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The suspicious wife called Tim May's office on Christmas morning. "He just left," she said. "An emergency at the hospital." One of May's private investigators -- they had done their homework -- was waiting for the doctor when he arrived at his girlfriend's apartment, and remained on surveillance until the "emergency" ended four hours later. May broke the news to the woman, who asked for a full report she could take to her lawyer. May served the doctor with separation papers a few days later. "Guess where?" the P.I. asked. "The girlfriend's apartment. The wife was adamant about that." A former Frederick city police officer, and briefly Brunswick 's chief of police, May later became an explosive technician and senior investigator with the state fire marshal. He has consulted with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms and served as an expert witness for the U.S. Department of Justice. Along with running his investigation company, May is chief judge of Frederick 's Orphans' Court. Seven years ago, he took on pastoring duties at Pleasant View Church of Brethren. After 25 years of chasing cheating spouses, the reverend/P.I. has developed a theory. Men and women stray equally, he said. "It's the aging process. People don't like getting older and like the attention. If it's a guy he's thinking, 'Maybe I'm not as bald as I think.' If it's a woman, she's saying to herself, 'My husband doesn't pay attention to me like this anymore.'" May, who talks fast and laughs easily, also has less hair than he used to. Fire and stings May's office on West Patrick Street takes about 100 cases a year. Thefts, homicides, arson. Premarital background checks, defense and prosecutorial work, corporate embezzlement, political digging and security -- they've handled the Kemper Open pro golf tournament in Potomac for 19 years. Dropping a 12-inch file atop his desk, May mentioned a recent case that took a year to break. Hired by an out-of-state family that owned a multi-million-dollar manufacturing business, his team discovered valuable assets were being siphoned off to subsidiary companies. The culprit? "A relative," May said. Of course. He carries a .357, but dismisses the idea he is ever in real danger. "Oh, after an investigation, they'll say, 'I'm going to get you' or 'I'm going to sue you,' but nothing's ever come from it." Given his background, May gets a lot of arson business from insurance companies, sometimes local officials. He won a confession from a suspect who torched a Frederick barn last year. "Fire doesn't destroy anything," he said. "It only changes things. "You won't find the match, but you'll find where it started." One arson case, a strip club in West Virginia, still gnaws at him. "The manager, the last person that night, said he left at, whatever it was, 4 a.m., and by 5 a.m. it was ablaze. Well, you can tell how long a fire has been going," he said. "The story didn't match." The flames started in three places: behind the bar, in the dressing room and in the office. "It was for the money," May said, rubbing his thumb and fingers together. "But the insurance company and the state police never did anything. To this day, I don't know why and that's the kind of thing sticks with me." May has four full-time investigators in his office and 11 part-time ones. Lots of domestic referrals. Others cut from headlines. One case from last year involved a businessman raising money for an investment opportunity, or so he pitched it, to local wealthy investors. "It was a Bernie Madoff deal, a Ponzi scheme, but the investors didn't know that and they just wanted the guy checked out." An experienced investigator posed as a French businessman -- "he speaks several languages" -- and wined and dined the target in fine D.C. restaurants over a few weeks, even taking the guy on a Florida golfing trip to earn his confidence. "We had business cards, a European phone line set up, everything circling back to us," May said. "Finally, the guy offers to make our investigator a partner and tells him everything. "I love a good sting." Small things In Maryland, private investigators must be licensed, bonded and insured, so not every would-be Jim Rockford, Magnum, P.I. or Columbo can hang out a shingle. May's offices lend an air of professionalism, though he takes pains to mention that not all his clients are satisfied, not by any means. A good detective's key trait is ceaseless curiosity, he said. May, who sleeps four to five hours a night, remains a polite and restless inquisitor. "I've got to know the story behind the story," he said. "About everything." His office has the latest technology: watch cameras, video equipment, computer databases and GPS monitoring equipment. (Word to the wise: GPS tracking devices can be attached to a vehicle with one owner's consent, May says. Same with cell phone tracking permission.) Nonetheless, old-fashioned legwork remains the best tool. "Like you see on television, although we don't solve many cases in 30 minutes," May joked. He still finds it rewarding to bust a company vice president skimming inventory, catch the 17-year-old who set a fast-food joint on fire, and help a spouse learn the truth about their husband or wife. Rewarding -- and forever interesting. "The way people who are married for 20 years know each other is fascinating," he said. "They'll just have a suspicion, based on something tiny. 'Oh, he used to be home on Saturday mornings and now he's running errands.' Or somebody starts working a little more, but there's no more money coming in. Or he's drinking wine at night while we watch TV instead of a martini all of a sudden. "A new habit gets noticed. A new cologne. Or they're interested in something they were never interested in before. Maybe someone's dressing a little younger, a little hipper. "It's always the small things."
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