Stealing People

            Detective Morris had never been an organized man, and his desk was no exception.  He always had papers everywhere, ranging from junk mail to parking tickets.  But today, there was method to his madness.  Spread across his desk were three different cases, all of them identity theft, and all of them very similar: middle-aged man, living in town, and a loan of $200,000 from a different bank each time.  The “Loan Ranger,” as Morris had nick-named him, was building up a very nice pattern, and Morris felt close to catching him.  There was a knock on the door.

            “Come in,” Morris said.  He didn’t look up from his papers, but heard the creaky door open and close, and could sense someone else was in the room.

            “Hello,” said the person.  Morris looked up him.  There stood a man, maybe about 30 or 35 years old.  He was wearing clothes that looked too thick for this hot August day, and had a look on his face that was a mix between confusion and confidence.  They shook hands, and Morris gestured at the seat in front of his desk. 

            “I’m Detective Morris,” he said. “What can I do for you?” He put down his pencil and intertwined his fingers on the top of his desk, leaning over slightly and looking the man in the eye.

            “My name is Jessie Colvin,” said the man.  “I have reason to believe that someone stole my identity.”

            “And what makes you think that, Mr. Colvin?” Morris asked.  It annoyed him when people came in with their own theories about what happened.  That was his job.

            “Well, I’ve started receiving statements in the mail asking for my monthly payments on a $200,000 loan that I supposedly took out three months ago.  I tried clearing it up with the bank, telling them that I didn’t take a loan out, that someone else must have, and they told me that if I seriously thought something else was going on here, that I should file a police report.  So here I am,” Jessie finished.

            “If what you say is true, Mr. Colvin, I’m going to have to agree that there is something else happening here.  This actually fits in nicely with a pattern we’ve been seeing over the past few months with identity thefts.  If you could just leave me some personal information, I’ll do my best to look into what happened, and hopefully get to the bottom of this.  Can I please have your phone number and address, in case I need to reach you?” Morris asked.

            “Oh of course.  I live at 184 Lineberry St., and my phone number is 555-5342,” Jessie said quickly.

            “Great, thanks,” Morris said.  They both stood up, shook hands, and the man left.

* * *

            Morris rubbed his sleepless eyes while he sat at his desk, which was covered with stacks of case-work.  He hadn’t even been on the force a month, and he already had multiple cases to power through.  His boss had told him to prioritize based on when the case had come in, a “first come, first serve” policy, but all his efforts had turned up nothing.  He threw all the files to one side, and picked up the one he had pushed to the side, the one regarding Mr. Colvin’s identity theft problem.  He booted up his computer and double-checked all info that Colvin had given him.  Sure enough, it all checked out.  A picture of the man flashed on the screen, and he saw that one Jesse Colvin lived at 184 Lineberry, phone number 555-5342.

            With the all the info confirmed, Morris decided to head over to the bank to see what other info on this loan he could collect.  He stepped out the door, climbed into his car, and made his way to the bank on the edge of town.

            Morris pushed open the double plated-glass door, and stepped inside well air-conditioned bank.  He removed his hat from his balding head, and walked up to the only available teller, at the far end of the bank.

            “Good afternoon,” said the woman behind the counter, in an unenthusiastic tone. “How can I help you?”

            “Hello there,” said Morris, extending his fat right hand across the linoleum surface, “I’m Detective Morris with the local police department,” Morris said, while flashing his badge like he always did. They shook hands quickly.  “I was wondering if I could have a word with your manager?” he asked.

            “Yeah, sure.  Please follow me,” she replied.  She showed Morris behind the counter and over to a small table in one corner of the room. “If you’d please wait here,” she said, “I’ll go grab the manager.”

            “Great, thank you,” Morris said.  The woman turned around, and disappeared around a corner.  Morris looked around, taking in his surroundings.  The bank was painted that dull beige color, with over-sized nature pictures hanging on every wall.  Posted at every teller was a little box of brochures featuring an overly happy couple, reassuring the reader that they too can open a checking account with swiftness and ease.  There were a few unhappy looking rubber plants scattered along the walls, and other unidentifiable plants on some of the tables.

            “Hello, sir.  My name is Dan Johnson.  How can I help you?” said the manager.  Morris turned around to see a man in his mid-thirties, with a navy blue suit and brown shoes.

            “Hi, I’m Detective Morris.  I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about a loan that was taken out by one Jessie Colvin a few months back.  We have reason to believe that this man is a victim of identity theft.  Do you think you could help me verify some information?”  Morris asked.

            “Of course,” said Johnson.  “Let me just step into my office and grab that file.”  Checking his watch, Johnson walked slowly down the hall into his office.  Morris could see him open one of his file cabinets and rummage through it for the file.  It seemed like days before he was back at the table, a small folder in his hand.  “Here you are, sir.  I believe this is the one you’re looking for.”

            “Ahh, fantastic.  Thank you, sir,” Morris said.  He started leafing through all the papers in the folder, looking at the name and all the information that the person had provided.

            “Well,” started Morris, “All this looks pretty normal.  Do you mind if I mind make copies off all this, to help me with investigation?”

            “No problem, Detective.  You can actually have that whole folder.  Those are all copies.  Is there anything else you need?” Johnson asked. 

“No sir, this is perfect.  Thank you again,” Morris replied.  They shook hands, and without another word, the manager turned on the spot and disappeared back into his office.

* * *

            Morris was stuck.  All the information he had collected was strewn across his desk, but he couldn’t find anything.  It had been three days since his visit to the bank, but still nothing.

            “This is completely pointless,” he said out loud.  He looked over the loan papers again, but this time he compared them to the notes he had gotten from Mr. Colvin a few weeks earlier.

            “Wait wait wait,” Morris said aloud.  He stood up suddenly, pushing back his chair so that it toppled over and hit the ground.  In his right hand he held his note pad, and in the other, one of the sheets from the bank.  “This isn’t right…” Morris said.  On his notepad, he had recorded Mr. Colvin’s phone number as 555-5342, but whoever had filled out the loan paperwork had put down a different phone number.  “555-8291.  This idiot put down his own phone number here!  Oh, this is too good,” Morris exclaimed.  He jumped on his computer, and did a quick search for the address where this guy lived, using this new phone number.  As the computer searched, Morris grabbed his pad of paper and a pen, and quickly scribbled down the address that popped up.  This is guy is mine he thought.  He shoved the pad in his pocket, and barely got his jacket on as he left the building. He found his car, unlocked the door, and got in for the second time.

* * *

            Morris knocked on the door again.  “This is the police.  Is anyone home?”  There was no response.  On a whim, he tried the handle.  To his surprise, it was open, and he slowly pushed the squeaky door open with his left hand, while drawing his gun with his right.  He made his way into a scarcely decorated hallway, with only one pair of well-worn, black shoes on the shoe rack, and two jackets hanging from the pegs just above.  The walls were painted a vibrant orange, the kind that hurt your eyes after not too long.  The house was dead silent, but he felt that something was wrong.  He kept walking, as quietly as he could, further into the room.  He looked down the hall, which he could see was soon going to turn into a sort of living room.  As he approached, he saw a leather couch against the far wall, a painting of a Spanish ship above it, a flat screen TV, and then…

            “Oh Jesus,” Morris said out loud.  With one last step, he was all the way in the room, and there on the ground was a man.  Normally, Morris would have rushed over to check the man’s pulse, but he could tell by the numerous bullet holes that the man was dead, notably the one directly between his eyes.

            Suddenly, Morris felt something cold and angular press against the back of his head.  “Drop your gun.  Don’t move,” said a voice directly behind him.  The body had surprised him so much that he completely forgot the reason that he was here.  He dropped his gun with a resounding thud, and began to raise his hands in the air.

            “I don’t think you wanna do this,” Morris began.  “I’m…”

            “Police?” said the voice.  “I know exactly who you are.  Walk.”  The man began firmly pushing Morris towards the leather couch.  With a big push, Morris fell face first into the cushions.  He positioned himself upright, and faced to look the man.  Morris could hardly believe his eyes.  There sat the well-mannered, kind man who was in his office just a few weeks earlier.  He had placed himself in a comfortable looking rocking chair, crossed his legs, and propped the gun on the armrest, pointed directly at Morris.

            “Colvin??” Morris shouted in disbelief.  “What the hell are you doing?  Who did you kill?”

            “Really?” Colvin chuckled. “Oh, come on.  You know this guy.”  Morris looked down at the disfigured face.  He racked his memory, trying to place it.  He soon gave up, and looked up at Colvin, shaking his head.

            “I believe, Detective, that you’ve been trying to solve a case of identity theft over that past few weeks, and this right here is your victim.  Well, was your victim,” Colvin replied.

            “Victim?  Colvin, I’m trying to solve your case.  I’ve been trying to find out who stole your…” Morris stopped.  He looked up at the man again, his mouth hanging open, the last word barely hanging on his tongue.  A wide, toothy smile slowly crept across the man’s face.  The man moved his gun and pointed it at the body.

            “Say hello to our good friend, Jessie Colvin,” the man said.  He let out a hearty laugh, one that filled the house with a sadistic sort of joy.

            “But…” Morris was practically speechless.  “What about all the information?  The phone number, the address?  What about the picture?”

            The man smiled even bigger.  “Jessie here went on an extended vacation a few months back.  I managed to get into his house, and took some paperwork.  From those, I got everything; social security number, bank account numbers, even personal information.  From there it was a piece of cake.  As for the picture, Jessie never got his drivers license, so I figured I’d get one for him.  The man lived a quiet life, at least until I became him.” 

            “But you accidentally put down the wrong the phone number.  What happened there?” Morris asked in desperation, trying hard to understand everything that was happening.  The man laughed even more.

            “You think that was an accident??” he asked mockingly.  “That’s the best part of this whole thing.  I knew you’d catch it, you’re too smart to not have,” he said.  Suddenly, he stood up, and cocked the gun in his hand.

            “But why did you want me to catch it?” Morris asked, now clearly frightened.

            “Really?  Are you really asking me that?” the man responded.  “Detective, you’ve been on my tail for close to six months now.  Those other three cases, the $200,000 loans, those were all me.  And I was doing well too, until you picked up on my pattern.  What was I supposed to do, let you catch me?”  The man laughed heartily.  “Of course not!  I set you up, slipped in the wrong phone number, so you would come here, and so I could do this.”  He slowly raised the gun, pressing it softly against Morris’ right temple.

            “But wait, what’s you’re name?  Who are you?”  Morris questioned, trying frantically to not let this happen.

            “That, my friend, is something you’ll never know.”