Stories of a Private Investigator #1

The Client

The client who we will call Sam. Sam was a fifty something year old pistachio rancher. His bulk over flowed in the office chair across from my desk.

He had on a pair of dusty wranglers with a giant belt buckle digging into his round belly. The pearl snaps of his western shit were straining to stay snapped. The sole of his size 13 square toe cowboy boots were worn thin and battered.

Sam believed his wife (we will call her Tammy) was having an affair and wanted unequivocal proof she was cheating.

The Speach

I gave my usual speech, “If you believe your spouse is cheating, your spouse is most likely cheating.” I tried to talk Sam out of spending hard earned money on something he already knew.

Sam would not have it. He wanted absolute proof. We agreed on the terms of the contract and I went to work, beginning with interviewing Sam.

The Interview

I started the interview with my next spiel. “For safety reasons, before I begin any investigation, I conduct a background check, not only on the subject but also on the client, no exceptions.”

I continued by explaining part of the background check would include verifying whether Sam had a restraining order against him. Sam raised his brow the slightest, but continued to listen.

Adding, for the safety of all parties involved, should he have a restraining order, I would not go any further in the investigation. And would not provide the whereabouts or any details of the subject.

Sam asked, “Why would you stop the investigation if there was a restraining order.” I said, “First, Sam, do you have a restraining order?”

Sam vigorously shook his head and said, “I am just curious, why in a case where someone did have a restraining order you wouldn’t continue?”

My answer, though curt, was truthful. I said, “I won’t be a party of a form of stalking or keeping track of someone, male or female, when the courts have ordered a keep away.”

More Questions

“Are you sure you don’t have a restraining order?”  “Yes, ma’am I’m sure.”

Moving on, I asked about their vehicles, in particular the vehicle his wife drove. I asked if the car was in just her name or both of their names. Sam said, both vehicles are only in his name.

I then requested the usual information; make, model, color, and plate number. And if I had permission to put a gps tracking device on it. Sam’s eyes got big as saucers, and said enthusiastically, “Yes ma’am, you sure do.”

 

Routine

I asked about his wife’s usual routine, where she worked, who her friends were and if she had any social media account?

Sam swallowed hard and looked down at his feet. His lower lip had a slight quiver. Holding back tears, he softly spoke. He said, “I really don’t know my wife’s routine anymore. She used to come home and tell me all about her day. She would ride the side by side out to the orchard and tell me all about her day. How excited she was about some sale at the mall, or how she found a cute outfit. That how she had lunch with her girlfriends. Lately, she just goes into the house.”

Promises

At the end of the interview, I stood to shake Sam’s hand and promised to do my best to get the information he wanted. Sam thanked me and headed out the door.

It always made me said to take cases like this. He already knows the answers to his questions. Some people just need the proof to pull the plug. With Sam, he was just heartbroken.

GPS

The GPS I used was battery operated with a battery life of approximately three days. I use a small pelican water proof case with a heavy duty magnet. Newer vehicles have a lot of plastic, plastic bumpers, plastic fender skirts and trim but I have never seen a plastic gas tank or spare tire.

For this application, I attached the GPS to the side of the gas tank. I usually place it as high as possible, so the paranoid marks can’t easily spot it.

The Other Man

Unfortunately, Sam was right. There was another man. Let us call him, hmm, Larry.

The GPS led me to Larry’s house. Tammy was getting out of her luxury SUV as I parked down the block. At that very moment, I hoped Tammy was visiting a girlfriend. Until Larry answered the door and they kissed passionately and held each other before she walked in and closed the door.

My heart broke for Sam as I snapped the picture.

If You Know

If you know where to look, you can discover who owns the property by plugging in the address. How much they pay in property taxes, and if there are any liens on the property. How long they have owned it, so on and so forth.

Larry was a sneaky man who also had a female in his life. Initially, I didn’t dig around enough to find out if they were married or just living together. That was not the mission.

Larry had his house and his vehicles in an LLC. The LLC was in a family trust. Which led me to believe he was in law enforcement. Many of the cops I knew had their houses in a family trust in the off chance a citizen decided to sue them for some reason.

In fact, my husband and I had talked about it during his nearly thirty years as a sheriff’s deputy, but he retired and luckily we never needed it.

Nevertheless, that made me curious. Was he LEO? Nope! He was a structural engineer. I guess that makes sense.

I got curious about the female in Larry’s life.

The Female

From my observations, I’m guessing that Janice was a roommate, maybe renting one of the spare rooms. What led me to believe that was on one of Tammy’s visits, Janice was home and answered the door. When she saw who was at the door, she yelled something over her shoulder and stepped aside to allow Tammy to enter. And the car she drove was an old beater, in the name of Janice Smith (also fictional). Smith was a different last name from the name of the family trust.

Low Crawl

The battery was running low on the GPS and as luck would have it Tammy and Larry were at a hotel. Why they were at a hotel, I have no idea. The last couple of days, Tammy freely came and went to Larry’s love nest.

In any case, it was time to switch out the GPS. In the cover of dark, I parked my car a couple of blocks away from the hotel. There is a large open field between where I parked and the hotel. The only access to the hotel parking lot was a small street that cut through the middle of the open field. The only light was that of the parking lot about a block away in front of me and on the main street about a block away behind me.

There were a couple of joggers running towards me on the opposite side of the street. Another one is behind me, traveling in the same direction.

I heard someone from a distance yelling, Hey! Hey!

I assumed it was the joggers talking to each other, and I continued towards the hotel.

Then I heard footsteps behind me at about six feet away. The voice I was hearing said didn’t you hear yelling for you.

All in one motion, I spun around, keeping my body at a forty-five degree angle. My balance was on my right leg. My left leg was slightly bent, cocked to hammer the voice with a sidekick to the face. Behind my right leg and out of sight, my Benchmade knife was out and open.

The voice belonged to a scrawny black kid in his mid twenties. Sporting an Afro and a gold tooth, he… He repeated himself, “Didn’t you hear me yelling at you?” Adding “Dayum woman, you are fine!”

Standing in my position, poised to kill anyone who attempts to attack me. I angrily said, “What the fuck do you want?”

The hostility caught his attention, and he put his hands in the air and said “I just was axing if you needed a new boyfriend?” He looked closer at my body language. And stepped back, saying “Oh shit don’t spray me, don’t spray me.” Turning on his heels, and ran back to where he came from. I’m okay with him not knowing what was waiting for him behind my leg.

I watched him run all the way back to the main street, going around the corner to the front of a convenience store.

 

Drenched

By the time I finished the walk to the hotel parking lot, the sky opened up, and it was dumping rain. It didn’t help matters the Tammy backed into the parking space against a row of shrubs. I laid down on the ground, squeezing between the back quarter panel and the curb. Halfway in the planter and halfway in the gutter, I pulled myself under the chassis. Rainwater is running down my back.

I quickly found the small pelican case and with some effort removed it from the gas tank. Popped it open replaced the dead GPS with a freshly charged unit.

I squirmed my way out from under the SUV and hustled back to my car. I looked around for any on lookers and stripped down to my underwear before jumping in the backseat of the car to put dry clothes on. The wet clothes sat in a puddle on the back floorboard.

I squeezed between the seats to the driver’s seat. Before pulling away from the curb, I pulled the GPS up on the app to make sure it was working.

The next day, I was in the hotel parking lot, perpendicular to the SUV. I had a small video camera on the ready, waiting for Tammy to exit the hotel.

Shortly before the typical checkout time, Tammy and Larry emerged from the hotel, hands held, swinging between them.

The small camera caught everything on its memory card.

Final Day

I had arranged with Sam that I would be retrieving the GPS early the next morning to keep any dogs he may have put away.

Before dawn, I arrived at the pistachio ranch. I quietly walked down the levee driveway and made quick work of snatching the GPS.

I had also arranged to meet Sam later in day at a Starbucks to give him my written report; the GPS tracking report (with addresses redacted), photos, and a thumb drive of the video.

I usually meet clients in public busy place. They are less likely to have outbursts.

Sam

Sam, the mountain of a man, arrived at Starbucks ahead of me. He seemed like had lost weight and he looked anxious, but mostly he looked sad. He had bags under his eyes and they were bloodshot.

Sam stood when I arrived. He shook my hand and verbally vomited. He said, “I changed my mind. I don’t want the evidence. I don’t want to see the photos and I don’t want the GPS report. I confronted my wife last night, and she admitted she had been having an affair, but said she will call it off. That she was lonely because I worked all the time on the ranch.”  I tucked the reports and the photos back in my bag and said, “I am very happy to hear that, Sam. I wish you the very best luck.” He handed me a check for the rest of my retainer and hurried out of Starbucks.

Not all the investigations end like this, many times when I delivered the information the client already knew in their hearts, they somehow blamed me. Some clients cried, some clients yelled, some refused to pay the remaining portion of the retainer. All of them knew their spouse were cheating, they just needed the proof.

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