When I found myself committed to the idea of being a Private Investigator I found that a question remained on repeat in the back of my mind, why?

I’m not former law enforcement, nor military (although, I did consider that path). The notion that I was qualified to do this without any background didn't fit the narrative. I knew I could help people though. But, why?

Now, you might not think that a Private Investigator is of much help to anyone. It may depend on which side of the coin you are on, really. If you have hired my firm and the results are positive, we have been a great deal of help. Alternatively, if you are the individual or company I have been investigating, well... your opinion of me may not be as great.

Outside of the flashy job title, its what most of us PI’s are here for. Helping people through difficult issues and circumstances is our main driver, and I’m no different.

Late afternoon on October 30, 2017- I received a call from a woman, “Amanda,” who had found herself in a desperate situation. She explained to me through shaky breaths that her brother, “Steve,” had gone missing. He had been traveling by bus through Atlanta on his way to South Carolina. Amanda continued on to explain the battles Steve had endured. She explained he had been struggling with drug addiction, matched with a carefree lifestyle and mentality. As she continued on, I heard something that grabbed my attention. Steve called Amanda daily. On the occasions she didn’t answer, he would even call the following day to check in on her. You see, despite the challenges Steve faced, he was devoted to his family. By the time Amanda and I had spoken, two and a half days had passed with no contact from Steve.  Heroin was his drug of choice, as it is for many in Atlanta. We knew we had to move on finding him soon.

We discussed physical description, tattoos, anything that would be helpful in the search. Steve was described as 6’1 medium build, he had blonde hair, and blue eyes.

Amanda mentioned something that stood out to me, he walked with a “purpose.”

After finalizing our arrangement, my homework began. With any missing person investigation, the first step is checking hospitals and jails. Nothing there. Steve had not been reported missing to the police, and the police had no known sighting or contact with him. So, I began at square one.

I start to map out his last known areas. Using this, I can canvas the streets. Anything that could link Steve to the description given by Amanda. Where would Steve go?

Steve was in his mid-30’s. The majority of his adult life had been riddled with addiction troubles. He had been en route to a South Carolina treatment facility when he arrived in Atlanta at the Greyhound Station on Forsyth Street. Its an area that is as downtown as downtown can get.

He had little to no money with him. Maybe just enough to get him to his final destination, but he had somehow missed his transfer bus. As he waited, his money ran low, and eventually he missed the last ride out of town.

When I arrived at the terminal, I began with Operations and Security there to see if they would recognize Steve. Luckily enough, they did. Steve had been last seen with his luggage on a bench seat at approximately 9pm the night before. After that, nothing.

So from there, I start out on foot. I decide to work the area I had laid out in my mapping. First was a shelter about two blocks away. With a photo of Steve in hand, I begin asking those on the street if they had seen Steve. Eventually, I made contact with the Security Officer at the shelter. Looking through the resident logs, we uncovered that Steve had been there, but left the morning before at 10am. He did not return.

I continued on my route up Pryor Street, making my way towards Woodruff Park near Georgia State University. Carefully, I checked every alley, under each bridge, and every homeless camp I came by. Nothing. I planned to work in a perimeter, so I continued up Auburn Ave. towards the Centennial Olympic Park.

I knew they had public restrooms and open space. It was perfect for someone who would want a spot to sit and hang out all day. At the North end of the park, there was another shelter to check. I repeated my same series of questions, the same canvas of the area to anyone who would speak to me. No Steve.

I continued my perimeter. I believe that it is human nature to go towards the same routines, safe areas, habits, and in this case survival methods. I look for those patterns and concentrate on that. Steve is not from Atlanta, he is going to stay close to what he can easily find or return to. Knowing this, my route took me back to the Greyhound Station.

I’ve worked this area before. I know this part of Atlanta. Its busy and diverse- lots of visitors, students, and locals everywhere. So, where is Steve? I had searched high and low, checking everything I could think of…but only traces of Steve lingered.

It had been five tiresome hours searching. I had scoured two miles of the perimeter I set. Resigned, I stopped to eat at a Deli. I sat down to eat, making sure I’m at the window that faces the busiest intersection. As I sit there I’m recalling my discussion with Amanda. Steve was tall, relatively normal guy, but he walked with a purpose. She said forward leaning, fast paced, you’d think he was late for a meeting if you walked past him. It’s different from the laid back pace of most of those in Atlanta have. I keep working on my sandwich pondering what the next move should be, and as I look out the window

I SAW HIM!

I jump from my seat, knocking the chair over loudly, scaring the others in the deli. Leaving everything behind, I run into the street calling out his name. At first, he looks at me and walks away. “I’m not Steve,” he says as he continues on. (I have that look, sometimes people think cop) I’m not giving up though. I call him by his full given name, and he stopped in his tracks. I catch up to him, introducing myself and letting him know why I’m there. Cautious, he still refused. I continue on to give him details like his birthday, his families names, how I spoke to his sister. This is where hard work pays off.

He turned to look at me with teary eyes. Beginning to get emotional he asked who I was again.

“My name is KC Rowe, I am a private detective that your family hired to come get you so you could get home safe.” I told him calmly.

Something changed in Steve there. “I can’t believe they did this, they do love me,” he said shakily.

If it weren’t for the adrenaline rush, I may have cried right there with him. Together, we went back to the Deli. I wrapped my sandwich for him, grabbed what I had left in a rush, and we headed out.

I explained to him that I had coordinated with his parents to arrive in Atlanta. His mother was flying in from Miami, his dad was in North Georgia. Just two hours after I had met Steve, he was in his dad's vehicle headed to the airport to catch a plane with his mom headed back to his home in New Jersey.

From the moment I met Amanda to the time I watched Steve drive off with his father, 28 hours had passed. In the end of those 28 hours, reconnecting Steve with his family reminded me why I do what I do. I became a Private Detective to help people.

I feel truly honored to be able to reunite missing people with their loved ones. To know that what I do with Katella Investigations has a lasting impact on those we help is what gets me out of bed every morning. For Steve, or for anyone else who just needs a helping hand- I am thankful to be there.