To Tell the Truth

A new post on Sunday... if only to prove to myself -- and one or two other people-- I can keep this blog up, regardless.
Regardless of the case that calls. The ferry to catch. The witnesses to find. The declaration to get. The subpoena to serve. Regardless of that eagle feeding on the beach outside my window while I write this blog.

I, like some many others, have too much to do in one day.
One thing that makes my life so different than others' is my hours.
I sometimes tell people my job is a lot like a plumber's. People's lives back up, become a mess that flows everywhere.
When spit happens, I am dispatched to my cases by an attorney 24/7 by phone, or email, on my computer or blackberry.

I am also called at all hours by angry, confused, desperate John or Jane Q. Publics who've been betrayed by someone they know or love. Some are clients, some are drunk dialers, some are delusional.
Like a plumber, the investigator plumbs the depths of people in a state of emergency, people whose lives have gone down, then overflown, the crapper.

An investigator does crisis evaluation and crisis management -- using all the senses: eyes, ears, nose, and a well-honed taste for justice to determine where the real problem lies. What is the truth? What is a lie?

Whether the case file contains what the attorney wants is always a concern for me, though never a deterrent. What the case file must contain is the truth. Even if it hurts the case.

Often, I tell people what they don't want to hear, because they paid for the truth.
Like, "Sorry Mr. Smith, but your wife is cheating with the chef at your restaurant. You may want to fire the scumbag and change the security code on your safe "

Or... "Gee Mrs. Jones, I regret to inform you that your husband and his new girlfriend are tapping in to your bank account and just co-signed a loan in your name. You may want to call this forensic accountant, that attorney and while you're at it, give the police a buzz and see if there's a fraud charge here."

Sometimes it's... "I'm so sorry Miss Informed, I and the police can not stop your next door Meth Head neighbors from harassing you. The restraining order, the cameras we installed, the evidence we've gathered. It's still not enough. Everything that can legally be done, has been done and you are in grave danger. So you may want to move out of the neighborhood and let us help you cover your tracks."

The hardest one is going back to the criminal defense attorney who truly believed in his client's innocence to say,"You know that SODDI defense of yours" (Some other Dude Did It)?
I really hate to tell this but I found the smoking gun and it belongs to your client."

On this Sunday morning, my head is a stock photos house of the surreal... filled with hundreds, thousands of investigator's images.

Sorting through a hospital room full of people. Air thick with grief.
A young child with shredded legs from Grampa's lawn mower.
A big, proud, tattooed warrior Harley Biker, comatose with a piece of his skull cap removed and implanted in his hip.
A mother of two who became a quadriplegic over night.
People healing.
Or dying.
Partners, children, sister, brothers, friends surround their beloved.
Nurses and doctors move in and out. Sometimes the police are there.

And sometimes, the nurses tell me, no one has been there. I have been the only visitor. Ever.

The attorneys who send me on my rounds are not ambulance chasers and I always challenge the words when someone says them to me.

People come to the attorneys who hire me. The victims and their families hear about the attorneys I work for. Maybe they know their work, know other clients, have seen their TV spots, their Internet and yellow pages ads.

Personal injury attorneys hire me, an independent investigator, to help assess the case because it is the attorney's money and time on the line. I provide information that gives the attorney a good idea whether he or she could successfully get a settlement... or go to trial... with a client who is truly innocent. That client must also have a certain, jury presence, or appeal.

So my feather ruffle, my hackles rise, when I hear people insult or denigrate personal injury attorneys. They put their time and money on the line.
Just as one attorney did for me long ago when I was injured.
If it weren't for that attorney, I would not be here on this blog space.
I would not be writing again after a long hiatus.
And I would certainly not be a private investigator.
But that's a long story and another story.
This is Sunday. Day of Rest.

Until the phone rings.