The Annoyed Investigator's Manifesto

On neurodivergence, tunnel vision and the exhaustion of diligence.

I don’t find my job tiring. Not in a way that cut knuckles and coveralls are, because I’ve done that too.

Not the dread that consumes you when you just don’t want to get up and do it. Nothing like that.

But I find the people exhausting.

And not the prosecutors, not the cops. You expect it from those people, and they are, technically, legally, your adversary.

Naw.

It’s the colleagues and the glorified armchair sleuths. It’s the folks who’ve wiggled their way into the room, consuming more than their fair share while they’re there—taking the space of voices that know more and have done more work. Where learning and mentorship can expand, it’s replaced with noisy arguments over pedantic nothingburgers.

It’s why I got disenchanted with the hacking scene at some point. Everyone wanted to hack, no one wanted to study. Everyone got loud and obnoxious for no real reason.

In our world, everyone wants to take on tough, public cases, but they rarely want to make their eyes bleed with the discovery. Everyone wants to feel the rush of fighting for the wrongfully convicted—few take me up on the offer to put in the real effort required.

It can be exhausting, not just operating in the field but actually interacting with people of this nature all the time, patiently explaining to them what they need to do, or constantly being disappointed in the level of effort they’re willing to put in.

Maybe it’s me, a bit self-righteous, a bit abrasive. You know, I get it. I’m not an easy person to get along with all the time, as evidenced by my social media.

So, I wanted to capture some raw feelings from my own pen about how I not only approach my work but how I feel when people approach me as a person as I do it.

Neurodivergence is a Super Power, But You Still Have to Practice

I adore that people will associate my ability to do this work with my neurodivergence, which we can all agree plays a significant role in my ability to perform complex investigative tasks.

But did you ever consider that if neurodivergence is such a superpower, why we produce more data, spreadsheets, and documentation than others? 

Is diligence not a quality that is trainable and executable by all humans?

Did folks ever consider that maybe it's because it's just easier to wave your hand at us neurospicy folks—after all, we have a 'superpower'—than it is to spend 10 hours in an Excel sheet doing your actual job?

It's a convenient truth for colleagues of the neurodivergent. 

“I don’t have to do this grinding work because ‘Rain Man’ can do it.” My own self-labelled affectionate way of saying “likely autistic.”

Look at it like Olympic swimming instead. Sure, Michael Phelps was born with some natural skills and a physique for swimming. But he had to practice, and he did so. 

A lot.

With the absolute blank stare that only an autist can give, I often look people in the face and ask them: “When was the last time you practiced research?”

Or how many books are you reading on racism? Sexual assault? Cybercrime?

I feel like taking a picture of my bookshelf and shoving it up their asses sometimes.

Or are you just snagging certifications for continuing education credits, going to conferences, or getting a raise? Just looking to get some stage or air time, friend?

Neurodivergence may be my superpower, but I spend a tremendous amount of time exercising it outside of my job—in order to nurture it, round it off, and keep it from getting stale.

I go to therapy to talk about its effects on me and those around me.

Professional athletes go to sports psychologists. I think that’s why they are called “professional athletes” to begin with. They treat it as such.

So do I. 

Do you?

The Idiot’s Advocate

Where and how it became so permissible in conversation to ignorantly inject yourself under the guise of the ‘Devil’s Advocate,’ I can’t quite pin down.

Nor do I care to.

However, too many times to count on the appendages attached to my body, someone comes along, at some point in an investigation and utters the phrase: “I’m just playing Devil’s Advocate.”

We can all agree that the Devil, or Satan, or whoever you want to call it, has a mythical amount of power and knowledge, or at least that’s how it is generally expressed in the lore.

Is it logical to you that someone with the least amount of knowledge in a conversation would be the person most frequently asserting their advocacy of the Dark Lord?

No.

That’s called being the Idiot’s Advocate, and you’re only advocating for yourself.

No one asks for the Idiot Advocate.

Who can often be spotted with the phrase: “I’m just saying!”

I’m just saying, if you don’t know the details of a case? Read them.

Wanna play Devil’s Advocate? First, ask yourself whether you possess the core background knowledge to even ask intelligent questions, or do you just wanna be heard because you feel small in conversations when smart people are conversing?

Is now the time to inject your question? Or is there learning to do? Is it relevant?

Why not wait for a quiet email or message if you don’t have all of the details? I’m not sure there’s a requirement for speed during contemplative processes.

Most investigators want to be challenged with case data, real questions grounded by someone with experience.

Not ignorance, a lack of understanding and bereft of investment in the knowledge needed, which is the position most Idiot’s assert from.

It wastes everyone’s time and energy to have the Idiot sucking up oxygen and air time in a conversation.

Send them this post next time.

If someone reads it and then says, “Now, I don’t wanna be the ‘Idiot,’ but…” in reference to it, it’s a sure sign they’re an Idiot’s Advocate. They’ve just self-identified.

Personally, I’ll take the Devil over an Idiot all day, every day.

Because I don’t trust my work to begin with, I find the presence of the Devil and his advocate comforting.

Tunnel Builders

My favourite query is from a silver-haired, usually male, voice that asks if I’m getting “too close to the case” or developing tunnel vision because I genuinely care about the imprisoned person and their family.

You know, it’s very embarrassing to have feelings or not be a sociopath.

Sure, old boys, let’s talk about tunnels.

Tunnels are created in various ways and are not all created equal, of course.

Sure, I get tunnel vision, and let me show you how I get there; it’s pretty easy to follow, even for the geriatric, uninformed and those who have the misfortune of having their logic particularly impaired.

First, I pile up all of the details in the case, the bullshit, the seemingly unimportant and the vile.

That’s a big mountain, usually.

Then I take my hammer and chisel out and start chipping away at it, sculpting the picture of essential facts and events and eliminating things that aren’t required.

After this process, usually numbered in the tens or hundreds of hours, I stand back and take a look at the big picture.

I climb up the mountain. I walk around it. Sometimes, I have to cement things back on; sometimes, I have to chip more things off.

I build a little campsite at the foot of it, cook some wieners, smoke a bit of ganja.

Sleep on it.

Then and only then do I bore a fucking hole through the middle of it.

Then and only then do I walk through the tunnel and show people how and why things look the way they do.

My colleagues likely despise my briefs and timelines; they are dense, fact-filled and have numbered in the hundreds of pages, cross-referenced with documents, a Google drive and an attitude.

Timelines, filing records requests, taking detailed notes and questioning everyone and everything along the way.

Now, just because your tunnels look more like bobsled tracks, where you just get in, put your helmet on and rocket your way down to glory and a conviction, doesn’t mean our tunnel vision is the same.

The speed with which I have seen prosecutors and colleagues in the industry alike profess someone’s guilt or innocence is astounding.

Shocking. Disturbing, sometimes.

Standing at the foot of a bobsled track, joyously with fists in the air.

I wonder if they ever think, “What if I’m wrong?”

I wonder if they think about how they get back up that tube of icy bullshit they’ve built.

They only see the tunnel, not the stairs beside it, the easy path back up. That’s how they ended up at the bottom of the track on a podium for one and no spectators, spinning aimlessly looking for their first press interview.

My tunnels?

You can walk back and forth through as many times as you like.

Stop in the middle. Have a look around with a flashlight.

Build your own campsite. Cook a ‘dog. Makes little difference to me.

Our tunnels weren’t built the same.

You and me?

Not the same people, not the same investigators and I don’t even associate or identify as one of you.

I don’t hang out in your groups. I don’t know your acronyms.

I cry with my clients.

And I don’t fucking bobsled.

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*clears throat and smiles*

In closing, this is really my way of pleading to those investigators around me and to you, reader, to leave something for my fellow investigators to think about this week:

Try not to impose your limitations, fears, anxieties or shortcomings on your colleagues just because they make you uncomfortable.

Instead, I challenge you to talk way less and read way more this week.

Because it is exhausting for me, and those like me, to have to justify our work to people who won’t put the effort in to mirror it.