Who Says Crimes Doesn't Pay?

Who said,”Crime Doesn’t Pay?”

Some say crime doesn’t pay. Who coined this over-used phrase? Josie and John Morris often challenged this statement, although to the naked eye they looked like any other couple you’d bump into in the street or supermarket. They had a mean streak but went to great lengths to appear friendly, offering to water plants and keep an eye on neighbours’ homes while they were away.

“I’ll turn your car over,” volunteered John when George and his missus went for an extended visit to their daughter in Canada.

George was so busy packing and excited, he’d forgotten he’d filled up the tank before he left.

John turned the car over as promised, not in the garage, but on the open road eating up the miles and burning petrol, visiting friends he’d not seen for some time.

“You’ve gone up in the world, John. What’s your secret?” asked his friend Alex, as he admired the sleek, grey Honda Civic.

“You’ve done yourself proud. I wish I knew how!” continued Alex.

Fifty-nine year old John sat smug and laughing to himself, flicking his straggly greasy grey pony tail over his thin bony shoulder.

“Life’s not so bad,” retorted John.

An almost empty tank on his return was a surprise to George but with a scratch of the head and a shrug of the shoulders mumbled, “I must have forgotten to fill up before we went away. My memory isn’t what it was.”

Josie offered to water plants for another of their neighbours, Sally, two-doors-down. Sally hadn’t bargained on Josie skimming off groceries smuggled out in plastic bags whenever she tended her plants. The plants grew taller as Sally’s larder dwindled. Josie depleted her neighbour’s groceries often enough to contribute to the Morris’s welfare throughout the year but without raising suspicion.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you two,” Sally would often say.

Josie brought food to their neighbour’s kitchen to cook for their tea. John accompanied Josie and sat watching television as he stroked his ego thinking how clever they were and how much money they were saving on fuel on the strength of their neighbour’s trust in them.

The Morris’s were well-known for curtain-twitching but their neighbours felt reassured that at least someone was watching out for potential crime in the area. Fifty-eight year old Josie’s slight stature was always rigged out in classy high street clothes with a sleek hairstyle cut and coloured to keep the grey at bay.

“How does she do it?” Joan asked her friend.  “She doesn’t work either” Joan grumbled.

Josie’s numerous outfits were complimented with classy jewellery and fine leather footwear. John went out at ten every evening to his local for a few hours and was always the first with the latest top-of-the-range technology.

“How does he do it?” murmured the regulars.

The question was voiced often behind closed doors whilst the Morris’s never appeared to put a foot wrong. All went well and things would never have changed unless some nosy neighbour was privy to their movements or aware their only legal income was courtesy of the Benefits Agency.

Mrs. Beacon, another neighbour, was a lonely, eighty-year old woman with scant grey hair, stooped shoulders and a frail body that looked as if she’d be blown over by the slightest breeze. Ginny Beacon trusted everyone and who better to help her.

“John and I will collect your pension when we’re out shopping. You can stay home and stay warm,” suggested Josie.

Ginny always insisted on her pension being paid into the post office because she didn’t wear with banks. Her great niece, Susan used to collect it for her until two years ago when she married and moved up north. Ginny’s failing health made it difficult for her to collect her pension but because it was her only source of income she insisted on it being collected each week.

“Good old Josie and John,” Ginny told neighbours “they collect my pension every Tuesday on the dot. What would I do without them?”

Ginny was happy with this arrangement and gave the Morris’s a £10 tip for their trouble at Christmas. Susan was pleased that her great Aunt had such good neighbours. What Ginny didn’t know was that in the last two years since the Morris’s began collecting her pension, she’d been awarded two increments amounting to an extra £11 every week.

“I can’t read my post these days,” complained Ginny “either people are writing smaller or I need some new glasses.” 

Mail from the Department of Works and Pensions advising Ginny of her increments were quickly dismissed by John.

“Just junk mail, Ginny, I’ll shred it,” volunteered John.

“I’m happy with my little lot,” Ginny sighed “but in the last few years it’s become a real struggle to make ends meet. Food prices have shot through the roof.  I’ve had to cut down on my favourite treats. I used to love a lamb chop or chicken leg on Sundays. What does my money run to now?” she sighed. “Lamb’s liver at best, “she finished.

“Oh dear,” sighed John and Josie, “how sad for you.”

How life had become a trial in Ginny’s winter years.

When poor old Ginny finally passed away, her house was put up for sale. Ginny’s niece, Susan, came to sort out her affairs.. Susan was baffled at the amount shown in Ginny’s pension book as £110 weekly, but up until her death, Ginny had grumbled about the struggle on her £99 a week pittance. Ginny omitted telling Susan just how much of a struggle she had to make ends meet and always put on a brave show. Susan felt she had to find out why there was such a discrepancy and paid a visit to Mr. Jones at the Post Office.

“I’m sorry to hear about your great Aunt,” said Mr. Jones.

“Thank you,” replied Susan. “I’m really puzzled,” she continued, “Auntie’s allowance book states she was entitled to £110 a week but she often complained the £99 she received wasn’t enough”.

“Well,” started Mr. Jones, scratching his head “the Morris’s collected your Aunt’s £110 pension like clockwork every Tuesday. I know because I serve them,” he continued.

Out of respect for her Aunt, Susan felt she had to find out the truth and decided to call in to the local police station for some advice.

How could they get away with such blatant fraud? How gullible were the neighbours?

The new neighbours, the Fostrots, moved into Ginny Beacon’s home and life in the street would carry on as before. Or would it?

Forty-eight year old Dave Fostrot was a hard-working computer analyst and a pillar of society. Dave’s tall lean frame, large blue eyes and warm smile below his tufts of brown hair were rather appealing. His forty-six year old pretty wife, Julie, enjoyed her role as a homemaker and bore him a daughter Mandy and son, Simon.

Mandy was the spitting image of her mother with blonde hair, cut short back and sides framing her elfin face and enhancing her beautiful blue eyes. Mandy married young and emigrated to Australia with her new husband. She’d recently produced a welcome grandson for her parents. Simon already towered over his mother and mirrored his dad’s slim figure, ready smile and spirit of adventure. Simon set off for a gap year overseas just as his Dad had done twenty-three years previous.

“I’m determined we won’t get burgled again,” Dave assured Julie, “twice in as many months is twice too often. We’ll make sure our new home’s secure. I’m installing CCTV and I’ll catch the beggers if they even try.”

It was after the honeymoon period in getting to know the Fostrot’s when John and Josie approached their new neighbours.

“We’ll water your plants and collect your post and keep an eye on your house if you’re ever away,” offered John.

“Right, we’ll take you up on your offer,” said Dave “we’re visiting our grandson in Sydney. It’ll be great not to worry about the house.”

Nothing seemed amiss when Dave and Julie returned from their trip of a lifetime.

“Let’s see how your CCTV equipment is shaping up?” asked Dave’s brother, Arthur when he visited them on their return.

“We’re thinking of installing it ourselves,” continued Arthur.

Dave thought he’d switched the system off because the Morris’s were keeping an eye on their home. He didn’t want the alarm going off if they’d not reset it correctly. Shock then when he switched on the monitor for a demo to witness John laughing aloud sat on their sofa watching their plasma screen eating and drinking with great delight. Zooming to a kitchen shot spotted Josie filling up plastic bags of tea, sugar, coffee, rice, washing powder with nothing seeming to escape the raid on their larder. Josie was adept at ‘skimming’ off groceries and ‘merchandising’ by bulking up the food containers with a few shakes or fluffing up the teabags so nothing seemed amiss.

 “These letters look interesting, our Josie” shouted John from the hall.

 They’d gotten into the habit of steaming envelopes open and re-sealing them, but until now there hadn’t been anything worth pinching except some money-off coupons.

“Josie, this envelope’s got a £200 cheque from the Fostrot’s solicitors for an overpayment. Guess what? The dozy secretary’s not filled in the payee’s name.”

John laughed out loud as he stuck the cheque in his back pocket.

“I’ll pay that into our Post Office account tomorrow, our Josie,” said John smugly.

Little did the Morris’s know the CCTV equipment was capturing all this and the beginning of the end of their high jinks was nigh.

“I’m calling the police. I’ll let them deal with this. I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” stormed Dave.

The Police Officer viewed the tape witnessing John stuffing the cheque into his back pocket and Josie bleeding their neighbour’s store cupboards. 

“Don’t say a word,” advised the officer “wait until the cheque’s paid into their account. That hard evidence and the tape recording will make any prosecution watertight.”

Dave struggled keeping the smile off his face because he knew John and Josie’s misdeeds were due to come back to haunt them. Sure enough, John deposited the cheque into his Post Office account the next day. The police officer asked Mr. Jones for details of this latest transaction on John’s account and the game was up.

During this same time, the police had been making enquiries to investigate Susan’s concerns of the Morris’s suspected financial abuse of her Aunt Ginny.  The cop car pulled up outside John and Josie’s house and their neighbours’curtains twitched as the pair were seen being hauled off to the local police station under arrest of suspicion of theft of the Fostrot’ goods and money and theft of money from Ginny Beacon (deceased).

Crime doesn’t pay would be the three words John and Josie would learn to loathe as they waited for the date of their court hearing and the strong possibility of a lengthy custodial sentence. 

1840 Words