Part 4 // Understanding Stalking

Gathering the evidence

Now that I had a good idea of the application of the law, I needed to focus on that elusive piece of the puzzle — evidence.

I called the camera technician. “I’m going to the police about the cameras installed without my knowledge. Can you provide a statement?”

“Look lady, this isn’t something I should be involved in. I’m a small business owner and I’d like to help, but I’m sorry.”

Dead end.

I dialed friend after friend that had been out with me when I’d experienced the public shaming and humiliation. Each said the same thing, “I’d like to help, but I don’t feel comfortable getting involved.” Some even went a step further and said, “I don’t want him to start doing it to me.”

Dead end.

Late one evening, the screen from my laptop lit up my bedroom as I tried to find the venomous social media posts he’d made. I had stopped looking at social media and it had been some time since I logged in. When I tried to find the posts, I realized I was blocked. This was my first clue that he had an idea I was building a case against him.

Dead end.

Add to this the emotional toll of stalking — the sleepless nights, the constant drone of worry, a panic attack at every noise, my body in a constant state of fight or flight — and I knew I was becoming unraveled. The only way to stop this from happening is to remain focus.

I turned back to my incident log and wondered how I could get the evidence I needed to support it if my efforts weren’t good enough.

Keeping an incident log to demonstrate the pattern of behavior that is required to prove the crime of stalking means the victim must submit to the continued, repeated victimization.

My goal was to stop his behavior; not endure it.

Despite changing my password on the car app, he still managed to find me whenever I left my house. I called the car manufacturer and asked that my app profile be deleted. But it was a third-party app they had no control over.

I was provided an email address for the third-party help desk and sent a message. Two days went by without a response. I scoured the internet, trying to find a phone number or some other way to contact the company, but came up with nothing. For seven consecutive days, I sent emails. No response.

Frustrated, I went to the local dealership where I’d purchased the car brand new — 12 miles on the odometer — and drove into the service bay.

“How can I help you today?”

“I need to disconnect my car from the app.” I held up my phone and showed him the app I was talking about.

“That’s a third-party app. I can’t help you with that.”

“Can you just reset my car’s computer as though I traded the car in, and you sold it to someone else?”

“We don’t do that.”

“So all my information in the car’s computer doesn’t get cleared before it gets sold?”

“The computer doesn’t store personal information. If it’s your cell phone connection to the car that you’re worried about — ”

“No. It’s the app and the location tracking that I need disconnected. My ex-boyfriend is stalking me.”

“As far as I know, you only need a VIN number to set up the app. If he has your VIN, he could create his own login.”

“How do I know if he has my VIN number?”

“It’s etched on your windows and displayed on a tag in your windshield. Anyone can see it.”

Shock. Disbelief. Dead end.

This was a car I had bought brand new — 12 miles on the odometer the day I drove it off the lot years earlier. I had achieved a milestone in my career, and this was my reward; no car note. My intent was to keep it until the wheels fell off, but the stalker had another plan. It was now a stalking tool, weaponized against me before the call rolled its 40,000th mile.

I bought a used car and now had to carry a note, but at least I had a vehicle he couldn’t track. It was an older model with no screen on the dash and certainly no app. But what it did have in the dash was a CD player … if that tells you how old it was!

After this ordeal, I focused again on evidence. I chose to keep my original car in hopes that somehow I would be able to prove that he was using it to track me.

As much as I didn’t want to agree with the police officer, I understood the argument against the instances listed in my incident log. Any good defense attorney would have argued the same exact thing. So how was I going to get this concrete evidence?

Once again, I turned to the internet in a desperate search to figure out how to get the evidence I needed for a police report. No luck. Well-meaning websites emphasized an incident log, but that clearly wasn’t getting me anywhere.

I contacted a private investigator. He wasn’t interested in helping me but said he would help me figure out how to get the evidence I needed. We met for lunch — the private investigator, me, and my binder.

As I flipped through the binder showing him the evidence I’d presented to the police, in walked the stalker. I quickly shut the binder and stared helpless into the eyes of the private investigator.

The stalker sat near our table, and it didn’t take long before the hate speech started spewing. The private investigator asked for the check and we walked out to the parking lot together. He opened my car door and I climbed in with tears streaming down my face. His arm rested on my open door as he watched my hands tremble.

“I’m going to help you. But you need to do everything I say.”

“How much is this going to cost?”

“We’ll figure out how much you can afford. I don’t like this situation at all.”

Finally, someone that was willing to get involved!

Not just get involved; someone to stalk the stalker who is stalking me.

A week and a few days later, I was back at the police department.

The private investigator had accumulated photos that showed the stalker’s license plate and clearly showed the face of the stalker while actively stalking me. We also had videos of the stalker circling my house, driving slow in front, and then speeding up to make his loop to come back around, slowing only in front of my house again.

Then there was another video of me at a restaurant and the stalker creeping in the bushes, peering into the windows to see where I was at. The private investigator had followed him into the restaurant and filmed the stalker walking by me, spewing his hate speech, disappearing into the bathroom, and then returning to his car to wait for me to leave.

Indisputable proof!

Finally, a police report was filed. My binder was taken into evidence, along with the written report from the private investigator, his photos, and the videos on a thumb drive. A warrant was issued.

“The most dangerous time is after a warrant has been issued and before the arrest is made. Stay vigilant.” Four more arrests would follow in the years to come, and this was a mantra I became accustomed to hearing.

But I never anticipated what he did next.

Follow me to see Part 5 // Understanding Stalking — a 5-part series.

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