Sherlock & Co. - 11 - The Golden Pince-Nez - Part Three

Episode Date: December 12, 2023

THE KILLER IS IN THE HOUSE - that was the conclusion of my companion as we reached the closing stages of our investigation. All that was left was for the brilliant Detective (and a little bit of me) to put the clues together and locate the murderer of Willoughby Smith. Before 5am. Because otherwise we'd get arrested. No pressure then. Follow me @DocJWatsonMD or get in touch via email [e-mail] Listener discretion is advised. This podcast is property of Goalhanger Podcasts. Copyright 2023. ------- SHERLOCK AND CO. Based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Paul Waggott as Dr. John Watson Harry Attwell as Sherlock Holmes Rhys Tees as PCSO Stanley Hopkins Aaron Kara as Saviour Tarlton Karim Kronfli as Elder Coram Marta da Silva as Mariana Ametxazurra Leigh McDonald as Carol Watson Additional voices Natalie Green Written by Joel Emery Directed by Adam Jarrell Editing and Sound Design by Holy Smokes Audio Produced by Neil Fearn and Jon Gill Executive Producer Tony Pastor Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Previously on Sherlock and Co. There's been a murder. 19 years old, Willoughby Smith. My shift ends at 5am, that's when the rest of the force will be back. You just need to work out everything you can at that time. Watson set an alarm for 4.55am. These are saviours of God. They believe that Coram is enshrined with some sort of authority from God.

They practice a very strict way of life, closed off from the outside world, no girls, no temptation, no society. Anyway, I made it to the crime scene and yeah, he stabbed in the neck. He nailed a Coram's bedroom. Coram is planning something. Human sacrifice. As somebody with a pair of basic gardening secateurs

and size six feet in this corridor, no other entry point but the back door. The back door fed by the pathway to Chatham Road. Saviour Willoughby died in your arms. I tried to stop it. The blood. Nobody from the dormitories, the front lobby or the central hallway came running. Uh, no. Elder Coram, I hope you don't mind if I jump next to your bed.

Absolutely. A book. The Golden Pencil. If you happen to run into any police officers before we do, inform them that the murder weapon has been returned to your desk. It's... what? The letter opener there. Er, what was that? Did he throw something out the window?

He did indeed. Right, what was it? Our missing doormat. Well, look at you, you handsome devil. You made it to the final part of the Golden Pants. Nay, congratulations. Your reward? A little bit of swearing.

Some depictions of violence. Also sexual references. Yeah, you heard that right. Wee bit of just general dread, heartbreak, sadness, sex, rage, and just, yeah, just the whole spectrum of shit, really. So strap in, make yourself a cup of tea tea or yeah and uh see you on the other side bugger it what are you looking for the footprints they're right there. Not those ones. Well, what ones? What? I said, what ones?

The ones leaving the property. What? The ones leaving the property. No, I know what you said. I just meant what, as in, like, what do you mean? Great. Lovely. Well, I'm going to finish my shout outs from earlier.

Simon Ashby. Sorry about that. I said your name and then Hopkins knocked on the door, didn't he? So Simon Ashby and his son, our youngest fan, Arlo Ashby. Two years old. So that's good. Shout out to Jelly. Hi, Jelly.

Raymond Quirk. Another great name. God, I'm getting rain on my phone. I can't see. Sam Townend. John from Canada. Ash. Emery Sage, the barista.

Thanks for the coffee recommendations. Jiggly Cheesecake from a very small village in Wisconsin. Shout out here for M from south of the river and Henri from north of the river. What time is it? It's 3am. One hour and 55 minutes to solve it. Yeah, alright, fair enough. Right, I guess that's enough shout outs.

So we should aim for an hour forty, just to be safe. Yeah, alright, fair enough. Right, I guess that's enough shout-outs. So, we should aim for an hour forty, just to be safe. Okay, will do. Will do what? Will solve it. You're going to solve the whole thing in an hour and forty minutes? Yes. Alright then. Oh, God, it's awful. Wow.

It's beautiful, this. Yes. It is rather nice. Sherlock and I are in the chapel on the grounds of Yoxley Old Place. And there's candles everywhere. It's quite something. It's like the final scene of Romeo and Juliet. Hopefully less tragic, though.

What are you doing? Sitting. Thinking. Any thoughts on the golden pants, nay? Hmm. Some. Hmm. Hmm.

Pants, nay. Those little glasses without the earpieces. Just sit on your nose. Like Morpheus. Who is Morpheus? Oh, he's in The Matrix. He's in the what? The Matrix.

This is a film, isn't it? It is, yeah. And is it relevant? No. Then shush. Okay. What did you mean about the footprints? The other footprints, you said?

There's footprints heading into the property, but not out of it. So, the killer is still here? The likeliest scenario, yes. Less likely is that our killer has hidden their escape so effectively I cannot see it. But even then, they can't be a proficient killer.

They can't. If you want my opinion, it looked from the pictures and definitely from the amount of blood in the room that the killer hit the carotid artery. Yes. Which Hollywood movies would say...

No more movies, Watson. No, look, popular culture would say a wound like that is the sign of a clinical and ruthless killer. Yeah, but in my experience, it's an easy shot, in fact. It's hard not to hit them. There are a big delta of arteries on both sides of the neck and... Go on. Well, you know, the more squeamish or, I don't know, reluctant the killer,

the more they would try to avoid the centre, the thyroid. It's often depicted as some sort of blood-spurting epicentre, but it's not. Also, it feels less personal to strike the side, which is where the arteries are. Excellent, Watson. We're on the same page. The police will be distracted by the small blade and its application, which seems so clinical and ruthless, but it's far from that. The blade was never planned to be used. How do you know? that. The blade was never planned to be used. How do you know? Because it belonged to Elder Coram,

and it was merely a decorative letter opener. A knife is such an easy weapon to obtain. If you wanted to enter a property to stab someone to death, bringing a knife along would be the least complicated part of your plan. An assassin does not come unarmed. Do you have any suspects in mind? PCSO Hopkins is more emotional than he should be, but I'll forgive that. Elder Coram is... A weirdo? Well, yes, but also unnervingly jubilant about the death of a young man. Unnerving even for you? Wow. Unnerving even for you. Wow. Then there's Saviour Tarleton. What about him? He lied, Watson.

Or he hid the truth for a period of time. And why did he not mention the final words of Saviour Willoughby as remembered by Elder Coram? Do you think he's lying about the woman thing? It was she. Hopkins thinks it's a cop-out. And I would agree with Hopkins. Women aren't exactly valued here. Or in most places of worship. It would be a convenient decoy to protect your followers.

But the feet. The feet? Size six. The footsteps on the pathway? Saviour Tarleton said that some younger members reside on the property, but no locations would have them entering eastwards from Chatham Road. The chances of an adult male with a size six shoe are... Don't look at me, I don't bloody know. Very slim, as was the footprint. Men's shoes tend to be wider. Willoughby's final words point towards a female killer and our footprints on the pathway point towards a female intruder i believe him who quorum that he heard those words it was she

you know i i don't think he has it in him to lie first off especially not that close to death and it can't be delirium i don't't think. Watson, the man is very ill. If Elder Coram was living with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, like, well, a normal person would, he'd be using a BiPAP at night. What is that? Bi-level positive airway pressure machine. You know, you wear a mask and the machine can help regulate your breathing at night,

but he didn't have one. You know, and at this advanced stage, that's quite a step to take. You think the illness is fake? No, he just wants to die. I saw no medication around him, so I think we're dealing with a faith-based approach to his condition. If he's got no meds, the chances of delirious hallucinations and hearing some phantom words and stuff,

it's unlikely. Very good, Watson. Sad, though. Really. Is it? Well, yeah. I mean, he can do whatever he wants, but everyone deserves people to miss them when they're

dead. My mum told me that I had some old schoolmates gutted because they thought I was dead, and it made me feel quite good, to be honest. You know, like a little peek into... I don't know. Faith, by its nature, Watson, is irrational.

No, I don't... I don't think so. Then you're wrong. Ha! People just want each other. They just want community. That's it. That's all it is. It can be a football team, a religion, a conspiracy theory, a job, anything.

It's the people they're in it for, ultimately. If they can keep the us versus them under control and let other people be, then... Yeah, they just want to be with people. And if they need a special something that binds them all together, then that's okay. Unless it's Bristol Rovers. Was that a Swindon town joke?

Ha! Yes! Yes! Well done, mate! Well done? Yeah, I didn't think you'd get it. The final thing. The golden pantsnare. Go on. It was all in French. I gave Elder Coram a relatively well-known French phrase,

and he didn't know what I was talking about. Hmm. The golden pants, nay. Ah, here it is. Here what is? Found it here. Audiobook. English version. Listen to it. I'll be back in an hour Sherlock, we don't have much time

I must be sure, Watson Be sure of what? That the killer is still here Bloody hell Oops The golden pants Nay Download audiobook The Golden Pants Nay Download audio book

The Golden Pants Nay By Julien Besson English language version Get on with it Chapter 1 Awake The winter solitude was approaching. Adrienne felt the nights closing around her. Each evening, the dark embrace became sooner than the last. The gas lamps barely reached

the Canal Saint-Martin as she weaved through the crowds. The 10th arrondissement had been the home of her father's family, even through the revolutions. But Paris was changing. 1904 felt a hundred lifetimes since Napoleon III. To Adrienne, these were the stories of history she had learned from school as a young girl. Now, she was a young woman. Paris was a young woman. I was...... ......

... ... ... ... ... ... ......... place them on her night table. He came closer. Each step, another item was removed. The glasses, the shoes, the jackets,

the colliders, the truth, the anxiety, the excitement, the trust. Hey, hey, um, Sherlock. How's the, um, do you find... I've eliminated the possibilities. The killer must be here. The dormitories witnessed nothing, heard nothing. In fact, they were not disturbed until now.

Sherlock, it's 4.15 in the morning. Did you wake them up? I did indeed. And, right, what happened? A bunch of clueless, innocent boys, each one of them more indoctrinated than the last. You told them about Willoughby, didn't you? Mm-hmm. How did you break the news? I just said, Saviour Willoughby has been violently murdered. This is a crime

scene. Come forward if you know anything. Right. Okay. In future, how about I break the news regarding brutal murders to friends and families of the deceased, okay? Absolutely, Watson. No problem at all. Tell me of the golden pants name. Right, Watson. No problem at all. Tell me of the golden pants name. Right, yeah.

Yeah, mate. It's about this girl, Adrienne. Mm-hm. She lives in France in the early 1900s. In Paris, I think. And, you know, it's really an interesting portrayal of life. You fell asleep, didn't you? Yeah, yeah.

But look, I'm pulling an all-nighter here, you know, and you've asked me to listen to some French literature, for goodness sake. You may as well have slipped me a bloody valiant. Watson, the Golden Pantene is central to the entire case. I know, I'm sorry, but I... ...Madrienne's underwear slipped below her trembling knees as Matteo's bite clenched softly on her nipples. Oh dear.

Watson, this is not the time and certainly not the place. You told me to listen to it. I asked you to listen to the Golden Pantene. Matteo groaned as his erection was freed from the linen chamber of his drawers. Stop it, Watson. Make him bloody stop. Stop trying. His testicles pulsated with desire.

Hiya. Hi. Hi there. Who are these lot? The younger saviours from the dormitories. What are they doing here? They have come to the chapel to recognise his passing. Oh, oh, oh. Sherlock, we don't have much time. Yes, I'm nearly there.

Nearly there is just going to have to be enough, isn't it? Patience, Watson. It's not about patience. It's about being arrested when the actual police arrive. So I think the panic is warranted. Shh, shh. Panic. Panic?

Panic, Watson. What are you talking about? Where are you going? To Elder Coram. And then what? And then home. Sherlock! Slow down. No, you hurry up.

It's getting late. The police are going to be here any bloody minute. Hence the reason to hurry up. In here. Mr Holmes, Elder Coram is sleeping. Yes, and I would like to do the same shortly. Excuse me. Thank you. Hey! No! No! Excuse me.

You can't go in there. Hello again, Elder Corrin. What... What time is it? Watson? Hmm? What time is it? Er... 4.38. Excellent. Just enough time.

Saviour Tarleton, could you join us? Thank you ever so. What's going on? Elder Coram, whilst I realise that you frame death in slightly different terms to myself and society generally, you'll be relieved to learn that Saviour Willoughby saved your life. He did? An intruder who entered the property from the eastern wing pathway that heads out to Chatham Road had planned to smother you in your sleep.

With that pillow there. This pillow? My pillow? That's correct. But I had a knife. A far from ideal murder weapon if your target is an elderly dying man, don't you think? A man in your condition expiring in the night would be met with celebration both within and outside these walls. Suffocation would have prompted no police investigation, no suspicion of any murder, just nature, or God, or whatever, taking its course.

The knife, your letter opener, was used hastily as self-defence due to an attack on the intruder from Saviour Willoughby. The intruder broke open that back door, probably under a rolling thunder, entered this room and approached your bed. Only then was she stopped by Willoughby, who lodges just above here.

She? Yes, she. Mr Holmes. Ah, PCSO Hopkins, excellent timing. The details, please. It's, um, it... The car belongs to Mrs Anna Tarleton. Tarleton!

Mrs Anna Tarleton. Owner of a light blue Volkswagen Polo, currently parked on Chatham Road. That's enough. No, it's not enough, actually. It gets better. Saviour Tarleton heard the scream of Saviour Willoughby and entered this room to see his own mother holding the body of his fatally wounded friend. She entered via the eastern pathway and removed her muddy shoes on the doormat

that this young man has since discarded. Stop it, please. Anna Tarleton, like many parents, friends and family members of the Saviors housed within Yoxley Old Place, had wished you dead for some time, Elder Corrin. She and many residents of Halton Green had wanted the spell you hold over their loved ones to be finally broken. Upon knowing of your illness, she has been waiting for your demise and you have lingered on in life and your influence has reached deeper into the community. Then a rumour, an unstoppable toxic seep of dark gossip surfaced in Halton Green. Human sacrifice. The sacrificing of saviours to serve the forces of heaven.

The mother, fearing for her son, finally acted and it was young Willoughby that stopped her. The pillow was tossed to the ground. They fought and wrestled silently until Anna Tulton located a blade and plunged it into the carotid artery of Saviour Willoughby. Then, then he screamed. It was not his scream. It was Anna's. As my companion pointed out to me, the attack was clumsy, most likely meant to defend herself, and at most wound and panic Saviour Willoughby into submission so she could escape. Hitting that artery would have caused very sudden blood loss. Fatal for Willoughby, but very traumatic for Mrs Tarleton if she

intended just the flesh with her. Have the police found her? No. But I have. I thought you were the police. No. Just impersonating them. Oh. So

you found her? Yes. You heard? Mm-hmm. Le Pansne Dore, Elder Coram. Have you read it? The what? Yes, exactly. Earlier, I uttered a French expression your way.

You seem confused, so you don't speak the language. So why on earth, on this bookshelf, stacked with profound theology and heavenly wonderments, would a French novel be there and why given the foundational principles of your religious experiment here would it contain passages such as this doctor his testicles pulsated with desire no please just you cannot cannot please. No! No! His penis soon entered. But why, Elder Coram, was this erotic French novel on the floor? I don't know. I would never have read this material. Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord, please. I have been deceived. No, Elder Coram. I was deceived by Saviour Tarleton here. So I will ask you again, Saviour Tarleton, as I asked you at a quarter past midnight this evening.

Is this a chimney cavity? No. But you told me that it was your belief that this was a chimney cavity. Was that a belief or was it a lie? It was a lie. So what is it, Saviour Tarleton? And why does this bookshelf-adorned wall seem to block sound, including the scream of your own mother?

Because it's a panic room. A panic room. The golden pince-nez is a dummy, fitted by an impudent local contractor to conceal a handle. Nothing more. As the hatred towards Elder Coram and the Saviors of God grew, the need for such a facility became increasingly necessary. Panic rooms, by their nature, are very well hidden. What you will struggle to hide, however, is high-density reinforced concrete atop Edwardian foundations which have no brick footings. Not to worry. You distribute the weight across the room to prevent localized subsidence. Hence why there is concrete under these floorboards. See? No squeak.

And no concrete under the floorboards at your end, Elder Coram. See? Rather squeaky now, aren't they? I just... You wanted your mum to be safe. Yeah. Look, if she knows what she did to Willoughby...

She does not know, Saviour Tarleton. She is behind thick steel-lined concrete with state-of-the-art soundproofing, hence why not a single soul the other side of this wall heard her scream. Doctor, you'll see where this book was removed from. There's a small brass handle that resembles a wall bracket. Yeah, I see it. Pull it for me. Please.

Please don't do this. Elder Coram. Mrs Anna Tarleton. Mrs Anna Tarleton. No! Elder Coram. No, pleaseleton Mrs Anna Tarleton No! Elder Coram No, please! Is he alive? Is the boy alive? He is not, Mrs Tarleton, thanks to you No!

Sherlock No! Mum, mum, mum, it's going to be okay It's okay And that, Elder Coram, is how one should respond to a young man's premature death. Good night. Give the Heavenly Father my best when you see him. 4.55am, we better head off. Oh, oh, oh. Are you okay, Stanley?

PCSO Hopkins. Are you alright, mate? Hmm? Uh, yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Just, uh... Not the suspect you were hoping for.

That's right, yeah. Same. Feel free to have a nap, Dr Watson. No, I... Mind is kind of racing right now. Of course, yeah. Sherlock, on the other hand, don't think I've known him to sleep so peacefully. He's brilliant, isn't he? Yeah He's alright Oh hello, you been out on the town, love?

Er, not really. Just working. Hey, Archie. Good boy. Working for the army? I'm not in the army, Mum. Good night, Watson. Good work. Night, mate. Well done. Night, Mrs Watson. Good night, love.

I might, erm... I might take a quick sleep myself, Mum, if that's all right. Oh yeah, don't worry about me, my darling. I can make myself busy. I won't be long. Just, um, I haven't slept and, uh, yeah, need a, need a power nap or something. So, yeah, then I'll take you and Archie around Regent's Park if you fancy. Go on, you go. Go sleep, for goodness sake. Hi. Hey. I heard you come back. Morning, Carol.

Hello, lovely. Do you want a cup of tea? Oh, no, no, no. Don't worry, I'm fine. Are you fine, John? Yeah, we're okay. Just tired. Solved? Solved, yep. Okay.

Well, we'll talk about it later. Yeah, sounds good. Oh, I sent you an email. It's just a DocuSign thing. Oh, right. Let me... No, no. You go to sleep.

You can look at it later. No, it's okay. It'll just take two seconds. The sex was everything Adrienne had wished it was. They orgasmed together. Oh, God. Admits the panting and groans of passionate love-making. Turn off.

Turn off. I'm going to... Yes. Yep. Yep. Yep. What book is that? Nope.

Hey, everybody. What do you think of that editing? Yeah, I faded the sound of the choir into the... Yeah, I mean, come on, that was good. Right? That was good. Yeah? Yeah, anyway, I hope you enjoyed the golden pants nay

sorry about all the yeah the sexual stuff that was unplanned and I totally appreciate that that might put some people off but hey we're back in my bedroom so certainly no chance of any sexual references now.

Yeah, so please get in touch. I've loved reading your messages and questions, as has Sherlock. That's a lie. That's a lie. He's not interested at all. But, you know, I like it. So, yeah, give the show five stars when you can.

Follow me on Twitter at DocJWatsonMD, all one word. DocJWatsonMD. And, yeah, take care and I'll see you next week. Shit! God! Bloody hell, were you in here this whole time? Yes. Do you need these shoelaces? Ah, what? in here this whole time. Yes. Do you need these shoelaces? What?