The Spy Who Came Back From The Dead | Twister Returns | 3
47:14 Share

Alice, Alice, it's Matt. What's going on? Don't say my name. Oh, OK. Where are you? Look, I've just had to go a bit off grid. I've had to take a bit of a detour. OK. Can I help? Can you do something for me? Absolutely. Can you keep it to yourself? 100%. Can you get me a bagel, you know, the one that I like, and an iced coffee on your way up? Thank you. The 22nd of November, 1974. John Stonehouse's office, Mayfair, London.

Detective Chief Superintendent Kenneth Etheridge leans back in a brown leather chair and glances around the small, tidy office. He watches the young woman behind the desk flick her long, dark hair over her shoulder. She looks nervous. He's sure she's hiding something. And he's determined to make Sheila Buckley tell him everything she knows. When did you last see Mr Stonehouse? He watches her eyes dart around the room.

I can't remember, but I'm very upset that he's dead. He was a good boss. Etheridge frowns. I didn't tell you he was dead. Oh, great, Sheila. Great acting. His eyes narrow as he watches her blush. This wouldn't be the first case he's dealt with where a secretary fell for her boss. He almost feels sorry for Sheila, but he also knows she could be the key to unlocking this whole case. He leans forward and tells her as gently as possible...

If you're lying to protect him, you could end up in court. Nobody wants that. So think carefully, Sheila. Do you know where he is? He watches her eyes widen. When she answers, her voice shakes. No. He runs his fingers through his thick hair, tries to hide his frustration. He stands up, thanks her for her time. He won't be getting anything more from her today, but he's far from done with Sheila Buckley. Half an hour later, he's back in his own office.

He snatches up the phone and calls Jack Webb, his counterpart at the Miami Beach Police Department. Any news on a body? He listens carefully, as Webb tells him they've carried out a thorough search of the area where Stonehouse went missing. We consulted oceanographers about sea currents to figure out where the body would wash up. We've had people on that sea for two days. There is nothing.

Oceanographers? I mean, I'm quite impressed by the resources. It must be because he was a Member of Parliament. If you or I went missing out there, I think we can safely say not a single oceanographer would be deployed. Not even the big net. Etheridge rubs his hooded eyes. He's about to thank Webb for his time when he hears him say... There's something else. I've been over to his hotel room. He put his suit on the bed and his passport on top of it. Who would do that before going for a swim? When the call's over, Etheridge leans back. Webb's right.

Nothing about this case stacks up. He's due to give his boss an update in ten minutes. Everybody wants answers, but all he's got is more questions. He picks up two photographs from his desk. One man has dark hair and a moustache. The other looks similar, but he's clean-shaven. The first is Lord Lucan, who disappeared two weeks ago after his children's nanny was found dead. Etheridge has been hunting Lucan ever since, and now he's got John Stonehouse as well.

His boss and the tabloids are snapping at his heels, and he's no idea where these men are. He picks up the phone, rings Interpol. He gives a description of Stonehouse. He's tall, dark-haired, well-spoken. He glances down at the two photographs. That description could fit either one, so he adds a qualifier. John Stonehouse has a scar on his right knee. Lucan hasn't.

Chasing Stonehouse and Lucan at the same time won't be easy. But if Stonehouse is alive, Etheridge is going to find him, however long it takes. My dad works in B2B marketing. He came by my school for career day and said he was a big ROAS man. Then he told everyone how much he loved calculating his return on ad spend.

My friend's still laughing at me to this day. Not everyone gets B2B, but with LinkedIn, you'll be able to reach people who do. Get $100 credit on your next ad campaign. Go to linkedin.com slash results to claim your credit. That's linkedin.com slash results. Terms and conditions apply. LinkedIn, the place to be, to be.

As summer winds down, let your imagination soar by listening on Audible. Whether you listen to stories, motivation, expert advice, any genre you love, you can be inspired to imagine new worlds, new possibilities, new ways of thinking. With Audible, there's more to imagine when you listen.

And speaking of listening, you can listen to the best-selling science fiction thriller Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir right now on the Audible app and traverse the galaxy in a desperate last-chance mission along with astronaut Ryland Grace, all from the comfort of your living room.

As an Audible member, you choose one title a month to keep from their entire catalog. New members can try Audible free for 30 days. Visit audible.com slash WonderyPod or text WonderyPod to 500-500. That's audible.com slash WonderyPod or text WonderyPod to 500-500.

From Wondery, I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. And this is British Scandal. MUSIC

So, Alice, I'm in a bit of a pickle. Yeah. I've got a birthday party next week that I really don't want to go to and I just need a good excuse to get out of it. You, my friend, have come to the right person. This is exactly what I'm best at. OK, so you could go for a classic. I'm away filming, wish I could be there. You could go for I've already got a birthday party that night, but I'll try and make it to yours as well. You won't. Or my favourite. I don't want to come.

Now it's so weird hearing you say them now because for my last three birthdays you've used every single one of those. I've revealed too much, sorry. I just don't think they're going to cover it though. I need to go big. What are you thinking? Could disappear. Ah, I see what you're doing. Do you know a swimming attendant? No, but I could befriend one, talk to them a bit too long so that they remember me while I've got a mate there that I brought as a witness and then just leave a pile of clothes on the beach. Sounds like you've really thought it through. I've actually all week been thinking about this and wondering if Stonehouse pulls it off. What have you got for me?

This is Episode 3, Twister Returns. Three days later, the Sheraton Waikiki Hotel, Hawaii. John finishes his Mai Tai cocktail, nibbles on the Glace Cherry, lies back on the sun lounger next to the pool and looks at the blue sky through the palm trees. It's five days since his escape from Miami, and this time it went like clockwork.

After his swim in front of the hotel, he'd taken a cab to the airport, a flight to San Francisco and then another flight here to Hawaii. I love that that's his idea of like clockwork. I mean, he has taken about 10 flights in four days, so that probably in comparison is like streamlined. He's got money waiting for him in Australia, a new apartment for him and Sheila and a whole new life to look forward to. But he's not free yet. He still needs to lie low for a few days until the Miami police stop looking for him.

He gestures to the waiter, orders another Mai Tai, watches a young couple splash each other in the pool. A sudden pang of loneliness hits him. He downs his drink, heads to the phone booth in the lobby, dials Sheila's number. He told her he wouldn't contact her until he was settled in Australia. The less she knows about his whereabouts, the better. But he has an overwhelming urge to hear her voice. "Hello?" He closes his eyes. "It's me. How are you?"

He listens to the silence on the other end of the line. His stomach knots. What if the police are with her, listening in? Maybe he's made a terrible mistake. He's about to hang up when he hears her break into sobs. Oh, John, it's horrible. The press won't leave me alone. They keep running stories about you. They say you're a fraudster and a spy, and that I'm a marriage wrecker. I'm too scared to go outside.

We would be the first to knock the tabloids and say how disgusting they can be to a lot of British scandal protagonists and their loved ones. But quite a lot of that is true. Fraudster and Spy seems quite accurate to me. It's terrible, John. The report is entirely accurate and true. His mind races. How have the press found out about their affair? It means Barbara and the kids must know. He pictures the headlines, pushes it to the back of his mind.

If he wants a new life with Sheila, he has to carry on. He tells her that everything will calm down. And as soon as he's settled in Melbourne, he'll send her a ticket so she can join him. When he's hung up, he goes to the bar. Downs a neat whiskey. Then another. He's about to leave when something catches his eye. It's a British newspaper. And his picture's on the front page. He stares for a few seconds, then hides it under his arm. A few minutes later, he locks the door to his room, sits on the bed, shaking.

reads how Miami police are suspicious that no traces of his body have been found, how the hunt for him is now international. He'd expected to make the news in Britain for a day or so, but he hadn't expected this. He half thinks about giving himself up, going back and blaming the whole thing on some kind of breakdown. But he's come this far. He's determined to carry on. He jumps to his feet, grabs his suitcase, throws in his clothes. He can't hide here. He'll have to go to Australia,

And he'll have to leave tonight. A few weeks later, December 1974, South London. Barbara stands in front of the terraced house. She's here to see Sheila Buckley. Oh, boy. She wants to know if the rumours of her affair with John are true. She's been standing here for five minutes now, staring at the door, frozen with fear. The past few weeks have been the worst of her life. She's had to put aside her own grief and comfort her three children.

But every day that passes brings more questions about John. The tabloids say he was somehow mixed up with the mafia in Miami, that his body's been found in a concrete slab, that he was a spy. She's dismissed it all as nonsense. But the one thing she can't shake are the stories of his affair with Sheila. She takes a breath. Her hands tremble as she knocks on the door. She's been awake all night planning her questions. She's terrified of the answers, but she has to know the truth.

A few seconds later, Sheila appears. Mrs Stonehouse, what are you doing here? Barbara looks at her carefully. She's never taken much notice of her before. In fact, the whole time she's been working for John, they've barely spoken. But now she can see how beautiful Sheila is. She pushes back her own messy hair, tries not to feel so dull and dowdy. I need to talk to you about John. A few minutes later, she sits with Sheila in the living room, hunched over a mug of tea.

After a silence, she asks, were you and my husband having an affair? She watches Sheila bow her head, then nod. Barbara's breath catches in her throat. When did it start? Sheila keeps her eyes on the floor. A couple of years ago? Barbara's heart thuds. Her mind scrambles for missed clues. John's been distant recently and moody. But two years? Then Sheila looks up. I'm pregnant. What?

I'm speechless, for the first time I think in this show ever. Barbara covers her mouth with her hand. "I'm sorry, Barbara. We never meant to hurt you." She turns from Sheila in disgust. She needs to get out of this house. Her eyes well with tears, but she's not going to cry in front of Sheila. She gets to her feet. For a minute, she thinks she might faint. She bends down, picks up her handbag and walks out. At home, she pours herself a brandy, downs it quickly.

glances at the pile of newspapers on the kitchen table. She picks one up and rips it to pieces. She's spent years supporting John, keeping their family together, sorting their new house. And all this time, he's been sleeping with his secretary. It's such a cliche, it's almost laughable. What the hell is she meant to tell the children? She goes to the window. She can't face the press now. But it isn't a journalist. It's DCS Etheridge.

A few minutes later, Etheridge and another man sit perched on the sofa in her living room. It's their third visit in five days. She braces herself. "Have you found his body?" They don't answer. Instead, they start firing questions at her. "How much was she involved in John's businesses?" "How much does she know about the missing money?" She sits forward. "What missing money?" But Etheridge doesn't answer. Instead, he asks,

Her voice sounds weak when she answers. The other man cuts in. It takes her a while to understand what's going on. Her stomach drops as it dawns on her. They're accusing her of his murder.

This is like an EastEnders Christmas special, isn't it? Like... It's amazing! Death, pregnancy, murder. Death, pregnancy, murder. The Holy Trinity. Three days later, Copenhagen, Denmark. Sheila swings her bag onto her shoulder and looks around the airport for John. There's still no sign of him. Her flight landed 20 minutes ago, but it already feels like hours. Her stomach churns with anxiety.

She told him it was too early to meet, that it was too risky for him to leave Australia so soon. What if you're caught? What if I'm followed? It's madness. But he pleaded, reassured her it was safe. I'm travelling on my mark and passport. They're not looking for me under that name. It'll be fine. She wishes now she'd put up more of a fight. All she can think about is DCS Etheridge's warning. She glances around nervously, a security guard staring at her.

Her heart thuds. What if John's already in a police cell? What if they're about to pounce on her? She puts a protective hand on her belly. A few minutes later, her shoulders drop with relief as she sees John heading towards her. He's grinning. He looks tanned and relaxed. She runs up, kisses him, lets all her worries melt away. An hour later, they wander along a cobbled street by the river. Stop for a coffee. She gazes at the brightly coloured houses, then at the glistening river.

She's got so much to say, she doesn't know where to start. So she takes a breath and tells him, I think you should come home with me. I think you should stop this whole thing. He stares at her. Back to London? Why? She feels her eyes sting with tears. Because I hate lying to everyone. I can't sleep. I'm so terrified we're going to get caught. And I'm pregnant. His mouth falls open. I know, John, right? You should have seen us.

She's worried he's going to stand up and walk away. But he takes her hand and kisses it. ''That's wonderful news.'' She wipes her eyes. ''Won't be wonderful if you're in prison. Come back with me, John.'' She watches his smile disappear. He shakes his head. ''I can't. Even if I could. I don't want to live the rest of my life in England. I hated how I was there. I'm sick of politics, sick of the press hounding me. And I can't go back to that marriage.''

Don't you want us to be together? She tells him, of course she does. But not like this. He shuffles forward. Sheila, darling, you'll love Melbourne. It's the perfect place to bring up our baby. His eyes shine as he tells her how breathtaking the coastline is. How friendly the people are. How, free from the press, they could make a fresh start. He's got so much money in the Markham account, they'll never have to work again.

She looks over at the glittering river. It's already dusk and the street lamps give the whole place a warm glow. She hasn't felt this happy for a long time. The thought of John coming back to England just to end up in prison horrifies her.

Despite her reservations, she can't help imagining a luxurious life in the sun with John and their child. Just the three of them against the world. All right, let's do it. Christmas Eve, 1974. Melbourne, Australia. Detective Sergeant John Coffey runs across the street. He stands on the corner, his eyes darting from one person to the next. He's following an Englishman who's been shifting huge amounts of money into bank accounts under different names.

He checked with Interpol, then spoke to a DCS Etheridge in London. Right now, the Brits are looking for two high-profile men, Lord Lucan and John Stonehouse. This guy could be either one of them. This is absolutely bonkers that they're happening in tandem, these searches. It's nuts. And almost until their hands on their shoulder, they don't know which one they've got. It's great. It's like a Geoffrey Archer novel, which is another series. Oh, don't you start on that again.

Coffee glances round at his plainclothes team. They're known as the Dog Squad. They hunt in a pack and don't stop until they've got their kill. Coffee nods towards the train station. His men discreetly follow. The station's busy. He spins around, desperately scanning the crowd. There's no sign of the Englishman. They've lost him. Coffee walks away, shoulders slumped. But something makes him look back. And then he sees him.

A tall, tanned man, standing at the end of the platform. A train pulls in. If the Englishman gets on it, he's lost him. Coffey watches the doors open. He sprints, then slows. The last thing he wants is to scare him into running. He watches the man take a few steps towards the waiting train. Then he pulls out his badge. "Mr Markham!" He sees a flash of fear in the man's eyes. His body jolts forward, but Coffey's got him surrounded.

He grabs his arm, leads him to a waiting car. He makes sure Markham is hemmed in by two of his squad, but he still doesn't know who he's caught. He needs to figure out if the Englishman is Lucan or Stonehouse. This is unbelievable! Mr Markham, can you please pull up your right trouser leg, sir? The man's hands shake as he pulls up his linen trousers. Coffey stares at his hairy, bony knee. He can't see any marks. He leans in closer...

And then he sees it. A faint white scar. He leans back and smiles. It's time to call a press conference and let the world know that it's the end of the road for John Stonehouse.

Hey, I'm Ryan Reynolds. At Mint Mobile, we like to do the opposite of what Big Wireless does. They charge you a lot, we charge you a little. So naturally, when they announced they'd be raising their prices due to inflation, we decided to deflate our prices due to not hating you.

That's right. We're cutting the price of Mint Unlimited from $30 a month to just $15 a month. Give it a try at mintmobile.com slash switch. $45 upfront for three months plus taxes and fees. Promo rate for new customers for a limited time. Unlimited more than 40 gigabytes per month. Slows. Full terms at mintmobile.com.

Make this new school year an opportunity for your kids to learn important life skills with Greenlight. Greenlight is a debit card and money app for families where kids learn how to save, invest, and spend wisely while parents keep an eye on kids' money habits. Greenlight also helps families get into their fall routine with a chores feature that lets parents assign chores and pay kids allowance when they check them off. Get your first month free at greenlight.com slash wondery. greenlight.com slash wondery.

Easter, 1975. Maroondah Reservoir Park, Australia. Barbara changes gear, speeds up. She's on her way to meet John to talk about their future. Her mind's been reeling since he rang her on Christmas Eve. He'd called her in tears from a police station in Melbourne, begging her to come to Australia. Please, Barbara, I need you. I love you. Come now. But then he'd added... And bring Sheila.

No. This is the first time she's realised that he's alive. On Christmas Eve, a phone call out of the blue from prison. And he's like, please come see me and also bring my mistress. Oh, it's a lot to take in. Just give it a beat. I mean, just let it settle in that you're not dead and then start making your demands. The Alice Levine playbook for faking her own death. The mention of Sheila's name had hit her like a punch to the gut.

Her only consolation is that Sheila's pregnancy turned out to be a false alarm. She'd flown to Melbourne straight away, alone. Since John got out on bail, he won't talk about his affair or their marriage. Today, though, she's going to give him an ultimatum. It's her or Sheila. She looks out at the distant green mountains, over at the glistening reservoir, then back at the road. A car in front has pulled up. As she gets closer, she sees John standing next to it.

She slows down. Can you give me a lift, darling? My hire car's out of petrol. She opens the door for him, watches him smile as he gets in. For a brief second, she sees the old John she fell in love with. Her heart jolts. If he's come to his senses now, maybe they can work through this. Maybe she can get her marriage back. But then she sees Sheila, right behind him. When did she get here? Neither of them can look her in the eye. Then John mutters...

This involves all three of us. She feels her cheeks flush with anger as Sheila climbs into the back seat. They spend the rest of the journey in silence. A short while later, all three of them walk to a picnic table at the edge of the water, but Barbara doesn't sit down. I am not discussing our marriage with that girl here. John reaches out to her with tears in his eyes. Barbara, please. I love you. I can't lose you. She folds her arms, glares at him.

Over the past few months, every single detail of her marriage has been poured over by the press. She's even been under suspicion for his murder. She's lost their new home and she's struggling to keep their old one. The whole thing is humiliating beyond belief. And all this time he's been caught up in a fantasy with his secretary. She's disgusted by him, by everything he's put her and their children through. She juts out her chin. She's decided, "I've had enough, John. I'm flying home tomorrow."

He jumps up. If you leave me, I'll kill myself. She watches in disbelief as he runs to the reservoir and disappears under the water. Sheila starts to scream. Barbara, do something! She snaps back. You do something. He's all yours now. She folds her arms, watches John swim around aimlessly for a while. When he gets out, Sheila runs up to him. They hold each other, sobbing. She turns her back on them both, walks to the car.

John might have come back from the dead, but her marriage can't. After 27 years, it's over. It's just pathetic. It's like kind of comical, the idea that he'd get in the water and then be like, well, obviously I was never going to do anything. I mean, it is actually, the image of that aside, kind of an abuser's playbook, isn't it, really, to threaten to hurt yourself, to keep somebody there. He's just such a grossly manipulative man.

A few months later, Melbourne, Australia, 6.30am. John peeks through the cheap plastic blinds, watches a van pull up in the car park below and a camera crew get out. He's been living here with Sheila for a few months now. He glances over at her, sleeping. This place isn't the coastal retreat he'd had in mind, but Sheila seems happy. They've talked about living out in Western Australia when all this is over, somewhere remote and isolated where they can start again.

Until then, he has to keep a low profile and take stock of his situation. A few days ago, he found out the House of Commons are scheduling a debate to expel him as an MP. The press keep pushing him for a comment. He wants to say he doesn't care. The last thing he wants is to go back to his old life, to his failed marriage, failed business and spying allegations. But he hasn't said anything. He just wants to hide here with Sheila, away from it all.

The problem is he needs to speak to his lawyer, Jim Patterson. He's been trying to avoid extradition back to the UK. If he can somehow stay in Australia, he won't face any criminal charges. Three hours later, he sits at the small plastic table, picks up the phone and dials.

He lets out a sigh of relief when Patterson picks up. Morning, John. I've got good news. Turns out you haven't broken any laws entering Australia. You came in on a false passport, but you're an MP. You don't need a passport to get in anyway. Wait, so what? He's just got free reign wherever he wants to go? Yeah, MPs back then could travel effectively as diplomats. They didn't need passports. So even though he's used Joseph Markham's passport, he is John Stonehouse, so he didn't need one anyway.

That is absolutely mad. He sinks back in relief. Does that mean I can stay here? He hears Jim clear his throat. Not exactly. You're only protected here as long as you're an MP. And if the House of Commons expel you, then you'll be extradited, I'm afraid. Ah, the plot thickens. He hangs up, walks over to the window, stares down at the car park. Several more vans have turned up and they all have their cameras pointing his way.

He shrinks back, feels like a hunted animal who's been cornered. He paces for a few minutes, then straightens up. He's not going to be bowed or defeated. He walks into the bedroom, wakes Sheila. Get up, pack a case, we're going to the airport. He's a charmer and I think that's why he's got so far. 37 hours later, they step off a flight at Heathrow. He's grateful that the press are at least penned in behind a crash barrier. They yell questions at him as he walks across the tarmac.

He grips Sheila's hand, faces them. Dozens of cameras start clicking as he speaks. I am innocent of all charges levelled against me. I haven't broken any laws and I'm here to prove it. As he walks away, he's determined to fight every single accusation against him and he thinks he knows exactly how to do it. April 1976. Barrister's Chambers, Fleet Street, London. John paces round the oak-panelled office.

He's determined to get his barrister to follow his instructions. His and Sheila's trial is due to start in a few days' time. Sheila's? Well, this is the thing. He's been charged with 21 counts of fraud, Sheila with six. Oh my God. He'd been relieved when he found none of the charges mentioned spying allegations. Still though, if he's found guilty of fraud, he'll go to prison. He looks over at his barrister now. Richard Ducan is slim with dark hair and a reputation for fearlessness.

He's exactly what John needs. Except he won't carry out his defence the way he wants. He sits down opposite Dukan. His large oak desk is crammed with legal files. John puts his folded hands on the desk. "I want you to argue that I have a split personality. That I wasn't myself when all this happened. But I've sorted it. I've killed Markham off. Now Stonehouse is back." Dukan raises his dark eyebrows.

Mr Stonehouse, I recommend we keep this simple. Focus on the fraud and money laundering charges. John cuts in. That's the point. I didn't do those things. That was Joe Markham, not me. Jekam stares in silence for a second. Mr Stonehouse, a split personality is not a legal defense. We cannot go down that route.

John hits the desk with his fist, shouts. ''Why won't you listen?'' The room falls silent. He glances around. The junior barristers stare at their feet, but Ducan doesn't waver. ''We can argue you had a right to take that money, but we can't argue you did so because you believed you were someone else.'' John slumps for a second, then raises himself to his full height. ''In that case, Mr Ducan, I don't need your services. I'll defend myself.''

I mean, whatever you think of Stonehouse, that is not the actions of a man who's completely stable. No, that does not feel like rational decision-making. A few days later, he sits in the dock at the Old Bailey, next to Sheila, as Michael Corkery QC makes the case for the prosecution. He watches Corkery point straight at him, calls him a failed businessman, says he tried to cover up his failure by scheming his own faked death, that he wanted to set up a new life with his mistress...

John glances behind him at the press. They're all scribbling furiously. His trial has got off to the worst possible start, and he knows he's out of his depth. If he doesn't come up with something soon, he's in real danger of losing this case and his freedom. August 1976, the Old Bailey. Sheila watches John stand in front of the jury. It's the final day of the trial, and he's making his closing statement. But he's been speaking for six days solid now,

There's no air in the courtroom. She's struggling to concentrate in the summer heat, and so are the jury. Some of them fan themselves with court documents. She's even noticed the judge pulling on his earlobes to stay awake. The whole trial's been humiliating. She's had to listen to her own private letters to John being read out. She'd written them in code. Corkery had swept around the courtroom reading them out in a theatrical voice.

The projects on the port thing is still okay. Can you tell us what that means, Mrs Buckley? She'd cleared her throat, tried to project her voice. It meant that John's cover as Joseph Markham hadn't been blown. Corkery had spun around. You were in on this plan from the start, weren't you, Mrs Buckley? But the embarrassment she'd felt then was nothing to what she feels now.

She can hardly bear to watch as John rambles on, painting himself as a victim of a political witch hunt one minute, a man with a split personality the next. His voice sounds thin and tired. Joseph Markham made all the decisions. He was in control.

I was a bit worried before that we were being a bit dismissive of the idea of him having this split personality disorder and that perhaps that could have been a genuine diagnosis. And then you remember that he was definitely in his right mind when he went to that woman's house, had a cup of tea, harvested her dead husband's passport. Pretty sharp then, wasn't he? She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to picture what John was like when she met him, how he used to stand up in Parliament and deliver crushing arguments against the opposition.

When she opens her eyes now, he looks shrunken, scared and lost. She wants to rush up to him, wrap her arms around him and protect him from all this. The next day, the jury file in with their verdict. She feels John shake next to her. A woman juror stands up, pronounces John guilty. She hears the word repeated over and over as gasps of horror ring round the courtroom. John's daughters hug each other. His mother, Rosina, wipes her eyes with a trembling hand.

The judge sentences John to seven years' imprisonment and a bankruptcy order. Wow. Sheila blinks back tears as she's given a two-year suspended sentence. The judge looks straight at her. I believe that had you not met Mr Stonehouse, you would not have committed any kind of criminal offence. You were extremely unfortunate to meet this persuasive, deceitful and ambitious man. He's wrong. He doesn't know the kind, loving John she knows...

Everything John's done has been so they can build a new life together. It's all been for her. Just before John disappears down to the cells, she calls after him. I love you! But she's already decided. She's going to wait. And when John comes out, she's going to build a whole new life with him.

This season, Instacart has your back-to-school. As in, they've got your back-to-school lunch favorites, like snack packs and fresh fruit. And they've got your back-to-school supplies, like backpacks, binders, and pencils. And they've got your back when your kid casually tells you they have a huge school project due tomorrow.

Let's face it, we were all that kid. So first call your parents to say I'm sorry, and then download the Instacart app to get delivery in as fast as 30 minutes all school year long. Get a $0 delivery fee for your first three orders while supplies last. Minimum $10 per order. Additional terms apply. Three years later, August 1979, HMP Norwich. John stands outside the prison. Here's the clank of the doors behind him.

looks up at the clear sky and gulps in the summer air. It's been three years since he was sent to prison. He's been released early because of poor health. His clothes feel baggy as he walks. He's grey and stooped. The last thing he wants is for the press to catch him looking like this. So he covers his head with his coat and heads slowly to the waiting car. His solicitor, Michael O'Dell, asks if he's OK. When he nods, Michael sets off for London.

He takes a few sharp turns on the way to make sure they're not being followed. John lets his head rest back. He's exhausted. He's had three heart attacks in two years and lengthy open heart surgery. He's short of breath most days and still in pain from the operations. He chats with Michael about life on the inside, tries to keep it light, tells him he'd made box files for the government, how he'd fallen out with other prisoners because he complained Radio 1 was on all the time.

All right, well, let's not be bandying around sort of, like, vicious opinions about people just, like, making shows that are supposed to cheer you up. Do you know what I mean? A lot of good stuff comes out of Radio 1, doesn't it? Just leave it. It's too late. He smiles about it, but prison has been a brutal experience. Next morning, Michael picks him up early and drives him north to see Sheila. He lets his eyes close, starts to doze. When he wakes, Michael has stopped the car. He looks around at the quiet street lined with trees.

He looks up, sees a blinding flash. He opens the door. A photographer stands in the garden, his camera pointed.

How does it feel to be free, Mr Stonehouse? Next day, Sheila buys the Daily Mirror. He looks down at the photo of them both and the headline. Freed MP in secret love nest. That afternoon, he puts a cardboard box over his head, eyes cut away, with John Stonehouse written on it. He stands in front of the waiting photographers, dares them to put this picture in their papers. The cameras click and whir, but next day, he's not in any of the tabloids. This doesn't sound like he's OK.

That night, he closes the curtains, sits Sheila down. He tells her the press will never leave them alone, but he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He's got a plan on how to make a living. He's going to start writing novels. This sounds familiar. He'd already started in prison. He takes her hand and asks her to marry him. Her eyes fill with tears. She doesn't speak. She lets her hand drop. He feels his heart sink. Then he hears the word he's waited for.

Yes! December 1987, a bookshop in central London. John sits behind a long table and signs copies of his latest thriller, Oil on the Rift. The queue is long and he's tired, but sales are good so he's happy. Sheila's already whispered in his ear that he's working too hard, but he's determined to sign copies for everyone who wants one. He smiles up at the next customer, scribbles his signature and a brief message.

Hope you enjoy the twists and turns, John Stonehouse. He loves writing, but more than that, the money from his books is what keeps them going. Since he married Sheila, they've had a son. She'd given birth to their child three years ago. It feels odd to have grown up children and a new baby, but he loves it. He also hopes his thrillers will change people's minds about him. He doesn't want to be known as the MP who disappeared from a beach forever. He wants people to see he's more than that.

His young son toddles over and tries to climb on his lap. Sheila pulls him away. Come on, sweetheart. Daddy's working. He tells her he doesn't mind. He puts his arms around his young son, nuzzles into him. At 62, he's never been happier or more content than he is right now. Mr Stonehouse, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've loved every one of your novels. He looks up. A smartly dressed woman with grey hair smiles at him.

Right, OK. Hmm, interesting.

Well, my job as a thriller writer is to hold back a bit of mystery, and I have a good imagination. He watches her smile. She hands him a card with a TV logo on it. I produce a chat show. I wonder if you'd come on and talk to us about your work and your past. He looks down at the card, puts it in his pocket, watches her leave. On the way home, he tells Sheila about it.

You can't! You promised you'd slow down! And why would you want to dig up the past? He stares at the road. He doesn't, but sometimes he misses the power and influence he had as an MP. He wants some of that status and adoration back. Besides, this might be his last chance to put the record straight. Next morning, when Sheila's taken their son to playgroup, he rings the number. That interview you mentioned last night, when will it be?

The 25th of March, 1988. Central Weekend Television Studio, Birmingham. John watches anxiously as technicians plug in cables and set up cameras in front of him. He looks over at Sheila in the audience. He smiles at her, gives her a reassuring nod, more to calm his own nerves. This is his chance to put forward his version of events. And he's going to take it. John, great to meet you. Thanks for coming.

He looks up, sees a serious-looking young man in a suit and tie. He shakes his hand. The young man sits down. We're exploring why people go missing. I'll be doing the interview. John smiles, but he's surprised by just how tense he feels. He doesn't want to give that away. A few minutes later, the floor manager calls for silence. He takes a breath. This is it. He leans back, again smiles as the interviewer introduces him as...

John Stonehouse, ex-Labour MP. The man who disappeared from a Miami beach 13 years ago, only to resurface under a false name in Australia a few weeks later. Mr Stonehouse, I'm sure the viewers will all want to know, why did you do it? He fixes a grin for the camera. It was a type of suicide. A psychiatric suicide, if you will. I wasn't in control of my actions at the time. My alter ego, Joseph Markham, had completely taken over my life.

It's shocking to hear him still saying that. The interviewer nods. But the court found you guilty of fraud, of masterminding the whole thing. He nods. Indeed, but I think we know more about psychiatric conditions now. My psychiatrist's report at the time wasn't given sufficient consideration. The interviewer stares, then leans forward. What about the allegations that you were a spy?

John shakes his head. All completely untrue. He glances at Sheila. When he looks back at the interviewer, he's holding up a book. This is a memoir by a Czech defector, written just before you disappeared. He claims the Czechs had someone in the Labour cabinet in the late 60s. They called him Agent Twister because they couldn't ever pin him down. Was it you? His smile falters. He breaks into a cold sweat. Absolutely not.

His voice is shaking. The studio falls silent. A camera edges closer. He shakes his head again. I was never a spy. I was never... His voice trails off. He wants to say he was never Twister, but his chest tightens. His arm feels numb. The interviewer stares at him. Mr Stonehouse, are you okay? His eyes widen. His heart races. He looks at Sheila. He wants to call her name, tell her he loves her.

but his lungs are burning and empty. He gasps, collapses, and tumbles into darkness. John Stonehouse was rushed to hospital and died on the 14th of April, 1988. John's wife, Sheila, brought up their young son alone and is now in her 80s. His first wife, Barbara, remarried in 1980 and continued to work in public relations until she retired. She only met John once after he came out of prison, at an event for their eldest daughter, Jane.

The year after his death, the Velvet Revolution broke out in Czechoslovakia, signalling the end of the one-party state. Czechoslovakia peacefully split into two countries: the Czech Republic and the Slovak Republic in 1993. In 1980, new information came to light from a second Czech defector that John Stonehouse had been a spy. The Conservative government under Margaret Thatcher felt the revelation was too embarrassing for the British state and decided not to pursue it further.

Czech secret service files were finally opened in 2008. Researchers found hundreds of pages on Stonehouse, including details of the information he'd passed to the Czech government. In a 2009 authorised history of MI5, Professor Christopher Andrew argued that Stonehouse had been the only British politician known to have acted as a foreign agent while holding ministerial office.

This is the third episode in our series, The Spy Who Came Back From The Dead. A quick note about our dialogue. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said. Some scenes are dramatised for your entertainment.

If you'd like to know more about this story, you can read Stonehouse, Cabinet Minister Fraudster Spy by Julian Hayes, and John Stonehouse, My Father, The True Story of the Runaway MP by Julia Stonehouse. I'm Alice Levine. And I'm Matt Ford. Karen Laws wrote this episode. Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford.

She struck him with her motor vehicle. She had been under the influence and then she left him there.

In January 2022, local woman Karen Reed was implicated in the mysterious death of her boyfriend, Boston police officer John O'Keefe. It was alleged that after an innocent night out for drinks with friends, Karen and John got into a lover's quarrel en route to the next location. What happens next depends on who you ask.

Was it a crime of passion? If you believe the prosecution, it's because the evidence was so compelling. This was clearly an intentional act. And his cause of death was blunt force trauma with hypothermia. Or a corrupt police cover-up. If you believe the defense theory, however, this was all a cover-up to prevent one of their own from going down. Everyone had an opinion.

And after the 10-week trial, the jury could not come to a unanimous decision. To end in a mistrial, it's just a confirmation of just how complicated this case is. Law and Crime presents the most in-depth analysis to date of the sensational case in Karen. You can listen to Karen exclusively with Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify.