Memoirs of a Fraudster: Confessions
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David Jackson
DAVID JACKSON is the author of eleven crime novels, including the bestseller Cry Baby and the DS Nathan Cody series. A latecomer to fiction writing, after years of writing academic papers he submitted the first few chapters of a novel to the Crime Writers' Association Debut Dagger Awards. He was very surprised when it was both short-listed and Highly Commended, leading to the publication of Pariah in 2011. David lives on the Wirral with his wife and two daughters.
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Memoirs of a Fraudster - David Jackson
© 2011 by David Jackson. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
First published by AuthorHouse 10/03/2011
ISBN: 978-1-4670-0113-7 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4670-0114-4 (ebk)
Printed in the United States of America
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,
and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Contents
The Arrest
Chapter 1
THIRTEEN YEARS EARLIER, 1995, THE INTRODUCTION
Chapter 2
MEETING KELLY
Chapter 3
THE TESTER
Chapter 4
CHEQUE CASHING
Chapter 5
THE MEETING HOUSE
Chapter 6
ONE MONTH LATER
Chapter 7
THE MOVE
Chapter 8
SWISS ACCOUNT
Chapter 9
IGOR AND THE CHINESE
Chapter 10
ON THE RUN
Thank you to: my sister and mother for their unfailing enthusiasm and support; and everyone at AuthorHouse for pulling out all the stops; and last – but definitely not the least Crystal, who always makes me smile.
The Arrest
It was a Friday; you could say it was the thirteenth, as it certainly felt like it by the end of the day. I had woken up in my ground floor flat, in the out skirts of London, from a bad dream of some sort, my body covered in sweat, but I couldn’t remember the dream. Weird… I picked up my Rolex from the bedside table; it said 5 a.m. I had an appointment at 8 a.m. with my friend Andrew, but this was too early to get up, so I wiped the sweat from my face with my palm and went back to sleep.
At first I thought I was having another dream, but this was no dream—this was reality. There was someone banging on my door. Bang, bang, bang bang. Open the door!
Bang, bang, bang. Open the door. We know you’re in there.
Bang, bang, bang, bang. Open this door or we’ll break it down!
I got up this time. It was 6.30 a.m.; I had slept an hour and a half longer. I put on some clothes and walked to the front door. I asked angrily, Who the fuck is it?
It’s the police. Open the door.
What do you want?
We’re looking for a David.
Yeah, that’s me. So what do you want?
Open the door or we’ll break it down.
OK. Hang on a minute. Let me put on some clothes.
That was a lie; I was going to escape. I ran to my back door and opened it, only to see a police officer wielding a mean German shepherd dog. It barked as it saw me step out the back door. I wasn’t going to get mauled, so I ran back in and locked the door. There was no escape. Damn. I had to surrender.
I went to the front door and opened it, and immediately I was put in handcuffs.
What did I do, and what do you guys want?
I asked.
David, we have a warrant for your arrest.
He then read me my rights.
I wasn’t shaken, and I kept my cool. I’ve always been able to stay calm under immense pressure, and deep down, I’d known I would get caught one day, so it didn’t mean anything to me. This was the day, so bring it on. Fuck them, I thought.
They started to go through my things. They had the sniffer dogs all over the bloody gaff. I didn’t know what they thought they would find. At one point, I actually went back to sleep on my couch with the handcuffs on. They were sloppy. I suddenly realised I had my computer in front of me, and I had done some dodgy stuff on there just last night, but I was smart enough to have a programme in there that wiped out all evidence of whatever you did every time you signed off the computer. But I had the Internet dongle still in the computer—that was bad. I couldn’t let them get that, so I distracted them by asking to go to the toilet, and while they were arranging to get someone to go with me to the john, like I really needed someone to hold it for me, I pulled out the dongle and stripped it with my fingers so I could get at the SIM card inside it. They were watching me, but they didn’t know what I was up to. Finally, I felt the SIM card with my right thumb, slid it out, and put it in my mouth, burying it under my tongue, then I placed the dongle on the couch next to me, and as I stood up, one of the officers saw it.
That wasn’t there when we came in,
he said. That was plugged into the side of the computer.
They mumbled amongst themselves, giving me the evil eye every now and then, but I didn’t give a fuck. Slowly I started to chew on the SIM card, watching to see if they knew what I was doing. They got fed up of watching me ‘cause every time they looked at me, I smiled back with an impossible grin. I knew they wouldn’t find anything; I was chewing the only thing they could bury me on.
Another two hours went by, and they were still scratching their canisters, clearly wondering what to do since they had diddly squat. Finally, they decided we were going to the nick. Can I use the loo now, before we leave?
I asked. But this time i just got ignored. It was the longest ride of my life. They stopped off at McDonald’s to get some breakfast. Imagine that—taking liberties with my liberty.
Do you want some food, David?
I’m OK,
I replied. I stayed mostly silent all through the ride. They kept trying to talk to me, asking me stupid questions like where had I hidden all my paperwork I used to commit fraud, and suddenly it dawned on me that someone had given them information. I had been snitched on. That’s the only reason I could think of that they would be asking where I hid all the papers I’d used, but I kept it to myself and kept smiling. How long till we get there?
I said.
Not long,
the driver replied, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew something was wrong if we were going to the police station via all the back roads of South East London. It doesn’t take two hours to complete a forty-five minute journey. I later found out they took out a raids on all the adresses I was associated with, three properties in total they went all out on this one But I stayed patient. These guys had nothing on me. They were jokers.
No sooner had we reached the station than I started asking for my lawyer, but they didn’t give me my right to make a phone call. They kept me locked in