From Criminal To Civil Investigator

First, An Intro

I have a Facebook page. I resisted Facebook for years, for the same reasons many people do.
I had major misconceptions about it, convinced it had the same privacy shortfalls as My Space. I wanted to network with no one. I didn't want to know what people were doing every second of every day. And most of all, I wanted my privacy.

I also felt, as a private investigator, it wasn't a good idea to come public. Even though P.I.'s do it all the time. Even though I teach at a University. Even though I train Investigators for the state. Even though I have been approached about having a reality TV show done about my life. (The latter went over like a lead balloon on my end).

The one day, when a Facebook pusher friend told me to google my name and "private investigator," I saw info existed on me. And that was the epiphany that pushed me to make a Facebook page.

I also started this blog about the same time. I figured, maybe the Facebook page would bring new friends to the blog. And the blog could bring friends to the Facebook page... to counter misconceptions and misperceptions people have about Private Investigators.

It appears to be working because people appear to be reading it this blog.
At least you're reading it. That makes one.
So this is an opportunity to say something to you and anyone who finds their way here, about why we Private Investigators choose the work we do.
And whom we choose to serve.

Choosing Sides

The very first policeman I ever met when I was walking to elementary school for the first time in New Bedford Massachusetts. That’s a whaling town, where Moby Dick was written.

I don't know how old I was. Seven maybe?
His name was Ray and he was handsome, tall, had a dark blue uniform, hat, and white gloves.

He was at a busy crosswalk guiding young children safely to school in the mornings. He was there every day. He knew me, I knew him. From first grade through fourth grade he was there.

I developed a serious crush. But so did every little girl who saw that man standing out there in the middle of racing cars demanding they stop for us, mere mortals.

The years passed, and morphed into other meetings, friendships, alliances and ultimately marriage into a family of cops and soldiers.

And now, the point of this blog and how these brave men and women ultimately altered a career path for me.

I used to be a writer. I became a P.I. after I was injured, couldn't write like I used to and sought my own version of justice.

I went through the legal system and won. I trained to be a P.I. on a number of levels and through a number of sources. Perhaps the most valuable part of my training was my work at the King County Public Defender as an intern criminal defense investigator.

I worked my way up from misdemeanors to felonies. I represented ALLEGED hookers, pimps, drug dealers, crooks, thieves, murders, wife beaters, and baby shakers. There were nearly 90 Public Defenders in the office I worked. We had many cases running at one time.

I recall representing a high school girl who carried a switchblade in her mouth and used it to slip it out like a snake and slash anyone who pissed her off.
She used it to cut up one girl’s face, 15 years old, 15 slices. I represented the slicer. I did not like my client.

The law demanded the victim be interviewed by me if requested by the Public Defender. The Prosecutor and Victim's advocate were also present for that interview
I could tell the victim hated me because I was her assailant's investigator.
No use even attempting to establish a rapport. I just read through my pre-written list of questions and wrote down the answers.

I knew our client did it and I knew our client was a scumbag. Still, I was a criminal defense investigator working for the Public Defenders who represent the indigent, the poor. I justified my work because I felt the poor were railroaded and needed a voice to mitigate or speak for their horrible upbringing, brain damage, or whatever it was that caused them to cause harm others.

I did well at the Public Defender. Got thank- you notes and chocolates from people who got off. I never ate the chocolate and tossed the notes. I didn't know it then, but I know now, my heart wasn't in it.
I was, however, good at it.

Until... the one day I walked into the Public Defender's office and he told me I had a new case. A crack-head out of his mind, ran a red light, killed a police officer who was driving home in his police car and street clothes to his wife, new baby and two kids. I’d seen the story the night before on the news. I remember thinking, "Please don't give me that case".

According to the news, the crack-head, hit the officer"s car head on, and killed him instantly. The crack-head escaped his stolen cars, ran with his crack-pipe between his teeth from the scene. The killer crack-head was chased by witnesses and Good Sams.

They found him hunched in a stairwell. He held up his crack pipe with one hand, gave the five-finger salute with the left hand, and said, "I just killed a cop. That's one for the bad guys."

Next morning at work, The Public Defender handed me that case file.
I was to handle the crack-head’s defense investigation.
The Public Defender did not know my brother in law is a Police Officer in this area. And my father in law was a big whig in the San Diego police force.
My husband, almost all the men in his family, are soldiers.

And then there was Ray, the policeman, in that crosswalk back when I was kid.

So I got that feeling you get when your stomach tells your brain to go on full alert.

I looked at the Public Defender and said this:
"There are witnesses to the collision. He stole a car, he ran a red light, he killed a police officer, a husband, and a father. There are witnesses to our guy running. There are witnesses to his admission to the killing. And not only did he have a crack pipe in his hand, his tox levels were through the roof, and his pockets had more crack in them. He was dealing in a stolen car. So what is our defense?"

The Public Defender said, "It appears the police officer was just leaving the station and did not buckle his seat belt yet. So the defense is, he contributed to his own death by not wearing a seatbelt. And your job is to interview every officer in his precinct and dig up any dirt you can to prove how irresponsible a man the officer is."

I stared at the Public defender trying to form the right words.
"The people I will interview… the officers…. they are his friends. They won't be happy with this approach."

"Oh Well" the Public Defender said.

I picked up the case file, left his office without a goodbye. I walked into my supervisor's office, the head of the Investigation program, and placed the case file on her desk.

"I’m done here," I said. "I can not do this case."
She looked at the case file, opened it, read it. She asked me why.

I said my brother in law is a police officer. My father in law is a retired one. I have friends who are officers. I know people in the dead officer’s precinct. The client is a crack-head who killed a good man. A father of three. I am done. Finis. Kaput. No can do."

She looked and me and said she had mixed feelings. She knew this day would come, that I seemed to empathize a great deal more with victims though I was also quite good with the accused.
She said some people can stomach criminal defense work. Some cannot. She said she would write this case off as conflict of interest and didn't even try to convince me to stay.

She was so right.
I knew then and there my alliance was with those who put themselves on the line for us every day out there.
The ones who ultimately shoot a shooter running amuck.
The ones who put batterers behind bars.
The ones who are assigned to do battle here in America instead of foreign countries. Soldiers all, they are.

Today I am a civil investigator. Though the business is definitely not civil. And that is another story, another blog post.
But when OJ raced that white Bronco down the California freeway, I followed the case and learned a life/career lesson.
OJ was declared innocent in the criminal justice system.
He was found guilty in the civil justice system.
Civil justice was more me.

I've said it before.
“Some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you.”
In criminal defense work, the bear got me.
In civil work, I get the bear. I like that much better.

Sometimes, you just have to draw your line in the sand and decide which side you stand on… and stand for.