The Heart Wants Page 2

  "Love letters?" he said, not really following Gould's train of thought.

  "Yep. This one's signed Lola. This one, Candice. This one Rachel."

  "So he was cheating on Charlotte? But what's that got to do with his background check?"

  "No, look closer," Gould said, shuffling aside so that Donny could.

  He realised what Gould was saying when he saw the email from addresses, and the IP that they had come from. "The victim sent these."

  "Yep. He was pretending to be all of these women. It looks like he was in touch with dozens of people under these aliases."

  "How was he scamming them though? I had to be a scam, right?"

  "I'd say so. I'm not sure what was in it for him just yet. This has to be how he's making his living. He's a con man. It could be that Joseph Riddle isn't his real name either. That could explain why you couldn't find him. I think we should focus on the scam to hand for the time being though. We'll have to do more digging through this lot. Got a USB?"

  The two detectives split the emails between them. There must have been thousands of them. Donny took the aliases Angie and Rachel. Gould took Candice and Eveline.

  Through hours of combing the emails, a pattern gradually emerged. "Lola" was short this month and needed help with her rent, or she'd be evicted. "Rachel" was desperately ill, and needed help to pay for her medical bills. "Eveline" was being sexually harassed by her boss and would leave her job if only she had a little money to tide her over until she could find something else.

  "He was creative, I'll give him that." Gould growled.

  "He never asks them for money outright, does he? He always lets them think it was their idea." Donny mulled it over staring at the emails filling the screen.

  "Clever. If he got too direct about it they might suspect something was up."

  Between the two of them they carefully compiled a list of victims. There were 43, all told. Only two were local. The others covered the length and breadth of the UK.

  "I guess he felt more secure knowing that there was some distance between him and the people he was ripping off." Donny commented.

  "Someone got to him anyway," Gould replied. "We need to talk to all of these people. Start with the local ones, but we need to know if any of the others decided to take a weekend away."

  "There's something else." Donny told Gould, retrieving one of the emails that he'd found that had been sent with a photo attached. He handed the printout to Gould. The email claimed to be from Angie. But the photo was of Charlotte. "Do you think she's in on it?"

  Gould shrugged. "I can't say just yet. It's a definite possibility."

  Donny nodded. He wondered at the men who Riddle had been corresponding with. Whether they knew, whether they even suspected that something wasn't right. He doubted it, or why hadn't he seen their emails to terminate contact? Donny took a deep breath. He thought of all the emails he'd just poured through, all the sweet loving words sent back and forth over months and months. He didn't relish being the broker of the news that they would have to deliver.

  #

  Alice's heart thumped when she saw the photo. The slim and craggy middle aged face looked familiar. She squinted at it, scrutinizing it more closely. She was sure it meant something important. Something interesting, that she could use. But she just couldn't place it yet. She stared at the photo for awhile, letting her eyes rove the semi familiar features, trying to force her brain to conjure up the context that belonged to the half remembered face. It hit her with a start. She ran her eyes carefully over the photograph again, to be sure that she was thinking of the right person. The face was a little older, with extra lines around the eyes and mouth. The salt and pepper mustache she'd seen in her research the week before was now gone, and the hair was a little shorter. But it was him. The same cheerful green eyes stared out from the photo, the same smirk lifted the corners of his lips beneath the same sunken cheeks. Joseph Reuben. Alice had heard about the man who had been found dead in his apartment that morning, and had been researching a possible article to put in front of her editor. But this seemed to be a bonus. She hadn't expected this. According to her information regarding his death, he was called "Joseph Riddle". She didn't recognise the name. But it was definitely the same man. She was sure now. Riddle must be an alias, she thought. She'd come across Reuben when doing some research for another article just the week before. Joe Reuben been a small time con man for over a decade. Tax fraud, identity theft and robbery were just a few of the accusations leveled against him. A couple of the charges had stuck, and he'd done a few short stints in prison. But there was nothing that would really raise his profile. Nothing to make him notorious. He was just another petty thief, another liar and cheat in the murky world of professional crime. But to Alice, that was an angle. She swept a curl back from her face, taking a moment to think about how to frame the words. Then her fingers started to fly over the keyboard. She stared at the screen while the words scrolled across it rapidly; the article outline that she would put infront of her editor was taking shape under her enthusiastic hands. When her fingers were finally still she read it through one last time, nodding with satisfaction. It would make a good read. She attached the outline to an email and hit send with a smile, satisfied that he would be pleased. She might as well get started on the research. She started sifting through her notes from the previous week, pulling the stuff that applied to Reuben and leaving the rest where she found it. That's what she was engrossed in when she realised that Mark was standing right next to her. She jumped with surprise. "Shit," she said, grabbing a wad of tissues to mop up the tea that she had spilled when Mark startled her, before it soaked into her notes or ran off the edge to the carpet. Mark hovered awkwardly while she hurriedly cleared it up, seemingly unsure whether to help, or wait, or just say what he had come for. Alice finally stuffed the sodden wad in the bin and looked up, fighting embarrassment. "Sorry about that. What can I do for you Mark?"

  "Alice, can I have a word about this story idea of yours please?"

  "Sure," she said, a little taken aback. She didn't know what reaction she had expected, but he seemed underwhelmed. Alice followed him through to his office, deflated by his demeanor, which didn't reflect her own enthusiasm. Infact he seemed like he was about to tell her it was a terrible idea, and to move on to something else. She wracked her brain, trying to think what was wrong with what she had written. She couldn't think of what it might be.

  Dropping into a chair behind his desk he scanned her emailed outline again, as though looking for the inspiration to reject it, his dispassionate gaze flicking back and forth across the screen, a slight frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. Alice waited uncomfortably while he reflected on it. Finally he shrugged. "It would be interesting. If he was a bit more notorious. But a small time con nobody's ever heard of? People won't feel sorry for him and they won't be intrigued by who he is. It's not the big story you had in mind Alice, sorry." He gave her a conciliatory smile. "Your angle on it's interesting though." He glanced back at the screen one more time, a thoughtful expression shaping his features. "Tell you what. If you cut it in half, we'll run it further back. Okay?"

  Alice hid her disappointment and agreed. It wasn't like she had much other choice. It was Mark's call, and her objection wouldn't make any difference. At least he'd been nice about it. And they would still run the article. Just not as prominently as Alice had hoped, and she would have to find a way to trim it up lengthwise. She just wasn't sure what to cut yet. Alice returned to her research with Mark's comments stifling her enthusiasm like a wet blanket. At least she would still get to do the story.

  #

  Donny sat behind the wheel of his car. He stared blankly out of the windscreen, not seeing the street, the bustling shops or the people who strolled along it, chatting and laughing to each other. Donny was replaying the image of Ben Longmore's tear strained face in his mind. Breaking the scam to the first of Riddle's local victims had been a horrible experience. His shock had seemed genui
ne enough to Donny. His anger too. Then when the tears came... Donny had seen grown men cry before, when they'd lost someone they loved. But the fact that Longmore had grown so attached to a woman he had never even met or spoken to on the phone had shocked Donny. He just didn't get it. That lack of understanding had made dealing with Longmore very trying for them both. Donny was parked opposite the building where Jamie Marquis, the second local victim, lived, shamelessly putting off the moment when he had to go through all of that again. Eventually he stirred himself to get to it. It had to be done. Waiting only prolonged the moment. He found number forty-one after a long trudge up four flights of creaking stairs. A sharp knock failed to summon an answer. He knocked again, louder and more insistently. He could hear a faint grumbling inside before the door swung inward, revealing a large man wearing pajama pants and a dressing gown. Donny tried to hide his surprise, but it must have shown on his face, because the man felt compelled to explain his appearance.

  "Night shift. All week," he said. "Look, you've dragged me out of bed here. Is this important?"

  "I'm afraid so." Donny introduced himself and explained why he had come. "I'll try not to take up too much of your time," he promised.

  Reluctantly Jamie swung the door inward and trundled over to a sagging couch in the sitting room. He collapsed heavily onto it, making a show of his exhaustion, while Donny took one of the more secure looking arm chairs, not wanting to sink awkwardly into the plush cushions of the couch where Jamie sagged.

  "Well then? What's so important?"

  "A man named Joseph Riddle was found dead this morning, in his flat."

  Jamie shrugged, his features blank of recognition. "I've never heard of him. So what does it have to do with me?"

  Donny swallowed, uncomfortable. "We've found evidence that he had been in contact with you. He was impersonating a woman named Rachel Crowley."

  Donny was surprised when Jamie snorted with laughter. "You can't be serious. Rachel?" he chuckled again, shaking his head.

  Donny nodded, unsure what to make of this strange reaction.

  Jamie chuckled, lifting himself off the couch. "Let me show you something." He said, leading Donny over to a room at the back of the flat. He opened the door leading through to a bedroom, every inch of floorspace almost swallowed by the double bed pushed up against the back wall. "Here." Jamie plucked a photo frame off the nightstand and handed it to Donny. A woman, who looked to be in her mid thirties, smiled out from the photograph. She looked wholesome and sweet, her unmade up face grinning at the camera from where she sat on a plaid picnic blanket in a simple white tshirt and jeans. "This is Rachel," Jamie said, smiling proudly at the photo in Donny's hands.

  "Have you ever met her?"

  The look on Jamie's face soured and Donny cursed himself for not being gentler with the question.

  "You think she's a fraud." He leveled it like an accusation, more than a question.

  "Look, I'm sorry. But have you ever met her?"

  "She lives in New Zealand." There was a defensive tone to Jamie's voice.

  "Do you mind if I borrow this?" Donny asked, showing the photo to Jamie.

  He glared at Donny. "I don't think she'd like me giving it to someone else."

  "You'll get it back," Donny promised.

  "What do you want it for?"

  "We need to find out who this is," Donny said, gesturing to the photo.

  "I told you. She's Rachel Crowley."

  "Well, if we can confirm that-,"

  "When you confirm it. I'm telling you, she's the real deal."

  "When we confirm that, you'll get the photo back."

  Jamie hesitated, reluctant to part with the photo, but eventually relented.

  "How did you get in touch with Rachel in the first place?" Donny asked.

  Jamie smiled, a little shyly. "I met her online. I don't get out much see. I work long hours, night shifts sometimes. I just wanted to meet someone. When I saw her profile she sounded like a great lady so I thought, hey, why not right? All she can do is say no, right? Only she didn't. And we've been talking ever since. She's not on the site anymore. And neither am I. We're together." Pride coloured the smile on Jamie's lips, and Donny felt like a monster.

  "Where were you last night between eight and ten?"

  "At work. I'm a security guard. I was doing night shift at the train station."

  "Can anyone confirm that?"

  "Just the security cameras at the station. There were passengers and conductors as well of course, but I couldn't tell you who they were."

  Donny got the details down, tucking the photo under his arm as he awkwardly juggled notebook, pen and photo frame.

  "Be careful with that," Jamie said reproachfully seeing Donny tuck the frame under his arm, almost into his armpit.

  "Uh, sorry." Donny took the photo and held it carefully by the edges, making sure not to put fingerprints on the glass. "I'll get it back to you as soon as I can," he promised, unsure whether Jamie would ever want to see it again when all of this was said and done.

  #

  Donny hesitated infront of the closed door to Alice's apartment. They were supposed to be going out to dinner tonight, but after the events of the day he couldn't be less enthusiastic if he tried. He sighed and pushed through the door, closing it quietly behind him. He smiled, hearing Alice's gentle murmurs coming from the small concrete balcony opposite. He watched her brush her hair back from her face while she spoke to the plants she was watering in the afternoon's fading light. She always did that, and it never failed to make him smile. When she looked up and saw him looking, she blushed and made a sheepish face. "How long have you been there?"

  "Long enough," he teased with a soft smile.

  Alice made a face but didn't protest when he leaned in close to kiss her. He held her longer than usual, not saying anything, just pressing his face against her unruly red hair, savouring the smell of her hair and the feel of her breathing.

  "Rough day?" Alice asked after awhile, turning her face so that she could speak properly, without mumbling into his shirt.

  Donny told her about the conversations he'd had with Jamie Marquis and Ben Longman. "They loved her," He said simply, when he'd finished. "She wasn't even real." He looked at Alice, staring back at him with her hazel eyes wide and sad. "She was real to them," She said.

  Donny nodded slowly, the full cruelty of the ruse beginning to hit home. He thought of Jamie, still convinced that Rachel Crowley was real. But he would never hear from her again. He found himself feeling less and less sorry for Riddle by the moment.

  "Come on," Alice said, taking Donny's hand and dragging him over to the couch. "Sit," she told him. "You're too melancholy to go out."

  "I'm sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I-"

  Alice just shook her head. "Forget it. We'll go another night." She curled up on the couch next to him and let him lean into her shoulder.

  "Your day went better I hope?"

  Donny felt Alice shrug, the small movement jostling him where he rested against her. "I thought I was gonna write a story about Joe Reuben. Only Mark wasn't so interested."

  "About who?"

  "That conman who was killed. I thought you were working on his case?"

  "You mean Joe Riddle?"

  "No," Alice said, emphatically. "I mean Joe Reuben. Riddle was just an alias."

  Donny let the information sink in, trying not to be irked that Alice already knew what he hadn't found out yet. "How do you know that?"

  "I was looking at him and some others as a part of a piece just last week. But Mark wasn't interested anyway."

  "Oh? Why not?"

  "He's too dodgy to be sympathetic. But not well known enough to be notorious. Basically, nobody would care."

  Donny thought of the woman crying her eyes out over the dodgy, insufficiently notorious conman. It may have been far from perfect, but his life had mattered. At least to someone.

  "So," Alice said, half teasingly, like she was trying
to goad him into being more cheerful. "When are you moving in?"

  Donny rolled his eyes in jest, forgetting that Alice wouldn't see it. "I think the real question is when are you moving in."

  "My place is bigger." Alice protested.

  "I've lived in mine longer."

  "Where am I supposed to put all of my plants?"

  Donny shrugged, not having a real answer for her. His place was smaller, and it lacked even the tiny concrete square of outdoor space that Alice had crammed with greenery since she'd moved in. He had absolutely no idea where he could fit it all at his place.

  "And there's Benji to consider," Alice announced seriously.

  "He's a dog Alice. He'll adjust."

  Alice leaned down to the jowly giant sprawled at their feet and made a theatrical show of covering his ears, much to the mastiff's bewildered amusement. "He doesn't mean it Benji," Alice assured him. Donny snorted with laughter despite his dour mood. Which, of course, was what Alice really wanted all along. She smiled back up at him. Donny pulled her close and kissed her, holding her face in one gentle hand. Just for that moment, he really didn't care where they went. As long as it was together.

  #

  In the morning, Gould was waiting for Donny when he got in.

  "About time," he said, even though Donny wasn't late. Donny looked at his superior and could see excitement simmering under the gruff surface. He raised his eyebrows, surprised by the uncharacteristic display.

  "One of our catfisher's out of town victims, Thomas Cripps, took a little trip," He said in answer to Donny's unspoken question. "And he's staying right around the corner from our victim's flat. What a coincidence." He pulled his bulk out of the chair with surprising grace. "Come on, let's go."

  The hotel was a small budget establishment, squatting by the side of a busy road, its once white stucco now an uninspiring mottled grey. The desk clerk gave them an apprehensive look when they introduced themselves, but allowed them up to the room they were looking for without a fuss. She hovered awkwardly while they knocked on the door. There was no answer.

  "He hasn't checked out," she said, trying to be helpful.