More Bullshit: Tarot card readers used in missing persons case in Florida

A recent news article from the US reports how a former private investigator for the family of a missing toddler regularly consulted a team of tarot card readers for leads.

I guess this proves, if nothing else, that some PIs are just as gullible, naive, or retarded as their clients.

Perhaps I'm being a bit harsh, you say? What harm does it do if it beings peace and solace to the family, you ask?

Where do I start?

Corporatespeak

I apologise in advance if this seems unrelated to investigations although there is a passing connection in that it relates to a recent purchase I made of another surveillance technical manual via the internet.

This particular post is regarding words and alternate meanings that others outside your organisation may not understand. I, for example, recently was made aware of my lack of knowledge regarding other possible meanings for 'expedited' and 'goodwill'.

Early in June I came across a reference to a particular book that I had not previously heard of and having found a number of copies available for sale through lesbian.com*, eagerly made my purchase. 

(* Not their real name)

Marketing woes

It's the eternal question: just how do you effectively market a discreet service? There's no point in being so discreet that potential clients can't find you but then I don't want to be plastered on the side of a bus either.

Recently, another PI firm made the news by being caught out (again) doing something of questionable legality. That's the third time in as many years.

Clearly the bad press the previous two incidents generated didn't put off another corporate client with, no doubt, deep pockets so perhaps it's true that bad press is better than no press.

Is it really the case?

What innovative marketing strategies should I be looking into apart from having my incompetence published for all to see nationwide?

A typical day

She leaned forward and gazed into my eyes, pleadingly. "I just couldn't go on like this" she said, almost in a whisper.

My heart stuck in my throat; she was a great-looking dame with fantastic pins a man could die for. A real classy broad. And Frank, her low-down husband, was doing the dirty with his secretary, Blanche. 

It didn't get any better, I'd tailed the lovers back to Louie's on 42nd Street. A real dive where the only thing worse than the cheap gin and stale cigarette smoke were the cheaper digs upstairs. Available by the hour for the discerning clientele, if you get my drift.

And that's where I found them, right above Louie's. Frank and Blanche, both dead, shot at point-blank range and Vera still standing there above the bed, the smoking gat in her hand... 

I wish.