have to get moving now and because of the weather and the nature of this job, I never know when I get back. That's why I decided to borrow someone else's words and post the following now. I am hoping none of you have seen it yet. Maybe it has already circulated around the net and I am the last one to discover it.
I have no idea who wrote it. I can not find a copyright notice or author.
I received it from a friend in one of those email strings and promised myself it would find its way here.
I'm not sure if you will enjoy or dispute it.
I just couldn't resist posting it.
Sometimes I think men and women are from different planets. Othertimes I think we are a different species. Either way, its a wonder some of us manage to co-exist in peace.
This would illustrate said point.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A MAN WHO KNOWS HIS MATH
He writes:
I was riding to work yesterday when I observed a female
driver, who cut right in front of a pickup truck, causing
the driver to drive onto the shoulder to avoid hitting her.
This evidently angered the driver enough that he hung his
arm out his window and gave the woman the finger.
'Man, that guy is stupid,' I thought to myself. I ALWAYS
smile nicely and wave in a sheepish manner whenever a female
does anything to me in traffic, and here's why:
I drive 48 miles each way every day to work.
That's 96 miles each day.
Of these, 16 miles each way is bumper-to-bumper
Most of the bumper-to-bumper is on an 8 lane highway.
There are 7 cars every 40 feet for 32 miles.
That works out to 982 cars every mile, or 31,424 cars.
Even though the rest of the 32 miles is not bumper-to-bumper, I figure I pass at least another 4000 cars.
That brings the number to something like 36,000 cars that I
pass every day.
Statistically, females drive half of these.
That's 18,000 women drivers!
In any given group of females, 1 in 28 has PMS.
That's 642.
According to Cosmopolitan, 70% describe their love life as
dissatisfying or unrewarding.
That's 449.
According to the National Institute of Health, 22% of all
females have seriously considered suicide or homicide.
That's 98.
And 34% describe men as their biggest problem.
That's 33.
According to the National Rifle Association, 5% of all
females carry weapons and this number is increasing.That means that EVERY SINGLE DAY, I drive past at least one female who has a lousy love life, thinks men are her biggest problem, has seriously considered suicide or homicide, has PMS, and is ARMED.
Give her the finger?
I don't think so.
Unlike the big cities where many commute via mass transit.... here where I live, and in most places, the car is an extension of the body. Most of us need a car to get somewhere.
It is vital to my job because I go to the injured who can't get out of their homes or hospital beds.
So I drive... ever drive.
Yesterday I logged 182 miles.
Tomorrow I head to a small mountain town... which will require a ferry crossing, a freeway trip north then up mountain road east to the base of the Cascades.... amid what is predicted to be a torrential downpour. The town I'm going to tomorrow is like a scene out of Deliverance. But that's another blog post, another time.
Today, I was stationary, writing up cases, answering calls from attorneys who refer their weekend injured my way.
A man I just spoke with told me he was calling from his living room. He was released from the hospital with a collapsed lung and a tube sticking out of his chest. He's supposed to call a doctor for a "follow" Monday, can barely speak and has no clue what to do.
He said yesterday, at 5:00 pm... he, and his passengers -- two sons, age 5 and 8 -- had right of way on a two lane road when a female driver, 23, allegedly on a cell phone, pulled out in front of them from a stop sign on their left. They couldn't stop in time. They T-Boned her. There were poilce, ambulances, ER's
And then phone call for me this morning and we were on the case by 11:00 am.
So I have to get moving now and because of the weather and the nature of this job, I never know when I get back. That's why I decided to borrow someone else's words and post the following now. I am hoping none of you have seen it yet. Maybe it has already circulated around the net and I am the last one to discover it.
I have no idea who wrote it. I can not find a copyright notice or author.
I received it from a friend in one of those email strings and promised myself it would find its way here.
I'm not sure if you will enjoy or dispute it.
I just couldn't resist posting it.
Sometimes I think men and women are from different planets. Othertimes I think we are a different species. Either way, its a wonder some of us manage to co-exist in peace.
This would illustrate said point.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A MAN WHO KNOWS HIS MATH
He writes:
I was riding to work yesterday when I observed a female
driver, who cut right in front of a pickup truck, causing
the driver to drive onto the shoulder to avoid hitting her.
This evidently angered the driver enough that he hung his
arm out his window and gave the woman the finger.
'Man, that guy is stupid,' I thought to myself. I ALWAYS
smile nicely and wave in a sheepish manner whenever a female
does anything to me in traffic, and here's why:
I drive 48 miles each way every day to work.
That's 96 miles each day.
Of these, 16 miles each way is bumper-to-bumper
Most of the bumper-to-bumper is on an 8 lane highway.
There are 7 cars every 40 feet for 32 miles.
That works out to 982 cars every mile, or 31,424 cars.
Even though the rest of the 32 miles is not bumper-to-bumper, I figure I pass at least another 4000 cars.
That brings the number to something like 36,000 cars that I
pass every day.
Statistically, females drive half of these.
That's 18,000 women drivers!
In any given group of females, 1 in 28 has PMS.
That's 642.
According to Cosmopolitan, 70% describe their love life as
dissatisfying or unrewarding.
That's 449.
According to the National Institute of Health, 22% of all
females have seriously considered suicide or homicide.
That's 98.
And 34% describe men as their biggest problem.
That's 33.
According to the National Rifle Association, 5% of all
females carry weapons and this number is increasing.That means that EVERY SINGLE DAY, I drive past at least one female who has a lousy love life, thinks men are her biggest problem, has seriously considered suicide or homicide, has PMS, and is ARMED.
Give her the finger?
I don't think so.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Pain and Suffering
Normally when I investigate an accident on behalf of the victim, I focus on specifics that will ultimately comprise the personal injury settlement. Those specifics are: medical bills, future, medical bills, lost wages, pain and suffering. (Some states have punitive damages instead of pain and suffering)
Medical bills and lost wages, while complex, are relatively quantifiable and more easily translated into a monetary value. Pain and suffering, however, is an entirely different and much more complex equation. Because accidents that cause injuries also cause a great deal of pain and suffering.
Not just pain and suffering in "the ouch it hurts" sense...
rather, pain and suffering on an emotional level for the injured party... and the people around that injured person. This would be the deep, soul-searing psychological pain and suffering that happens after an accident.
Pain and suffering is one of the factors I assess when I am investigating an injury case -- from dog bites to vehicle fatalities, patio collapses to drive-by shootings.
Pain and suffering is about the after-shocks, the post traumatic stress, the under currents of terror that come from being victimized out of the blue.
In every personal injury case I've investigated -- and there have been thousands -- the victims I interviewed had no clue the world was about to crash in on him, her and/or their families, friends and co-workers.
The injury, the accident, the blow... it comes out of the blue.
And when something horrible happens to you in an instant, there comes a "knowingness,"
a previously inconceivable knowledge...
that you can be hit head-on by a drunk driver while taking the kids home from school....
or your kid can be standing at a bus stop when a drive-by gang-banger misses his target and the bullet ends in your 17 years old's spine...
or you could be a a mailman walking the same route every day for 10 years when one day a pit bull runs from someone's backyard and nearly takes your arm off.
How do put a price tag on knowing that stuff can happen again... because it happened to you once already. How do you quantity that level of pain and suffering?
Fortunately, the monetary part of the equation is not my job. The lawyers handle that. My role is to uncover, observe, photograph and describe true pain and suffering in a way the attorney can grasp it. And then... the attorney must somehow translate my words into numbers an insurance adjustor, judge or jury can accept or dispute.
So as I said when I started this post, my job is to observe, then document, pain and suffering regarding the specific case or accident I am investigating.
I tend to ask about the past, yet not delve in it.
My main focus is what has happened since the injury.
And while I must document prior accident, injuries, illness, pre-existing conditions, all of that... the lifetime before the accident is a place I visit, yet rarely linger.
Yet this morning, on my first case of the day, the pain and suffering a 35 year old woman endured in the single year before this accident stopped me in my tracks.
Shakira (a pseudonym) was a single mother of two...an accountant. Somehow she found her way to Seattle about 5 years ago. Ever since she arrived she'd been trying to leave. All her family lived in California, she followed her boyfriend-turned-fiance here. He turned out to be a parasite who went about cleaning out her bank account. The accident I investigated was her final straw. As I walked in the living room, all her belonging were packed or in the process thereof.
The facts of her accident were simple enough. She was in her beloved Lexus at a complete stop at a crosswalk when she was rear-ended by a woman in her 80's who stepped on the gas instead of the brake. My client was more concerned about the old lady than herself, she said. The old lady kept apologizing.
Shakira called 911... but I suspect... because of the neighborhood and nationality of people who live there... the police were not sent to the scene. (I wrote a note to order the 911 call and transcript).
Instead, the 911 operator said to exchange insurance information, drive their cars home or call tow trucks if necessary. There was no mention of ambulances.
Information was exchanged at the scene, Shakira's car was towed to a shop and the old woman drove away.
Shakira started to feel bad about two hours after the accident. Within 4 hours she was at the ER. She has been off work ever since. An MRI revealed torn ligaments in her neck, a bulging disc in her back. Despite her injuries, Shakira said, since both parties have insurance and the Defendant's insurance company accepted liability, you would think the whole thing could be settled without an attorney.
After all, Shakira was an accountant. So at first, she figured she could figure the whole thing out without giving an attorney a piece of her settlement pie.
Not so.
Shakira said she was treated so rudely by the Defendant's insurance adjustor that she cursed at her. That prompted a three way conversation between Shakira's insurance adjustor and the cursed-at Defendant adjustor.
All Shakira wanted immediately was a rental car to use while hers was in the shop. All the Defendant's insurance company wanted to to do was to say "in due time". Meantime Shakira had to pay a friend to take her kids to and from school every day, to take them to classes, to take her shopping.
Shakira was at the end of her rope when I arrived. Her neighbor told her to call the attorney who called me. It was just after I gathered all the info critical to the accident that Shakira began to tell me about her past year.
"It's been a horrible year," she whispered
"What happened?" I asked.
In January, she said, her grandfather died.
In February, her step-mother died.
In March, her father died. He was the glue of the whole family she said.
In April her 37 year old sister had a stroke.
In March, her mother fell and broke her hip.
In May she lent her fiancee $40,000 he said he would pay back in three months.
I asked, "$40K? At your age? How'd you come into that?"
I"m an accountant" she said,"I don't party, don't drug, don't go to clubs. I take care of my girls. I saved every cent I made in the stock market and sold before the bubble burst. Before the accident I had 60k in the bank and when my fiance said he needed a loan of 40k... and he would pay it back... I trusted him."
I asked if he worked.
"Yes, he did at the time of the loan," she said, "He was a mortgage broker."
The irony didn't escape either of us.
"So in September," she continued,"my house was robbed."
In August, her fiance skipped town.
In September, they discovered toxic mold growing in her closets.
And now, this accident.
I did what I could, and said what I could, to let her know that now, maybe the tide was turning. The attorneys would help her get her rental car when they spoke with Defendant's insurance company. The doctors would continue to treat her. And the lawyers would cover her back. All she had to do was survive and heal.
"I know, " I said "easier said than done" as I watched the tears finally flow from her eyes down her cheeks.
I reminded her of all she'd been through and endured.
She said she prays to God every day for the strength to go on.
I told her to keep praying because evidently, its working.
I said of she were in a smaller car and not her beloved Lexus, she would could have been critically injured.
I said her children still have their mother, soon she'll have a rental car and life will begin again.
I also made her promise me she would tell no one about any settlement she might get. It was hers and hers alone.
She walked me outside and we parted on the street corner.
I reached for her hand to shake it, she reached out to me for a hug.
That is unusual for me with clients, there are boundaries I generally do not cross as an investigator. Goodbye hugs is one of those. This girl needed it, and I appreciated it.
I slipped my business card in her hand and we parted ways.
I watched her as she walked slowly to her chiro,who was just down the street.
I walked back to my car and felt grateful for my job and the ability the attorneys have given me to help.
Tomorrow's case is south of Tacoma, at a military base. One more soldier mowed down by a drunk driver. Once I make it through the security gate at the entrance to the base, which is an ordeal in itself, who knows what awaits.
Medical bills and lost wages, while complex, are relatively quantifiable and more easily translated into a monetary value. Pain and suffering, however, is an entirely different and much more complex equation. Because accidents that cause injuries also cause a great deal of pain and suffering.
Not just pain and suffering in "the ouch it hurts" sense...
rather, pain and suffering on an emotional level for the injured party... and the people around that injured person. This would be the deep, soul-searing psychological pain and suffering that happens after an accident.
Pain and suffering is one of the factors I assess when I am investigating an injury case -- from dog bites to vehicle fatalities, patio collapses to drive-by shootings.
Pain and suffering is about the after-shocks, the post traumatic stress, the under currents of terror that come from being victimized out of the blue.
In every personal injury case I've investigated -- and there have been thousands -- the victims I interviewed had no clue the world was about to crash in on him, her and/or their families, friends and co-workers.
The injury, the accident, the blow... it comes out of the blue.
And when something horrible happens to you in an instant, there comes a "knowingness,"
a previously inconceivable knowledge...
that you can be hit head-on by a drunk driver while taking the kids home from school....
or your kid can be standing at a bus stop when a drive-by gang-banger misses his target and the bullet ends in your 17 years old's spine...
or you could be a a mailman walking the same route every day for 10 years when one day a pit bull runs from someone's backyard and nearly takes your arm off.
How do put a price tag on knowing that stuff can happen again... because it happened to you once already. How do you quantity that level of pain and suffering?
Fortunately, the monetary part of the equation is not my job. The lawyers handle that. My role is to uncover, observe, photograph and describe true pain and suffering in a way the attorney can grasp it. And then... the attorney must somehow translate my words into numbers an insurance adjustor, judge or jury can accept or dispute.
So as I said when I started this post, my job is to observe, then document, pain and suffering regarding the specific case or accident I am investigating.
I tend to ask about the past, yet not delve in it.
My main focus is what has happened since the injury.
And while I must document prior accident, injuries, illness, pre-existing conditions, all of that... the lifetime before the accident is a place I visit, yet rarely linger.
Yet this morning, on my first case of the day, the pain and suffering a 35 year old woman endured in the single year before this accident stopped me in my tracks.
Shakira (a pseudonym) was a single mother of two...an accountant. Somehow she found her way to Seattle about 5 years ago. Ever since she arrived she'd been trying to leave. All her family lived in California, she followed her boyfriend-turned-fiance here. He turned out to be a parasite who went about cleaning out her bank account. The accident I investigated was her final straw. As I walked in the living room, all her belonging were packed or in the process thereof.
The facts of her accident were simple enough. She was in her beloved Lexus at a complete stop at a crosswalk when she was rear-ended by a woman in her 80's who stepped on the gas instead of the brake. My client was more concerned about the old lady than herself, she said. The old lady kept apologizing.
Shakira called 911... but I suspect... because of the neighborhood and nationality of people who live there... the police were not sent to the scene. (I wrote a note to order the 911 call and transcript).
Instead, the 911 operator said to exchange insurance information, drive their cars home or call tow trucks if necessary. There was no mention of ambulances.
Information was exchanged at the scene, Shakira's car was towed to a shop and the old woman drove away.
Shakira started to feel bad about two hours after the accident. Within 4 hours she was at the ER. She has been off work ever since. An MRI revealed torn ligaments in her neck, a bulging disc in her back. Despite her injuries, Shakira said, since both parties have insurance and the Defendant's insurance company accepted liability, you would think the whole thing could be settled without an attorney.
After all, Shakira was an accountant. So at first, she figured she could figure the whole thing out without giving an attorney a piece of her settlement pie.
Not so.
Shakira said she was treated so rudely by the Defendant's insurance adjustor that she cursed at her. That prompted a three way conversation between Shakira's insurance adjustor and the cursed-at Defendant adjustor.
All Shakira wanted immediately was a rental car to use while hers was in the shop. All the Defendant's insurance company wanted to to do was to say "in due time". Meantime Shakira had to pay a friend to take her kids to and from school every day, to take them to classes, to take her shopping.
Shakira was at the end of her rope when I arrived. Her neighbor told her to call the attorney who called me. It was just after I gathered all the info critical to the accident that Shakira began to tell me about her past year.
"It's been a horrible year," she whispered
"What happened?" I asked.
In January, she said, her grandfather died.
In February, her step-mother died.
In March, her father died. He was the glue of the whole family she said.
In April her 37 year old sister had a stroke.
In March, her mother fell and broke her hip.
In May she lent her fiancee $40,000 he said he would pay back in three months.
I asked, "$40K? At your age? How'd you come into that?"
I"m an accountant" she said,"I don't party, don't drug, don't go to clubs. I take care of my girls. I saved every cent I made in the stock market and sold before the bubble burst. Before the accident I had 60k in the bank and when my fiance said he needed a loan of 40k... and he would pay it back... I trusted him."
I asked if he worked.
"Yes, he did at the time of the loan," she said, "He was a mortgage broker."
The irony didn't escape either of us.
"So in September," she continued,"my house was robbed."
In August, her fiance skipped town.
In September, they discovered toxic mold growing in her closets.
And now, this accident.
I did what I could, and said what I could, to let her know that now, maybe the tide was turning. The attorneys would help her get her rental car when they spoke with Defendant's insurance company. The doctors would continue to treat her. And the lawyers would cover her back. All she had to do was survive and heal.
"I know, " I said "easier said than done" as I watched the tears finally flow from her eyes down her cheeks.
I reminded her of all she'd been through and endured.
She said she prays to God every day for the strength to go on.
I told her to keep praying because evidently, its working.
I said of she were in a smaller car and not her beloved Lexus, she would could have been critically injured.
I said her children still have their mother, soon she'll have a rental car and life will begin again.
I also made her promise me she would tell no one about any settlement she might get. It was hers and hers alone.
She walked me outside and we parted on the street corner.
I reached for her hand to shake it, she reached out to me for a hug.
That is unusual for me with clients, there are boundaries I generally do not cross as an investigator. Goodbye hugs is one of those. This girl needed it, and I appreciated it.
I slipped my business card in her hand and we parted ways.
I watched her as she walked slowly to her chiro,who was just down the street.
I walked back to my car and felt grateful for my job and the ability the attorneys have given me to help.
Tomorrow's case is south of Tacoma, at a military base. One more soldier mowed down by a drunk driver. Once I make it through the security gate at the entrance to the base, which is an ordeal in itself, who knows what awaits.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Rear Ender
I am thinking about a woman I saw last night. Let's call her Gina.
She's very attractive as was her fiance, both mid forties. She has a high powered job as does he. Their home was meticulous. Every item a work of art, placed "just so." She was gracious, intelligent, hospitable. He was handsome, rugged and clearly had her back.
She was in her beloved Dodge Ram Pick-U 1500, the same kind we own. It seems like a big truck to me. Just not as big as the Ford F-350 that rear-ended her at 50 miles per hour.
We all found it interesting the vehicle that sustained the greatest impact was the Defendant's vehicle, the big Ford-350. Its entire front end was crunched and pushed towards the front seat. Both airbags in the 350 deployed, it had to be towed and was ultimately totaled.
Gina's truck was crunched in the rear, the back panel pushed in a "v" formation, the bumper ripped off... to the tune of to the tune of several thousand in repairs.
It wasn't to Gina's advantage that there were no police called to the scene. No ambulance. No 911 call. The guy in the F-350 took charge, called the tow trucks, gave her his insurance info, called his auto insurance company on the spot and said it was his fault. He said the police would take forever to get there. Neither one claimed at the time to be hurt.
She said felt like he was a good enough guy and trusted him.
And he was true to his word. His insurance company accepted liability.
There was no loan on Gina's truck, so after fixing it, she probably would have had a diminished value claim since it was new. But she knew nothing of how this car accident business works... so once the truck was fixed she decided she could never drive it again. She traded it in for a Lincoln.
The property/vehicle settlement was a done deal long before Gina's boyfriend called the attorney who called me. In fact, the accident happened in June. I asked Gina why she was calling an attorney now. Why wait so long?
She said the insurance company of the guy who hit her was so nice.
Besides, she said, she had coverage on her own car for medical bills (it's called PIP, Personal Injury Protection in Washington State).
So she figured why bother with lawyers?
She was a high powered exec with a well known company. She negotiated complex contracts daily.
She figured she could surely deal with an insurance adjuster who she likened to a bill collector.
Then... she started getting headaches, nausea, neck aches and back pain.
Her pain began to increase exponentially until two days after the accident, she went to to the ER, got X-Rays, they didn't show anything. Her auto insurance company picked up the bill because she had PIP, they said. They didn't say how much PIP she had. To me, that was a sign that maybe she had a lot of PIP funds available. She saw a chiro three times a week, a massage twice. Always after work.
Everything was fine until one day at home, she bent and sneezed at the same time and down she went. It was as simple as that. A sneeze and she laid on the floor, flat out on a her back in spasms.
An ambulance ride to the ER and one MRI later revealed a small crack in her back that grew much bigger when she sneezed.
Now with her broken back, she can't work, she can't sleep, she's hooked on pain Meds, she and her husband are fighting and she is terrified of driving.
Her own insurance company has said she used up her P.I.P. (Personal Injury Protection) -- and from here on in, either she or her health insurance pay doctors bills until the Defendants company (the F-350) settles at the end.
Thing is Gina has no health insurance now that she has no job.
She has no way to keep paying her doctor.
She told me, when her fiance left the room, that she felt she was losing her mind.
There was no more intimacy between them.
"We fight like pitbulls" she said. "I feel like I'm sinking in quicksand."
I watched the water well in her eyes and then turned to study the pile of paperwork she laid before me earlier.
It was one of those "AHA" moments when you feel a quick rush of adrenalin.
She had a lot more PIP than she knew, because her insurance company neglected to tell her she had $35,000 in PIP benefits, not just the average $10,000.
And, her own insurance company also neglected to tell her PIP also provides up to $35,000 in lost ages -- at the rate of up to $700 a week if she makes that amount (minus the first two weeks pay). I told her the lawyers get the difference in lost wages at the end of the case if they can.
She was astounded. It was then that she confessed she was in foreclosure because she didn't know she had lost wages available to her through her insurance company. She been off work almost four months and they couldn't survive one one income.
I asked her to give me the papers the insurance companies sent her. They neglected to include the application for PIP lost wages.
It felt real good to tell her I think the lawyers could likely help her. I said there are never any guarantees in the legal business, however, I thought they could have her doctors continue to see her on a lien against the case.
Hopefully, the lawyers could help her could get her back lost wages... which may help towards stopping their foreclosure.
I laid out what her rights are, explained the statutes of limitations.
As I explained all the things I tell injured people, they begin to realize the sky is not falling.
You can actually see the bulb go off in their heads, the light return to their eyes, a smile form at the corner of their lips.
They have advocates now. Me.... and the Attorney. Gina called her fiance back in the room and asked me to repeat everything I said to her to him... again.
It was a good night. Albeit a long late one.
I took some photos of the circles under Gina's eyes; of the odd way her head tilted on her neck; the bulge in her back. I took all her paperwork with me, got the appropriate signatures and by the time I was back in my car it was about 7:00. I stopped at the local photo place, printed up her photos and made the 7:50 Ferry.
I made it home just in time to write up her case to the background of "NCIS," and a new show called the "Forgotten." It felt like only minutes after I climbed in the sack about midnight, set the alarm and was on the 5:50 ferry this morning. A big storm hit during the night. I drove over branches and leaves to get off our dirt road to the main road where other sleepy workers like me were commuting to the boat.
I delivered the case to the doorstep of someone who works at the law firm who lives about 15 minutes from the Ferry. She would bring the file to the office when they opened 8:30 am. I headed back to the Ferry, the sunrise and home again.
Just now I got a call from Gina. She said she wanted to thank me for the visit last night, the information, the attorneys.
She said she had already spoken to her attorney and they already faxed the paperwork off to insurance companies so we could get her lost wages going and they would stop calling her. She said the law firm got her doctor to treat on a lien against the case and all bills will be sent to the attorneys not to her home.
And she said for the first time in months, she felt hope again.
Hope.
That would be one of the bennies of being a Private Investigator working a personal injury case.
Because every problem becomes an opportunity for resolution.
With recent government infusions of capital into insurance companies...
and the fact that they accept billions of dollars every month of our lives for accidents that don't happen...
you'd think the auto insurance companies would have enough money to buy a clue: that they are here to service their clients and the people they injure. Not to undermine them.
After I post this today, I will prep for the cases I have tomorrow. There is a never-ended cycling of cases out there -- injuries, vehicles, victims, defendants, insurance companies attorneys, mediators, judges and juries doing a dance of legal liability, and trying to put a monetary value on it all.
If you find yourself the victim of an accident, whatever you do --do not sign anything, settle anything with an insurance company until you consult an attorney, study the subject on the net, and know your stuff. In this investigator's humble opinion, no matter who you are, you are no match for an insurance adjuster without an attorney to look out for your interests.
She's very attractive as was her fiance, both mid forties. She has a high powered job as does he. Their home was meticulous. Every item a work of art, placed "just so." She was gracious, intelligent, hospitable. He was handsome, rugged and clearly had her back.
She was in her beloved Dodge Ram Pick-U 1500, the same kind we own. It seems like a big truck to me. Just not as big as the Ford F-350 that rear-ended her at 50 miles per hour.
We all found it interesting the vehicle that sustained the greatest impact was the Defendant's vehicle, the big Ford-350. Its entire front end was crunched and pushed towards the front seat. Both airbags in the 350 deployed, it had to be towed and was ultimately totaled.
Gina's truck was crunched in the rear, the back panel pushed in a "v" formation, the bumper ripped off... to the tune of to the tune of several thousand in repairs.
It wasn't to Gina's advantage that there were no police called to the scene. No ambulance. No 911 call. The guy in the F-350 took charge, called the tow trucks, gave her his insurance info, called his auto insurance company on the spot and said it was his fault. He said the police would take forever to get there. Neither one claimed at the time to be hurt.
She said felt like he was a good enough guy and trusted him.
And he was true to his word. His insurance company accepted liability.
There was no loan on Gina's truck, so after fixing it, she probably would have had a diminished value claim since it was new. But she knew nothing of how this car accident business works... so once the truck was fixed she decided she could never drive it again. She traded it in for a Lincoln.
The property/vehicle settlement was a done deal long before Gina's boyfriend called the attorney who called me. In fact, the accident happened in June. I asked Gina why she was calling an attorney now. Why wait so long?
She said the insurance company of the guy who hit her was so nice.
Besides, she said, she had coverage on her own car for medical bills (it's called PIP, Personal Injury Protection in Washington State).
So she figured why bother with lawyers?
She was a high powered exec with a well known company. She negotiated complex contracts daily.
She figured she could surely deal with an insurance adjuster who she likened to a bill collector.
Then... she started getting headaches, nausea, neck aches and back pain.
Her pain began to increase exponentially until two days after the accident, she went to to the ER, got X-Rays, they didn't show anything. Her auto insurance company picked up the bill because she had PIP, they said. They didn't say how much PIP she had. To me, that was a sign that maybe she had a lot of PIP funds available. She saw a chiro three times a week, a massage twice. Always after work.
Everything was fine until one day at home, she bent and sneezed at the same time and down she went. It was as simple as that. A sneeze and she laid on the floor, flat out on a her back in spasms.
An ambulance ride to the ER and one MRI later revealed a small crack in her back that grew much bigger when she sneezed.
Now with her broken back, she can't work, she can't sleep, she's hooked on pain Meds, she and her husband are fighting and she is terrified of driving.
Her own insurance company has said she used up her P.I.P. (Personal Injury Protection) -- and from here on in, either she or her health insurance pay doctors bills until the Defendants company (the F-350) settles at the end.
Thing is Gina has no health insurance now that she has no job.
She has no way to keep paying her doctor.
She told me, when her fiance left the room, that she felt she was losing her mind.
There was no more intimacy between them.
"We fight like pitbulls" she said. "I feel like I'm sinking in quicksand."
I watched the water well in her eyes and then turned to study the pile of paperwork she laid before me earlier.
It was one of those "AHA" moments when you feel a quick rush of adrenalin.
She had a lot more PIP than she knew, because her insurance company neglected to tell her she had $35,000 in PIP benefits, not just the average $10,000.
And, her own insurance company also neglected to tell her PIP also provides up to $35,000 in lost ages -- at the rate of up to $700 a week if she makes that amount (minus the first two weeks pay). I told her the lawyers get the difference in lost wages at the end of the case if they can.
She was astounded. It was then that she confessed she was in foreclosure because she didn't know she had lost wages available to her through her insurance company. She been off work almost four months and they couldn't survive one one income.
I asked her to give me the papers the insurance companies sent her. They neglected to include the application for PIP lost wages.
It felt real good to tell her I think the lawyers could likely help her. I said there are never any guarantees in the legal business, however, I thought they could have her doctors continue to see her on a lien against the case.
Hopefully, the lawyers could help her could get her back lost wages... which may help towards stopping their foreclosure.
I laid out what her rights are, explained the statutes of limitations.
As I explained all the things I tell injured people, they begin to realize the sky is not falling.
You can actually see the bulb go off in their heads, the light return to their eyes, a smile form at the corner of their lips.
They have advocates now. Me.... and the Attorney. Gina called her fiance back in the room and asked me to repeat everything I said to her to him... again.
It was a good night. Albeit a long late one.
I took some photos of the circles under Gina's eyes; of the odd way her head tilted on her neck; the bulge in her back. I took all her paperwork with me, got the appropriate signatures and by the time I was back in my car it was about 7:00. I stopped at the local photo place, printed up her photos and made the 7:50 Ferry.
I made it home just in time to write up her case to the background of "NCIS," and a new show called the "Forgotten." It felt like only minutes after I climbed in the sack about midnight, set the alarm and was on the 5:50 ferry this morning. A big storm hit during the night. I drove over branches and leaves to get off our dirt road to the main road where other sleepy workers like me were commuting to the boat.
I delivered the case to the doorstep of someone who works at the law firm who lives about 15 minutes from the Ferry. She would bring the file to the office when they opened 8:30 am. I headed back to the Ferry, the sunrise and home again.
Just now I got a call from Gina. She said she wanted to thank me for the visit last night, the information, the attorneys.
She said she had already spoken to her attorney and they already faxed the paperwork off to insurance companies so we could get her lost wages going and they would stop calling her. She said the law firm got her doctor to treat on a lien against the case and all bills will be sent to the attorneys not to her home.
And she said for the first time in months, she felt hope again.
Hope.
That would be one of the bennies of being a Private Investigator working a personal injury case.
Because every problem becomes an opportunity for resolution.
With recent government infusions of capital into insurance companies...
and the fact that they accept billions of dollars every month of our lives for accidents that don't happen...
you'd think the auto insurance companies would have enough money to buy a clue: that they are here to service their clients and the people they injure. Not to undermine them.
After I post this today, I will prep for the cases I have tomorrow. There is a never-ended cycling of cases out there -- injuries, vehicles, victims, defendants, insurance companies attorneys, mediators, judges and juries doing a dance of legal liability, and trying to put a monetary value on it all.
If you find yourself the victim of an accident, whatever you do --do not sign anything, settle anything with an insurance company until you consult an attorney, study the subject on the net, and know your stuff. In this investigator's humble opinion, no matter who you are, you are no match for an insurance adjuster without an attorney to look out for your interests.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Latest Auto Insurance Scams
Investigating all day can be a drain on the brain. Every now and then, you get done with your work too late to blog intelligently.
Besides... for an investigator.... the time NOT to plumb the depths of cases and places you've been... or are heading... is before bedtime.
Such memories and experiences are the stuff nightmares are made of.
So rather than miss a day here dredging up a long disturbing bedtime story, I'd like to make a short point.... and then lead you to a great link my friend B.g. sent me.
There's a huge rise in injury and accident claims associated with this alleged recession -- which I really suspect is a depression.
Terminology isn't the point though.
Criminality is.
And staging fake insurance claims is not only criminal, it's also big business.
A while ago a friend called me for advice. Her allegedly perfect daughter's slime-ball older boyfriend "borrowed" her car, which her mother co-signed the loan for. Said slime-ball boyfriend was drunk, went joyriding and smashed two park cars.
Rather than get caught, he chose a rather bizarre path of concealment that involved my friend's daughter. He drove the car to a secluded location and set it on fire. The girlfriend, my friend's daughter, followed him there and drove him home.
Then she went to sleep until she got a phone call the next morning from her mom saying the police called. Their car had been found burnt to a crisp. The daughter feigned shock. She said when she went to sleep the car was parked out front.
In their tiny brains, the daughter and her boyfriend figured the car could be reported as stolen, torched and a settlement would ensue.
Not so.
The auto insurance company's SPU (Special Investigations Units) are much smarter than two pea brains combined.
The SPU Investigators got the whole thing figured out before the daughter and her boyfriend confessed the crime to Mom.
And this true story is just the tip of a criminal iceberg in a sea littered with unempolyment, overextended budgets and predatory car loans.
Unethical people unable to make car payments are reporting their vehicles stolen.
They are staging accidents they think will total out cars and their loans. And they are getting caught.
Others, more criminal initially, than desperate, stage accidents purely for profit.
And this is where I bring to you B.g's addition to this blog post. Just go to the story that follows to get to the the post B.g. sent me to --"Driver's Beware".
Besides... for an investigator.... the time NOT to plumb the depths of cases and places you've been... or are heading... is before bedtime.
Such memories and experiences are the stuff nightmares are made of.
So rather than miss a day here dredging up a long disturbing bedtime story, I'd like to make a short point.... and then lead you to a great link my friend B.g. sent me.
There's a huge rise in injury and accident claims associated with this alleged recession -- which I really suspect is a depression.
Terminology isn't the point though.
Criminality is.
And staging fake insurance claims is not only criminal, it's also big business.
A while ago a friend called me for advice. Her allegedly perfect daughter's slime-ball older boyfriend "borrowed" her car, which her mother co-signed the loan for. Said slime-ball boyfriend was drunk, went joyriding and smashed two park cars.
Rather than get caught, he chose a rather bizarre path of concealment that involved my friend's daughter. He drove the car to a secluded location and set it on fire. The girlfriend, my friend's daughter, followed him there and drove him home.
Then she went to sleep until she got a phone call the next morning from her mom saying the police called. Their car had been found burnt to a crisp. The daughter feigned shock. She said when she went to sleep the car was parked out front.
In their tiny brains, the daughter and her boyfriend figured the car could be reported as stolen, torched and a settlement would ensue.
Not so.
The auto insurance company's SPU (Special Investigations Units) are much smarter than two pea brains combined.
The SPU Investigators got the whole thing figured out before the daughter and her boyfriend confessed the crime to Mom.
And this true story is just the tip of a criminal iceberg in a sea littered with unempolyment, overextended budgets and predatory car loans.
Unethical people unable to make car payments are reporting their vehicles stolen.
They are staging accidents they think will total out cars and their loans. And they are getting caught.
Others, more criminal initially, than desperate, stage accidents purely for profit.
And this is where I bring to you B.g's addition to this blog post. Just go to the story that follows to get to the the post B.g. sent me to --"Driver's Beware".
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