By Sergeant Investigator Anthony J. Rodriguez
Criminal DA Investigator in Bexar County
Many DA and CA investigators come to a prosecutor’s office after a full career in law enforcement. Imagine leaving behind your profession as a police officer—years of experience, a full arsenal of war stories, and a respectable rank—only to become the new guy in an office staffed and supervised by… dun dun duuuun! Lawyers.
That feeling of personal inadequacy hits every new DA or CA investigator. Trust me, I know. I lived it. You could summarize that first day with just two words: impostor syndrome.
I’ve now been a DA investigator for just over 13 years, following 12 years as a deputy with the Bexar County Sheriff’s Office. It took time to understand why I felt like an outsider and why I struggled to feel like a valued part of the team.
From police officer to prosecutor’s investigator
As a police officer, you start fresh—a novice stepping into the world of law enforcement. Academies last for months, bonds are formed, and foundations are laid. You graduate with a clear understanding of where you are, where you’re headed, and how to get there. Everyone starts on relatively equal footing.
I found my niche in a field almost exclusive to law enforcement: criminal street gangs. My time as a gang officer reminds me of a quote by Vincent van Gogh: “I put my heart and my soul into my work and have lost my mind in the process.” My wife would agree. That passion—and the subculture that came with it—consumed my life for nearly a decade. Ironically, it was this very passion—my gang expertise—that led the local DA’s office to take a chance on a young officer.
Most DA or CA investigators aren’t hired for their rank or titles but for their experience and, with luck, the contacts they’ve built. These make an investigator valuable to prosecutors. Some, like me, are brought in for specialized knowledge. The problem is many new investigators don’t understand how their expertise fits into the legal world. There’s confusion, doubt, and an unshakeable question: “What am I here to do?”
I remember the day I got the job offer. I immediately searched, “What is a DA investigator?” The internet was (of course) not helpful, providing only a vague job description: “A district attorney investigator is a law officer who works for the government within the judicial system, specifically in the district attorney’s office. They investigate felony and misdemeanor offenses and play a critical role in the prosecution of criminal cases.”
‘We’re like translators’
It wasn’t until I spoke with my mentor, Mark Gibson (a retired DA investigator), that I gained real insight. He put it this way: “We’re like translators. We take law enforcement’s work and explain it to the prosecutors.” We see incoming cases through the eyes of experienced officers. We recognize the structure of an investigation, understand why certain reports exist—or don’t—and reconstruct what happened based on our knowledge. This is where a DA investigator becomes an immeasurable asset, where we become essential to a prosecutor’s decision-making process.
We also know how to follow orders. We understand chains of command. We find fulfillment in completing a prosecutor’s request, even simple tasks such as obtaining judgments or serving subpoenas. It feels good to be needed, to contribute. But too often, our role is reduced to just those basic tasks. Some prosecutors simply don’t realize the full potential of their investigators. Many of us were once detectives, crime scene analysts, intelligence officers, or patrol supervisors, so why limit us to picking up witnesses or delivering paperwork?
Maybe prosecutors hesitate to involve us because teaching us seems daunting. And to be fair—I’ll admit it—cops are the hardest to teach. Here’s why: We’re trained to be alphas. To take control and to fix the problem. We’ve operated under that mindset for decades. Now, we’re in a completely new environment, surrounded by lawyers, intellectuals, experts in the law. Suddenly, those of us who were trained to lead must learn how to follow, how to ask for help.
That’s the paradox. And it’s something many DA and CA investigators quietly wrestle with.
I was lucky. Early in my time at the DA’s office, I worked with a patient, understanding prosecutor, Tanner Neidhardt. I was assigned to a court with three prosecutors and quickly bonded with him. I remember sitting in his office and admitting, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. Can you teach me?” Tanner took the time to walk me through the entire process of how criminal cases move through the system—from law enforcement submission, to indictment, and finally to trial preparation and resolution. Some cases were dismissed, others rejected, and the rest moved forward to trial. I remember going to court with Tanner and watching him litigate. Afterward, we’d talk through everything that happened in court, and he’d break it all down in detail.
When it came time to find, interview, and serve witnesses, Tanner didn’t just delegate—he came with me into the field. We spent countless hours tracking down witnesses and preparing them for upcoming cases. Through that experience, I learned how crucial it is to locate victims and witnesses, conduct thorough interviews, and ensure their recollections match their original statements.
During this period of my life, I learned much more than just the mechanics of a job. First, prosecutors aren’t the punchline of some tired lawyer joke (though we all know a few good ones!). They’re people—just like me—committed to justice. Yes, they’re highly educated, but they also have families, lives, and goals. And they, too, struggle with doubt. They’re trying to stay afloat in a system that’s just as complex for them as it is for us. I had to let go of my ego—the stereotypical police arrogance. I had to be teachable. Once I was, those mental barriers fell away. I built strong working relationships with prosecutors. Those relationships are everything.
Building up trust
Every prosecutor has his or her own style. Some are hands-on, and others trust their staff implicitly. But regardless of approach, the foundation of a successful relationship between prosecutor and investigator is one word: trust. I knew I had to earn that trust before I could earn respect. I tried to become a partner, not just a subordinate, which meant I had to understand how a prosecutor prepares a case. And honestly, most cops don’t know what happens after the DA accepts a case, let alone once it goes to trial. We grew up watching cop movies that end with the bad guy in cuffs—there’s no courtroom scene. No cross-examination. No discovery process. Just a stereotypical Hollywood scene of a black and white cop car driving away as the camera pans up over the city in the dead of night.
We are police officers who are accustomed to learning how to do the job from instructors in a structured classroom setting. There’s no academy for DA investigators. We must learn this complex duty while on the job.
I remember my first time testifying in court. I was still with the sheriff’s office. I walked into the courtroom lost, unsure of where to go. A bailiff quietly pointed me toward the witness stand. I approached it with fear and trepidation. Later, as a new investigator, I was asked to sit in on a witness interview. The prosecutor and witness stared at me, waiting for me to begin—only I had no idea how. I even struggled with serving a subpoena. The document looked like it was written in a foreign language. It reminded me of the famous quote from Benjamin Franklin: “Tell me and I forget; teach me and I may remember; involve me and I learn.”
Ultimately, I took the initiative and began immersing myself in complex investigations. I discovered that prosecutors welcomed thoughtful input and valued my inquisitive, analytical approach to the cases.
One example stands out: I worked on a challenging murder case involving a young woman who was tragically killed with a knife in a local park. The weapon had never been recovered. Over the course of 18 months, I returned to that park—during work hours and on my own time. I tracked down the defendant’s friends and acquaintances, following every possible lead. After a year and a half of persistent effort, I found the knife.
Another example comes to mind. I was working a murder case where the victim’s girlfriend—a key witness—was missing. She was transient and struggled with addiction, which made locating her incredibly difficult. Her whereabouts were constantly changing and leads often went cold. But over the course of several months, I persisted, and eventually, I was able to track her down and secure her testimony. Her account proved critical to the case, and ultimately, the defendant received a life sentence.
Over time, things changed. My confidence grew. My old war stories with the sheriff’s office were slowly replaced by new ones in the DA’s office. Yes, I made mistakes. But those were overshadowed by dedication and hard work. The more I was involved, the more I understood. Did I finally figure out how to be a DA investigator? Strangely, I realized I always knew—I just didn’t know how to bridge the gap between myself and the prosecutor. Once I developed that confidence—and realized how closely our worlds overlap—it all clicked.
Please forgive the cliché, but it’s true: We are two wings on the same bird, and we are learning to fly. To every new investigator starting out and to every veteran still searching for purpose: Be the link between the streets and the courtroom. Don’t feel out of place. The badge may be different, the mission more nuanced, but the purpose remains the same.
And to every prosecutor reading this: Remember that your investigator is a willing participant in your case. Don’t be afraid to teach the process. Don’t hesitate to explain the steps. We want to know. We come from different worlds, shaped by different training, responsibilities, and experiences. But when we work together—when we communicate, trust, and teach each other—we become a unified force. The investigator brings the street. The prosecutor brings the courtroom. And justice lives in the space where those two meet.
At our best, we’re not just colleagues—we’re collaborators. Partners. Because it’s not about who finds the witnesses or who makes the arguments in court. It’s about finding the truth, together.