A listener note, this story contained adult content and language.

In March 2015, Debra Newell realized she had married a stranger, a man whose past was a series of

fabrications. John had seemed desperately in love with her. She hadn't listened when her family

told her his stories didn't add up. But now she had proof, police reports, restraining orders

from multiple women, jail, and prison records. He was a serial con man, a master of intimidation,

and according to the records, he had a nickname that went way back. Dirty John. Debra hastily

cleared her things out of the Balboa Island House they shared. She had to walk away from $50,000

she'd paid on the year-long lease. She began living out of hotels, hiding.

John was stuck in the hospital after back surgery with an intestinal blockage. He began texting

her accusations that she could not make sense of, that she had hit him, that she'd stolen $10,000

from his wallet. He threatened to call the police on her. He had become unrecognizable to her.

He had seduced her with lavish, unending compliments about her beauty. Now he denigrated her looks,

mocked her age, ridiculed her attempts to stay attractive at $59.

Five marriages in a family that hates you. You want to see how this plays out? I sure do.

You want to see how bad this turns out? You hit me. You threatened me, she replied.

Enough. You're evil. This is a special version of Dirty John. Remixed and remixed by

salt bodies. His motive was coming into focus. Divided up the stuff and I never see you again,

he wrote, your choice. He said people he knew in the mafia had contacted him. Long lost relatives.

He warned her.

Be careful here.

From the Los Angeles Times and Wondery, this is Dirty John. I'm Christopher Gofford.

Part three. Filthy.

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