Help me! Help me!
What are you waiting for?
(WAILS) Somebody help me!
Mr Curtis?
I need to get my colleague to a hospital.
Do I have your permission to move him?
(OFFICER CONTINUES TO SCREAM IN AGONY)
I know you served in Iraq, Mr Curtis.
I know you know all about fallen comrades.
H-Help me!
Thank you.
(HELICOPTER OVERHEAD)
There's something you need to know.
I'm not responsible. For any of it.
I haven't run anyone over. I haven't rented any houses or cars or bloody yachts.
I didn't even shoot your constable.
I-I pulled the trigger, but he shot him. Do you understand?
It's Smith. It's all Smith!
I understand. It's all Smith.
No, you just want me to put the gun down.
Target down! Move forward!
(BUZZES)
He seems to be fine, sir.
I don't think he particularly likes having a boss, but erm, you know, we...we talk.
You talk?
Why the sudden concern about DI Bloom, sir?
Well, those cagey bastards at SA10 have finally coughed up his file.
He was undercover for 15 years straight. Unheard of.
Barely done a day's work as a regular plod.
That figures. Anything else?
Two years ago he was shot. Nearly killed.
You didn't talk about that?
No, sir.
As Dublin money launderer Brendan Shea, Bloom became a bagman in the Turkish Mafia.
Dug up more on European heroin routes than all of Custom & Excise.
Who shot him? Unknown.
Beat him. Burnt him. Shot him. Looking for half a million he didn't have.
God.
He's damaged goods, Martha.
If we'd known this, we'd have thrown him back.
If he was dead wood, I'd be the first...
You made the Identity Unit happen.
If things go tits up, I sign the cheque.
Still, pretending to be someone else for all this time
makes him a bloody expert at spotting identity thieves.
That's exactly the way I see it, sir.
Well, if he works out, great. If he doesn't, promise me you won't try and fix him.
A gunman was shot non-fatally this morning by SO19.
His name is Justin Curtis.
A decorated Guards Officer, he started a management consultancy
after he was injured in Iraq in 2004.
Police went to question him about the hit-and-run in Highgate of Audrey Byrne, 37,
which left her in ICU.
I'm going to have to call you back, babe. My unwanted admirer's back.
The neighbour saw everything, took down the number of the fleeing Range Rover.
Proved to be a lease car registered to Curtis.
Which he paid for with his credit card, verified with his driving licence,
a transaction he vehemently denies.
So vehemently, he opened fire on a 22-year-old Detective Constable.
Curtis claims to have been the victim of an identity thief called Smith
for the past six months. Wish we'd got to this one earlier.
Can anyone at the lease company identify Curtis as Curtis?
On request they dropped the car off and pushed the keys through the door.
Welcome to the 21st century. If your credit's good,
you can live your whole life without meeting a soul.
There was GPS in the Range Rover,
but it was manually deactivated, so we can't track its location.
Disabling modern GPS without disabling the car, it takes some doing.
Bloom?
I'm with Anthony. Why are we helping out this would-be cop-killer scumbag?
Excuse me? I didn't say that.
It was Sunday morning when the police questioned Curtis, right?
Right. It says here he's got a wife and two kids.
Where were they? Dunno. Good question.
Also, when Curtis was in the Guards, he was in Communications,
so he'd know all about GPS.
Sophie moved in with her parents a month ago.
And she took your kids with her? Yeah.
Smith sent my secretary a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes and mailed my wife the receipt.
A pair of shoes? That's all it took to sink your marriage?
No, no, that would be the strain.
That would be the 400 grand he ran up in my name.
That would be the living hell that he turned my life into,
only no-one wants to help or listen.
Including your wife... That's got to smart.
We'll listen, Justin. And if we believe you, we might even be able to help you.
It's too late.
He's won. That's not the spirit, Colonel.
I'm just curious, OK?
When you came round, were you thinking, "Oh, shit, I'm still here,"
or, "Thank God, it was only a cry for help"?
Do you recognise this man? No, I don't think so.
Well, we know that Audrey lived alone, but what about boyfriends?
Look, I'm sorry, I liked Audrey, but erm...
I didn't really know her.
Do you think that she might have recognised the driver?
Maybe. I mean, it wasn't like Audrey was in the way.
He deliberately ran her over!
If she comes out of this coma, will she remember?
I've never met Audrey Byrne.
I've never even heard of her, so why would I run her over?
An alibi would help there.
I went to see a couple of films. Where?
The Rex in Greenwich. What, like two films?
Yes. Monday. It's half-price.
Since Sophie left, I go most weeks.
So you were alone for five or six hours?
That's why he chose Monday.
Smith's clever like that. How did you pay?
Cash... Always cash now.
It's a terrible alibi, isn't it?
Well, we can check CCTV at the cinema.
Come on, Justin. Who is he?
Someone hates you enough to wreck your marriage,
frame you for a hit-and-run. What, I must have an inkling?
Like a best guess? Yeah.
That's what my wife says. And?
I don't. I don't have the first idea who he is.
That's why I call him Smith.
Ah! You are what you eat, but you're also what you spend.
I used card transactions and cash withdrawals
to yield a temporal map of her recent history, bolstered by Oyster card, railcard,
congestion charge and parking fine data to name but four.
Personally, I think it's outrageous that we know all this crap.
Why? If you've nothing to hide, you've nothing to worry about.
Audrey Byrne's electronic footprints over the last three months.
Mainly confined to the Highgate area where she lived
with weekly trips to Westfield in Shepherd's Bush - God, she can shop -
and one night in a pricey hotel in Dorset, which was a wedding, judging by the...
Any overlap with Curtis? Hang on. Let me show off.
..judging by a recent purchase from weddingpresentsforyou.com
and the Gaultier frock she bought the day before.
Tessa?
Curtis's spending is wild, but it's all online - card-not-present stuff.
If it is his spending. Well, exactly
Tellingly, he's been using cash only in supermarkets and service stations lately.
How do you track cash payments?
Because it all goes on the Nectar card and - drum roll, please -
that is how I am able to put Audrey Byrne and Justin Curtis in the same service station
on the North Circular three weeks ago, less than 10 minutes apart.
So, either Curtis is bloody unlucky...
Or he was stalking her.
Caution. Handle with care.
Suicide risk? Liar.
Why would someone demonstrably suicidal want to lie?
People fabricate death. Why not an identity thief?
Save you the hassle of disappearing, plus generate enough sympathetic headlines.
The insurers are bound to cough up. Read the file properly.
Curtis's business was 300 grand in the black before he was targeted.
Justin Curtis saved a man's life in Iraq.
Carried him on his back for 30 miles. I read that part of the file.
And? And someone clones his credit card,
he falls to pieces and puts a gun to his own head?
That's a slight distortion of the facts.
He's a survivor, Martha,
plus his alibi stinks. (MOBILE RINGS)
Tessa?
GPS in the Range Rover was reactivated at 5am this morning.
On or under the Westway.
CCTV heaven.
SOCO says don't quote him, but there's blood in the grille.
And the car park attendant confirms it wasn't here last night.
So unless Curtis sneaked past the armed guard, drove out here and got back in time for us...
That's him off the hook.
You think that's too easy? No, I like easy.
What about the near-miss at the service station?
It's 10 minutes apart. I just call that a miss.
So?
So we're only here because we were led here.
No prints anywhere you'd expect.
Steering wheel, gearstick, door handle wiped clean.
Then he forgets about the blood. So what did they find?
Boarding pass down the back seat from June 2007.
But the car was only leased to Curtis three months ago.
(MOBILE RINGS)
(CLICK OF CAMERA SHUTTER)
Tessa, please tell me you got CCTV! Not exactly.
Is there some kind of screen or gel on the windscreen?
Yeah, there is. How did you know?
See it for yourself. I've forwarded you a link.
Well, Smith exists...
and he doesn't like having his photograph taken.
Smith was careful and disciplined.
He opened 12 credit cards in Curtis's name, but used a different address each time.
12 different addresses? Yeah. I've been to half of them -
big, dodgy apartment blocks, communal halls where the mail gets dumped.
And so dispersed, I can't make a guess where he lives.
And Smith exploited Curtis's good credit rating
to run up 500 grand worth of debts in seven months.
He also bought shares in stricken Japanese bank LLB
the day after the well-publicised suicide of its founder.
At least he's got a sense of humour. Oh, he's a hoot.
Wait till somebody cleans out your bank account.
He also rented, but he didn't use, a house in Notting Hill
and flats in St John's Wood and Mayfair.
So he'd need multiple IDs for the rentals? Mm-hm.
Cloned driving licence, stolen utility bills and a copy of Curtis's birth certificate.
Nobody gets this good without practice.
Jose, go over every wholesale identity theft over the past three years,
excluding blanket organised frauds. Right.
How did he get the utility bills?
He redirected Curtis's mail to a PO Box,
but then forwarded it all promptly so he wouldn't twig.
Identity theft is like housebreaking.
Once you're in - and a mother's maiden name can be all you need - everything inside is yours.
Data begets data, facts yield facts, passwords unlock passwords.
So if we can track where he broke in, it'll tell us something about Smith!
That's a big if. And he never used these residences.
So he's not in it for the money.
It's not Curtis's bank he's trying to break, but Curtis.
He doesn't want his identity, he wants his soul. And Curtis has no idea who he is?
(DOORBELL)
The Identity Unit?
Where were you when the storm broke?
No-one's sorrier than I am we didn't hear about this case earlier,
but we're urgently looking for the man your husband calls Smith.
So you actually believe he exists now? Absolutely.
Is that a relieved smile or a guilty smile?
It's an "I can't believe you're finally listening when it's too bloody late" smile.
A guilty smile, then. You had doubts?
What? It's OK, you can tell us.
I just thought adversity brought people together.
I have absolutely no idea what he's talking about.
You moved out, Sophie. You didn't stand by your man.
Where were you when the storm broke?
Getting TLC from Mum and Dad with the kids for company
while Justin was here, mediating between his whisky and a gun.
He wouldn't let me in. He had to deal with this on his own.
So it was nothing as trivial as him sending his secretary a pair of shoes?
That wasn't Justin. That was him!
Who? Smith?
Yes.
You can't say it, can you?
Smith. It was all a bit too weird, wasn't it, Justin giving him a name?
Had a whiff of obsession, delusion.
Made you wonder, somewhat disloyally, whether he had lost it,
whether Justin and Smith were the same person.
I don't know where he goes or what he does. He says he needs thinking time,
head space for his business.
All my girlfriends think there's another woman. I know it's not that.
And, yes, I know how naive that sounds.
And you think that's where he met Smith?
In his other life?
Maybe... I don't know.
I don't know what to think any more.
I ran the number from the boarding pass that you found in the Range Rover.
Enough to access the frequent-flyer account - no password required -
and from there to identify the passenger as John Tudor,
a senior NHS lawyer of 34 Beech Drive, Richmond.
And did I mention that he's a veggie and his onboard paper of choice is The Independent?
OK, next time I'm taking the train!
But his account's been dormant since 2007.
Did you just say John Tudor?
I just took him off my shortlist of possible other victims.
What was he on it for?
Well, throughout 2007, John Tudor filed complaints about an unknown identity thief
renting houses, cars and yachts in his name.
Yachts? And you took him off? Why?
Because he's in prison for murder.
Paralegal Alice Fielding was found stabbed to death in the shag pad
she and Tudor shared, and his semen was found, you know, internally.
That was her place up there.
About a week before she was killed, my sister called me in tears
because John wanted to give up the flat. Suddenly couldn't afford it.
She saw it as confirmation? He'd never give up his wife and kids for a younger model?
Look, my sister wasn't some jealous home-wrecker.
She had a life beyond John. She was about to become a lawyer!
Er, he meant no offence. No-one's judging your sister. Far from it.
(DOOR OPENS)
Thank you.
No surprise they haven't managed to lease it since.
Why could he suddenly not afford the rent? Must have had a reason.
John was the victim of an identity thief.
A guy cloned his cards, ran up huge debts on houses he never used,
holidays he never went on.
What's going on?
I-Is John appealing?
What made you think he killed your sister?
No-one else knew about the apartment, except me.
No-one else knew she'd be here. Really?
Well, in my experience, people's secrets are never half as secret as they think.
Hm. You don't have to know someone to kill them.
Don't ever try and undermine me in front of a witness again!
"Your sister messed with a married man. She got her comeuppance."
That's what you were basically saying. I did not.
It's what you think. That's no-one's business.
It seeps out! Now she felt like you were judging her sister. We needed her to like us.
OK, yeah. I think Alice Fielding was greedy,
selfish and partly the author of her own misfortune.
Listen to you, Mr Fire and Brimstone!
What, I have values, ergo I'm an Old Testament zealot?
People's private lives are just that.
She didn't have a one-night stand! She set up home with a father-of-three!
That's his bad, not hers.
But does that preclude me feeling deep regret that a 29-year-old's life was brutally cut short?
Don't be so bloody simplistic.
What the hell does "ergo" mean?
He knew our routine, our habits.
He knew that we would've had sex and he knew we were moving out.
I'm sorry, Mr Tudor, but how could you...
No, no. No. Don't ask how with him.
Just accept that he knows everything.
Accept that he watches you when you sleep.
Accept it, embrace it and then, only then, do you have a chance.
My lawyer won't even discuss this with me any more.
He thinks that if someone hates me enough to frame me for murder...
You must know who they are? Exactly.
But you don't? No. I don't have a clue.
He knows who I am, all right.
Do you know the first thing he bought after he cloned my credit card?
A telescope. "I'm watching you."
Yeah. He saw everything.
He saw me in the round.
A weak, greedy middle-aged man trying to have it all.
Scrambling between his work,
his lover, his family, lying, lying.
He saw it all.
Knowledge is power...
(KEYS JANGLE)
..and he knows everything.
He used to do little things to show me, you know, right up until the end,
like...like, erm, like throwing paint on me
so I'd have to go back inside the apartment.
It was Farrow & Ball, olive.
It was the exact mix of paint that Alice had been using to touch up the walls
so that we could get our deposit back.
He wanted it to look like you had a fight.
Alice throws paint over you because she's upset about leaving the flat,
you stab her in a heat-of-the-moment rage.
Yeah. Now you're catching on.
We think the man who stole your identity also targeted this man, Justin Curtis.
We think he used a vehicle registered in Curtis's name to try and kill this woman.
I'm sorry, I-I don't know either of them.
But I'll swap you.
Nicole White. Professor Nicole White.
Ex-Vice Principal of Queen Katherine College, University of London.
I think she was his victim too.
We'll talk to her. Good luck.
She committed suicide last year in Eastfield Secure Unit.
We pulled the Nicole White file, and she could well have been one of Smith's earlier victims.
She hanged herself in a secure unit while being evaluated for the CPS.
The CPS? She stood accused of stealing a baby
found in the boot of a car rented in her name.
Let me guess, a car she knew nothing about.
White was a married, further-education high-flyer
when she got pregnant by an undergraduate.
She became depressed after terminating the pregnancy and had counselling.
But her problems were only just beginning.
She found herself battling an identity thief
who ran up thousands of pounds worth of debt in her name, and then twisted the knife
by sending evidence of the pregnancy to her husband.
Just back up. What do we have concretely linking her to the car that the baby was found in?
Two lots of her DNA - a screwed-up tissue with blotted lipstick
and cigarette butts in the ash tray.
Both of which Smith could have got from her rubbish. Who alerted the police?
An anonymous caller who never came forward?
Right and right.
WOMAN: Emergency, which service do you require?
MAN: I'm not sure. Unless I'm going mad, I think I can hear the sound of a baby
coming from the boot of a car at Monument, Pudding Lane.
Can I have your name? Gotta go. Send someone quick.
Audrey Byrne had better wake up with her memory intact.
(ELECTRONIC INTERFERENCE)
Let's not forget that we only got to Nicole White through Tudor
and we only got to Tudor because of a boarding pass left in a car
painstakingly wiped clean of forensics.
He's leading us by the nose. That is a cheering thought!
What do you suggest we do about it? I dunno.
Maybe talk to Curtis again. Curtis?
Yeah. He's definitely holding something back with his six-hour cinema alibi.
Why do you want him to be guilty? Why do you want him to be innocent?
You hoping Mrs Curtis won't take him back? (CHUCKLES)
(MOBILE PHONE RINGING)
Go on, get it. I won't eavesdrop.
Soon. It's top of my to-do list.
Mm. Yeah. Leave it with me. I'll call you back.
Who's that, your girlfriend? No.
Sorry, I didn't mean to...
(FOOTSTEPS)
It's Audrey Byrne.
Was Audrey alone when she died?
I can't understand it. She was stable.
What is it?
The injection port in the triple lumen.
We'd never leave it open like that.
Security.
He's coming from her bed approximately 25 minutes before we lost vital signs.
And? And I have absolutely no idea who that is.
Tests will confirm, but the hospital think he put potassium chloride into her saline drip,
inducing a massive heart attack. Potassium chloride?
You can't buy that in Boots. No, you can't.
Check pharmaceutical suppliers for break-ins and stock shortages.
He probably just slipped some lab technician 20 quid!
Smith is approximately six foot, but given his weird gait and everything we know about him,
I can't discount he's wearing lifts in his shoes.
Facial mapping? Sorry, need a face for that.
Bloom?
So, what do we have to go on?
If you wish to question my wife again, please give notice so we can have a solicitor present.
Oh, it's like that, is it?
Is the real Justin Curtis ever going to stand up?
You face down Saddam's finest and some seriously nasty reconstructive surgery,
then someone rips off your credit card, and you just can't take it any more!
Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe when you put that gun in your mouth, you were just showboating.
You knew the sniper would land you a non-fatal injury, make you a victim.
Two inches to the left, it would've killed me. Calculated risk.
Are you calling me a coward?
I'm calling you a big, fat girl's blouse.
Why? Does that offend what's left of the war hero in here?
Don't you say another bloody word.
So you are proud of your military record, then? For the record.
What is your problem? That you're lying
and that lie is a block we can't get past.
Where do you lead your other life, Justin?
Come on. We've all got one.
Just give it up now and you might still save the first life.
I've read about your heroism, Justin. Don't mock me!
With half a pound of shrapnel in your side,
you carried a comrade 30 miles through enemy territory. That's the real Justin Curtis!
Smith could never steal his identity, not with all the data in the world.
He could never bring that man to his knees.
But something did.
You just want me to put the gun down.
Robert Cannon.
Robert Cannon brought me to my knees.
Sergeant Robert Cannon? The man you saved?
The man you carried for 30 miles?
I promised him that if we survived,
if we made it home, we'd be together.
Right. Right.
Except I didn't follow through.
I bottled it.
I'm not cool with being gay.
I'm not OK with it.
It's not me. And yet...
And yet... I suppose you can't argue with a hard-on.
Tell me more about Robert.
Robert gets the scraps,
the time when I'm not with my family, when I'm not running my business.
And how does he feel about that? He resents it bitterly,
and he goes off the rails to let me know how much he resents it.
Smith knows about Robert. He is punishing you for Robert.
What? The other two victims were like you,
professional family types with a bit on the side.
It's the bit on the side he hates. Why does he care?
Never mind about why, it's how, how that's gonna catch him -
how he picked you and settled on you three, how he had a head start
on your personal and financial histories.
I think that you've spent money on something that revealed your other life to Smith.
Come on, Justin.
About er...18 months ago,
Robert staged a spectacular protest of promiscuity.
In the end, I insisted on an AIDS test. Where?
The Wilton Health Centre on Harley Street.
You paid? Excuse me.
Tessa, Nicole White had an abortion at a private clinic.
Please tell me it was the Wilton Health Centre!
No, afraid not. Walbrook Private Hospital in Kent.
Shit. There must be some connection - parent company, something.
We need to see if John Tudor ever did any freelance legal work outside the NHS.
The only commonality I can find is Modular Health plc,
which is, and I quote,
"The UK's leading network solutions provider for the healthcare industry,
including patient eligibility, adjudication of services,
claims processing and drug and equipment procurement."
A goldmine of data, rich and strange, plus easy access to potassium chloride.
Thanks, Tessa. OK.
Tessa? Which part of "If Bloom calls in, let me know" didn't you understand?
He thinks he knows how Smith picks his victims.
Go on. He wants us to re-interview John Tudor
and check out a company called Modular Health plc in Wapping.
Anthony, get your coat. Shouldn't we find out...
Just get your coat.
Have you ever done any legal work outside the NHS?
Um, not very much. I did some countersuing work for the Harbour Clinic in Chelsea.
Was there anything unusual about how you were compensated?
I suppose so. I had my fees paid into an account in Alice's name.
That's Alice Fielding, your lover?
That's right.
So you could pay rent on the flat without your wife knowing?
Basically, yes.
Right, well, thank you for your co-operation.
Wait! Do you know who the guy is? Do you have him? Do you know who...
Harbour is part of the same group as the Wilton Health Centre.
Modular Health takes care of all their payments, including staff.
So Smith probably works or worked for Modular Health.
Well done.
This is excellent work, DI Bloom.
(PHONE RINGS)
Anthony. OK, here's the bad news.
Modular Health have 2,700 staff nationwide
and sub-contract out half their IT.
If we want to pick Smith out of that lot, we'll need more than a scratchy voiceprint.
You said Smith's leading us by the nose. Expand.
Dumping the Range Rover exonerated Curtis for the hit-and-run.
Leaving the boarding pass cast doubt on Tudor's conviction for murder.
You think he's drip-feeding us information, but really is distracting us?
Maybe. From what? What doesn't he want us to see?
No idea. The thing that doesn't fit, I suppose.
Jose. Well, at least two of Smith's victims were guilty of infidelity.
Nicole White, she's framed for a crime she looked uniquely capable of committing, snatching a baby.
Ditto John Tudor. He killed his now-unwanted lover in a secret location no-one else knew about.
Justin Curtis... Justin Curtis doesn't fit.
He's had an on-off relationship with his ex-Army lover Robert Cannon since 2004.
Oh, now you tell us! Sorry.
It's just that the hit-and-run of Audrey Byrne...feels wrong.
What, so whatever Smith set Curtis up for should have exposed his sexuality?
The punishment should have fitted the perceived crime.
What, like a murdered rent boy in his garage?
Exactly. All of them were unfaithful,
but maybe Smith wanted Audrey dead for his own reasons.
I wonder if she was fooling around as well.
Her neighbour said she thought Audrey might have recognised the driver.
That's what he couldn't afford us to see.
And why he couldn't risk her waking up.
Well, you were right.
Audrey Byrne's money was left to her by her boss Joe Coulson,
a millionaire builder from Guildford who died 10 years ago.
When he died, his widow and his 14-year-old son Peter
had a very nasty surprise after the funeral.
Not only was he sleeping with his secretary Audrey Byrne, he also left her all his money.
Coulson's widow Valerie was dead by Christmas.
Cause of death, liver failure.
What about the son? Peter? He dropped out of school after GCSEs
and after that, absolutely nothing. No record.
Not one single National Insurance payment.
When his mum died, he was a juvenile.
There must have been a court-appointed guardian.
That'll be Coulson's younger sister, Ursula.
To outsiders, my brother's decisions seemed callous,
but Audrey made him happy. He wanted to honour that.
What about honouring his wife and son?
Once Valerie had her precious baby, she stopped caring about my brother.
I had to wash and iron his shirts.
Peter and his mother were close? Joined at the hip.
The shyest boy you ever met, except when Mummy was around.
So it wasn't the best day of your life when you were made his guardian?
I tried... I really tried, but...
..Peter was one of those people who was, who was there but not there,
if you know what I mean.
To be honest, he gave me the creeps.
You'd turn around and he'd suddenly be standing there, watching you,
without a hint of shame.
Do you ever hear from him? Birthdays or Christmas?
A solitary letter
in which he said his father and Audrey had destroyed his life,
and that I'd colluded with them.
A few days later my brother...
What? Go on, Ursula.
Somebody dug up and dismembered his...
..body. They scattered it around the graveyard.
I sent the police straight to Peter, but they couldn't find him.
Peter Coulson was 16 when this picture was taken,
so what does he look like at 24?
This is him at 16.
This is what he might look like eight years on.
That's Alan Hall. Freelance systems analyst. Best we ever had.
To be honest, he still looks more like that.
He's a youthful 24? He's...a one-off, is Alan.
We only get him back when the shit hits the fan.
Back? From where? He went off to uni.
Christ knows what they're going to teach him.
Do you have an address for him?
Yeah, a couple actually.
I had to bike him a package urgently a few months ago
and he gave me a different address to the one we had on file.
Then that's the one we want.
Which one is it today? Excuse me?
My husband and I foster 11 children. We're used to the knock.
Simon? He's not in trouble, is he?
And where is Simon today? At school. Nose to the grindstone.
He's got his mock As next week. Oh, yeah, of course he has.
(CHILDREN CHATTER)
A man of 24 hiding in a school? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
No. He's recouped his inheritance, now he just wants his childhood back
He's got a study period, so knowing Simon, he'll be in the library.
Right, well, we'll take it from here. Thanks.
Excuse me? Simon?
(CLAMOUR)
Are you OK? Go!
(ALARM RINGS)
(INSTRUCTIONS OVER TANNOY)
TEACHER: No running!
(ALARM RINGING, TANNOY INSTRUCTIONS)
Out the way!
Shit. Sorry.
Sorry.
Move! Move! Move it!
(TANNOY INSTRUCTIONS CONTINUE)
Peter!
My name's not Peter.
When lifers get out, the prison shrink tells them the same thing 100 different ways.
"They can't get it back."
Someone else is living at their house, screwing their wife, bringing up their kids.
You can't punish every faithless bastard in this town.
The time has passed
and railing against it will just eat you up...like cancer.
Nothing's eating me up.
I've got plenty of time.
Not if you want to go on as a schoolboy.
I can be whoever I want to be. What's next? Primary school?
You know the difference between me and every other loser in this city?
I'm free.
Free as a bird.
Hey!
When you get out, you remember what I told you.
You can't get it back.
Nice work, Officer.
(MOBILE PHONE BUZZING)
(TURKISH ACCENT) Bloody hell! Brendan!
Well, it's good to see you too, Atif.
(LAUGHS) (TURKISH GREETING) (TURKISH GREETING)
It's a birthday party. Come on.
And a farewell. Oh, yeah? For who?
All of us. Some bastard has given the boss up to the police.
How long can a chicken run around with no head?
(TURKISH MUSIC AND LIVELY CHATTER)
(MUSIC AND CHATTER CONTINUE)
(RIPPLE OF APPLAUSE)
I'll be back.
Brendan!
I'm sorry, Halit.
My wife always talks about your stay with us.
"How is Prince Brendan?" she say.
"I don't know," I say. "He just disappear."
Then extend that apology to Alara.
And to you too, of course, Adile. Excuse me, Brendan.
HALIT: Adile!
Your uncle is here.
(CHATTER RESUMES)
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