ZM's Bree & Clint - BONUS PODCAST: Episode 1: The Skull

Episode Date: December 3, 2025

Our good mate Tom Sainsbury has released a new season of his murder-mystery podcast Small Town Scandal. Here's the first ep for you to listen to! You can binge the first four episodes of the season here, right now! When a human skull turns up under the 18th green at the Aldersgate Golf Course, golf podcaster Hugh Wyndham-Blythe is “volunteered” by his listen-hungry boss to investigate. Hugh’s initial reaction? Mild annoyance and a strong desire to get back to talking about swing tempo. But once he hears when the skull was buried, everything changes. This isn’t just some dusty cold case. Hugh starts to suspect he may have actually known the person whose head is now beneath his favourite hole. Small Town Scandal is an 8-part mockumentary true-crime podcast all voiced by one incredible actor - Tom Sainsbury.  Follow us on Instagram: @thomassainsbury / @iheartradionzSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

How do you do? My name is Hugh Wyndon Blythe. And welcome to Small Towns Scandal Season 3. I am your host and I warmly invite you on this journey. Essentially this is a true crime podcast in which I investigate the skeleton, literal skeleton, mind you, not figurative, found beneath the 18th hole at the oldest gate golf course. The podcast also somewhat unceremoniously delves into my personal life, but unfortunately that's necessary to give the whole story. I should take a moment to point something out to the overt listeners of the previous two seasons of Small Town Scandal. They were narrated by some Australian-sounding fellow named Toby.

I haven't listened to them myself, but my producer bought and distributed the last two seasons and now owns the official name of Small Town Scandal, after Toby disappeared without a trace. Rumour has it that he was found by his mother, just as he was about to be murdered, which is gruesome, but apparently all is well. Hopefully you will be brought up to dead with all of that at a later time. But for now, this is season three, and it takes place in Olders Gate, a township 53 minutes inland from Christchurch, New Zealand.

Oldersgate has old money. Think stately mansions tucked behind Macrocarpies and birch copses. It's the kind of place where wealth whispers, but insists you're listening. We'll get to. all of that, but first here's where we begin. The following recording was made at Oldersgate golf course, a crisp 15-minute drive from town. The course was about to receive a glut of international attention as host of the very prestigious Stirling Crown Invitational. I have covered

the invitational twice before on my golfing podcast, The Fairway Files, once in Scotland, once in Bordeaux and now Eldersgate, my hometown. It's the second time the invitation who has been here. The first was 30 years ago when I was 15. This is raw audio from that day. The voice you were about to hear is Joe, the groundskeeper. A sunny day, birdsong, distant golfers, then Joe. Just look at that stretch, not a different sight. She's smoother than a billi-type on toys is forgiven. I've been coaxing this green along since spring with a custom blend of rye and bent grass. Cut to three millimetres every morning.

Most bloke's think it's about mowing and watering, no amateurs. This is a science. This is an art. This is love. You could land a helicopter on her, and she'd still roll true. Remarkable old chap, what fertilizer do you use? And if there were divvets, what's the appropriate remedial action? Well, obviously, you're...

What in the hell? Note for listeners, Joe has just spotted a crack in the green. It looks like drought damage or a mini earthquake. Holy Mother of God! Don't you strip on it! You're looser. Oh no! Too late.

I was standing on the green and my body weight dislodged a third of it and it slumped into the bunker beside it, like a mini landslide. For non-golfers tuning in for the crime bit, the green is the closely mowing area around the hole. A bunker is a sandy hazard designed to ruin your. day. What the hell have you done? I'm so sorry, Joe, I did not mean to, but to be fair, if it wasn't me, it would have been the next golfer. We've got the sterling crown invitational and two months! I know, I know, I know. This is going to ruin me. They can't

end up on a disintegrating green. I'm sure you can... Wait, what's that? I was pointing at something in the soil. A third of the green had slumped into the bunker exposing thick clay, and poking out of one clump, a small, round mound. Joe picked it up. and turned it over. Jesus Christ! He flung it away and wiped his hands furiously on his shorts. It landed in the dirt.

Two empty ice-sockers stared back at us. It was a skull. What in the hell is that doing here? Well, don't look at me. Well, do you think it's human? Of course it's human. What else could it be? Well, I don't know.

A pig? A pig? No, that's a human's. A chimpanzee? A what? Why would there be chimpanzee skulls under a golf course in the middle of New Zealand? Well, then why would there be a human,

Human skull. After some panicked yelling, we come down. We called the police. My sister Clementine was second on the scene. She's a policewoman, but more on her later. Now technically, I'm supposed to ask if you'd like to speak with someone, but I'm not going to bother. Or speak to someone. What do you mean? Well, a therapist. Oh, yes, actually, I would quite like that. Why? Because I just saw a human skull.

Who cares who? It's bones. You'll live. Anyway, you're free to go, mate. You don't want to interview me? I am the first on a crime scene. Well, you'll get over at you. He's seeing enough skulls in this bit. It stops being exciting. Well, how many skulls have you seen?

I don't know, three, four. Anyway, I've got to get back. You're going to the fundraiser tonight, yeah? Funraiser? Oh, Lord. I forgot. So, the fundraiser. My sister Rosamond was running for re-election as Mayor of Aldersgate.

She was hosting one of a very regular fundraising dinners. Classical music, polite clapping, donations followed by thick complaints. It was all rather pointless, of course. Rosamond was guaranteed to win. Her competition consisted of a woman with oversized fake flowers in her hair who posed fluoride and a young hippie who wanted to legalise marijuana and tax the rich. I agree with them, of course, by the way. Rosamond does too, but her thirst for power is too strong. And to attain the dizzying heights of Olders Gate ownership, you must play your most conservative card. Anyway, more on Rosamond later, and more on the skeleton. But for now, some more context. As I previously mentioned,

I host a podcast called The Fairway Files. Here's a clip from a past episode. Hello everyone, Hugh Wind and Blythe here. Welcome to another episode of The Fairway Files, your one-stop podcast for all things golf. Whether you're a season pro, a weekend warrior, or just beginning your journey on the green, this podcast brings you closer to the game you love. As I always say, say golf isn't just a sport, it's a lifestyle, a passion, and for many a lifelong pursuit for the perfect swing. Today, visors and gloves were the expert Danny McTavish. And now, jumping to a completely different episode, here's a clip from one of my first ever interviews with Paul Buckets Callaghan, grizzled Kiwi champ, international darling of the 90s, and semi-retired

when I spoke to him. Paul Callahan, Bucket's, as you're known for sinking a part. Welcome to the Fairway Files. Yeah, cheers, Hugh. Nice to be remembered. Let's talk pressure. What did your latest win? The Lakeside Nine cost you. Me marriage. Golf's a lonely game, mate. Everyone sees the handshake on the 18th. No one sees the crowing in the hotel, or his bath. Would you trade it? I'd to say it, but no, golf's the only thing keeping me going.

Screw the misses. She can have the fishing boat. Any advice for young players? Yeah. You probably don't have what it takes, so give up now. and never turn you back on your caddy. They know everything. Here's another interview from a few years back. This one with a local Oldest Gate legend, Craig Tinsley. He was two years above me at school in a total star.

A 17, he won the Sterling Crown Invitational, beating actual professionals. It was huge. He was massive, and it was also a massive inspiration. I was green with envy, actually green, like putting green, green. Anyway, here's the interview I did with him for the podcast. I'm here with someone I technically played against in high school, though, played against is generous. Craig Tinsley used to wipe the floor with me.

I mostly served as shade while he collected trophies. Craig, welcome to the Fairway Files. Oh, come on. Don't let him fool you. Hey listeners, don't let him fool you. Hugh had a wicked short game, and he could psych you out with that one eyebrow raise, and I still have nightmares. Well, I mean, I picked a 17.

Meanwhile, you've just come off a win in Singapore. Congrats on that. That's five this year. What's that feel like? Honestly? Like, surreal. Every year feels like I'm starting over again. Because you're only as good as your last round, you know what I mean?

And I've had some shockers. I'm still waiting for someone until I tap me on the shoulder and go, All right, mate, back to the pro shop. So, that gives you the vibe for the Fairway Files. The murder mystery detour? Bit outside my wheelhouse. But here we are. Anyway, some more context.

You've probably picked up on my slightly plummy accent. My sisters and I were packed off to England for school. The girls were gently nudged towards the arts but ended up in politics and law enforcement instead. Rosamond, the eldest, is now mayor of Aldous Gate, as I said. Impressive? Yes, surprising. Not really. She was just following in mum's terrifyingly well-shod footsteps.

Diana Winden-Blythe, my mother, was Aldous Gates' first female mere, elegant, poised, and absolutely ruthless. If you looked up a power move in the dictionary, there'd be a picture of my mummy, adjusting her pearls while making a strategic land grab. Clementine, the middle child, is a police officer. You hear Clementine and pictured grace and refinement, but you'd be wrong. She was goaly for her hockey team and once took out an attacker and the ref. loud, boozy and unbothered by hangovers. She's basically bulletproof.

And then there's me, Hugh, the baby. Spoiled? Yes. Has it stunted my emotional development? Also, yes. I was meant to take over the family gravel business, Winden-Blyth quarry and gravel, but I lacked the grit. Sorry. School failed. University dropped out. I just couldn't muster the enthusiasm for aggregates. My father tried to get me interested, then gave up, shortly before he died of her ruptured spleen. Since then, mummy, my sisters and I have been on the board in a purely decorative sense. So what have I done? Travelled, played golf, lived off my allowance. That was until my parents finally cut me off.

By then, I was on my second marriage and had two sons. My first wife, Titania, realized her mistake and escaped. My second, Veronica, liked the idea. of me but quickly realized I'm better in theory than in practice. We are now on the tail end of a very messy divorce. Anyway, that's how I stumbled into podcasting. Golf, travel, the occasional swing tip, all paid for briefly by KiwiCast, a podcast production company. All that travel didn't help the marriage, I'll admit, nor did all the ladies that, actually will come to that. Anyway, back to the body under the green. A few weeks past, not much happened aside

from some fairly unhinged dreams. Skull-themed naturally. I'd been dabbling in marijuana chocolate to help my sleep. Read, cope with impending divorce. So yes, I dreamt of skulls. I wouldn't say haunted, but gently disturbed. After two weeks, I finally brought it up with Clemmy, the police sister. Oh, I don't know, Joey.

I was buried up and sent over to Forensics in Christchurch. And you haven't heard back? Well, it's no priority, in it? But it could be a murder of Clementine. You're jumping to conclusions again, Yui. Put the ten four away, please. We were at Mummy's Place, Beaumont Court, as she insists on calling it. It's a big house, tennis court out front, pull out the back,

and a garden she claims to have designed, but only walks around while pointing at things for the gardeners to do. We were downstairs playing billiards, as is our weekly family tradition slash obligation. Aren't you even curious whose scarlet was? Well, not really. looks pretty decomposed, probably some old accident covered up yet. Okay, well, thanks for the enthusiasm.

Well, we do know it's female, like teens or early 20s. Oh, really? And do you know when she died? Well, forensics will tell us, eventually. That was when the memory started tumbling back. And yes, I was recording my sister secretly. Why? Because of a meeting I had earlier that week with my podcast producer.

Here he is, interrupting my editing. So according to the PCG champ Lucas Panner, chipping's all about feel firm rests, wait forward, let the left do the work Oh there he is, the man, the myth, the chip shot legend Just recording some narration for Thursday's episode Mate, the skull thing you mentioned last week, it went off Listens are through the roof, people are obsessed

They want to know who it is This is Evan Brothers My former producer at Kiwi cast Part numbers guy, part wheelie dealer part over-excited squirrel. He wrangled golf-related sponsors mostly by brute enthusiasm, but lately, lessons were flatlining

until the skull. So, what are you suggesting? A new segment, mate. Skull under the green, what we know. Or something catchyer. I've just bought the rights to some weirdo true crime franchise called Small Town Scandal. We could put it under that umbrella.

Oh, Evan, we are a golf podcast, Evan, chipping tears, iron selection, turf chat. People don't care. They want mystery, intrigue, a decomposing corpse or two. I wasn't supposed to include that bit. It was a nervous side. What do you mean? I didn't really listen before posting.

Was meant to cut the hole, collapsing green skull thing. I just... I didn't. That's how you. Half-assed. Well, it's out of the bag, mate. And everyone wants to know who skull it is. He called me again that night. Hounded me the next day, so I gave it.

I figured I'd find out who skull it was. Close that chapter. on. And if a few more people happened to stick around and learn how to put with their shoulders, not their wrists, then maybe it was a win-win. But it wasn't a win-win. It was then that I got a phone call for my oldest sister, Rosamond, the mayor from the town, remember her. What on earth are you playing at you? What do you mean? What do I mean? The Staling Crown invitation was happening in a month. What on earth are you doing telling everyone that there was a skull found underneath the 18th Green? Well, there was. Well, didn't go broadcast.

I'm casting it everywhere. The sponsors will pour the plug. We need the Stirling Crown Invitational to go without a hitch, Huey. I need the Stirling Crown Invitational to go without a hitch. I should probably pause proceedings to explain what on earth the Stirling Crown Invitational. Basically, the Stirling Crown Invitational is an elite international golf tournament with tradition meets spectacle. Paid on some of the world's most storied courses, it brings together the finest players from across the globe in a high-stakes battle for the coveted sterling. crown, a symbol of precision, resilience, and golfing excellence, and it was going to be held at Aldersgate Golf Course for a second time. His presence would do no end of good for the township of Oldersgate, and my dear sister Rosamond, of course, would bathe in all the glory of it, being mayor of the town. My boss says I have to. Do you always do what your boss wants you to do? Anyway, stop it, please, and I'll see you tonight at the school fundraiser. Oh God, is that a night. Of course, as I've done my whole life, I chose to ignore my sister and carry on as is with the murder mystery thing. So, back to this female skeleton beneath the green. I needed a little

more intel before I could broach my hypothesis. Yes, I had a strong hypothesis about who it was, even them. I just needed some clarification. Oh, here he is. You've got some nerve showing your face around here, wind and blithe. What are you talking about? I'm with Joe, the oldest gate golf course greenskeeper, who I discovered the skull with. For ruining my 18th green. It was destined to happen at any moment. I don't know why I'm enemy number one. And perhaps you were too focused on the surface of the green that you ignored the bubbling underneath. The green in question had been condemned in a way. A new temporary green had been cult.

activated 100 metres to its left. Joe was currently rolling the new green to within an inch of its life. I'm going to be bloody working on this bloody thing 12 hours a day in the lead-up to this sterling crown invitation. It's still not going to be as brilliant as my crown in glory. It is at this point that is looking longingly

at the remnants of the original 18th green. Isn't it an ice saw? They said I'd be able to level the whole thing next week. What of the hell am I going to do with a big dirt patch come competition done? The whole world is going to be judging me for it. Why don't you just planted with trees, put some mulch around them? No, that's a stupid idea.

Now, why are you bothering me? I see you doing your bloody radio thing again. Oh, don't worry about that. I was just wondering about the 18th Green. Have the police finished their investigation into it? Oh, yes. It was a real hoo-ha. Took a good week for them to bugger off,

and even then I wasn't allowed to touch it until next week. Did they find anything else in there? Oh, yes. They found the whole scala. A young woman, mind you, hard a fear. And do you have any idea who it is? Not a clue, and it would have been under there for some time. I've been working on this course for five years.

And I was gone digging around there since the 1990s. The 1990s? What happened that? Before then, it was only nine holes. 1990s had grew to 18. And I swear that the only way that that young lady could have got there was when it was being made. That was everything I needed to hear.

I knew there had to be a reason while the skull had been haunting my dreams. It was because of a memory I'd forced down deep, something I'd never fully processed, something I'd forced out of my mind since 1998. Would you like another round? I've got to go home, mate. The missus is going to be wondering where I am. One more round and I'll let you go, I promise. Oh, go on then.

I'm with my best mate, Nate Greenwald. We were mates at kindergarten, and every summer that I came home from border. a school over in the UK. And then afterwards we went on a big trip around Europe together. He was best man at my wedding. And I would have been at his. Only his brother pipped me at the post. So I was just a groomsman, and he's really been there for me during this messy divorce. Anyway, you get the picture. I had forced him to scyve off work for the afternoon for a quick 18 rounds. We were currently in the oldest gate golf course pub. So, what do you think about the new 18th Green? Uh, the same fine.

Fine to me. Maybe made the whole even harder? Yes, Joe's done a fine job of it. And levelling out the old green. Listen me, I've been thinking about the skeleton. Oh yeah? What have you divined? Well, the whole thing makes me think of. Sophie. Are you serious? Joe says the body would have been buried there since the 90s.

That was when Sophie went missing. Oh, I'm not so sure. It could be anyone. The skeleton is a woman, and she would have been in her late teens early 20s. and she was buried there in the 90s. It has to be her. It has to be her, right. My, it's, uh, my, let's not jump to any conclusions, huh? It's a perfectly reasonable conclusion, right? I suppose I should explain who Sophie is. Sophie Sinclair was my first girlfriend. She went missing when we were both 18. I met her one summer when I was 16, and it was an intoxicating love affair.

We couldn't think straight. We were obsessed, besorted. Then I went back to boarding school. The following summer we met again, and it was just as intense. We had so many plans. I even proposed, and she said yes. And then, shortly after her 18th birthday, she vanished. She was meant to come to a family dinner and never showed. I called her house again and again, but nothing.

The next day I was organising search parties. We scoured every inch of this town and found nothing. Her parents were devastated, but not as much as I was. Then, we were told she just ran away. But I knew she couldn't have. I started throwing around wild accusations, blaming her father, blaming the school's PE teacher. I knew she couldn't have just taken off.

But everyone else accepted it and moved on. Nathan and I went on a con-tickety tour of Europe, and I slowly crawled out of my grief. Always convinced, Sophie was dead. Oh, the woman I slept. with during that time and after, even during my marriage to Titania, laissez-air with Veronica. Before we jump to any conclusions, mate,

let's just make sure enough a few things, hey? We should find out if there are any DNA matches. They won't have Seffi's DNA. No, but they could get her parents. They're still in town, or her brothers? This makes sense neat. And you know down in your heart of us that this is true. I drove straight to my sister Clementine at work.

She's the cop one. She usually works late, then heads to the pub to try her luck with guys from the sharing gangs. The police station is teal, but someone's clearly obsessed with red piping. It's everywhere, around the ramp, the sign, the awnings, red piping for days. Listening back to this recording, I realised I wasn't aware of how drunk I was. How much have you had to drink, Yuri, it's only 6pm? I've got a theory that I need to share with you.

Did you drive here, mate? No. Oh, you did. That's your car. Oh, my God, you. Forget how much damage you could have done to yourself. Think about how much damage you could have done to my and Rosamond's reputation,

little like mums. Oh, jeez. When did you become such a worry-walled stress guy? I am not a worry-watt stress guy, Ui. I'm cool. Yes, no. That's not a sentence a cool person, would say. Have you got anything to drink around here?

I'll see you back on the booze in a big way, eh? Well, you can hardly walk. I mean, we'll talk. Well, hurry up inside. Someone will see you out here. I've got my whiskey in my desk. Okay, out with it. What's your ground fairy? We were seated in Clemmy's desk in the police station. No one else is there. The sergeant arrives one minute before work and leaves one minute after. The other cop's wife for just to have a new baby, so he's out of there whenever he can. That leaves Clementine running the fort.

Okay, I think the skeleton is Sophie. Oh, you. Look, you didn't even hesitate. That's what I'm saying. You thought about it and it makes sense right. I'm not saying anything either way. We need to get a DNA test done on it. Well, I presume one's already been done.

We'll ring them up and get the results, hurry up, woman. It's 6.15 p.m. they'll be close, mate. Just try, please, Clem, let's just give it a go. Honestly, you, you do my head in, and you drive me barmey. Okay. As Clementine dialed out, I downed another glass of whiskey. The burn felt good. It all felt good.

It felt right, like my life had been on pause for 30 years. Finally, finally, I was going to get some answers. Well, she didn't have any answers. Oh, God, what? Why not? They've had a for save ready long. Why are they moving in such a snarespace? Oh, come you farm, you. Apparently the one working on the case might have a better idea tomorrow.

Oh, Lord, I can't wait until tomorrow. Come on, Glam. I have to hand it to you, mate. It's a good fairy. Right? But I guess this raises the question of who actually killed her. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

Can we open a case on your computer? I'm not doing any of this. With you here, you? Oh, come on, Clemmy. It's just me and I need to know these things. This is my girlfriend. when we're talking about. I think we should hold fire until we know for sure that it's her.

Please, Clevey, just entertain me. Oh, God. I stand beside Clementine as she takes a goddamn age to find the case file. There's not much to it, and it hadn't been open since 1999. A few written testimonials. One from me. And then there was one about the arrest for me after I tried to attack her father. Oh, there's a testimony from night in there as well.

Nate? Nate Greenswell. What, Nate, Nate? Yes, night, night. What does it say? Clementine opens Nate's statement. It's a scanned written testimonial that one of the officers on the night must have written up.

I started reading it, and I had to sit down. Did you know about this? I had no idea. Nate, Nate, Nate was the last person to see Sophie alive. He was supported driving her through town and when he was confronted about it, he denied it. When Pushty explained that he was driving her to Creed Christchurch, and that's it. That's it?

That's all they bloody thought if they just left him to it? Well, Nate, it can't be. It is, Nate! That's Nate Greenwald, my best friend. Well, maybe he was just driving her to Christchurch. No, he killed her, that's what he did, he killed her. And then he hid the body under the 18th Green in the golf course. Oh, you, come on, that sounds absurd.

We don't know that for certain. At this point in the recording Having completely forgotten that I was recording I went to leave Clementine of course tried to stop me Well where are you going mate Were you going you? Nah uh Don't do something silly yeah

I'm not doing anything silly I was just having a drink with that son of a bitch His smug face Fake sympathy And he knew the truth the entire time Well if he did you something to her It is a police matter and you should not go Well what am I supposed to do

Just sit down and be all lardies are Let's wait to hear back from forensics, please, you. Come on. I cannot. I'm sorry. Well, you're going to walk. I'm not letting you drive in the state, Nat. I walked to Nate's house where he lives with Natalie and the two daughters, Nicola and Natalia. Hugh, buddy, what's up? You son of a bitch. What did you do with her? Who? Who? Sophie. You were the last bloody person seen with her.

Didn't think they tell me that? I didn't think to let your best mate know that vital piece of news. Oh, okay, oh, okay. You smote piece of shit. How could you? How did you do it? How did you kill her? I didn't kill her, man.

I drove her to Christchurch. Easy. You son of a bitch. You, you need to calm down right now, you're here? I did not kill Sophie. I drove her to Christchurch. Oh, come off it. Why?

Why would you have driven her to Christchurch? Because she was running away from you, mate. Okay, she didn't want to marry you, okay? is horse shit. It's not. Now, do you want to come inside and we can talk about this instead of waking up the whole neighbourhood? No, I don't. I don't want to have anything to do with you.

And you best know that the police are going to come tomorrow and arrest you and you're going to be investigated for murder, okay? Hugh, come on, mate. Let's talk about this. You! You! I walked home. I can't remember

much of the walk, nor much of arriving home, nor much of drinking until dawn. I do remember waking up with the worst of all headaches. It was only then that I started to think a bit more clearly, but more on that later. Right now, I have to wrap up episode one. Tune into the next episode in which I finally get some answers. Devastating ones. 30 years in the making.