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Ms Levine. Mr Matthew. Mr Matthew. Don't know your surname. I like it. Ford, come on, man. Read out the end of every episode. I've told it you multiple times. It's my turn to lead this series and it's a slightly different story. What have all our British scandals had in common so far? They've made me go, this is bonkers every two minutes. Yes, but also they've all been mainly focused in London.

Yes, that is true. Apart from all that time we spent in Singapore and Moscow. Okay, overlook the fact that what I just said was factually inaccurate. The British elements of most of our stories have sometimes been in London, apart from when they haven't. I would agree with that. Thank you. This one, though, is different. Alice, I'm going to take you to Seton Carew. Ah, the bright lights. Do you know where it is? No. It's in the northeast of England. It's 2.45pm.

Thursday 21st March 2002, Seaton, Carew, in the north-east of England. John Darwin stands at his bedroom window. He picks up his binoculars, looks at the sea. He's been waiting days for perfect weather conditions. Right now the sea is calm, but not too calm. He hurries downstairs, puts on a life jacket, hides it with a thick fleece, pulls a woolen hat over his thinning hair. A few minutes later, he drags his homemade red kayak a few yards across the road to the beach.

It's heavy, weighted down with everything he needs to sleep rough. A small tent, a sleeping bag, clothes and food. He drags the kayak to the water. He looks around for passers-by, but the beach is deserted. He gets in and paddles a short distance up the coast. He drifts for a while, unsure what to do. He sees two women in the distance walking a dog. He paddles towards them. The dog heads straight for him. It's perfect.

He waits until the women are close enough. Then he starts barking at the dog. The women look startled. He waves at them. Nice dog. I've got two Rottweilers, Meg and Xena. Cool chat, dude. He can tell they want to leave. So he paddles closer, starts barking at the dog again. My dogs are so big, they knocked me out on the beach once. He paddles away. They'll surely remember him now. He heads for the shipping lanes near the mouth of the River Tees.

The outgoing stream clashes with onshore waves. The tide pulls him in different directions. He keeps going. If he gets it right, he'll hit a narrow patch of calm water soon. I know he's got a plan, but this is still really scary. Oh, he's got a plan? It's just a terrible plan. LAUGHTER

But the sea gets rougher. His arms feel weak. A huge wave picks him up and hurtles him forward. He tries to get some control, but a wall of water hisses over his head. He looks round. There's no sign of land. He's come out too far. Oh, God. And the current is so strong, it's pulling him further out. John Darwin is trying to fake his own death, but right now he's in real trouble.

If he can't get to safety in the next few minutes, his death at sea could become a reality. And the last thing he said to somebody was, I've got two rottweilers, one called Meg and one called Zina. What terrible final words. Honestly.

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

The show where we bring you the murkiest stories that ever happened on these odd little isles. British scandals come in many shapes and sizes. Some are about money, some are about sex. They're all about power. But when we look at scandals a little bit closer, they turn out to be stranger, wilder and just plain weirder than we remember. So we're journeying back to ask who's to blame for what happened. And when the dust settled, did anything really change? MUSIC

OK, Alice, we are covering the story of John and Anne Darwin. I am thrilled that we're doing this for this series. This is such a great story and it's different from some of the others that we've covered on British Scandal because it doesn't really focus on the establishment or Westminster or finance. The posh shows in London, which have been our MO till now. Yes, this is different. This is a couple in the northeast of England...

with a crazy plan. It does kind of encompass lots of the themes of our other scandals, though. It's about money, greed, pride, desperation and a bad decision. Oh, a really bad decision compounded by other bad decisions. This is, at times, literally a whitewater ride. This is episode one, Missing. Seton Carew, two years earlier.

John Darwin drives his wife Anne along the seafront. He pulls into a gravel driveway outside number three, the Cliff. It's a gothic four-storey Victorian house with bay windows on three levels opening onto balconies. It's the perfect investment. Anne Darwin tucks her grey hair behind her ears. She gazes at him through the large lenses of her glasses. "It's too big for us, but look at the view, right opposite the sea. I like where we live now."

Mmm. It's actually probably in again. Sounds like your house. He takes her to the house next door, to number four.

How many houses does he need? Well, it depends what he needs them for. Oh. The owner of number four lets them in. John leads Anne round all 13 rooms. Most have tenants living in them. We just have to collect the rent. He opens a door, expects to find a cupboard. Instead, there's a connecting door to number three. The owner tells them connecting doors between the houses are on every floor.

That's not at all creepy that your landlord lives next door and there's connecting doors on every floor. I don't like it when you're in a hotel and there's a connecting door and it's locked. I'm not having it. Let alone a whole house. And I have to check it more than once to make sure it's locked. It'd be like living in Takeshi's castle. I'm not living with connecting doors, not with a load of men renting rooms. You'll be fine. We've got the Rottweilers. Back in the car, he hands her a spreadsheet of their finances.

The rentals from these rooms and their other 12 properties will easily cover all their mortgages and give them a good profit. In a year or two we can retire, then we can live wherever you want. His narrow eyes dart between the house and his wife. She hands him the spreadsheet, looks out at the sea. I suppose the boys would like it when they visit. He grins. He's won her over.

Which bit will they like? The strange house with all the rooms that interconnect to next door or probably the sea view? Probably the sea view, yeah. Lads over here for sea. We want to play with the doors, Dad. There's a Rottweiler behind this one. Ah, no! He researches the best finance deals. He bundles all his existing mortgages into one global mortgage.

In December 2000, they move into number three, the cliff. Their new life has started. John Darwin is on his way to making a fortune. One year later, Her Majesty's Prison home house, Stockton-on-Tees. OK, that was quick. Yeah, that's the end. Bye. John Darwin pulls into the prison car park in his brand-new Range Rover with its private number plate. Someone's doing well for themselves. He calls out to one of his colleagues.

He wants to show his car off, but his colleague puts his head down and rushes straight past. He knows he's unpopular. He's bragged so much about his property portfolio, no-one's speaking to him. This is what I'm saying. You can't have a property portfolio and be popular, OK? He doesn't care. He's going to leave this job soon and retire early. At the end of his shift, he waits in the car park, makes a point of polishing his wing mirrors. His boss is parked right next to him. Another new car, John. He's about to explain all the features on the Range Rover...

Saved by the bell.

He's tried to sell some of his properties, but the bank told him it's not possible because he signed a global mortgage. He's been living on credit cards, but he's skipped payments. He doesn't want his boss to hear. He hangs up. "Ah, just someone trying to sell me another luxury car." When his boss is gone, he checks his missed calls. He's had four from different credit card companies.

He goes to a cash point. He's overdrawn. He only got paid yesterday. That night, he stares into the darkness and tries to work out how to get cash. The next day at work, he skips lunch and tells everyone Anne's put him on a diet. He applies for a new credit card, but they reject him. His credit rating plummets. He works out a new spreadsheet. His mortgages are all in arrears. He owes £64,000 on 13 credit cards and he's got several high-interest loans.

That just made me feel really, really unwell. This is a bit like, you know, whenever I see figures now, I just think, Leeson. I think, where's that number going to end up? Get a 5-8 account, stat. None of the sums add up. There's only one solution. He'll have to go bankrupt. But he can't bear the thought. It's too humiliating. His colleagues will love that. He won't give them the satisfaction. He's in the biggest mess of his life.

But he's not going to let the banks and credit card companies take everything he's worked for. Somewhere there's a solution to this. And John Darwin knows he's the man to find it. It's February 2002. Blackhall rocks. John Darwin stands at the edge of a cliff and looks down. The water below laps over the sandy mud. He edges forward. His foot slips. He grabs onto the wooden fence to steady himself.

Now get this. A few days ago he was watching CSI.

The blood spatter analyst gave a demonstration on spatter patterns in an accident. The next day, he took out a £50,000 fatal accident policy. He's now officially worth more dead than alive. Now what he needs to do is make it look like he's dead, just like on CSI.

So are you telling me if he'd watched Jonathan Creek instead, he'd have been like, I need to go into a magician's secret magic trick and disappear that way. But because he watched the SI, it's the old take your death method. Yeah, if he'd watched the A-Team, he'd be like, get me a black van and a blowtorch. He looks over the cliff again. He could come out here late one night, drive his car through the wooden fence and off the cliff.

But looking down now, he sees how risky it is. Yes, obviously, don't do that. If he doesn't jump out at exactly the right time, he'll plunge to his death. Jump out at exactly the right time? He's not a stuntman. No, not exactly. Also, the other option out there, John, is bankruptcy. Just do that, mate. It seems a lot easier than this. He could make it look like a climbing accident.

If he left scraps of blood-stained clothing at the bottom, it would look like his body had washed out to sea. But the CSI only covered blood-spattering cars, not on rocks or clothes. And so he's not willing to do any more research apart from that episode of CSI? Yeah, the internet existed in 2002, didn't it? Google it, John. His shoulders drop. He's wasted precious petrol driving out there. And he still hasn't found any safe, sure way to fake his own death. He's about to get back in the car when he sees something.

It's a lone figure, bobbing in the waves in a kayak. He speeds home, his mind races with a new plan. All he has to do now is persuade Anne to help him. Seton Carew later that night. John Darwin comes into the living room and gives Anne a glass of wine. Smooth operator. Get her a glass of pinot, she'll be fine with it. He adds a couple of logs to the open fire and waits for them to catch. He sits back. He has to get this right.

Whenever he's mentioned money to Anne recently, she's burst into tears. He waits until she's halfway through her second glass. Then he tells her it's urgent. They have to sort this. I got a call from the debt collection agency. They're going to send bailiffs. She looks panicked, but he tells her he's narrowed down their options. They can do one of three things. This list is going to be ridiculous. Brace yourself. I could fake my death in a car accident.

Her eyes widen behind the thick lenses of her glasses. What's the second option? I go out on the kayak, paddle to North Gare, then shove the kayak out to sea so it looks like I've drowned in an accident. No. You'd have to help me. I'd need to disappear for a while. He's done some research on living rough. The other night, he sneaked out of bed and camped in the garden. You are joking me. She's staring at him, horrified. Thinking, why did I marry this man? Are you mad?

We have a third option. I kill myself for real. She jumps to her feet. If you mention this ever again, I'll walk into that sea and kill myself. Then you can pay off your debts. She storms downstairs. He follows. It won't work. They won't pay out on a suicide. I don't think that's what she meant, John. She grabs her coat at the front door. Plus, you can't swim. They'll think I killed you. Good.

Time is running out. In 14 days, the bailiffs will be knocking at the door. Why do we do this? This makes me so stressed. What, do this show? Yeah. Well, the only time we get to see each other. It's just nice to get out of the house. We only hang out when we're contractually obliged to. It's just so stressful. I can't cope. Number three, the cliff. A week later, John Darwin is in his living room watching TV. A car pulls up on the gravel drive.

He drops to the floor, crawls to the window, peeps through the curtains. He's losing count of the number of people chasing him for money. He's stopped opening letters. He lets calls run to answer phone. Everybody wants payment from him. The bank, his credit cards, he owes money to builders who've worked on his properties. Most of his creditors are now talking about legal proceedings. The finance company who sold him the Range Rover are threatening to repossess it. Who is it this time?

He moves the curtain slightly, sees two large men in stab vests. One has a clipboard. "Keep it down! Don't let them see you!" After a few minutes it goes quiet. He peeps out again. The men have disappeared, but the car is still there. "Stop looking out of the window! They'll see you!" He hears noises in number four. "They're trying to get in from next door!" Anne rushes to their bedroom and bolts the connecting door. John runs downstairs and does the same. They sit on the floor underneath the bay window and wait.

As soon as they've gone, he lets his head relax against the wall. But Anne's crying. Oh God. This is your fault for buying this stupid house. She storms out. He watches her cross the road and disappear onto the beach. An hour later, she's back. She's shivering with the cold. He sits her down in front of the fire, makes her a coffee. They're both silent for a while. He tells her he's sorry he dragged her into this whole mess. I'll have to fake my own death. It's the only way.

He follows her gaze. She's looking at the mantelpiece, at the photographs of their two grown-up sons. "What am I supposed to tell the boys? That I'm dead? They need to think it's real." "No way." Her eyes widen. "You want me to lie to them?" "You'll have to. You can't implicate them." He tells her it's just for a short while, till they get the payout. Then he can come back and they can carry on as normal. "I won't do it. I won't put them through that." That night in bed, he holds her close.

The boys will only hurt for a short while. I'll come back and we'll be debt free. Trust me, it'll work. She turns away. For a few minutes, they lie there in silence. Just don't tell me when you're going to do it. No, Anne, no!

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Seton Carew, a month later.

John Darwin battles against the North Sea. He tries to turn the kayak round, but a huge wave smacks his arm. Pain rips through him. He wipes water from his stinging eyes. He's exhausted. His whole body aches. A huge wave melts in front of him and he sees the pier. He paddles quickly. He needs to be careful the kayak doesn't smash on the rocks. Finally, he gets close. Climbs onto a boulder, drags the kayak up out of the water.

He opens the front compartment and pulls out his tent, sleeping bag and spare clothes. Everything's wet. He spreads it all out on the rocks. The sun isn't warm enough to dry everything, but it's the best he can manage. He sits there for hours, waiting for darkness. As soon as it's dusk, he tries to sink the kayak, but it keeps bobbing back. He made it himself a few years ago. He called it the Orca and painted a killer whale on the bow. Eventually, he gives up.

throws the paddle in the sea and lets the kayak bob up and down where it is. Then he scrambles up the rocks, hides in the dunes and waits. The plan is for Anne to drive him to Durham Station. That's going to be a frosty drive. He'll take the train across country to Carlisle. He'd rang her earlier at work. I'm going to do it now. But she'd hung up. If she doesn't come for him, all his careful planning will be for nothing and they'll lose everything.

He waits in the darkness. There's no sign of her. Sorry, so he's doing it and he doesn't know if he's got his getaway? Yeah. Not the time to be having a tiff. But an hour later, he sees flashing headlights. He grabs his backpack and edges over the grass to get a closer look. Anne is sitting behind the wheel. Where have you been? I thought you'd had an accident. He slumps down in the passenger seat. I nearly did. He pulls his hat down. Even in the dark, he doesn't want to be spotted.

Not now he's meant to be missing at sea. These are just bizarre things to be hearing. When they arrive in Durham, he tells her to park a few streets away from the station. "You can't camp out. All your things are wet. How much money you got?" "150 pounds." She hands him another 50. "That's all I've got. Ring me in a few days." He takes the money, gets out of the car, turns to her. "I'm sorry." But she starts the car and drives away.

The street is deserted. He's completely alone. His new life as a dead man has begun. It's Thursday the 21st of March 2002. Number three, the cliff. Anne Darwin lets herself into the empty house. She pushes past the dogs and into the kitchen. She reaches for the phone. Her hands shake. She slumps into a kitchen chair, holds her stomach.

After John called her at work, she'd spent most of the day running to the toilet. She stands up, takes a deep breath, picks up the phone. She's about to dial when she realises she's got a message. It's John's boss at Homehouse Prison. John should be on night shift now. She rings the number. Here's her own voice say she's surprised he hasn't turned up for work. She has no idea what could have happened. His kayak's usually in the hallway. He must have gone out in it. Her voice is anxious now, her breathing shallow.

What if something's happened to him? John's boss is silent for a second. I'll ring the police. No, I'll do it. She dials 999. Her voice is calmer now. I'm sure he's fine. It's just that I'm getting a bit worried about him. She's tried to ring him, but he's left his mobile at home. She's got the hardest job in this. Yeah, because he's basically just fled and hid. She's the one who's got to lie to everyone. I'm going to send a couple of officers round. They'll be with you in a few minutes. She picks up the phone again to ring her parents.

She told John she would ring her family first, then his father. Both of their fathers are in poor health. Oh my God. So she's relieved when it's her mother who answers. Hello? She can't speak. Her mouth is dry. Lying to the police and the prison is one thing, but lying to her own mother is too hard. She lets out a little cry. Anne? She holds the receiver to her chest and starts to sob. She can hear her mother's distant voice, frantic now.

Eventually, she manages to get the words out. She's finally said it. There's no going back now. Carlisle. 9.30 that same night. John Darwin walks down a deserted street in the city centre. He needs to find a bed and breakfast. Everywhere is full. He pulls his hat further down his head. The train journey worried him. His carriage was busy.

He just hopes he wasn't caught on CCTV. He knocks at another B&B. They tell him there's a place a few streets away with vacancies. He heads straight over. An efficient-looking woman appears. She looks at him warily. He tells her he wants to book in for a few nights. "I'm John Allen." Good fake name. She gives him a form to sign.

He's been working on his cover story for days. I'm a retired teacher. I've been staying with relatives in Glasgow. I've always wanted to visit Carlisle. No one asked. Shut up. Exactly. So mad. Just don't say anything. Have it in your head. By all means, have it in your head, but don't say it. When he gets to his room, he dumps his heavy bag, spreads out his clothes to dry. He eats the biscuits next to the kettle. Of course. Puts on the television. The biggest air sea search in recent times along the coast.

His own face fills the screen. He can't believe what he's seeing. John Darwin, missing at sea in a red canoe. The reporter is outside his house. Police are everywhere. There's a helicopter circling overhead. I never even thought about the fact that he'd then sort of be a fugitive. Like, I guess I just thought he could be anonymous somewhere else. I guess that's what he thought as well.

He locks the door to his room. Pacers. He can't stay here. He'll have to hide out somewhere remote. Next morning, he pulls his hat low, covers his face with a scarf and checks out. He takes a bus to Silath on the Cumbrian coast. It's a little port town full of painted Victorian houses and a solid Gothic church.

He walks to the beach, finds an isolated spot sheltered by dunes. What a lovely place to pretend to be dead. I think that's what the local tour guide says. If you're looking for a place to pretend to be dead, there's some lovely dunes over there. Is that what it says? You know when it says, twinned with gutterslow on the sign or whatever? But is this what it says on the actual entry to the city? Silleth. Lovely place to pretend to be dead. Please drive carefully. LAUGHTER

He's a 20-minute walk from some shops. Another ten and there's a phone box. It's perfect. He sets up his tent, but it starts to rain. His tent leaks. He can't stay here. He takes the bus back to town and buys a new tent, sleeping bag and an air mattress. He picks up some Mars bars and fizzy drinks. He's been away from home one full day and he's already spent most of his money. On Mars bars and fizzy drinks. It's like a five-year-old. Bought a copy of the Beano because it had a free swizzle stick.

He gets the bus back to the beach, builds a campfire and sets up his new home. That night, he huddles into his sleeping bag and listens to the rain. He's done all this to avoid losing his house, but right now he's hungry and his whole body aches. He's one day in and he knows he can't stick this out much longer. Life as a dead man is just too miserable.

His stamina for being a dead man is pretty pathetic. Yeah, don't buy physic bananas, mate. Whole grain. Your oats, your slow-burning carbs. You want maybe something, some electrolytes, perhaps. You've not even got a good tent. How have you not gone to Decathlon before you started this? You need a great anorak. Like, you've got to have a good cagoule. That's a given. I'm just, my mind's blown by this. Early next morning, number three, the cliff, Seton Carew.

Anne Darwin stares out of her living room window. She watches rescue boats search the area where John was last seen. Two helicopters circle overhead. She twists the handkerchief in her hands. The search to find John Darwin has been going on all night, and it's as frantic as ever. But it's nothing compared to her own turmoil. In a few minutes, she'll have to break the news to her sons that their daddy's missing. She puts her hand to her mouth. She can't do it.

This is where you realise there's these two sides. There's one side that's really absurd and there's one side of this story that's just so devastating. You just can't believe she would have to do that. A mother telling her children that their father is missing, presumed dead, is awful. A mother telling her children that their dad is missing, presumed dead and knowing that it's a lie. Oh! A couple of police cars pull up on the driveway. A few minutes later, the police family liaison officer is at her side.

He tells her the police are going to search the house. Oh my god. She's terrified they'll find proof John's still alive. The family liaison officer gently guides her away from the window. It's not good for you to keep looking out there, Anne. As soon as we find him, we'll let you know. Another officer comes up to her. Two women saw John yesterday in his kayak. They remembered because he'd barked at their dog. The officer asks a list of questions.

Did her husband have medical problems? Was he a good canoeist? She nods. He was very experienced. She bites her lip and quickly adds: But he never perfected the Eskimo roll escape manoeuvre. The officer stares at her, puzzled. She's worried she's given too much away, so she bursts into tears. Is he dead? Please tell me he's not dead. She turns to see her sister, Christine, followed by her shocked parents.

Christine holds her tightly. She sobs into Christine's shoulder. Anne, have you told the boys yet? She shakes her head. Her eldest son, Mark, is in London. He'll be at work by now. Her youngest, Anthony, is on a break in Canada. I can't spoil his holiday. He's taking his girlfriend to Niagara Falls to propose. Christine hands her the phone.

They need to know. She dials Mark's number. Her mouth dries. She closes her eyes. Hello? She can't do it. She looks helplessly at Christine, hands the phone to her, listens while her sister breaks the news to Mark that his father is missing. Your man's in a state. We're really worried about her. She cries as Christine rings their brother Michael, arranges for him to pick up Mark and drive him home.

Mark will be here as soon as he can. Anne nods and wipes her tears. Thank you. Later that night, she hears a car on the gravel drive. Moments later, her brother Michael walks in, followed by Mark. They both look exhausted. Mark's face is raw with grief. He runs up, hugs her. Where is he, ma'am? He's sobbing. He'll turn up, won't he?

Christine tries to lead Mark away, but Anne clings on to her son. His eyes are full of fear. He's desperate for hope. If Anne tells the truth now, she can end this. She can put a stop to her son's agony. She looks away. He's been gone too long now, son. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

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He walks along the beach to the rocks and picks mussels and whelks for breakfast. When he's gathered enough, he builds up his fire and cooks them in seawater in an old baked bean tin. This sounds like a BBC One cooking show that I would watch. I actually think it sounds quite tasty. It sounds delicious. But if he had a little bit of cream, a bit of samphire, that'd be in a top restaurant. It's been raining for days now. He's cold to his bones. He's hardly spoken to anyone since he got here.

All he can think about is hot food and a hot bath. He wants to go home. He swills out his bean tin with sea water and walks 20 minutes to the shops. He spends most of the money he has left on clothes from a charity shop. He's sure no one will recognise him now. He buys a walking stick, perfects the art of walking like an old man with a bad limp. Ten minutes later, he waits his turn at the phone box. His fingers are so cold, he struggles with the coins.

He dials Anne, but her sister Christine answers. He puts on a fake accent, pretends he's a lodger looking to rent a room. Eventually, Anne comes to the phone. When can I come back? She's curt with him. The boys are both here. You'll have to wait. Next day, he rings again. I haven't got much money. Ring me at this number every night at seven. Needy. The next night, he waits. She doesn't ring.

He waits the night after. You've trapped me. Everyone is going to hate me when they find out. Leave me alone. He sits on a bench and looks at the sea, takes a newspaper from the bin. He's headline news. 65 RNLI volunteers spent 85 hours looking for him. A total of six rescue boats and three separate aircraft. But now the search is over. The chances of him being found alive are zero. He's now officially missing presumed drowned.

Anne's angry now, but he'll talk around. He always does. Then he can set the next part of his plan into action. I mean, you have to give him credit for his optimistic outlook. Because it ain't looking great. But also to read all that and not go, should I just tell people I'm not dead? Yeah, have I maybe, should we have gone column A? We should have gone column A, shouldn't we? Instead, he's like, column B's going great. Everything is going tickety-boo.

Three weeks later, number three, the cliff, Seton Carew. Anne Darwin is making breakfast for her two sons. She spent the last three weeks being comforted by them. A day after Mark arrived, Anthony cut short his holiday in Canada. He didn't propose to his girlfriend. Instead, he flew straight home. The boys have spent every evening trawling through missing person sites looking for images of their dad. They're both convinced that without a body, there's still a chance he's out there.

but she needs them to leave. John's left Silith for Whitehaven. He's waiting there now for her to pick him up. Most nights, she's left the house at 6:45. "Just going for a walk." She's called John from a phone box, and most nights he's burst into tears. "I miss you. When can I come home?" She's told him to be ready today, but persuading the boys to leave isn't easy. "I'll be fine. I have to get used to being on my own sometime." An hour later, her sons pack their things.

She drives them to the station, waves goodbye as the train pulls away. Then she jumps back in the car and heads for Whitehaven. I mean, it's so duplicitous. I know that she's been trapped into it, but it is so underhand. She's been there 20 minutes, but there's no sign of John. An old, thin man with a bushy beard and heavy limp keeps walking past the car. He's making her feel uneasy. He opens the door and jumps in. You didn't recognise me, did you?

Great to see you too, Anne. Just going to order some chips.

She stares at her husband. Her eyes are big and watery behind her thick glasses. Her bottom lip starts to quiver. You've no idea what you've put me through. You selfish man. She starts to sob. He sits down, glances round, tells her he's sorry. I'm going to take care of you now. That night, she runs him a hot bath. I'm not sleeping with you if you smell like that. Next morning, she buys him groceries. The plan is for him to stay in the attic room at number four.

She sets up a pair of walkie-talkies. They work out a code for when he goes out. If she's tied the curtains back, he's free to come in. If she's left them hanging loose, she's got visitors. That night, she helps him push cupboards either side of the connecting doorway into her bedroom. You'd never know there was a door there at all. She calls it the kissing cupboard. It's where she'll kiss him before he disappears into his secret room at number four. We don't need to know the rest. Her anger started to melt.

He's the only person in the world she can be honest with. Now he's home, she doesn't have to lie all the time. She starts to relax. It's always a bad sign. Two days later, the police turn up. Oh, there it is. Levine called it. They've got some unanswered questions. I bet they do. And they want to search the house. It's the 19th of April, 2002. Number three, the cliff. Anne Darwin follows two police officers into her bedroom. Half an hour ago, four police fans arrived at the house.

Groups of officers wearing blue forensic overalls came in and started searching. She watches the two officers in her room pull back the covers from the bed and carefully examine the sheets. She needs to look and sound normal, so she offers to make them tea. They politely decline. She chews her lip nervously, even though she knows they won't find any signs of John in her bed. She changed the sheets this morning, just after he woke up. She glances over at the kissing cupboard, where her husband's hiding on the other side of the connecting door.

If he sneezes, they'll hear him. She heads into the kitchen, chats with officers as they search through cupboards. One of her dogs comes in. It's got one of John's slippers in its mouth. It drops the slipper at her feet. I can't bear to let go of his things. She walks past the bathroom. The toilet seat is up. She slips in and puts it down just in time. Here's a voice behind her. Does this belong to your husband?

A police officer holds up a packet of John's angina tablets. I didn't realise they were still there. She puts the packet in the bin. She'll take it out once they've gone. They search every room in her four-storey house. They climb into the loft and come out with plastic bags filled with stuff. They go into the storage building at the back of the house. They empty drawers and cupboards, take dozens of bills, letters and receipts. And they take his computer. She stands at the door as the police load their vans. One of the officers looks at her.

She can see the suspicion in his eyes. When they've gone, she unbolts the door to the kissing cupboard. John is beaming. I thought they'd search here. They must have needed individual warrants. We got away with it. She's furious. Have you any idea how stressful that was for me? They know I'm lying. You worry too much. She makes him go back into the attic room. She bolts the door behind him. He can stay there tonight. Lots of couples will recognise this behaviour.

A few days later, she gets a call from the police. They want to see her at Hartlepool Station. She's shaking when she walks in. Her family liaison officer appears. He looks serious. Could you come with me, Anne? She follows him to a basement car park. He points over at something in the corner. Is this John's?

It's a red kayak. She walks over, looks at it carefully. It's battered and broken. There's a hole in the side. She can make out John's drawing of an orca whale on the bow. She lets her bottom lip tremble, nods silently. Yes, it's his. He built it himself. The family liaison officer looks stricken and dabs at her eyes. I always said it was too flimsy. July 2002. John Darwin is looking for tins of paint.

He hunts through the storage unit at the back of the house. He hates his attic room. But with a little bit of TLC, it could really pop. It smells of old cigarettes and stale beer from the previous occupant. He's determined to decorate it, but he's only got one tin of old paint. They can't afford to buy any new. Since he went missing, they've been struggling more than ever to make ends meet. They don't have his wages from the prison service anymore, and the bills and final demands are still coming in. Anne is frantic.

After all this, we're going to lose the house anyway. They're arguing about money almost every day. We're worse off than ever. I wish you'd never done it. He waters down the tin of paint and decorates as best he can. He tries to persuade Anne to complain to the police and get his computer back, but she refuses. He builds a new one from spare parts. He finds an old 15-inch monitor and a printer. He drafts a letter to the insurance company. She's too scared to sign it.

They found the kayak. They think I'm dead. We can make the claim. They argue for days. Eventually, she agrees, but only once she's redrafted the letter herself. Two weeks later, they get a reply. How much will they pay? She hands the letter to him. I hope you're satisfied. She storms out in tears. He scans down. Without a body, there can be no payout. What? He slumps against the wall, defeated.

He's destroyed his family for this money. All he's done is create more debt. But there's no turning back now. Why didn't CSI make that clear? This is the first episode in our series, The Canoe Con. If you like our show, please give us a five-star rating and a review. And be sure to tell your friends. You can listen to new episodes one week early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app.

A quick note about our dialogue.

In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but all our dramatisations are based on historical research. If you'd like to know more about this story, books include Up the Creek Without a Paddle by Tammy Cohen, Out of My Depth by Anne Darwin and The Canoe Man by John Darwin.

I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. Karen Laws wrote this episode. Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford. Our sound design is by Rich Evans. Script editing by Joseph Lidster. Our senior producer is Russell Finch. Our executive producers are Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Wondery.

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