The Best American Crime Reporting 2009 - Jeffrey Toobin [38]
“Oh, money’s not an issue,” she told the Giovanni & Pileggi stylist at her consultation a week earlier. She’d put down a $500 deposit, using a credit-card number phoned in by “Mr. Greenhouse,” her remarkably young-sounding father.
It was all a big, gleeful sham. Ed had actually been canned from his job four months before, and twenty-two-year-old Jocelyn was a senior at nearby Drexel University, a big step down from Penn. When Philadelphia police busted into the couple’s apartment a few days later, they found an extensive identity-theft operation, complete with a professional ID maker, computer spyware, lock-picking tools and a crisp North Carolina driver’s license soaking in a bowl of bleach. Though the investigation is still unfolding, this much is apparent: The lovebirds stand accused of using other people’s names and Social Security numbers to scam at least $100,000, sometimes buying merchandise and selling it online to raise more cash.
What’s striking about the two grifters is how determined they were to flaunt their ill-gotten gains. They acted not like furtive thieves but like two kids on a joy ride, utterly delighted by their own cleverness—as in the invitation Jocelyn e-mailed to friends not long before their arrests, announcing a surprise twenty-fifth-birthday party for Ed at an upscale tapas bar. “My treat, of course!” she’d written. Steeped in narcissism and privilege, fueled by entitlement and set in an age of consumer culture run amok, theirs is truly an outlaw romance for the twenty-first century. The Philadelphia Daily News immediately dubbed the photogenic couple “Bonnie and Clyde.” It’s a name some people take exception to. “Bonnie and Clyde, that’s only because they’re young and good-looking,” scoffs Detective Terry Sweeney of the Philadelphia police. “These two were complete idiots. If this was two fat fucks from South Philly, it would have been Turner and Hooch.”
JOCELYN KIRSCH MADE AN IMPRESSION in the fall of 2003 when she strolled onto Drexel University’s campus showing off her legs in a denim miniskirt and tan Uggs, in full makeup—with a bunny rabbit named Frisbee peeking from her oversize Coach handbag.
She was a freshman but had already acquired a boyfriend on campus: a strapping ROTC senior we’ll call Thomas, whose dorm suitemates would never forget the first time he brought her by. They were all lazing around watching television when Thomas led her in. Jocelyn looked different back then: ordinary pretty, with mousy-brown curls, and for a few moments she just stood there awkwardly. But in an instant, her manner became so outrageously flirtatious that no one was watching TV anymore. Jocelyn proceeded to tell them a little about herself: that she was the daughter of two high-profile plastic surgeons with homes in California and North Carolina; that she was fluent in Russian, which she’d learned while growing up in Lithuania; later, she’d tell classmates she spoke eleven languages, including Turkish, Czech and Afrikaans. She also mentioned that she was an athlete who had qualified for the 2004 U.S. Olympic team. In pole-vaulting.
“That’s surprising,” said Penn student Emily Heffernan, who was there visiting her boyfriend, Jason. “Drexel doesn’t have a track team.”
“I train with Penn,” Jocelyn replied. Then with a wink at Emily, she sat on Jason’s lap.
No one at Drexel knew what to make of Jocelyn. Men found her mesmerizing. Her relationships with women were another story. “She was like Regina George in Mean Girls,” says a classmate. Jocelyn had a way of eyeing other girls—“as if you had, like, spaghetti sauce all over