Confessions of an Investigative Courtroom Warrior

I’ve spent decades in the trenches of criminal defense as a private investigator. I’ve worked shoulder to shoulder with some of the sharpest legal minds to ever walk into a courtroom—and a few who should’ve stuck to traffic tickets. From them, I learned the law not in a classroom, but on the battlefield, where freedom hangs by a thread and the stakes are life-altering.

No, I’m not a lawyer. Maybe that’s because I’ve been having too much damn fun digging up the truth, shredding bad police work, and watching DA cases fall apart under the weight of their own arrogance.

This blog is about a rare and reckless breed: the pro per criminal defendant—the lone wolves who choose to defend themselves against felony charges without a lawyer. Bold? Maybe. Suicidal? Sometimes.

Recently, I took on a new role under contract with the Los Angeles County Superior Court. For once, they waved enough cash under my nose to pull me in. The twist? I’m now appointed to cases defending men and women accused of the worst crimes you can imagine—violent, ugly, headline-grabbing stuff.

I still have plenty of room on my plate for private cases and those where lawyers need those things I can provide. 

In the past, I was hired by real lawyers or desperate family members scrambling to save a loved one. But pro pers? Never. Until now.

Sure, I’ve helped a few folks dodge charges in minor skirmishes—no lawyers, no trials, just quick work and clean exits. But let’s be clear: that was kindergarten compared to what’s happening now.

And my advice to anyone staring down the barrel of the justice system? Get a lawyer. Always. Because walking into court without one isn’t brave—it’s like bringing a water pistol to a gunfight.

To adequately tell you about when and why we have people crazy enough to want to represent themselves in courtrooms.  Here is a strong and concise definition of pro per criminal defendants and the rationale behind their existence:

Definition:

A pro per (short for in propria persona) criminal defendant is someone who chooses to represent themselves in a criminal proceeding without a licensed attorney. This right is guaranteed by the Sixth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, as recognized by the U.S. Supreme Court in Faretta v. California (1975). The Court held that a defendant in a criminal trial has the constitutional right to self-representation, even if doing so is unwise or self-destructive.

Why We Have Pro Per Defendants:

1. Constitutional Autonomy: The right to control one’s own defense stems from personal liberty and dignity. A defendant may reject state-appointed legal counsel if they distrust the system or wish to speak directly to the jury.
2. Preservation of Individual Rights: The justice system recognizes that some individuals may believe they can better defend themselves, especially in politically motivated or highly personal cases.
3. Lack of Trust or Satisfaction with Legal Counsel: Some defendants reject public defenders due to past negative experiences or the belief that their assigned lawyer is ineffective, overburdened, or unmotivated.
4. Manipulation or Delay: In some cases, defendants exploit pro per status to delay proceedings, create courtroom disruptions, or manipulate the system — though judges retain discretion to revoke pro per status if abused.
5. Resource Limitations: In rare cases, a defendant may be unable to afford private counsel and may reject court-appointed lawyers for strategic or ideological reasons.

Reality Check:

While the right to self-representation is protected, pro per defendants often suffer from severe disadvantages. They typically lack legal training, misunderstand court rules, and fail to object properly — which can result in a waiver of rights on appeal. Judges must conduct a formal Faretta hearing to ensure the defendant’s decision is knowing, voluntary, and intelligent.

In practice, pro per defendants are often their own worst enemy. As one judge put it:

“A person who represents himself has a fool for a client.”

In the Trenches with the Pro Pers

When I was added to the Los Angeles County Superior Court’s roster of qualified defense investigators, they asked if I’d take on the pro per cases—those assigned to defendants reckless or desperate enough to represent themselves in serious criminal matters. I knew what it meant. These cases aren’t for the faint of heart. They don’t hand them out to rookies or clock-punchers. They go to investigators with the stomach for chaos and the discipline to bring order to it. Many investigators flat-out refuse them. I didn’t.

I said yes.

And almost immediately, the cases started landing hard—high-stakes, messy, unpredictable. The kind where no one’s holding your hand and every mistake could cost someone their freedom. There’s no playbook for pro per work. The learning curve doesn’t just slope—it drops off a cliff. You’re expected to do everything but give legal advice. Sit in court, eyes forward, ears sharp—and keep your mouth shut. The courtroom may see you as little more than a decorative object—a potted plant—but behind the scenes, you’re running reconnaissance. Quietly, relentlessly.

And yesterday… it paid off.

One of my pro per clients—facing a serious prosecution—walked out of court with a full dismissal. No jury. No plea deal. Just truth, uncovered through long hours of work, handed to a prosecutor who couldn’t ignore it, he moved to dismiss the case.  That moment, seeing the system stop mid-grind and spit someone out instead of chewing them up? That’s why I do this.

But make no mistake—pro per defendants are unpredictable territory. You never know what’s going to come out of their mouths in court. Their paperwork is often a disaster. Their courtroom arguments collapse under the weight of their own misunderstanding. I warn them—over and over—that representing themselves is a tactical blunder of the highest order. I remind them that when seasoned attorneys get in legal trouble, they hire lawyers. But most of the time, they won’t listen. Pride, paranoia, ego—it keeps them in the driver’s seat, headed straight into a wall.

Still, despite the frustrations, my work matters. Even the best attorney can only fight with the facts and evidence in their hand—and that’s where I come in. I dig. I chase shadows. I find what no one else is looking for.

And in the end, perhaps the most important part of this job is the one no one talks about: Saving people from themselves.