Working PIby Jim Nanos
Deconfliction in Private Investigations is the process by which a private investigator notifies local police when conducting surveillance in a fixed location. The investigator provides details such as the vehicle description and license plate to prevent being mistaken for suspicious activity. This helps ensure safety, avoids unnecessary police contact, and maintains professional cooperation with law enforcement.
As a licensed private investigator, I’ve come to appreciate that some of the most critical parts of an investigation happen before I even hit record on a camera. Among these is a practice known in our field as deconfliction—a proactive step in which a private investigator contacts the local police department to advise them of a surveillance operation, providing a description of the vehicle being used and the investigator’s personal and licensing information. Most private investigators, like myself, are former law enforcement officers and often armed and know full well how situations can quickly escalate when information isn’t shared and mistakes are made.
The purpose of a deconfliction call is straightforward: if a suspicious vehicle is reported in the area—often a quiet residential neighborhood—the responding officers will know it’s a licensed PI conducting surveillance and not a criminal casing the neighborhood.
Without that context, things can—and do—occasionally go wrong. This story illustrates exactly how close I came to one of those dangerous misunderstandings—and how a simple phone call may very well have saved my life.
It was a chilly Thursday morning in late October. I was assigned to conduct a matrimonial surveillance in a suburban neighborhood in South Jersey. The subject’s suspected partner lived in a modest single-family home on a quiet culde-sac. I planned to arrive early—before 7:00 a.m.—and remain in place through mid-morning to observe any interaction or overnight stays that could be relevant to the cohabitation investigation.
At about 6:30 a.m. I arrived just short of the location as is my practice, and made the deconfliction call, as I always do, to the local police department. I spoke to a polite communications operator and advised her that I was a licensed PI and would be conducting surveillance in the neighborhood. I gave the general area I would be operating in, the make, model, and license plate of my vehicle, and a physical description of myself, including that I was a retired officer and licensed PI and was armed. I told her I’d be in a dark-colored SUV with tinted windows and might be parked for an extended period. She thanked me, confirmed the information, and told me she would enter it into their shift log, adding the neighborhood had recently had some criminal activity and I should “be careful”. I thanked her and hung up, not thinking twice about it.
I began driving slowly past the target residence to confirm the presence of vehicles and to find a suitable surveillance spot. I backed into a shaded area near a line of shrubs about five houses down from the s ubject’s home. With the sun not yet fully risen, my vehicle blended into the early morning shadows. I adjusted my seat to a reclined position, pulled a jacket over my chest to obscure my profile, and set up my camera gear for what seemed like the one-millionth time—same old surveillance.
What I didn’t know—what I couldn’t have known—was that this peaceful-looking neighborhood had been living in fear for months. I lived nearly an hour away and had no direct knowledge of this area.
Over the past year, a string of violent home invasions had rocked the community. In three separate incidents, a masked man had broken into occupied homes at about 5:00 a.m., sexually assaulting female occupants before ransacking their homes. All the victims had been home alone, suggesting some level of pre-offense surveillance by the perpetrator. Police had confirmed that the suspect was armed with a handgun and had repeatedly threatened to use it during the assaults. Understandably, the neighborhood was on high alert. Residents had been instructed to report any unfamiliar people or vehicles immediately to the local police
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I later learned around 6:55 a.m., a woman who lived across the street from where I had parked awoke and looked out her window. From her vantage point, she could just make out my SUV, engine off, lights out. She saw the silhouette of a man—me— seated low in the front seat, motionless, appearing to hide. The description, from her perspective, was chillingly consistent with what police had reported in the past during neighborhood meetings. Worse, she believed she’d seen the same vehicle parked on the street weeks earlier—on the morning of the second reported assault.
The dispatcher calmly reassured the caller that the police were already aware of the vehicle and that it belonged to a licensed PI who was conducting unrelated surveillance. However, to maintain public confidence and ease the c aller’s concerns, a patrol officer would still be dispatched to verify the report. The dispatcher then did something that changed the trajectory of the day: she called me. My phone rang, displaying the number of the police department. I answered the call immediately.
“Mr. Nanos, this is Communications Jeffries. We received a call from a resident who noticed your vehicle and was concerned. We just wanted to let you know that an officer is on the way to make contact. It’s just a quick check to ease the neighborhood’s nerves. Nothing to worry about. Just identify yourself to the officer when he arrives, please.” I thanked her and advised I would remain parked and cooperative.
Five minutes later, a single marked patrol car slowly and inconspicuously pulled alongside me. I already had my window down and ID in my hand. The officer stayed in his vehicle, rolled down his window, and greeted me with a nod. “You Jim Nanos?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, keeping both my hands visible on the top of my steering wheel, palms open.
He asked if I could hold up my ID, which I did. He gave it a quick glance. “All good, brother—thanks for making the call this morning. You’d be surprised how often guys don’t offer the courtesy.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised at all,” I said. “That’s why I always call—be safe.”
He chuckled, gave a short wave, and drove off slowly, his presence likely noticed only by the caller from the window.
Within minutes, I was back in surveillance mode, and a short while later, I captured the exact footage I needed—clean, uninterrupted, and professionally documented and most importantly—safely. But the story could have ended very differently.
Had I not made that deconfliction call, the dispatcher wouldn’t have known who I was or what I was doing. The 911 call would have triggered a high-priority response. Based on the recent violent criminal history in the area and the caller’s mistaken belief that I matched the suspect, the responding officers would have been operating under a “worst-case scenario” mindset. It’s not far-fetched to believe they would have approached my vehicle with weapons drawn, ordered me out of the car at gunpoint, and physically detained me until they sorted it out.
Remember, I was armed that day, as I often am, legally carrying my off-duty handgun as a retired law enforcement officer. Had that situation turned volatile—had I misunderstood their commands or reached for my identification too quickly—there’s no telling what might have happened. The story could have ended with a mistake no one could take back.
I often hear other PIs say they refuse to notify local police of their presence, fearing it might compromise their investigation. Personally, I believe the risk of creating a potentially dangerous situation far outweighs that concern. To other private investigators reading this: never underestimate the value of a simple phone call. Deconfliction isn’t just about professionalism—it’s about safety. Yours, the community’s, and the responding officers’.
A 60-second call may not seem like much. But on that morning, for me, it possibly saved my life. That’s why we make the call and I ask you always “make the call.”
About the Author
Jim Nanos is a licensed private investigator in New Jersey and Senior Contributor to Working PI magazine. He offers training on ChatGPT and AI assistance in 2-, 4-, and 8-hour classes, including live use of the tool. Nanos can be contacted for conferences and speaking engagements by visiting The PI Coach website, or through his private investigations firm, Apple Investigations.
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