All language subtitles for The.Thief.His.Wife.and.the.Canoe.S01E04.2160p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.265-RAWR_track3_[eng]

- Is that you, Mark?
- Yeah, Mam, it's me.

You're not gonna believe this.

I'm sitting next to Dad.

He's alive!

Mark, you have
your father back.

I'm so happy for you.

Would you mind?

It's just a thing we do
with our clients.

John Darwin? I'm arresting you
on suspicion of fraud.

This is ridiculous.

Since our dad was arrested,

we are very much in an angry
and confused state of mind.

The front cover of today's
Daily Mirror simply reads--

"John never had amnesia."

Firstly, I think
you're a good person who,

for reasons that are probably
very complicated,

did a truly dreadful thing.

Second, tell the police
the truth

and start the process
of rebuilding

your relationship
with your boys.

- Anne Darwin?
- Yes?

I'm arresting you
on suspicion of fraud.

We've not spoken
to either of our parents,

and at this present time,

we want no further
contact with them.

We've not spoken to
either of our parents,

and at this present time,

we want no further contact
with them.

- Anne.
- Hello.

Hello.
I'm Nicola.

Hello, nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you too.

How long will I get?
Do you think?

In prison?
How long might I get?

So, it's very simple.

We stick her in one room,
stick him in another,

and we play them off.

Bottom line, Anne, the more
honest you are with us,

the more information
you can give us

about what actually
happened here,

the quicker we'll have
all this sorted.

Okay?

- Yes.
- Good.

And so we are interviewing her

at the same time
as speaking to you,

which means any answers
you give us,

we'll be checking
with her to see

if they tally up and vice versa.

Does that make sense?

- Yes.
- Good.

Although do bear in mind
that Anne does not have

a very sophisticated grasp
of financial matters.

Right.

Just the one brain cell,
you see.

Your wife of 34 years.

Tell me about it.

Would you like me to repeat
the question, Anne?

No, I heard the question.

When I started
the insurance claim,

I still believed him
to be dead.

You took quite a long time
to answer that.

- But she did.
- I'm just wondering
why you hesitated.

She's answered the question.
Can you move on, please?

Just remember, Anne,
this is your interview.

This is your chance to tell us
your side of things.

He turned up halfway through.

It's not true.

I turned up after
they'd been paid out.

I thought you said you couldn't
remember when you turned up.

The specific month, I said.

But you can specifically
remember that it was

after the claim was settled?

Yes.

Well, then, which month
was the claim settled, then?

Ah. Nice try.
I don't remember.

This isn't
the "yes, no" game, John.

Your wife has already told us
that you never had amnesia.

She's mistaken.
Perhaps she's forgotten.

Yes, he told me he'd
faked the whole thing.

- His disappearance?
- Yes.

For financial reasons?

Yeah.

Did he tell you
where he'd been?

No.
"Around and about," he said.

For over a year?

Y-Yes.

Okay.

But why didn't you go straight
to the police at that point?

He said
if we went to the police,

we'd have to pay the insurance
money back immediately,

and then we'd be back
where we'd started.

- Facing bankruptcy?
- Yes.

So what was his plan
at this point?

For me to sell
all the other houses

and then hand himself in

when we were in a position
to pay the money back.

Okay.
And how's that plan going?

Well, I'm here, aren't I?

I'm not with you.

Why else do you think
I returned?

- I don't know. Why did you?
- To pay the money back.

Oh, so you've made contact with
the insurance companies, then?

Well, I would have,
if you hadn't arrested me.

So it's our fault?
We spoilt your plan?

You and the press.

Ah, well, apologies.

Accepted.

Can I just ask, though, John,

if your plan was to sell
all the properties,

with the intention
of paying the money back

when you got straight,
why did you move to Panama?

No comment.

And buy a flat there?

No comment.

And a plot of land?

No comment.

Well, Anne, why did you
just go along with it?

Why didn't you tell him
that it was wrong and dishonest?

I should have and...

I should have told the boys
at that point,

but he said if I went
to the police, he'd tell them

I was in it from the start.

You were an adult.
You could've refused.

And I bitterly regret
my decision,

but... he was hard to resist.

John was very forceful.

Anne.

Why...

Why don't you just tell us
the truth?

You were in on it
from the start, weren't you?

She's answered the question.
Can you move on, please?

So the, uh,
life insurance policies

that you took out
just three months

before you went missing,
is that date relevant, John?

You tell me.

No, you tell me.
That's how this works.

Is that date relevant?

- No.
- No?

So it's pure coincidence
that you took out

a life insurance policy
in December 2001,

which then allowed your wife
to make a very large claim

just 12 weeks later?
- Yes.

And is it also a coincidence
that on a computer hard drive

taken from your house
soon after your disappearance,

we've since found
a downloaded file titled

"Missing Persons
and Police Investigations"?

One of the boys
must have downloaded that.

It was dated a month
before you went missing, John.

Fair play.

That's a tricky one.

Okay, I'm now showing Anne
Exhibit AD01,

which is a copy
of a library card,

registered at
Hartlepool library,

in the name of "John Jones."

Anne, can you tell me
who you see on that photo?

It's John.

Except this fella has a beard.

I presume you can
grow a beard?

- Yes.
- Okay.

So is that you
but with a beard?

- Maybe.
- John, I'm asking if you can
identify yourself.

No comment.

Okay, well,
perhaps you can read

two things out for me, then.

The date it was issued
and the address.

"22nd of April 2002.

Address-- Number Four,
The Cliff, Seaton Carew."

Okay.

So just four weeks
after you went missing,

a man who looked
very much like you...

Ah, yeah,
but with a beard, yeah,

applies for a library card
and gives your home address.

But this man's called
John Jones.

Come on, Anne.

He was living
at number four

from day one, wasn't he?

- No.
- And you knew from day one.

I didn't.

Were your boys in on it too?

No, absolutely not.

'Cause our economic crime unit
is finding all sorts of things.

- What things?
- Money transfers to Mark
and Anthony,

fake property sales to Mark.

Basically money laundering,
very serious offence.

That was just an
inheritance-tax thing. Please.

They never knew anything
about any of this. Please.

It's interesting how upset
you're getting.

Anne, I tell you, I do not want
to have to bring your lads in.

Please don't.

Best way to head that off is
for you tell us the whole truth.

You were in on it
from the start, weren't you?

No.

And you knew John
was perfectly fine

when you dialled 999
and said he was missing.

In fact, I'm surprised
the attending officer

didn't see wet footprints
going up the stairs.

Am I right?

No comment.

Have a seat.

So, we need to have
a talk about bail.

No.
No bail.

You do understand what happens
now, don't you, Anne?

Anyone not released on bail
is kept in a prison,

on remand,
until their trial.

Where would I even go?

I only have one friend,
and she won't speak to me now.

Obviously none of my family
would want me,

so where would I even go?

Mind the step.

Take a seat here, please.

- Heya.
- Hey.

It's all good.
No-one's followed me.

I know you think
I'm overreacting

but last night

there were about 50 of them
outside the house.

Lou's had to go stay
with her parents.

I've had to check in here.

So I just spoke
to the police again.

And?

They'll want to interview us
at some point.

As "witnesses," apparently, now.

Well, we don't do anything
without a solicitor.

I'll call my lawyer, shall I?

Uncle Michael's sorting us out
with one.

How is he?

Same as all of us.

I just
can't stop thinking about

the literally hundreds of times
we went up there, Mark,

to keep her spirits up
whilst we were dying inside.

Do you know how it
makes me feel, mate?

Makes me really hate her.

I'm raging about them both,

but at least he only
told one lie.

An evil, horrible one,
but it was just one.

Anne Darwin?

She lied to us
every day

for five-and-a-half years.

Every single day.

You start thinking,
well, if she could lie

so easily about that,

about our actual dad
being dead,

what else could she
have lied about?

Clothes in here.

Put your wedding ring
in here.

And then I think,
wow, is it all just some

fucked-up lie?

Our family?

Our-- Our childhood?

Our whole life with them?

Did either of them
ever even genuinely love us?

So that's me.

That's where I am, mate.

And here I was,

where I'd feared ending up
all my life.

Utterly alone.

It's from John.

"Dear Dad, just to let you
know, please don't worry."

Carry on.

Sorry.

That's it.

I really don't
think you've given any thought

as to what
it's like for me.

An ex-prison officer in prison.

I've had my food spat in,

I've been punched,
abused verbally.

Whatever you think
it's like for you,

it's so much worse for me.

Except it wasn't.

John had already given up
his boys once

without a second thought, really.

For me, it felt like my heart
had been ripped out.

"My darling son,
I wanted to write you again

to tell you how profoundly
sorry I am

for what I have done.

I will never be able
to explain my actions,

because what I did
was as inexplicable

as it was unforgiveable.

But what I can say
is that I love you so much.

I always have loved you,
and I always will love you,

even if you never want
to see me again.

Which I fully expect
to be the case."

And indeed, despite the dozens
of letters I wrote to them

over the next few months,
neither replied.

How could I possibly
blame them?

And so, finally, finally,

I realised there was
only one way forward

if I ever wanted
to see them again.

I lied.

I was in on it
from the very start.

So you knew, before he went out
in the canoe,

that he intended
to fake his own death?

Yes, I did.

And when you reported
him missing?

I knew he was fine.

In fact, I'd picked him up
from North Gare beach

about two hours before

and then driven him
to Durham station,

where he got the train
to the lakes

and camped by a stream
for the next three weeks.

He then came back to Seaton

and lived between
numbers three and four

for the next five years.

I never wanted
to do any of it.

And I tried constantly
to persuade him not to.

But I did do it.

I was in on it
from the very beginning.

And I'm very, very sorry.

Okay.

Yes.

I faked it all.

Oh, my God.
John.

They said I could see you
for two minutes.

Who did?

J-- please...

'Cause we're all we have now, love.

Each other.
- John, someone could walk in.

We just have to stick together.

That's enough, fella.

Right.
Out, now!

I also wanted to tell you
that I forgive you, Anne.

I do.

Call me, Anne!

Even harder
than confessing to the police

was telling my parents that the
daughter they had always adored

had betrayed
every single principle

they had ever believed in.

I fully expected them
to disown me.

But I am guilty.

Well, that's what I'm saying.

If we can prove
that you were coerced,

then, no, you're not.

I didn't have to do anything.

I was an adult.
I made my own choices.

He never threatened me
or hurt me.

Physically, no,
but emotionally?

Every day of your life together,
as I understand it,

and I think I can argue
that that wears a person down,

day after day, year after year,

till they no longer
have the strength to resist.

So, what would I get?
For a guilty plea, I mean.

Maybe... three years?

Four, four-and-a-half
if you go not guilty and lose.

Which I should stress
is entirely possible.

It's a tough defence to prove.

But if it succeeded?

Well, then you'd walk free.

It was a horrible decision
to have to make.

And for many weeks,

I had absolutely no idea
what the right thing to do was.

Officers requested
in rec area three.

Please report
to Officer Crenshaw.

And then a few days
before my first hearing,

my parents came to see me.

These good, good people,

my flesh and blood who had been
so shamed and let down,

told me whatever I'd done,
they still loved me.

That they would always love me.

I'm so scared my parents
will die before I get out.

And I think, if I could just see
my boys, talk to them,

maybe I could...

And he did make me do it,
he really did.

I-I tried to stop him
so many times.

Okay, well, the pretrial
hearing is in three weeks.

How do you want to plead?

I want to go not guilty.

And then, finally,
the day arrived.

I'm not sure what I was
most scared of--

the trial itself
or seeing my boys in court,

a torment John had avoided
by already pleading guilty.

I was on my own.

Okay, Anne, it's time.

Members of the jury,
the defendant stands before you

charged with 15 counts of
deception and money laundering.

Mrs. Darwin's defence
is one of marital coercion,

but, for this to succeed,
it must be shown

that her husband was present

each time
an offence was committed.

It is the Crown's submission

that not only was her husband
very often not present,

but that over a period
of five-and-a-half years,

and with multiple opportunities
to end the deceit,

she in fact
repeatedly offended

willingly, individually,
and actively.

We will furthermore show

that, far from being
a submissive and coerced wife,

Mrs. Darwin was in fact
a clever and ingenious liar

who was able
to effortlessly deceive

on an almost
industrial scale--

to the police,
to the Coroner's Court,

to her work friends
and colleagues,

and, perhaps most shamefully,
to her own children.

All rise.

And lastly,
members of the jury,

as sons, daughters,
mothers yourself,

I will ask you, when you look
at that infamous photo

in a Panamanian estate agent,
if you see a terrified woman,

coerced into telling her
children their father was dead,

or if you see a devious
and wily woman,

smiling at the prospect of a
new life in a tropical paradise,

paid for with the fruits
of her dreadful fraud.

It crushed my world.

Of course it did.

I loved him.
He was-- He was a great dad.

Crushed my entire world.

It might have appeared
like I took control,

but I didn't really.

It was only ever
within the confines

of what he ultimately wanted.

Are you a good liar,
Mrs. Darwin?

I hope not.

Well,
did you convince your sons

for five-and-a-half years
that their father was dead?

Yes.

And the police?

- Yes.
- And the coroner?

So, you are telling the court,
on oath,

that he forged your signature?

He made a footer template of it
on his computer.

So any letter, any instruction
to a bank or lawyer or whoever,

he could write it, and it would
appear to be from you?

Yes.

So, you had no idea at all?

She told me it was to do
with inheritance tax.

And you believed her?

She was my mother.

And was money important
to him?

- Yes.
- And the appearance of it?

- Maybe.
- And your mother?

Uh...

I'd always thought
the opposite.

"I cannot wait to join you,
my darling.

Missing you so much.
All my love.

Kiss, kiss, kiss."

Who wrote that?

I did.

"Generally, I only ever
take her out to vote."

He actually said that?
- Yes.

To a friend of his
in front of you?

Yes.
I think he thought it was funny.

Angry, betrayed.

Stupid.

I felt all of that.

I still do.
Every single day.

I still have very negative...

Where was John when you roped
your unwitting children

into laundering money for you?

He was in Panama.

My point is that he wasn't
standing over you

as you spoke to the bank,

forcing you to commit
a criminal act, was he?

He didn't need to actually
be in the room.

He was on the end of an e-mail,
or phone, or just in my head.

You can fight your corner,
can't you?

- I can now.
- Under immense pressure,
in a public trial.

But not, apparently, at home
with your nonviolent husband.

You don't know what to think.

I mean,
it took me a long time

to even believe
the photo was real,

that any parent
could have done such a thing.

It took me a long time
to accept that.

I'm not even sure I have.
Maybe I never will.

Can I ask, why didn't you
just leave him?

This man that you claim
was an oppressive bully.

I wanted to keep
the family together.

You "wanted to keep
the family together"?

Oh, the irony, Mrs. Darwin.

And let me ask you this.

If you hadn't have picked
John up from North Gare,

if you'd have said
to him on the phone,

"Oh, I can't do this,"

or, "I'm not doing this
to my boys,"

what were you frightened
was going to happen to you

for disobeying his request?

Was he going to beat you up?
- No.

Were you scared that
when he got home,

he might manipulate you a bit?

I was frightened that
he might leave me.

The jury took less than four
hours to reach a verdict.

I accept that your husband,
John Darwin,

was the driving force
behind this deceit,

but you, Anne, although perhaps
initially unconvinced,

went on to contribute
to its success

and play your part
very efficiently.

In my judgement,
you operated as a team,

each adding something
to the joint venture.

And it is the duration
of the offending,

its multifaceted nature,
and, in particular,

the grief inflicted
over the years

to the real victims,
your own children,

that make this a case

that merits
a particularly severe sentence.

Anne Catherine Darwin,

I sentence you to a term
of six years and six months.

Take her down.

It was three months
longer than John got,

but, then, I was their mother.

I think most people felt
I'd got what I deserved.

And so it began.

Six years and six months,
minus parole.

I tried to keep busy,
keep myself distracted.

I continued to write
to the boys,

never really expecting
a reply.

And John continued
to write and call.

No, money's not going to
be an issue, love.

Trust me.
Our story sells.

And I wanted to cut him off,
I really did, but it was hard.

After 35 years, and with
nothing else in my life,

even about a bad future felt
better than none whatsoever.

Fear not.

We play our cards right, we are
going to be sitting pretty.

And then eight months
into my time inside,

the prison chaplain suggested
I speak to a counsellor

because I could not rid myself
of thoughts of death.

What would you like to get
from these sessions?

I suppose to wake up every day
not hating myself

would be a start.

And how do you think
you could get to that place?

Through my family.

My children.

By somehow showing them
that this is not who I am,

that I did a terrible,
terrible thing, but...

I don't think that
I'm a terrible person.

I don't expect forgiveness.

I never expected to be forgiven.
I just ask for second chance.

To show them that I could be
a good mother again--

be the person I used to be,
or should have been,

could maybe even still be.

And who was that?

She was kind, I think.

And loving.

With conscience.

She knew right from wrong.

And she didn't want much.

A happy family, enough money
to pay the bills.

A simple life.

So how do you get back
to her?

I don't know.

Okay, mate.
You take care.

How is he?

Angry.

Sad.

Laughing about it, and then...
crying.

Fucked up, basically.

And you?

It just feels like
they're both dead.

I'm not sure
I can bear that.

I was never
a confident person.

When I look back,

my first encounter with him,
John,

was when I was 14,
on the bus.

And he knocked
my school hat off.

It was just a silly joke,
and...

I'm sure he didn't mean to,
but...

he made me feel stupid.

More stupid.

I was already very aware
I wasn't academic like him.

But maybe
that set the tone,

as it were.

Because he was the only boy
I ever...

And I went straight
from my parents' house

to living with him
after we got married, so...

I never knew anything but him.

How he spoke to me.
How he regarded me.

And I think that's been
quite a thing...

...for the last 35 years.

Anne?

Hope it's good news.

Thank you.

Dear Mam,
I hope you are well

and not finding things
too difficult.

We are all still trying to
adjust to what has happened,

which has not been easy.

But I would like to come
and see you,

so I'll send
a request today.

Take care of yourself.

Mark.

I'm just not there.

You don't have to apologise.

Maybe it's the baby,
just...

Knowing I could never
do anything to hurt him.

But either way,
I'm just not there.

Mam?

We didn't even know
until the trial

that you'd been in on it
from the start.

That when you hugged me

that first night I came up,

you knew!

I'm so sorry.

Everything we found out,
you made us find out in public.

Online, newspapers.

In a bloody courtroom, Mam!

And there is no excuse.

A reason'd help.

Why, after everything you'd
done, you still kept lying.

For the same reason I ever did,
Mark-- just the shame.

The terrible, terrible guilt
and shame I felt.

So it was about you, was it?

About how telling the truth
would make you feel?

I knew it would break
your hearts, love.

No, no, no, no.
No!

No!
You don't...

Don't you dare cry.

I'm sorry.

And I just kept thinking,
hoping, praying all along

that there would be some way
I could fix it

before that had to happen,
but there just never was.

No, you were probably
too preoccupied

drinking piña coladas
on the beach!

What did you expect?

No more than what I got.

But I suppose

I thought I might be left
feeling a tiny scrap of hope.

And again,
I know I don't deserve that,

but it doesn't stop me
yearning for it.

It's been so long.

Am I sorry?

Well, that I got caught, yes.

Very!

But seriously, of course,

if what I did upset you,
then yes.

Of course I'm sorry.

Tell me about
the American woman.

And all the others
you've been writing

your shabby little letters to.

I know what should be
the first step.

"Should"?

Well, because whether
I could actually do it not,

I don't know.

And what are
we talking about?

Leaving him.

Okay.

And why might you
not be able to do that?

I find the idea petrifying.

Despite all the wrongs
you feel he's done you?

Yes.

And what specifically is it
that you're scared of?

Everything.

I've never lived any part
of my life on my own.

I wouldn't know how to even be,
who I even am.

I mean, for my entire
adult life,

I've just been an extension
of him, really.

Or not even that,
just a nothing.

Invisible.

And so starting again,

from scratch,

trying to create a new me
at the age of nearly 60,

it makes me sick
with fear, Grace.

Slightly different tack.

Does John make you happy?

He has done
at times in our life.

I'm not happy now, obviously,

and haven't been much
in the last 10 years or so,

but before that, yes.

But on balance?

Would you say
he's been good for you?

He gave me
two beautiful sons.

I knew what she wanted me
to say,

but ridiculous
as it might seem,

I just didn't feel
strong enough to be on my own.

He's beautiful, mate.
Must have Lou's genes.

Well, I bloody hope so.

Wouldn't want too many
of our side in there.

No.
Fair enough.

Flick was just saying
you saw her again last week.

Yeah.

And how was it?

It's still hard.

I'm not quite sure
what I'm hoping for.

I think...

I think I've just come
to the conclusion

that I'd prefer to have her
in my life than not.

Dad?

Harder.

I'm not sure
he really gets it.

Or ever will.

So, I wrote to her yesterday.

Requested a visit.

Okay.

So, all I'll say...

Just don't expect any
blinding moment of forgiveness,

'cause my guess is
that ain't gonna happen.

I think it's just gonna be
this very long, slow...

...accommodation.

Hello, Mam.

Hello, love.
Thank you so much coming.

I'm so pleased to see you.

Well, I couldn't not let you
meet this little fella, could I?

Oh, Anthony.

I don't know what to say.
How old is he?

He's four months now.

He's beautiful.

He takes after his mother.

Who asked me to say hello
and that she sends you her love.

That's incredibly kind of her.

Please send her my love
and huge congratulations.

Would you like to hold him?

I would, very much.

Oh, you beautiful little...

He's wonderful.

Ohh...

It was an extraordinary
act of generosity...

...that I didn't deserve.

And it finally gave me
the strength

to do what I had needed
to do for so long.

Hello?

What the hell's going on?

You've stopped writing.

You haven't been
taking my calls.

Why?

You don't make me happy,
John.

I think you haven't
for many years.

You don't hear me.

You don't listen to me...

That is total rubbish, Anne.
You don't know what you're...

You're not listening now.
Just stop talking, please.

Just stop always talking
and listen.

But much more important
than any of that,

I don't think you love me,
John.

I do.

I do love you, Anne,
very much.

Or why would I have stayed
with you for all these years?

Don't do this.

Don't throw 36 years
and two smashing boys away.

We can be happy again.

I promise we can.

No.

I don't think you do love me.

Or maybe you just don't know
what proper love is.

Please.

And either way,

I don't love you anymore.

You've hurt me too much.

You do love me.

No.

No, I don't.

And I want a divorce.

About eight months
before my release,

I was transferred
to an open prison

to help me prepare
for my return to normal life.

And then in March 2011,

a few days shy of nine years

since John had paddled
out to sea,

I was released to
a halfway house in Leeds.

I was finally free.

I'm not sure
I'll ever truly understand

why I made the choices
I did.

It was, as my counsellor said, complicated.

My children still struggle

and will certainly
never be able to forget

what I did to them,
nor should they.

We all know we're on a journey

that will last the rest
of our lives,

but we are at least
on that journey.

And for that gift,
I remain more grateful to them

than it will ever be possible
to express.

They say the opposite of love
is not hate, but indifference,

which is what I now feel
for my ex-husband.

But I wish him well

and sincerely hope
that he finds happiness.

I will try to do the same.

I will also keep trying
to find me.