It was 2017, and I’d been single for a year and a half after coming out of a not-so-great relationship. Having taken some time out for myself, I was doing well in my career as a recruiter, and had just bought my first home in Glasgow. Things were finally beginning to fall into place; so much so that I felt in the right frame of mind to meet someone special.
I’d used Tinder before — I’d been on a few dates with boys from the app when I was younger, prior to my break-up, and I hadn’t heard any horror stories at the time, so I didn’t feel a need to be cautious.
Christopher Harkins stood out to me straightaway. Not only did he fit the bill for me aesthetically (he was muscular, with long dark hair), he was really chatty and forthcoming. Before, I’d had lots of matches without much conversation: people were only using me for an ego boost. But with Chris, who said he worked as an engineer, the conversation flowed naturally. He would chat to me about his day, and how he’d recently been to Edinburgh Fringe. He described himself as ‘caring, generous, and different’. He was keen to meet up.
Our first date was pleasant; we went for drinks in the city centre. Chris was much quieter in person, so I found I was doing a lot of the heavy lifting in our conversations. At the time, I put that down to shyness. In hindsight, I think he was gathering as much information about me as possible.
But in those early days, I didn’t notice any real red flags. The only thing that piqued my interest is that he would text from lots of different numbers — but he told me he ran different businesses and had a variety of different phones, so I didn’t find it too suspicious.
We continued to see each other, even though my job kept me busy. He also said he was away with work, too, so sometimes there were long gaps between seeing each other. But the dates were always really pleasant — walks in the park, dinner and drinks. There was nothing OTT or any ‘love-bombing’. It felt like a natural, normal trajectory of dating someone you like. I started to really warm to Chris.
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One night, after he stayed at mine, he asked what I missed about being in a relationship. I told him about how my friends were either married or starting a family, meaning I had nobody to take spontaneous holidays abroad with. The next day, the messages about going on holiday kicked in.
I’d received a bonus from work, so I didn’t necessarily have a ‘budget’ as such, and he was suggesting resorts that were worth tens of thousands. I didn’t have that much, but I was keen to pay my own way. We settled on Mykonos, with flights and our hotel coming in at £3,247.
Chris was adamant that he should book the holiday and the flights, despite me offering for help. He claimed it was because he was a frequent user of Booking.com and had a better discount. As someone who’s always been independent and had to do things myself, having someone take charge was actually quite nice. But then he went quiet.
Almost overnight, things changed. The morning after I sent over the money, I felt in my gut something was off. I tried to contact him, but my messages weren’t going through and the line was dead. I tried some of his other numbers, messaging him that I was freaking out and that I was scared he’d done a runner with my money. When he finally did get back in touch, his demeanour was totally different. He was rude, cold, and defensive. He did nothing to ease my fears that he’d taken my money. It was like a switch had been flipped.
I called the hotel Chris said he had booked — and there was no record of either of us. I called my bank, who said there was nothing they could do, as I had willingly transferred the money, and referred me to the police. Meanwhile, the police said they weren’t going to do anything either, as it was a ‘domestic’ issue. My heart sank as I realised I wasn’t going to get my money back.
I was too embarrassed and ashamed to tell any of my friends or family to begin with — I was mortified. Chris dropped off the radar, but then would occasionally reappear to taunt me, messaging me pictures of wads of cash. I felt tormented, like he was deliberately humiliating me. I decided to pretend like I was going to tell the media what he was really like — I had a friend who worked for the BBC — and then I suddenly thought, ‘Why am I pretending? Why don’t I actually do it?’. So I wrote up a synopsis of what had happened and sent it to various newspapers.
It was a journalist named Catriona Stewart who agreed to run my story in a local paper. I provided all the screenshots and evidence. However, when the story went live, I saw so many negative comments calling me naïve or an idiot. They made out that I was the problem. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but my best friend reminded me that Chris was the one in the wrong. I hadn’t stolen money from anyone then gloated about it. It was a really important message for me to hear at that point.
The newspaper story led to many more women contacting Catriona about their experiences with Christopher Harkins. They catalogued more incidents of fraud, but also violence and sexual assault. It was clear that he was a serial predator. I was appalled — I didn’t realise just how prolific he’d been, and yet nothing had been done to stop him.
Hearing about the level of violence others faced was the worst part. It’s completely terrifying to think that could have easily been me; and had I been in a relationship with him for longer, I’ve got no doubt it would have gone down that route.
Eventually, thanks to Catriona’s reporting and the number of women who came forward, Police Scotland began to investigate. Chris was charged with 19 offences, including numerous charges of fraud and four sexual offences, including rape. Chris pled guilty to the frauds. Before, I wanted to have my day in court and speak against him on the stand, but when I actually went to watch the trial at the High Court, I was in floods of tears. I was shaking. I wasn’t able to compose myself in the way I’d imagined being able to. I take my hat off to the women who did take the stand in front of him, a court room, and a jury, and who went through so much worse than I did.
Chris was eventually found guilty of 19 counts of fraud and sexual offences, and, in 2024, was sentenced to 12 years in prison. My experience with him has massively impacted my dating life. I’ve been single ever since I was scammed, because I’m constantly looking out for traps. I feel like I’m always trying to catch someone out, which is not a healthy way to enter any new relationship.
I’m really proud that I was brave enough to come forward against Chris and give other women the courage to share their story, particularly if they felt they hadn’t been listened to by the police before. I hope by featuring in this new documentary, Catching the Tinder Predator, it gives more people the courage to speak up against romance scams – and to keep speaking up until you’re heard.
Catching the Tinder Predator is available to watch on Amazon Prime now
Kimberley Bond is a Multiplatform Writer for Harper’s Bazaar, focusing on the arts, culture, careers and lifestyle. She previously worked as a Features Writer for Cosmopolitan UK, and has bylines at The Telegraph, The Independent and British Vogue among countless others.
