Goodbye Mrs. Cozenor

Why's the Cybercrime Division at grandma's house?

Mrs. Cozenor didn’t like to colour her hair. The silver on her head complimented the gold on her neck. And the mirror looked back at her with pride.

Mrs. Cozenor liked to bake cookies. And knitting and crosswords and making jam and soup and bread. She’s the living proof that, yes, all the old lady stereotypes in the world can fit into a single person. That’s Mrs. Cozenor for you. Oh please, just call me Maya. Would you like a cookie?

But even though Maya liked to do everything, nothing seemed to stick. She was always trying a new hobby. Or learning a new skill. Getting into something new was as easy as ditching it for something better. And there was always something better.

One evening, she made some tea and put a big batch of cookies in the oven. With the timer at twenty minutes, she settled down on the couch with a book in one hand and a warm cup in another. That’s when the doorbell rang.

Maya looked through the peephole. Outside were two men and a woman, in formal shirts. Navy blue lanyards hung from their necks and went into their front pockets to hide. Maya opened the door.

“Good evening, can we speak to Mrs. Cozenor?” Said the tall man.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Oh.” The men exchanged a look.

“Ma’am, we’re from the Crime Investigation Bureau.”

He waited for her to react. And she did. A look of concern washed over Maya’s face.

“We’re here to ask you a few questions.” The short man took off his lanyard and gave her his ID card. She stared at it for some time before saying:

“Would you like to come in, officers?”

Once inside, the three of them thoroughly looked around the house. And walked slowly to the sofas, so as to really take in the interior. To their disappointment, everything looked exactly as one would expect an old woman’s house to be. Pale walls and pictures of children in frames and candles and newspapers scattered on the centre table with a single teacup to accompany it.

They all sat down on the couch. Maya took the single sofa seat.

“Beautiful place, who else lives here?”

“Thank you. Just me.”

“Have you rented any rooms?”

“No.”

The men exchange another look. Mrs. Cozenor was anxious now.

“This was my grandfather’s house but it belongs to me now.” She made eye contact with each of them. “I have all the papers.”

The tall man looked at the short one, who slightly shook his head. “Oh no, that won’t be needed.” Maya let out a relieved breath.

“Ma’am,” The short man suddenly said, “We’ve received some info about a… cybercrime ring operating in this location.”

This interjection surprised Mrs. Cozenor and perplexed the other formal shirts. The tall man, who was the only one talking before this, tilted his head gravely.

The short man smiled smugly at Maya. “Do you know what that word means?”

“Yes of course I know,” She feigned offence. “It’s when a fraudster steals all your money from your computer.”

“Sure.” The short man blinked. “We suspect around ten to twelve hackers work, and possibly live, here.”

“In my house?”

To this the guests stayed quiet. For a full minute. But the silence was replaced by a long beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Oh,” Maya said, “My cookies are done.” And hurried away to the kitchen.

When Mrs. Cozenor was out of sight, the woman who hadn’t said a word yet, said:

“Sir, maybe we told her too much. She could be warning her mates about us right now.”

The tall man nodded.

“Ah, that’s nonsense.” The short man shook his head, smiling. “She’s like sixty. Bet she can’t even send an email.”

“Are we sure it’s ten?”

“Both volume and value of these fraudulent transactions is simply too high for this to take any less than ten hackers.”

“Sir, we better be careful.”

“Stop it you two!” The short man had an even short temper. “I can’t believe we’re arguing over this.”

“Okay,” The tall man said and the woman fell silent again.

As if on cue, the warm smell of freshly baked cookies filled the room. Shortly followed by Mrs. Cozenor, who came in with a tray in her hand.

“Here you go,” She set down a plate on the table in front of them.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cozenor.” The tall man said with a small smile, and picked up a cookie.

“And we’re sorry for your troubles.” The short man picked up a cookie. “We clearly got some wrong info. A mis-lead.”

“It is alright.” She gave them a reassuring nod. “Would you officers like some cookies for your ride back?”

Yes, of course, they did. So Mrs. Cozenor packed three paper boxes. Goodbye, Mrs. Cozenor.

They all left with a smile. Even the woman who was suspicious of her. None of her (real life)

friends would be surprised at this: Maya had given such a sweet send-off to people who probably came to arrest her.

And after they were gone, she opened her laptop to end it all. Which was a shame, really. Because it was the one hobby of hers that had truly stuck over the years. She typed her last message in the Hacker Forum that she frequented every day:

They are onto me. It was fun stealing money from people’s computers. Maybe I’ll try crocheting next. Goodbye, friends!