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OK, Alice, are you ready to go back into the pressurised political environment of 2003? When you put it like that, how could I ever refuse? Then where better to start than the epicentre of power in America? It's 17 July 2003. Tony Blair is in Washington. He strides through Statutory Hall in the House of Representatives, flanked by congressional leaders. Marbled statues of prominent American citizens line the circular hall.
Cleo, the muse of history, sits atop the chariot clock looking down. The expectant audience cries, greeting him warmly. Members of the Congress, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Congressmen and women clap and cheer. He's the man who stood shoulder to shoulder with the US in the invasion of Iraq. And he's about to get his reward, the Gold Congressional Medal of Honour.
The audience rise to their feet. They give him 19 standing ovations, a record. 19? I mean, I don't even think the Beatles got that. After maybe 14 or 15, I'd be like, OK, you're taking the mic now. You know when you want to be the last one in assembly to be clapping? It's that, isn't it? It gets to the point where it's almost rude. I've really got to make this speech now.
Tony Blair is on top of the world. Surely nothing is going to change that. I just have an inkling it will. Yeah, I think you might be right. Twelve hours later, on a plane somewhere between Washington and Tokyo, Tony Blair is fast asleep. A nudge disturbs his slumber. His dream starts to slip away. He hears the words of his flight duty clerk. Prime Minister, number 10's on the phone.
Blair stretches and frowns, still half asleep. What the hell do they want at this hour? He takes the phone. Hello? Prime Minister, David Kelly's been reported missing. Silence. Prime Minister? Are you there? Blair knows the name well. In fact, there's been little else on the news for weeks. Blair knows it looks suspicious, very suspicious. The press will be on to him quickly. He needs to come up with a plan, fast. MUSIC
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From Wondery, I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. And this is British Scandal. MUSIC
Alice, so many parts of this story are confusing. It's so hard to get to the truth. What elements of it have really stuck with you so far? I'm still reeling from the news that Andrew Gilligan was able to buy two drinks in central London for £4.15. That is a detail that major news agencies have left underreported to their shame. Honestly, that's keeping me awake at night. But seriously, I do just keep thinking about how hard it is to fit all the pieces together. So what do we know that is fact?
Well, what we do know is that UN Weapons Inspector David Kelly met Andrew Gilligan from the BBC, but there's a disagreement over exactly what was said at that meeting. OK, and on the BBC, Andrew Gilligan claims that the Prime Minister's
official spokesperson, Alastair Campbell. He exaggerated the case for war and that leads to the massive row between the government and the BBC with David Kelly sort of caught in the middle. Yes, and then you have that bizarre moment where the government releases David Kelly's name effectively through a quiz where it allows journalists to guess if it's him but they won't name him themselves. That was so surreal. It's also worth remembering that Campbell and Gilligan are far more used to working in pressurised public environments and
David Kelly is a mild-mannered weapons inspector. He's not used to being in the spotlight. Now, the last we heard of David Kelly, he'd gone into hiding from the press after his name had been leaked. He now holds the fate of the government and the Iraq war in his hands. Matt, I'm so glad we got that straight because it is quite the tangled web. Well, it's going to get even more tangled. This is episode two, Harrow Down Hill. It's the 15th of July, 2003, two days before the ceremony at the House of Congress.
David Kelly's running along Whitehall, carrying his briefcase. His linen blazer flaps behind him. The Foreign Affairs Committee meeting is due to start in ten minutes, and he's late.
David Kelly is never late. He likes to make a good impression. And today, he needs to make a really good impression. Yeah, this must be the most high-stakes meeting of his career. Yes, he's about to get grilled by a load of MPs and it's going to be on telly. It's high pressure. And on top of that, London is in the middle of a heat wave, which is never the most comfortable place to be. The traffic is gridlocked, there's a bomb scare and the car can't get through. Tourists with bulky backpacks block the way. Kelly dodges past them, stepping off the kerb.
A passing cyclist swerves past him, yelling obscenities. Not today, dude. Kelly mops his brow with a hanky. He's sweating. This isn't the way he planned to arrive. It's unfortunate, isn't it? Because sweating, obviously, you're hot. That's fine. But also sweating, untrustworthy. Yeah, and also, the rooms in Parliament are so hot. Is it like mum and dad's at Christmas? You know, they have it on like 45 degrees. You're like, honestly, can we just crack a window?
As Kelly turns the corner in Parliament Square, he sees the throng of press looking agitated in the blistering heat. There are cameras everywhere. David Kelly hates being the centre of attention, but he's a professional and he's got a job to do. He takes a deep breath and strides ahead, head held high. Kelly needs to tread a fine line. He knows all eyes are on him. Depending on what he says, he could bring the government down or end journalists' careers.
But if he messes this up, he risks losing his livelihood and his home. He'll never get to finish the work he started in Iraq. He needs to find a way, any way, to get out of the spotlight. The clock turns 1.30pm in a House of Commons committee room. David Kelly has made it in time, just. He takes his seat at a long table in the middle of the wood-panelled room. He sits alone, facing the ten members of Parliament. They sit on one side of tables laid out in the shape of a horseshoe.
Kelly wonders if he's about to get a kicking. Fans' words cool down the crowded room. It's crammed full of officials and media. TV cameras point at him. Microphones are angled to record his every word. This is his worst nightmare. You know they're just waiting to pick up any flinch or blink. Yes, and he's got two audiences. The primary audience are the MPs in front of him. The second audience, far bigger, is the people watching on telly. The chairman welcomes Dr Kelly.
Kelly knows their agenda. They want to establish if he is Gilligan's source. If Gilligan's report is true, then it would mean the government misled Parliament over the Iraq war. Dr Kelly, may I ask, what was your involvement in the preparation of the September dossier?
My involvement was writing an historical account of the UNSCOM inspections and providing input into Iraq's concealment and deception. Dr Kelly, could I ask you to speak up a bit? There are fans running. I will try. Kelly knows that they want to establish whether he works for intelligence. May I ask, which drafts of the final September dossier did you see and were drafts sent back to you at every stage for your comment? I was not involved in that process at all. Can I ask what meetings you attended at which the dossier was discussed?
I attended no meetings at all at which the dossier was discussed. So what's going on here then? So if he wasn't in the meeting, how would he know all this stuff? Also, is there a chance that maybe Kelly himself thinks, I might not be the source? Yes, there are two things. One, obviously at first they presumed it was someone on the Joint Intelligence Committee. So that's where everyone was looking. Secondly, Kelly may well be thinking, I met Andrew Gilligan.
But I didn't say that to him. So am I the source or not? There'd be an element of doubt in his mind. So why don't they just ask him? They do. They focus in on the meeting with Gilligan. Kelly steals himself and carefully words his answers. If he can get through this, he should be home and dry. In your own opinion, do you believe that you were the main source of Mr Gilligan's article on the 1st of June? My belief is that I'm not the main source. You never mentioned the C word. What?
It would have been a very different story. I'd remember that. The C word. The Campbell word. That makes more sense. Kelly pauses. The Campbell word did come up, yes. From you? No, it came up in the conversation. The question was asked why, if weapons could be deployed at 45 minutes notice, why they were not used, and I offered my reasons why they may not have been used.
Mr Gilligan said in his article in the Mail on Sunday on the 1st of June, I asked him, the source, how this transformation happened. The answer was a single word, Campbell. In your conversation with Mr Gilligan, did you use the word Campbell in that context? Kelly shifts in his seat. I cannot recall using the name Campbell in that context. It does not sound like a thing I would say. It's not a no, is it? It doesn't sound like the sort of thing I would say. No, it's a classic non-denial denial.
The panel seems satisfied with his answers. Kelly breathes a sigh of relief. Then, one of the committee, David Chidjie, mentions another BBC journalist. Can I just confirm that you've also met Susan Watts? Kelly is wrong-footed. He knows Watts. Sweat pricks his brow. How do they know he's spoken to Watts? Where are they going with this? He thought he was out the door. Kelly attempts to look relaxed as he answers. I have met her on one occasion. Kelly looks serious.
He spoke to her in confidence. He needs to think fast, or his situation could get a lot worse. Kelly glances down at his watch. The committee have been grilling him now for nearly an hour. It's hot, and Kelly would like to remove his jacket, but they'd see his pale blue shirt is covered in sweat. I've been there. Don't take the jacket off. White shirt, always best in this scenario. Surely...
This ordeal should be over soon. Then, another panel member returns to the subject of Susan Watts. Oh, God. He starts reading out a quote. The 45-minute point was a statement that was made and it got out of all proportion. They were desperate for information. They were pushing hard for information that could be released. That was the one that popped up and it was seized on and it is unfortunate that it was. The panel member fixes his eyes on Kelly.
There are many people who think you were the source of that quote. What is your reaction to that suggestion? Kelly's head is racing. He needs to stay calm, answer slowly and think. I find it very difficult. That's ambiguous. What does that mean? Well, this is the problem. He's trying to figure out what to say. If he confirms it's him, they'll think he's Gilligan's source. But if he denies these words, he'll be lying to Parliament. Kelly mumbles...
It doesn't sound like my expression of words. It doesn't sound like a quote from me. You deny that those are your words? All eyes are on Kelly. Yes. As soon as the word leaves his mouth, he knows it's going to be a problem. If they're reading from a transcript, there must be a recording. Exactly. It will be easy to show he's misleading the committee. He's in deep.
Before he can think about it any further, the chairman praises Kelly for coming forward. The session looks like it's beginning to wrap up. But then the chairman looks to Andrew McKinley, who's trying to attract his attention. McKinley is a Labour MP. He's short and squat with the neck of a bulldog and the personality of a terrier. Isn't that a creature from Greek mythology? Yeah, does he live in a maze? He's been waiting for his moment. He leans forward. I reckon you're chaff.
McKinley's grandstanding for the cameras. You've been thrown up to divert our probing. Have you ever felt like a fool, guy? You've been set up, have you not? Kelly looks down towards his lap. He's humiliated. Well, Dr. Kelly? Kelly composes himself. That's not a question I can answer. But you feel that? No, not at all. I accept the process that is happening.
The chairman starts to bring proceedings to a close. He says that Kelly is unlikely to be Gilligan's source. Kelly's got them off his back about Gilligan, but he knows that's not the end of it. He's already been humiliated in public, made to look unprofessional. But if those quotes from the transcript were his, and he said they weren't, he could be in even worse trouble.
Across town in the BBC newsroom, reporters huddle around the TV screen. They're watching the coverage. Gilligan's front and centre, his eyes trained on Kelly. This is the big chance to implicate Alastair Campbell. Yeah, I'm interested to know what he thinks. The hearing finishes. Gilligan lets out a big sigh and heads back to his desk. This is not the result he'd wanted. A curious colleague sidles over. Why were they talking about Susan Watts? Gilligan shrugs. No idea.
He keeps tight-lipped about the detailed email he sent David Chidji last night. An email with a list of questions that would rattle Kelly, including one about Susan Watts. Gilligan starts typing. His colleague takes the hint and walks away.
No. So Gilligan is providing the evidence to put the pressure on Kelly? Yes. Now, that's not necessarily unusual. Whenever you have someone in front of a select committee, members of that committee might talk to experts in the field, journalists, and indeed people might offer briefings up. So it's not unusual. But in this situation, when Gilligan himself is the subject matter, it doesn't look great. Gilligan knows that Kelly hasn't backed up his side of the story. Kelly has chosen to avoid dropping the government in it.
But Gilligan knows Kelly has lied to the Foreign Affairs Committee to do it. That will surely have consequences. This isn't over yet. The next morning, Alistair Campbell runs through a park near his London home, blood pumping. He needs to let off steam.
I feel like 98% of the pictures I've seen of Alistair Campbell are of him in a sweaty T-shirt running. He runs a lot. He did the London Marathon in about four hours. Right, we get it. He replays the hearing in his mind. He's frustrated. David Kelly squirmed around difficult questions. The committee let Kelly off the hook and wasted time grandstanding. The panel should have pressed harder, forced Kelly to admit he was Gilligan's source. Then he'd be able to discredit this story once and for all.
Casual. Do you think he's saved as Tone, Tony Blair, TB or PM? TB. New Labour loved TB, GB. Yeah, it's quite nice, isn't it? Little monogram. It's got a ring to it. He's watching Prime Minister's Questions.
MPs jeer as the Prime Minister rises from the green benches to the dispatch box. Tony Blair insists that the BBC should say whether Dr Kelly is Gilligan's source. Tony's on side. Campbell takes a deep breath and exhales. He's got to keep calm and stay focused. He will win this battle with the BBC. He's come too far to back down now. The battle of wills between the government and the BBC is only going to escalate and David Kelly is caught in the crossfire.
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It's early in the morning on the 17th of July 2003, two days after Kelly's appearance at the committee. On the country road where David Kelly lives, a neighbour strolls by on his way to work. He loves the Kelly's house, the porch with pink roses around the door and the huge garden. As he nears the house, he can hear voices. It sounds like Janice and David. There's nobody outside. He spots an open window. They're arguing. He strains to hear. A passing car revs, drowning out the words.
What are they arguing about? I mean, number one, nosy, and number two, it's been a tough time for them. Keep walking, my friend, keep walking. Don't invite him round. Yeah, mind your own business, mate. At 10am, Wing Commander Clark is on the phone to David Kelly. He shares an office with him at the Ministry of Defence. He considers him a friend too. Clark wants to know how Kelly's doing after the committee hearing. Is Wing Commander a real thing? I think so, yeah. It just sounds totally made up. Oh yes, he's pretty senior, I think, in the military.
Clark wants to know how Kelly's doing after the committee hearing. There's a pause on the line. Then something strange happens. Clark is taken aback. Kelly never usually talks about his family. But these are unusual times. Clark doesn't know what to say.
Kelly hears the awkwardness. He quickly turns the conversation to work. I've spoken to the Ministry of Defence. It's been decided that I'll return to Iraq on the 25th. Clark's relieved they're back on safe ground. Week after next. Yes. The sooner I can get back to normal, the better. Besides, the Iraq Survey Group needs me. Replies Clark. I'll book the flight for you. Clark knows Kelly is a private man. Perhaps getting back to his work will help sort out things at home.
You can just tell how much his work means to him. That's an anchor, isn't it? Yeah, and he's trying to keep the show on the road. He's saying, yeah, I'm still involved. Doesn't matter what happened at the committee. I'm still involved in the Iraq Survey Group. In that way that you do when I guess you're panicking a bit. Three hours later, it's 1pm and Janice Kelly cuts cheese and salad sandwiches into triangles and places them on the kitchen table next to two glasses of water. She calls to her husband. David? He doesn't respond. She heads through the study but spots him in the sitting room.
What's he doing there? He never sits in the living room during the day. He's staring straight ahead. He looks exhausted. In fact, Janice thinks a little desperate. Five minutes later, they sit at the kitchen table, opposite each other, picking at the sandwiches Janice has made. She thinks her husband has shrunk into himself. He takes a sip of water. Janice asks if he wants a cup of tea. It's as if he doesn't hear her. She asks again. He mutters, no. She's concerned but annoyed too. He's not the only one suffering here.
The stress of the last few weeks is really getting to her. She's going upstairs for a lie down. My arthritis is playing up. She struggles stiffly to her feet. What are you going to do? Kelly shrugs. I'll probably go for my walk. At the Ministry of Defence, Wing Commander Clark is in the office he shares with David Kelly, telephone to his ear. He's studying the press list Kelly sent through earlier, the one the Foreign Affairs Committee requested, detailing all the journalists Kelly's had contact with and a separate list of the ones he's met.
Clark's eyes scan down to a name at the foot of the list. It could be a problem. Hello, David, it's John again. We need to talk about Susan Watts. Oh, this isn't going away. I was really hoping it wasn't going to be Susan Watts. No offence to Susan Watts, but this gives me dread heart. At the same time in Oxfordshire, Janice Kelly's in bed dozing. A shaft of sunlight streams through the crack in the curtain. It's a beautiful day outside and she feels wretched. If she can just get to sleep, the phone starts ringing.
The cordless receiver's downstairs. She struggles out of bed onto her feet. She reaches for her walking stick, wincing. She hobbles down the last few stairs when the phone stops ringing. Typical. David? No answer. He must have gone for his walk. Outside in the village, Ruth Absalom is out walking her dog. It's a beautiful day. The sun beats down on the thatched roofs. Ruth's in her late 70s, but she's fit for her age, just like her old Jack Russell buster who strains at the lead.
He's spotted someone ahead. Ruth squints into the light and sees a silhouette strolling towards her. It's David Kelly. Yesterday, his worried eyes were splashed across every tabloid and broadsheet. Can you imagine that being your neighbour and then bumping into them at this point of it breaking in the news? And what do you talk about? Because that's obviously the elephant in the room. Yeah. Ruth thinks maybe she should cross the road, avoid an awkward conversation.
Too late. Buster's dancing around on the end of the lead and David's spotted her. Hello, Ruth. Hi, David. How are things? Ruth regrets the words before they're out of her mouth. Not bad. Just out for a bit of fresh air. Kelly shields his eyes as he squints into the sun. It's a beautiful day. Buster! Sorry, David. I'm going to have to get on. It's fine. Bye, Ruth. See you soon. Bye, David. Kelly smiles and waves as he continues on his afternoon walk.
Ruth lets out a sigh. That wasn't too awkward. He seemed like his normal self. An hour later, it's 4.30pm and Janice Kelly's staring at the kitchen clock. Where the hell's David? He should be back by now. If he's going for a longer walk, he always tells her. Her finger hovers over the telephone keypad. Should she call her daughter Rachel? Maybe she should leave it a little longer. Fifteen minutes later and Janice Kelly has the phone clasped to her ear. Your dad's gone for a walk and he hasn't come home.
Rachel tries to reassure her. He probably just needs some time by himself to think. It's been a tough week for him. Janice sighs down the phone. Listen, Mum, I'll come over as soon as I finish work. At 6.30pm, Rachel's in her car heading to Harrowdown Hill. If her dad was going for a long walk, he might head there. She parks near the foot of the track leading up to the wood. It's getting overcast. She promised her mother she would stay in the car. She pulls away, retracing the other routes her father might have taken...
Five minutes later, her car tyres crunch on a farm track leading up to a deserted barn. There's a gate in the way, but there's a walkway at the side. Mum will never know. She decides to get out and have a quick look around. Dad? Dad? No answer. Her heart races as she stares at the barn ahead. She's frightened of what she might find inside. A bat swoops past her ear. She gasps, turns on her heels and heads straight back to the car.
The rest of the evening feels like it crawls by till it's nearly midnight. Still no news. At 11:40pm, Rachel dials 999. In the early hours of the morning, a police helicopter hovers over Dr Kelly's family home. The searchlight scans the garden. Police cars are parked in the drive. Inside, officers search the house. The helicopter searchlight scans the ground and then heads off along the road.
At the same time in London, on the second floor of the Ministry of Defence, a security guard fiddles with the key in the lock of Dr Kelly's office. Special branch officers are stood beside him. They're getting impatient. He tries the last key on the bunch. He rattles the lock. The lock won't budge. The men don't have time for this. The burly one asks the security guard to step aside. He shoulders the door and it flies open. The men enter the office and look inside. Kelly's not here.
It's 7am outside Abingdon Police Station. Paul Chapman takes an A4 printed map from a Thames Valley police officer. Paul is a Cub Scout leader and member of the South Berkshire Emergency Volunteers. He's working with Louise Holmes. We heard about her at the beginning of the series. I remember her search dog, Brock. Yes. 9.15am, Harrowdown Hill, Woods. Paul Chapman watches Holmes follow her dog into the woods. There's a pause and then he hears a shout. Call the police!
At 10am, paramedics Dave Bartlett and Vanessa Hunt arrive at the scene. The man they've found is lying flat on the floor. Dave feels for a pulse and checks his pupils. No sign of life. Vanessa opens up his shirt. Police officers take photos as they work. Vanessa applies sticky pads to the man's cold chest. There isn't much point, but she goes through the motions. She hooks him up to the heart monitor. Nothing. She pronounces him dead.
At 10.30am at the Kellys' house, Janice is in the hall on the phone. Her knuckles are white, but she's trying to sound relaxed, upbeat. She's phoning round friends to see if David is with them. There's a knock at the door. Rachel answers. It's a female police officer. She looks serious. Could she come in? They go through to the lounge. Janice is desperate to know. Have you found David? The policewoman pauses. I'm very sorry to inform you. We've found a body. Is it...
The police officer nods. We believe it's Dr Kelly. I'm afraid it looks like suicide. Within minutes, the news spreads. Radio and television stations broadcast to a shocked public. Headlines are penned. The vendetta's victim. How he must have despaired in his final days. The country is left reeling. The quiet man caught up in the government and BBC's battle over Iraq is dead. It looks like suicide, but was he murdered?
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It's just hours after Dr. Kelly's body has been found. Lord Faulconer, the Lord Chancellor, is in his office in the Houses of Parliament. The place is deserted at the start of the summer recess, but he's not on holiday.
He's got a job to do, a big job. He's the government minister responsible for the justice system. He's been tasked by the Prime Minister to find a chair for the inquiry into the circumstances surrounding David Kelly's death. They need to set up this inquiry quickly and be seen to be doing something. They hope this will put a stop to the speculation. Faulkner picks up his phone and dials Lord Hutton. Richard, it's Charlie Faulkner. Oh? Faulkner can hear the surprise in his voice. Could you pop down to my office? There's a pause on the other end of the line.
Of course. Falconer puts the phone down and sighs. It's been a long morning. He's been talking to the Prime Minister and bending the ears of civil servants and law lords about who might be the right person for the job. Soon, there's a knock at the door. It's Hutton. Falconer doesn't waste any time. Richard, I've a special favour to ask. He explains the situation. We need someone to chair the inquiry.
It's kind of incredible to look back at that moment and think perhaps Hutton hadn't realised that his name would become inextricably linked with this huge moment in history. Yeah, he's a judge. He's dealt with politically sensitive things before, so he's got a bit of experience. But this is certainly the first time he's been so well known to the public. At Harrow Down Hill, a press helicopter flies overhead. News footage is being beamed around the world. There's a hastily erected white police tent at the side of the woods.
A police 4x4 is under the trees. Not far away there are also two white vans and a green hatchback car. At 2:10, pathologist Nicholas Hunt arrives at the scene to examine the body. He holds a small voice recorder close to his mouth and starts speaking. Dr Kelly's left arm is extended out at shoulder level and his right arm lies across his chest.
He's wearing jeans, a striped shirt, a green waxed barber coat, beige socks and Timberland walking boots. A Virgin Atlantic mobile phone pouch is clipped to his brown leather belt. Hunt notices a police photographer taking photos of something next to the body. He moves closer to see a slightly curved blade. It's an open Sandvik knife. There's blood on the handle and the blade. Beside it lies a black resin-strapped digital watch.
About a foot away from his left elbow, a half-litre bottle of Evian water is propped up against some broken branches. It's smeared in blood. Hunt bends down to check his jacket pocket. He finds Dr Kelly's mobile phone, a key fob, his bifocal spectacles and three blister packs of 10 coproximal tablets. One remains in the pack.
I remember these details being reported and I also remember there being so much scrutiny over anything specific about this case. And of course, we now know it spun off into myriad conspiracy theories. Yes. And at the time, the public didn't know what to think. This was ongoing. So people are taking in all the information.
But I think the difference is just the fact that David Kelly was dead during this time was enough for some people to presume some sort of conspiracy anyway. So any detail they find is then proof of a grand conspiracy rather than just a normal detail. The following morning, Janice Kelly and her daughter Rachel step out of an unmarked police car with blacked-out windows. They're at the John Ratcliffe Hospital in Oxford. Janice steadies herself against Rachel. They follow the police officer inside.
At 11.25, Janice stands in the Chapel of Rest. She's looking at the lifeless man in front of her, his face grey and slack. It's the man she was married to for 36 years. She reaches out to touch him and whispers his Welsh family name, Di. She turns to the man with the clipboard and nods. It's him. On the same day, 5,000 miles away, Tony Blair is in Japan on a tour of the Far East. He's in a spa hotel in Ryokan, Hakone. He's fastening his tie.
He ties it too tight. All he can think of is David Kelly. Blair's here to promote relations with the Far East. In half an hour, he'll be in front of the press. He'll be giving a press conference alongside the Japanese Prime Minister, and he's not looking forward to it. Half an hour later, he's being led towards the room by a Japanese press officer who respectfully reassures Prime Minister Blair there won't be any awkward questions. Blair smiles and nods, relieved. He enters the room and heads to the stage.
The press conference is tightly organised. Blair starts to relax as he answers carefully scripted questions from the Japanese press. Blair spots a raised hand in the middle of the audience. It's Mail on Sunday reporter Jonathan Oliver. Oliver looks like a 30-year-old public schoolboy, sporting a mop of wiry, dark, curled hair. His eyes are trained on Blair throughout proceedings. The press officer ignores Oliver's raised hand. No more questions. Oliver stands up.
Have you got blood on your hands, Prime Minister? Are you going to resign over this? Whoa. I remember this so clearly. And I remember Blair just stopping. There's this incredible pause in the room when this happens. There's not any noise at all, and Blair just stands there staring at him and says nothing. Oliver has uttered the words Blair's dreaded hearing. They seem to echo round the room. Blair was hoping the announcement of the Hutton inquiry would keep a lid on any criticism.
Maybe he's misjudged the strength of public opinion. Maybe he's underestimated the determination of the British press. If he's wrong, the death of David Kelly could bring down the whole government and tarnish his reputation forever.
This is the second episode in our series, The Sexed Up Dossier. A quick note about our dialogue. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but all of our dramatisations are based on historical research. I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. Fiona Evans wrote this episode. Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford. Our sound design is by Rich Evans. Our senior producer is Russell Finch. Our executive producers are Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis for Wondery.
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