When Anne’s husband Graham died, she made friends online to help her through her loneliness, but they had wicked motives…
As I came downstairs to make breakfast, the silence in the house was overpowering.
I flicked on the kettle and tried to push my anxiety to the back of my mind.
But it was impossible.
Since losing my husband, Graham, I’d found life on my own extremely difficult.
And now the country had gone into lockdown, the loneliness was unbearable.
Graham and I had been married for nearly 35 years, and we’d done everything together.
I’d spent a few years as a police constable, and Graham worked for a pharmaceutical company.
We had two daughters, who were grown up with families of their own.
And so, my whole life revolved around Graham.
So when he became ill with liver disease, my whole world started to crumble.
It quickly became serious, and, following an internal bleed, he passed away.
He was just 54 and I was heartbroken.
In the months afterwards, I received a death-in-service pay out of £1.25 million, including pensions, in relation to Graham’s passing.
It was a lot of money, and I was grateful not to have any financial worries.
But it didn’t bring Graham back.
Once the money landed in my account, I shared £700,000 between my two daughters and bought a new house.
The rest of the money was waiting in my account, while I decided what to do with my future.
To keep myself busy, I took landscape photos, as a hobby, and uploaded my work on to a website called ‘Viewbug’, where I could chat to other photographers.
Now, drinking my morning brew, I began scrolling through the website, and to my surprise, I noticed someone had complimented my photos.
These are amazing, they’d written.
'I think I've made a very big mistake'
It was the lift I needed.
You’re very kind, I typed back.
We started messaging back and forth
I discovered the complimentary user was a man named Clinton, who was a US military surgeon, working in Yemen.
After a couple of days chatting, we exchanged phone numbers.
It felt nice to have someone to speak to again.
I told Clinton all about losing Graham.
‘I know just how you feel,’ he told me. ‘I lost my wife and daughter in a road accident five years ago.’
My heart ached for him.
‘I’m so sorry, that’s awful,’ I sympathised. ‘You must be heartbroken.’
Our tragedies brought us closer together and I quickly felt I could call him a friend.
Then one day, armed with more confidence, I got chatting to another man, Gerard, who was a Hollywood actor, based in the US.
We all exchanged photos and I even recognised Gerard from films I’d seen, like Olympus Has Fallen, which had come out the year before.
I can’t believe I’m talking to a celebrity! I said to him.
I felt very flattered he wanted to be friendly with me.
We discussed what it was like working on action movies, including how they decided what weapons to use, and he gave me tidbits on his personal life.
Gerard was so down-to-earth and approachable, and told me he was raising funds to build a charitable complex in Africa for homeless families and orphaned children.
He was hoping to build housing, medical centres and schools for them.
Straightaway, I saw an opportunity to help.
‘I can send some money,’ I offered. ‘It sounds like a really good cause.’
‘That’s so generous,’ he said. ‘It’s going to cost a lot, so any help we can get is great.’
I sent £5,000 via bank transfer.
Then not long after, Clinton told me that he needed money to get him out of Yemen and out of the Army.
To leave, he had to pay them to find a solider to take his place.
I trusted Clinton, as we’d been speaking every evening and weekend.
We’d even FaceTimed when I was on a trip to the Isle of Man. He looked like his photos, but the signal was dodgy, and he cut out seconds later.
‘I need £2,000,’ he said.
‘I can help,’ I said and wired him the money via bank transfer.
My bank never flagged that sending a large sum was suspicious.
And I had always been very trusting.
I was well-known for seeing the best in people, and even being a little too soft-hearted at times.
Besides, these two men were my friends.
I really looked forward to chatting to them both, each day. They helped with my grief.
The weeks passed and I sent £5,000 here and £10,000 there to both men who were so grateful to me.
In just six months I had sent the two men just under £400,000.
Every time they asked for cash, I sent it. It was like I was in a trance.
It felt like they were the only people I had in my life. Having them to speak to was the only thing keeping me going.
In early December, my mum, Lynne, and my sister, Tracey, came to visit.
‘What are your plans for Christmas?’ Mum asked.
I stared at her.
‘What do you mean?’ I stuttered. ‘We’ve just had Christmas?’
As I checked the calendar on my phone, I realised Mum was right.
The entire year had passed me by in a blur.
I’d even missed the first anniversary of Graham’s death.
The same day, I received two text messages, one from Gerard and one from Clinton, saying: You need to sell your house and your car.
Both messages said the exact same thing.
I stared at them, open-mouthed.
It was as though I’d just woken up from a coma.
I suddenly realised what an awful mess I was in, and how stupid I had been.
I was blinded by shock as I realised I had been scammed.
These men were not my friends.
They wanted to see me homeless and penniless.
For the next few weeks, I ignored their messages and tried to get through my days the best I could.
But I felt sick inside.
I couldn’t believe what I had done.
For years, I’d worked as a police officer. I was used to dealing with liars and fraudsters. How had I not seen this coming?
It was as though I had been under some sort of spell for all of that time.
I confessed to Mum.
‘Look, I need to tell you something,’ I said miserably. ‘I think I’ve made a very big mistake. I’ve been sending money to two of my friends overseas.’
She was shocked.
With my family’s encouragement, I went to the police and an investigation was launched.
I was warned that, because the money had gone abroad, the scammer, or scammers, were unlikely to ever face justice.
Obviously, Gerard was not the actor he had claimed to be.
Clinton probably did not exist either.
I had no idea if I had been conned by one man, or woman, or if it was an organised gang.
After I spoke to the bank they refunded me almost £340,000.
But I had to accept that the rest of it had gone forever.
Humberside Police's economic crime unit financial intelligence officer June Ashworth said my case was probably ’the most cruel of frauds’ that she’d come across.
I do accept that I have been stupid and naïve.
But I was grieving, I was in a very bad place, and they preyed on that.
I was also very lonely and isolated because of lockdown.
I just hope my story will be a lesson to others.
The scammers have shaken my faith in humanity, but I won’t let this change me.
I will still think the best of people. I will still help out wherever I can.
Those fraudsters, whoever they really are, have to live with themselves and with the suffering they have caused.
Anne Larkin, 57, Hornsea, East Yorkshire