Monochrome

1

[cell phone ringing]

[man] Brendan Kelly, I'm Agent

Walcott and this is Agent Jones,

we are officers of the British

Crime Agency special fraud unit.

This interview

is being recorded.

And I must remind you

that anything you say

can be used against you in

evidence, do you understand?

I do.

You employers D and P Bank

are accusing you of stealing

approximately 700m

and hiding it

in offshore accounts.

If that amount is confirmed, it will be

the biggest fraud in at least 20 years.

I wouldn't know.

Well, you should know...

that if we don't retrieve that

money the bank will collapse

Of course, I realize that,

it's my job that's at stake.

I don't think you give

a sh*t about your job

any more than you do about

those poor pensioners

who are going to spend

their final years

queuing up outside

soup kitchens.

Not my problem.

What about your girlfriend,

Emma?

What about her?

We would like to talk to her

but she's disappeared.

What do you want me to do?

I'm not her father.

You're old enough.

[chuckles]

Is he allowed to say that?

If you don't know where

she is, then just say so.

I don't know where she is.

[water sloshing]

[woman, voiceover] Despite being surrounded

by it for the last three years...

part of me was glad

it was gone.

Money, money, money...

always brings out

the worst in people.

I need to go North.

This is London darling,

most of the country

is north from here.

Kingham.

A standard to Kingham

is 22.50.

Sorry, it's been declined. Do you

want to try again with another card?

No, it was fine this morning.

Um...

Can we just try it again?

Actually, I'll walk.

[voiceover] If the police could be

bothered to sit outside my house all day,

I am sure they have the wherewithal

to trace my card transactions.

Then they would have found CCTV

of me getting on and off train.

I realized hitch-hiking is dangerous,

but at least it's relatively anonymous.

[man]

You know what your problem is?

[man 2]

Oh no, please, tell me.

You've not drive,

no backbone,

no integrity.

You're pathetic!

I'm pathetic?

At least I can read the papers

in the morning without moaning

on and on about Damien Hurst!

Go on, then. F*** off!

You little sh*t!

F***!

Are you following me?

Um, no...

OK, yes, I was.

What do you want?

I'm looking for work.

F*** off I don't have any.

I can work for free. As long

as you put me up and feed me.

I can cook clean,

work the land, whatever.

You'll do all that

for nothing?

As long as I'm fed.

You're not my type.

And what type is that?

The type with a cock and balls

swinging between his legs.

Sorry, can't help you there.

Giles has gone off with my car.

With all that shouting

I forgot to get the bread.

If you go to the village

to get a loaf,

I will split it.

[voiceover]

Roger's place was beautiful.

It must have been

300 years old.

He'd lived there for years.

A trophy from his glory days.

Well, that was

a bloody good sandwich.

Next time go easy

on the barbecue sauce.

It's full of sugar.

Diabetic.

OK.

Take a seat.

Do you know what I do?

I'm an artist.

Are you any good?

Of course, I f***ing am!

How do you think I paid

for this pile, mm?

Giles, the poofy little drama queen,

who still hasn't brought my car back,

was my assistant.

Ostensibly that meant he was

meant to work in the studio,

paintings and sculptures, etc.,

but the reality was he, uh,

he cooked, cleaned,

f***ed occasionally.

But if you are willing to

work for nothing,

you can stay here

until I find an assistant.

How does that sound?

OK.

Don't sound

so sodding enthusiastic. Mm?

I'll be in

the garden studio.

Find something that needs doing and

do not disturb me till dinner.

What did you say

your name was?

I didn't.

Don't be cute what is it?

- Tara.

- Tara what?

Tara... Jones.

Really?

OK, whatever.

My name is Roger Daniels.

Look me up.

You'll be impressed!

[voiceover] I was supposed

to be chopping wood,

but, to be honest,

my mind was on other things.

[car approaching]

[door opens]

Oh, how are you settling in?

Fine, thanks.

I'm off to the pub.

Have a good one.

Don't wait up.

[Emma] Morning.

I thought you were

cooking my breakfast.

Sorry, overslept.

Sit down.

There.

I picked up this paper

in a bar last night.

Open it.

That's you, isn't it?

No?

Come off it.

Tara Jones?

I would have thought you would have come

up with a more interesting pseudonym.

According to this newspaper, report

your boyfriend is responsible

for the biggest pension fraud

since Robert Maxwell

jumped off his luxury yacht.

It isn't me.

Seventy million quid hidden

in offshore bank accounts,

and your boyfriend won't

tell where they are.

It's not me.

Well, I tell you what,

I shall call my friend, Kevin.

He's the local sergeant in the

village, you can explain it to him.

Hello, sergeant Davis, please.

Yes, I'll hold.

Hello Kev, how are you?

OK, it is me.

Yeah, Kev, there's something

I need to talk to you about.

Please.

Yeah, I am still here.

No, it's nothing urgent, I just

wanted to catch up over a drink.

Yeah, lovely, yeah.

Friday after work.

OK, OK.

Love to Sal. Bye.

It's nothing to do with me.

Brendan is a law unto himself.

He didn't talk about business.

Why would he? It's dull.

Well, that's up to the police

to decide, isn't it?

How can I prove that

I don't know anything?

I lived with him for four years,

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