Sherlock & Co. - 20 - The Gloria Scott - Part Two

Episode Date: February 13, 2024

HUNTED TO THE GRAVE - The Trevor's visitor was out of control and tearing the family apart. We would discover however that this wasn't the first time he had taken down one of his targets... But who those targets truly were became the most pertinent question. For ad-free, early access to adventures in full go to www.patreon.com/sherlockandco Follow me @DocJWatsonMD or get in touch via email [e-mail] Listener discretion is advised. This podcast is property of Goalhanger Podcasts. Copyright 2024. ------- SHERLOCK AND CO. Based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Paul Waggott as Dr. John Watson Harry Attwell as Sherlock Holmes Marta da Silva as Mariana Ametxazurra Thomas-Lee Kidd as Victor Trevor Harry Frost as Lionel Trevor Nick Sayce as Hunter Music by Racing Birds - courtesy of audionetwork 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

Yes, hello. Um, right. Go to patreon.com forward slash sherlockandco for early access ad-free adventures in full. Bonus episodes.

Err... Your handwriting is terrible! Yeah, I'm a doctor! And... Munch, munch more. That's patreon.com forward slash Sherlock and Co. Previously on Sherlock and Co. Did I hear you say Sherlock Holmes?

Victor Trevor. Sherlock bloody Holmes. Give us the goss. Why did you get chucked out of college? For exposing truths. He exposed the principal for having an affair. Is it your father? Tell me everything. Three weeks ago this guy, also Australian, also in his 60s, turns up at the house. Hunter. Just a stench of confidence and controlling. Sort of like he owned the place kind of energy just spilling out of him. My dad, right? He's an alpha male.

And now suddenly, Hunter arrives and he's like his butler. He did alright, the old man. What did he do for a living? He worked in oil. Back in Oz. He had quite a traumatic experience back in the day, but managed to build a pretty decent life for himself.

The Gloria Scott. The oil rig. What oil rig? The Gloria Scott was an oil rig made famous by coming under attack. An attack? Your old friend. Is he here now? I thought you met the fool.

Sherlock. We have. Yes. The Green Orchid. My line went like a long, long way back. Since you were born. Reborn. Eh?

Sweetheart. You will go and plant your microphone in there, amongst the couch cushions or... Put it on the bookshelf. On the bookshelf. Leave it recording and we can have a listen later to glean what we can from this most peculiar relationship. Do I need to get firm with you, Lionel? No, mate. What the fuck is that?

Lionel, what is this? Ladies and gentlemen, this is your podcaster speaking. We're just beginning our descent towards the finale of The Glory of Scott, but it's going to get really fucking turbulent. So, Christ, what sort of pilot is this? Put seatbelts on, hold on to your loved ones, put, I don't know, friends or something on the little TV in front of you. Put your seat forward as well, because I don't want people putting seats back on my plane. Anyway, what do we expect?

Turbulence. Yep, said that. Swearing. Yep. Dark, thundery skies. That's basically gritty drama. And that's probably it. Back to the secret recording of Lionel and Hunter.

Bon voyage. Of course not. You can always go give Beddows a visit, eh? He knew, didn't he, mate? He knew. He knew. He knew what? He knew. What did he know, Lionel? Let's see if you've been paying attention. He knew. What did he know, Lionel? He... he... the consequences. Too bloody right, the consequences.

The consequences of what, mate? It, uh... it... the, um, of stepping out of line. What the fuck is that? Lionel, what is this? I, I don't bloody know, mate. It's right here on your bookshelf. And you don't bloody know? You're a liar.

I'm not. Well, you are, mate. We know that, don't we? Hunter, mate, I didn't know that was there. Really? You didn't know that was there. Really? You didn't know this was here? A rare 18-year single malt scotch whiskey? Mmm. Sorry, mate.

Glass. Ice. Yep. And grab me some more beers. On it. On it, mate. And this is the top floor. Blimey, more floors than the Shard. Watson.

Just relax, okay? That was an exaggeration for comic effect. Oh. But nobody laughed. Yeah, thanks for that. Yeah, thank you. Um, just thanks for that. Yeah, thank you. Um, just through here? So yeah, that room. That's the two single beds, I think.

Yeah, two twins, then the room opposite is a single bed. So, Mariana, I don't know if you want to take the double. Up to you guys. I'll take the double bed. Oh, okay. Chivalrous as always. Yeah, blimey, Sherlock. Oh, don't worry, Sherlock. It's fine. It's fine.

I don't care. Excellent. Because I do care. Is this the breathing thing? The what thing? Oh, God. Yeah, I remember. From the school days.

You couldn't stand the sound of people sleeping. Regular breathing patterns accepted. But I won't take deviations of breath, snorting, snoring, swallowing, exhaling or inhaling too excessively. I usually prefer when people are able to hold... Right, don't laugh, but I didn't know we were going to be staying over, so the t-shirt I have on under here may or may not be Jaws themed. Oh, wow. Oh, okay. Yeah. I mean, there's Jaws themed and then there's that. Okay, look, I like

Jaws, okay? Oh, really? I couldn't tell. Oh, memory foam. Oh, I hate it. You hate it? What? Memory foam is the best. Yeah, for your own bed. I can feel all the people this bed has remembered. The bed that never forgets.

I'm serious. Yeah, fair enough. Fair enough. Music's still blasting downstairs. Christ. I wonder what time he'll switch that off. And listen to Sherlock now, right? Nothing. Silence. Why is he so much more respectful in other people's houses? If we were at home right now, he'd be in the middle of a full-blown violin concerto whilst firing a nail gun into a bloody space hopper. Maybe Victor Trevor is his true best friend. Hey, now.

Oh, did I hit a nerve? How dare you? I mean, they go way back. Not like you. Hey, I don't care how far they go back. I do his laundry sometimes. I am the BFF. Nah, yeah, I think he likes you.

I think he likes you too, Mrs Hudson. Oh, shut up he likes you. I think he likes you too, Mrs Hudson. Oh, shut up. Idiot. Tell you who I like. That Hunter fella. Oh, no. What a bloody lovely bloke.

Don't. Personal highlight. After scratching himself in an intimate area, he ruffled my hair. Oh, gross. So, yep, endearing man. I liked it when he said you deserved to be blown up. Can you believe that?

Yes, I can, actually, John. He actually said that. Those actual words came out of his actual stupid face. Good lord. Speaking of nearly dying, if I have a... I might do a fun

little thing in my sleep. No, it's okay. Called night terrors, I believe. It's fine, John. Don't be stupid. I don't care. Good. Cool. Cool. Thank you. Much appreciated. Muchos... Don't know the word for appreciated.

We don't really have a word for appreciated. You just say gracias. Or, if really grateful, maybe... Maybe te lo agradezco mucho. Ooh, not even going to try that. Or, I guess... ¿Agradecida? Muchos agradecida. Well, agradecido for you.

Ah, agradecido. Muchos agradecido. Does that work? Almost. Muy. Muy agradecido. Muy. Muy agradecido. Muy. Muy agradecido. I didn't... I didn't mean... I don't care about your dreams. I care about you.

I care about your dreams. I just... I don't... Mind. About. I don't mind. Mind. About.

I don't. I don't. Just, don't be embarrassed. Sorry. Brain is tired. And English is dying. Yeah, yeah. No, of course.

No, um, yeah. How's your bed that never forgets? Well, I forgot about it until you said that. Ha ha. Oh. Uh, I wouldn't mind a forgetful bed sometimes. Wipe my brain, sap out all the worries and bad memories. Yeah, that would be great.

A bed where you, like, you lie in it and you just forget everything. And sleep. And sleep. Oh, a bed for actual sleep. Not worry or going over old things in your head. My current worry? Hmm? Victor.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, me too. And Lionel. They both look so... sick... with... with stress. Ugh, that...

guy, my god. What hold does he have over him? Yeah, it's crazy. Must be hard... to see your father like that. Yeah, I bet. I had to message my dad. It just made me so sad.

It was driving me crazy, all this stuff. So I just, I had to check in. Where's he? Spain? Mm-hmm. Yeah. Yeah. He retires next week.

Very exciting. Oh, Spanish retirement. Very nice. What about Spanish retirement. Very nice. What about you? My dad? Er, my dad, whilst about a mile outside a pretty little village called Ramok in Kosovo, he stepped on something called

a Zastava PMA-3. What is that? It's a landmine. Yeah, so he checked out early, as they say. Sorry, John. I'm so sorry that I... Oh, no, it's okay. You're recording, just so you know. No, no, no, it's okay.

God, it was 25 years ago. Ugh, 25 years, God. That makes me feel old. You don't look it. Muy agradecida. Agradecido. Damn it. Does Sherlock know?

About my dad? I haven't told him, but he knows. Does he? Of course. What's that noise i don't don't help help jesus lounge it's coming from the lounge we're coming victor dad Dad? Dad? I don't know. I don't know what he's doing.

What's he doing? What's he doing? Dad! All right, Lionel, mate. All right. Look at me. Have you called an ambulance yet, Victor? No.

You say something for me, Lionel. Say something. Hello. You say hello, please, mate. Raise your arms. Raise... Okay. Victor, do, mate. Raise your arms. Raise... Okay, Victor, do it now. Call the ambulance.

Tell them your dad is having a stroke. Hello, yes. Ambulance, please. Donovan House. Camden. No, no, no. We're not falling asleep. We're staying awake, Lionel.

Sherlock, can you support his head for me? Yeah, up like that. Should we get him some water? I'll get it. No, no, no. We can't do that. We don't know if he can swallow. Lionel. Sherlock, can you support his head for me? Yeah, up like that. Should we get him some water? I'll get it. No, no, no, we can't do that. We don't know if he can swallow. Lionel, Lionel, it's okay, mate, yeah? It's alright. I know it feels bloody weird, but we've got you. Yeah, we've

got you, haven't we? Foul play. Maybe this is like nerve gas or something. Perhaps. It's not foul play. Watson, we know full well that this Hunter

isn't what he seems. Sherlock, that was a stroke. This is a stroke unit. That is a stroke victim. It was a stroke. He hasn't been poisoned or electrocuted. He's had a stroke. You think Hunter is blameless? No, I bloody don't. I think he is to blame. I think he's to blame for putting

this man under a lot of emotional and physical stress. I mean, his blood pressure was like a fucking comic relief totaliser, for goodness sake. Sorry for swearing. How? How did the presence of this man tear Lionel apart? I don't understand.

I mean, I understand that Hunter is not my idea of a nice guy, but to have this effect on a man, I... It's crazy. To me, it's crazy. It is crazy. What is that? What are are you doing stop touching his chest scarring I've seen it on him before

when many years ago I deduced that he had a pacemaker yeah looks like a pacemaker scar it does but also something else yeah okay just stop touching the unconscious man, please.

Thank you. Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson. Oh, sorry. Don't be sorry. It's not your name. Will you call her Mariana, please? Could I read that transcript again?

Of the recording we obtained of Lionel and Hunter? Yeah, sure. Here, here you go. Sherlock, we've listened to it three times. Yes, and now I wish to read it. They talk about a guy called Beddows, then Hunter threatens him, the rest of the conversation seemed to be about Aussie rules

and meticulously ranking porn stars of the 90s. Hmm, yes. Can we skip over this bit and go and find more clues? Or better yet, can we get Hunter arrested? For what, exactly? Well, for anything. Mrs Hudson. Her name is Mariana.

Could you strap Watson up to that blood pressure monitor? For goodness sake. Absolutely. Here, sit down. Fine. Beddoes. Beddoes. Mr Beddoes.

What if it's B-E-D-D-O-E-S? Not with a W. Beddows. Bed... Good Lord. The glorious God. The what? The oil rig. Oh, what Lionel escaped from. Hartham Beddows took his own life three weeks ago. When Hunter arrives to stay with the Trevors. Sherlock, where are you reading this?

The Sydney Morning Herald. Survivor of the 1986 Gloria Scott raid. Oh, I found him. On Facebook. Hartham Beddows... He posted the day he died. What does it say? 144 over 100.

Oh, OK. Yeah, that's actually quite high. I do need to calm down. I meant the Facebook post. Right. Right. Yeah, sorry. It says...

What is it? Um, yeah, sorry. Um, it says... What is it? Um, it must be an Australian thing or maybe a meme. It doesn't actually make any sense. Let's hear it. You're talking to two of the finest criminal minds in the country, with a leading podcast on cracking codes and deciphering clues. The supply of game for London is going steadily up. Headkeeper Hunter, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for flypaper

and for preservation of your hen pheasant's life. Nope, not a clue. Oh, thank you, Mr. Finest Criminal Mind. That's Dr. Finest Criminal Mind. Maybe we can ask Archie when we get home. It might be more helpful. Be nice to me, please. Blood pressure, look, see, stress.

It made sense for Beddows to write it the day he killed himself. And I worry it made sense to Lionel Trevor here. And it has near destroyed him. It simply must be coded. Why? Beddows, Hunter and Lionel Trevor here. And it has near destroyed him. It simply must be coded. Why?

Beddows, Hunter and Lionel are all Australian and retired oil workers. Why would the supply of game concern them? And in London? So Hunter shows up in London three weeks ago, almost exactly around the time Beddows kills himself, leaving this coded message as his last Facebook post. Lionel Trevor here probably saw it, as they all seem to know each other from the oily Aussie days. Saw what? The post? Yeah.

Oh yeah, he's liked it. Right, so he's seen the post, and then he's bent over backwards to look after Hunter, and it seems like he's been doing that all his life, even, you know... Mrs Trevor. Yep, awful. Right, so Lionel here can no longer cope. Hunter's presence driving him to the edge, don't blame him there, and now Lionel finally has a stroke and is lying right there.

Yep. Mm-hm. Beddows survived the glorious Scott. Lionel Trevor survived the glorious Scott. Lionel Trevor survived the glorious Scott. Wait. Wait. When it was just me and Hunter outside the upstairs lounge, he said something. He said something like, uh, he's known Lionel since they were reborn. Born? No, no, he said reborn. Reborn.

Reborn. I've got it. Guys, I've got it. I'm going for the polo ad astra with a sprite and some dough balls. Pollo. Are you okay? Marooned, Watson. I'm marooned in a lonely isle of deep thought

and I see no salvation from it. Okay. But your dough balls are here. Victor needs my help and I cannot piece this together. I think we're getting close. The supply of game for London is going steadily up. Headkeeper Hunter, we believe, has been told to receive all orders for flypaper and for preservation of your hen pheasant's life. Does anybody else think we're getting close?

Wait, Watson, get me the children's crayons. Okay, would you like a crazy straw and a paper hat as well? Now! Okay, okay. What is it? The code. Here. Let's write the passage out.

The supply of game for London is going steadily up. That purple crayon's broken. Do you want to use the... Head keeper. Hunter. Hunter. Of. Your. Hen. Pheasant's. Life.

Look. We take the the. Then every third word. The. Game. Is. Up. Hunter.

Has. Told. All. Fly. Hunter has told. All fly for your life. Life. All fly for your life. The game is up. Hunter has told all. Fly for your life. I'll probably do an air break there, if we ever figure this thing out. That's right, friends. We are collectively scratching our heads right now.

Creepy Aussie bloke causes nice Aussie bloke to have a stroke after putting him under so much stress. Seemingly all his life. Another Aussie bloke who we never met has taken his own life and now a code. Never a dull moment, eh? Well, I mean, you're in my room at 11.30 at night listening to me edit. So I think we can file this under dull moment. Bugger it.

Hello there. Bugger, bugger, bugger, arse and balls. And what's wrong? I've solved the stupid, stupid rubbish case. God's sake. You've solved it? Yes, I've solved it, stupid bloody thing. Are you going to sleep?

No. Okay, what are you doing? Lying on your bed. I see that. You'll need to include the green orchid moment in your edit. Okay, why? Because it matters. Listeners will require it as I will reference it. Reference it when? When I reveal everything. Of course, and when will this crescendo happen? That's the problem. Right, are you okay? No, I'm...

I don't think I am. Well, we can talk... I'll crush him. I'll ruin the image of his father. I'm... I don't think I am. Well, we can... I'll crush him. I'll ruin the image of his father. I'll... Bugger! Stupid case! Stupid! Okay.

Well, maybe if you run it by me? What was your last memory of your father, John? Sorry. Is there a lot to unpack there? Regarding your father your father i just know if that's what you're wondering uh well mostly regarding you calling me john actually um my last memory of him um oh steady voice get wobbly uh well it was um it was a pretend 10th birthday party for me and uh we moved it forward because we knew he was going to be away for my actual birthday and we were paying playing headers and volleys well you could only score with a header or uh

yeah anyway um and I won. And actually, it didn't feel like I won because he let me win. It felt like I won one, you know. And the punishment for him was he... He had to pull his pants down and stand in the goal with his arse out so I could kick the ball as hard as I could at his arse, right?

And, oh, God, I absolutely leathered it. And, I mean, I was just 10, you know, well, 9, actually. So it was probably fine for a grown man man but the smack it made on his arse yeah I I think I remember saying bye to him but I

I don't know. Then he was gone. Tricky old thing. Memory. Hmm. Yeah. I never know if it's me. If it's me then, or me now, depicting me of then.

I sort of follow you. Memory and identity. They're both so flawed, so murky. But one informs the other, do they not? Memory and identity, yeah, yeah, I suppose so. I feel so detached from me, from the world and my relation to it, and memory. It serves only to confuse me more. The more it confuses me, the less I understand of who I am, what I am.

Well, you are Sherlock Holmes. You're a consulting detective. Actually, I think Mariana has classified you as senior consulting detective. It's the principal. Well, I think it's because you're the most qualified. No, the principal. In college. The one you exposed.

The adventure of the adulterous principal. I have lied to myself all the years, Watson. I absorbed a collective memory. Not my own. That of Victor Trevor and the other schoolboys. The jape of it. The banter.

The boy genius who brought down a principal. I formed myself from it. Don't you see? Sherlock, you're you. Okay? And losing sight of what you think is you is purely internal. They're just thoughts. He came to my dorm. Victor was asleep and...

The principal? Yes. I had just exposed him the previous day. He was broken. Boundless tears. Muffled ghostly sobs. I think he wanted to kill me or hit me, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. I had destroyed his life, his identity, and that of his family.

Sherlock. He curled up on the floor of the dorm like a baby and just cried. And cried. I never told anybody. warm like a baby, and just cried. And cried. I... I never told anybody. Yeah, that's okay. You were a kid, for God's sake. I exploited him. Even now, I exploit his pain.

No, you don't. And my memory does nothing but to serve my own delusions about my identity. I use Victor's recollection of the incident. Not my own. Because use Victor's recollection of the incident. Not my own. Because my own is too painful. I ruined one man's life and now I must ruin another. You've solved it.

I've solved it. Sadly. Would it crush you if you found out something about your father that was... bad. Erm, it's impossible to say. Sorry, that doesn't help. I was wrong. My deduction was wrong all those years ago.

Lionel doesn't have a pacemaker. He does, however, have a scar on his chest. The letters J.A. With a hefty amount of scar tissue as he's torn away at the letters all his life. Despite once brandishing them on his own heart. We all have tattoos we regret, mate. Yes. But this is not a lover.

What's that? I just printed it. Land Registry of Donnythorpe House Owner Mr James Armitage Who's James Armitage? Well The question is actually Who's Lionel Trevor?

Okay Who's Lionel Trevor? Lionel Trevor is at the bottom of the Tasman Sea As is Heartham Beddows. The glorious Scott. The glorious Scott. Sorry. Long day. Say that again? The game is up. Hunter has told all. Fly for your life.

And this guy, Beddows, he... He took his own life. Just before Hunter arrived here to stay with your father. Shh. Hunter's wasted, I wouldn't worry. Anything he hears won't be remembered. Beddows sent this warning. About Hunter. Your father has not only been tortured by the presence of this man, but also by the absence of what we assume is his friend, the late Mr. Beddows.

But why? Why keep it secret? Hunter remarked to Mrs. Hudson that he thought... Sorry, who's Mrs. Hudson? That's me. It's complicated. Well, it's actually very simple. He remarked that they've known each other since their rebirth. Beddows was a survivor of Gloria Scott. So was your father.

And I would bet that Hunter was too. And perhaps that is the very rebirth that was alluded to their survival survival yes but there's something there a transgression memory is a tricky thing victor a very tricky thing memories must be tended to nurtured but feed them too much and they grow their roots strangle the truth and suffocate reality. They will mimic and replace. They are unreliable. Victor, what do you remember

of us at school? My interests? My hyperfixations? They were all sorts. But you trust me, don't you? Sherlock, what is it? What's going on? I know my brain doesn't work like a normal person's.

I know I can seem absent, but it is only because being present is often a profoundly intense experience. Light and sound and sights and all and everything come flooding in. I take it all in, Victor, until I simply must shut it off. Do you understand? I have taken in everything and I don't wish to present my findings to you out of cruelty or malice or even arrogance. What have you observed, Sherlock? What have you observed, Sherlock? Memory. Tricky as it may be has brought me a key clue. When I first met your father many, many years ago, it was a summer's day.

He had a scar. I thought it was for a pacemaker. Yeah, I was wrong. The scar. Its tissue has grown around the letters of J A. J A. But J A is not a girlfriend or a

partner of years gone by. It is a life. It is his life that he threw away before his rebirth as Lionel Trevor. What? Look around you.

Look at this place. He has travelled the world, seen many things, but what trinkets does he keep in this house to show of it? Nothing on display. Nothing to illustrate the vastness of his experiences. Nothing. But there is something. The green orchid.

It's just an orchid. It is not. Sherlock, maybe if we just explain... If you trust the ferocity of my obsessions and special interests, Victor, then you will understand that what I am about to tell you comes from a place of absolute certainty

of conviction. I trust you. That is not a green orchid. It is a boquilla. It is native to South America, abundant in the forests of Chile. And it is not a flower. It is a vine. Your father brought it home from his travels because it meant something to him when no other souvenir did. And it meant so much because he sees himself in that vine. Here,

look. Orchids don't grow in soil. See how the leaves look like an orchid but don't feel as dense? The shape of the petals are inconsistent. And they're tired. They're tired because they've never died and replenished. The Boquilla copies. It replicates another plant. It mimics to survive. Its forged identity is tied to its survival victor. It is a counterfeit, a fraud, a hoax, a rip-off, a plagiariser, a pirate.

Like its owner. Like the drunkard upstairs and the deceased Mr Beddows. No. Yes. You're wrong. You must trust in me, Victor. I don't trust

in you. You're wrong. Victor, Victor, listen, Victor. I don't trust in you. You're wrong. Victor, Victor, listen. The house, the house, the land is owned under the name James Armitage. That was your father's name. No. You're wrong. They're right. Excuse a bit too much grog tonight, eh, fellas?

And a Mrs. fella. Hey-ho, yo, yo, a part of this life for me. Oh, come on, that's funny, right? A bunch of wokies can't even laugh now. Oh, the wokie wokies. You put your left hand in. Nope. Don't want to dance either.

Look at you all. Shit scared. You think you know, eh? You know nothing A lot of you Even Barry Big brains over here Mr Hunter, I know what you are

You're a pirate You raided the glory of Scott There's blood on your hands I'm not the fucking pirate Whoa, that is enough His lowlife father Is the bloody pirate, mate. Alright? Get that into your super-duper brain, eh?

Or do I need to pound it in there myself? Try it. You'll be in the hospital too. Ooh, fighting. Fighting talk. It's quite alright, Watson. I can defend myself. Not from me, you cunt. Er, fighting. Fighting talk. It's quite alright, Watson. I can defend myself. Not from me, you can't.

Er, yes I can. That would be rather straightforward. Rather straightforward? Tell me this, mate. Is this straightforward? Argh! Argh! Oh, Jesus bloody...

Argh, dammit! Argh! Strategy, predictable. Technique, non-existent. Execution, absolutely bloody awful. Argh! Argh! Argh! Argh! Argh! Argh! Damn it! Strategy, predictable. Technique, non-existent. Execution, absolutely bloody awful.

That's a broken wrist. If you'd care to make an appointment with Dr. Watson here, he could look at it for you. Can we please, please, just get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on? Mr. Hunter here, like your father and Mr. Beddoes, raided the Glorious Scott and took hostages. How many times I gotta bloody say it, mate? You're a liar. I am a liar. But not about this.

Alright? I worked on the Glorious Scott. I used to be... I was... I'm the bloody victim, alright? It's my friends they killed. I was the hostage. I... Listen.

Right? It was spring of 1986. I was a drilling assistant on the Gloria Scott. We're out in the Tasman Sea. Nothing for miles and miles and miles. Sydney is like this little distant little blot of the bloody horizon, remote as you can imagine.

One day, this helicopter comes floating towards us and I'm on the under platform, right? But I want to take a sneak peek at who's coming to visit us, right? So I go up on the externals onto upper deck to see this chopper land. After a bit of circling, she lands and these blokes get out. And one of the fellas from the rig, the Prendergast his name was, he goes to Greenham. And I'm thinking, that's bloody weird. Because he's some junior guys, Prendergast.

Not many ranks above me, right? Prendergast and about 11 others are now walking along the top platform. You're dead. One of them. The bloke that would later call himself Beddoz was one of them too. They walk right up to the communication tower, knock on the operator's door and prender cast. Puts a bloody bullet in the guy's face.

Just like that. Communication's off. Just like that. Communications off, bang, dead. I'd love to stand here and tell you I fought him off, tell you I sounded the alarm and alerted the rest of my guys about these terrorists shooting up the place. But I didn't. I bloody froze to the spot. They shot three more of us. Bang, bang, bang. Shot dead. They were sick monsters. Every single one of them.

No. No way. Well, lucky for you, matey boy, I ain't talking about your dad. Him and Beddows were a couple of engineers trying to make a fast fortune by working for these terrorists. Your dad was worse than a monster. He was a coward, a greedy coward.

Two days they held the place hostage. Prandegast does what he does, shipping barges back to his masters, communications tower, all the while telling the wild world that everything was okay. But it was far from it. It was getting juicy. The real Hartham Beddows not that imposter. The real Beddows

Starts kicking off with the pirates And he strangles one of them I watched him do it We're all cheering him on I watched Beddows squeeze the last breath out of this bloke I watched his eyes nearly pop right out of their sockets We all got pumped up from it, right? A full blown counter mutiny to throw these blokes off our rig. We charge the main deck, about

16 of us, armed with half the frigging kitchen, knives and bloody ladles, rolling pins. We get stuck into this scrap. Beddows takes the bullet to the throat. His blood spraying out. It's sprayed out like champagne. We keep fighting. Keep scrapping. I'll bite a man's flesh off his cheeks. I'll crack a skull against a steel door. Then you're bloody dead. You're dead.

The bastard, the coward. What did he do? He knew they were going to get torn to pieces by us. He knew we had them. He knew it. So he blew up the rig. Blew up an oil rig with over 30 men still alive on it. Whilst he and his mate escaped in a boat. I went flying into the air, took half the skin off my back and plunged me into an ocean made more of blood and oil than of seawater.

How did you survive? Well, obviously he couldn't cope with what he did, could he? He returned. Returned for survivors. Or in this case, survivor. or in this case, Survivor. He pulled me aboard and on a 19-hour trip back to Sydney, him and the soon-to-be Beddows hatched their plan.

They had the manifesto of all the workers, found the blokes with no families, not hard to find amongst oil rig workers who spend six months of the year away, picked out guys that they kind of looked like and said, we're them. That day, he killed James Armitage, the terrorist, and he became Lionel Trevor, heroic survivor of the great, glorious Scott Raid. The world didn't know, but I always knew what he was. And I never worked another day in my life. They paid up, So I shut up.

But I wanted more. So I took more. And more. And more. They both gave me everything. Because they bloody took everything on that rig. They can repent all they want. I know what they are, who they are.

Murderous pirates. Beddows sent a coded message claiming you told all. Yep, I did. Told his family, told his local church where, by the way, he had the audacity to preach values and bloody ethics. Disgusting. And what does a coward do when he's cornered? For ten points, anybody?

I'll tell you. They hang themselves in the garage. You ain't got a garage, have you, young Vic, eh? Ah, don't matter, your dad ain't got long. Get out. Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut your trap, I'm leaving. Get out now. Ooh, steady.

The murderous bastard gene runs in the family. Gate out! Okie dokie. So, bread. Yeah, bread. Check. Uh, not that one. What's wrong with it?

A lot. A lot is wrong with it. Get this loaf here. Okay. Ah, not that one. What's wrong with it? A lot. A lot is wrong with it. Get the stove here. OK. Now, eggs. Free-range eggs or organic eggs? Er, what's the difference? I believe the square metres of roaming space. Organic gals have more, free-range gals get a little less.

Let's go organic. Organic it is. Have you heard from him today? Sheryls. Wait, you call him... You call him Sheryls? No, actually. Just came out.

It doesn't work, does it? Yeah, I spoke to him this morning. Is he okay? Yeah, he's... Alright. He's just... He feels guilt, I think. But it's swirling around in some other hang-ups he has.

Why does he feel guilt? He spoke to me about my dad when he cracked the case. I think he... Maybe he knew he was going to forever change how Victor sees his father. Probably just tried to gauge how I would feel if... I don't know. But he was...

He wanted solace in that department. Maybe I gave it to him. Maybe I didn't. Who knows? Oh, hey, look. Ooh, an orchid. Now, I know what you're going to say.

They always die. But we're not idiots. You know, with the right dedication, research, the right touch, I think we can really take care of this guy. Nurture it just the right way. Shall we? Shall we get one for 221A? I think we should. Yeah, think it's dead.

Murdering pirate terrorists. Come on, you didn't expect that, did you? Let's hear it for that editing and production by our sound designer, John H. Watson. Wow. Great work with the music there. if you're expecting that every week you can piss off took me ages anyway

yeah I'm going to redo this tell the listeners to piss off John that's a good idea isn't it my idiot Thank you.