Abbey Grange - Part Three

Previously on Sherlock and Co. So we have a robbery. We do. And use this, I would say, being the larger of the two women, bore the brunt of their attack upon entry through the window. Yeah, quite an attack. Multiple strikes. Dozens and dozens. I think I need to elevate this and stop messing around. We are not messing around. Guys! What? John! What? She died. Yous this died? What's Sherlock saying about the case? I think he's just trying to work out how these little shits got into the room right now. Little shits? Yeah, sorry. So some gang-related incidents throughout the area right now, and they have been lingering around Abbey Grange. That's the care. It looks like they forced entry, took it out on one old woman, tied up the other, and nicked all the... Yeah, the valuables. And Sherlock, did he say this? Did he say what? Did he say that the gang did this? I don't think so, but they definitely did it. They didn't do it. What are you talking about? I'm talking about the crime. Margaret, recall the events for me one last time. Can you stop interrupting my mother, please? I don't know if you've noticed, but she's been through a lot. Yes, through an enormous amount. Some youths from the local park scaled the walls, burst in through her window, tied her to the chair, and beat her fellow resident to death. Is that what happened? Yes. That's the sequence of events. Is it Margaret? Margaret, I... I want to thank the police if you see them. They are busy tracking down the killer, Mrs Brackenstall. Good. I'm not looking in Randall Park. A rather unnecessary field trip, I'd say. Sorry, this is... How exactly is that unnecessary? Because, Mr Crocker, the killer is not in Randall Park. The killer is in this room. Hi all. Welcome to the final part of the adventure of Abbey Grange. Sorry again that I withheld this case for so long. I hope... I think I did the right thing. I hope you can forgive me for keeping it from you, and I hope that the themes and content in this particular adventure aren't too hard-hitting. Trigger warnings can be found in the episode description. I'll see you at the end. And a local claimed that they saw you outside Abbey Grange residential home around the time of the murder. Now... Outside? Outside, correct. Well, that local, for me then, bruv. Right, okay. Well, look, it is reasonable to assume... Reasonable? Nah, if this was reasonable, we'd be chatting on the road. On my turf, helping man out. Not in here, because you patterned it like that. You slap me in the room, then wanna hear a man talk? Nah. That's not reasonable. None of this shit ain't nowhere near reasonable, big man. What we're looking for in this situation, okay, is cooperation. You ain't... No, no, we absolutely are. I can assure you. I've been cooperating since this afternoon, bro. It only cooperating to you when you hear what you wanna hear. Well, if we're not cooperating, then what are we doing? We be stereotyping, man. One of us, aka, fucking you, in the big boy's shit with the pads and the gear, be stereotyping. How so? Please. Nah, I'm serious. I'd like to know. Please shut your mouth with that. You're wasting tape on this recorder, you know. Never ask gaslight and shit. So that's it, then, is it? That's it. I can't do my job, because people might feel hard done by, they might feel judged or stereotyped. Is that what we're saying? Put it this way, an elderly woman got her face smashed in, mate. I know it, bro. Disgusting. But God forbid I'm stereotyped. God forbid I take up someone's afternoon. Okay, he wanted to hang out in the park with his friends, but now he's gotta go and help in a murder inquiry. Poor guy, what a poor little fellow. I lose 50 afternoons a year with this shit. Have you heard yourself? Sort your priorities out. Look into my eyes. Look. Yeah, I'm looking. Now listen to the words that come out of my mouth. Not a single one of us went into that place. Not a single one. And if I found out one of my boys, if the man and them thought they were gonna pop through the window and do that kind of shit, you'd be dealing with another murder. And I'd happily, gladly, bro, gladly, take full responsibility. While she was crying and screaming, alright, guy, big build, bro stocky bed gym, crossfit looking, bro. Mm-hmm. Boldhead. Eastfield in this car with shit. He's crazed. Proper. A muscly, bald, white guy. Well, now who's stereotyping? You wanted the truth. You got it. Now what you gonna do about that information, rough? If I was in the Navy. Sorry, what? If I was in the Navy. What car would I drive? Clearly, decorated. Many years of service. Can we return to the old woman and her son, who we've just accused of being murderers? I enjoy theatre as much as the next man wants, but in order to discard the convenient truth and expose the inconvenient one, we need evidence. Right, and we're just gonna walk through the car park until we find it? Here, look. What? That is clearly the car of a man that was in the Navy. How on earth are we coming to that conclusion? Well kept, old, reliable, sensible purchase, reasonable mileage, some discoloration on the brake discs. That would mean lengthy times without use. Can you see here? When I put in its MOT details, that garage, yes, two and a half miles from a Naval college, you must do some teaching too. Judging by what I can see through the driver's side window, we've got no jewellery, but in fairness, whether it's sold or not purchased, you wouldn't leave that in a vehicle. You also wouldn't rob your mum, mate, if we're trying to psychoanalyze here. Let's hope that the boot offers the other significant piece of evidence. Which is what? Well, I can show you. Locked, of course. So I may have to, um, let me just grab Mike the Mic a second. Sure, why do you need... Sorry, listeners. What is wrong with you? I'm just eager to find the truth. Watson, that's all. Is that a crime? Well, yeah, apparently. Ah, well, consider me guilty. Oh, God. What is that? Evidence. Sorry, excuse me, um, do you know how much longer? It's, er, all these way. Oh, great. Thank you. Thank you. Kent Police is in dire need of recruitment. I think nearly all public services are in dire need of recruitment, mate. And the operating software they're using is no longer supported. Can you not touch the computers of police officers, please? Thank you. Look, before you start... Ah, Stanley, how you doing, mate? Good, John. Uh, well, um, no, not good, actually. What's wrong, PCSO Hopkins? Did your senior colleagues fail to charge our little Randall Park friends? They, um, yeah. That seems to be the case. Yeah. Evidence somewhat insubstantial, I would imagine. Yes, um, something like that. Well, I am rather tired and all this standing around gloating isn't helping. So, let's crack on, shall we? Uh, crack on with what exactly? The arrest. Come, come. Wait, what? You just left? No. Well, yes, actually, but it was on official investigatory business. Right, er, how so? We broke into Margaret's son's car. You did what? I just needed to grab something. What, what exactly did you need to grab? A standard-issue NHS adjustable walking metal stick with a base diameter of 30 millimetres and a shaft diameter of 19 millimetres, of course. Of course. And, um, sorry, what if our killer gets away? They're not allowed to. Can only be discharged by a medical professional. What, what on earth? Hello, everyone. Good evening. Hello. Hi, er, hi, Reg. Hi, Francis. Who are you? I feel so used. Hi, Bill. Graham. Dave. John. Put him down, Gillian. You don't know where he's been. Hello there. Could we get an evening dosage of galantamine for Mrs Brackenstall, please? In her room. Thank you. Sorry, well, well, hang on. She's already had it. I assure you she hasn't. Right away, please. She's not in her room. She will be. I'd like to do this in private. They're over there. Indeed they are. Come, come. Sherlock, please. She is a delicate, sweet old woman. Fuck off and leave me alone. Pigs. What the... We didn't do anything and you want answers from me, do you? Well, you can piece off. Margaret, that's enough. Margaret, it's... er... I'm Dr Watson. This is Sherlock Holmes. We spoke... Oh! Do you remember? You were tied up... Beat it out, you little tart. Little tart? Speak properly, fool! Full? Margaret. Lovely Margaret. I was wondering if we could discuss the crime that took place in your room yesterday. I didn't see you yesterday. I assure you, you did. I didn't. I was working in Manchester. Not that it's any of your business. Who do you think you are? A pair of wet shits? This is my house. My house, you just... My house, you bitch! Well, well, Margaret, Margaret, bitch! Margaret, that's enough. Mum, mum, please. Who are you? Get your hands off me! Mum, it's okay. Everyone, let's... I think it's time for another film. What do we think? Oh, look at this! Love in the Orient. Fist. Does that sound good, you lot? Oh, lovely jubbly. All right, Sherlock, take them upstairs. We'll do. You know my life's been a fathom! Shut up, you silly! You are, John. You'll be tense. Yeah, yeah. I'm concerned that white guy's gonna do the accent again. He's from China, that one. No, don't think he is. Oh, God, that's a karate kick. Very violent, isn't it? Yep. Yep. It can be over there. In that part of the world. Right, I'm gonna... Ah, ah, check on Sherlock. How is she? Sleeping. Please leave. You know I can't do that. Jack, we just want the truth. Because something horrific happened here. Jack. You don't understand who we're dealing with here. Who? Margaret? Not me, Mum. Eustace Yates. Ah, first matter when I was... Oh, gosh. I don't know. Eight years old. My dad had just died. Oh, sorry. Yeah. Long, long time ago now. Obviously. He had the jewellery place. A few of them, actually. And we were, well, living luxury, I suppose. First to get a SNES. First of all my mates to go on holiday abroad. Nice clothes. Got sent to a private school nearby. But then... Yeah. Cancer. For Dad. He, erm... Well, he passed and we... Well, we moved down here. She wanted to be back in Kent where she's from. And when he died, Mum was obviously struggling. So she reached out to a few local WI type women. Just for, you know, emotional support, really. Don't know what an eight year old boy can do for a woman that's just lost her husband, so... Yeah. She met Eustace and... Like that they sent me away. For schooling. Just saw them on school holidays. Sometimes not even then. Every time I saw Mum, she was... That bit poorer. That bit sadder. Bruisers, scratches, limps. But it's me, Mum. You know, you've met her. And not the one you've just dealt with. The one before. Just... Look, she's delicate. She's always been... She's so... Sweet. Exactly. And Eustace saw. I obviously didn't understand it, even remotely at the time, because I was so young. But she saw someone to exploit. To torment. To, you know, she was like a parasite. The worst kind. A cancer. Me dad got it in his lungs. And Mum got it in the form of Eustace. She just... Destroyed her. But... She never knew it, you know. She was brainwashed by that fucking evil cow. Honestly. You know, I think even as a young lad I knew something was wrong. I just wanted to get even further away. I joined the Navy, and after some ill-advised behaviour put it that way, they had me meet with a counsellor type person. And yeah, I met my now wife. She was a... Well, she is a psychologist, and she just banged, spotted it right away. My Mum and Eustace. That thing that I've been trying to understand from such a young age. The bullying, the manipulation, the dependency. It took her a few months to break it to me. The little boy inside, we just couldn't accept that Mum was unhappy, I suppose. And yeah, we took action. Still got all the evidence at home if you want to see it. A brutal, sustained coercion and grooming of my Mum for, well, over a decade. And we got her. Eustace got banged up. She got four and a half years, I think. Didn't hear from her again. The Mrs and I had got married, we'd had our kids. We had Mum living with us for a while. Bliss, yeah. But it lasted. Then things deteriorated. I remember her asking me one day in the garden. Her garden, really, after all the work she'd done to it. She just said, where am I again, love? Yeah, at least. That was the garden centre. She thought we were at the garden centre. And I... My heart just sank. Got worse from there. Well, that's what it does, though, doesn't it? It got... It just got so difficult. The sweetness just left as you saw. And then, well, eventually, we got her in Abbey Grange. And how did you find your paths crossing with Eustace Yates after all that time? Yeah, so a couple of months ago, actually. I'm talking to her, and all I ever heard was about them, not that gang. That's all they talk about in here. It's like there's some enemy at the gates. They love it. But this one day, she's not banging on about them. She says an old friend has moved into Abbey Grange, and I'm thrilled for her, honestly. It felt so... Well, I just felt bad for putting her in here. I mean, it's only temporary at the end of the day, because, well, her needs are going to get more and more complex, so she'll be moved on again. But I just want her to enjoy it, you know, while she can. And I go, that's great! She says she's going to be sharing a room with her. She's been looking after her, caring for her, and it just sounds... Well, sounded perfect. Until I visit. And... After watching her in the courtroom 20 years ago... And now staring at her. Staring at this fucking monster co-living in a room with my mum. Eustace Yates. God almighty. I-I-I'll lose it, man. Just snap, gone. Head, gone. The place banned me. I just said, she's gone, she's out. What's more, I'm going to get the place shut down. I can see the fucking bruises on her. I can see it, man, in her eyes. I-I managed to finally get everything in order. Local authority speaks to this place, and, well, I can-I can visit again. And all this safeguarding bollocks. Yeah. And... And that was yesterday, yeah? Yeah. God. Everything all right? How's it going? Sh-sh, hold on Stanley. I'm so sorry, mum. Please go, please don't wake her, can we just... Can we just do this down at the station or... Or-or anything? Did you kill Eustace? Oh, god. Stanley, please, mate, just hold on. Jack, did you kill Eustace Yates? Did you beat her to death in this room? I-I-I um, I um, she-she was... So what happened? Don't. What? Don't, Jack. But, she's a very, she's a psycho, you see. Don't lie. I-I'm not, please, please. What you were doing is noble but will not help your charge. Sherlock, he didn't kill Eustace. Then... Who did? Maltese's bunnies, they're back. But like a hot person on an escalator going the other way, they're not here for long. They're a temporary thrill. Like those two days you were a morning person, or a bank holiday, or that TV show that criminally only got one season. Or even that 24 hour post where your bum looked outrageously good. Some treats you just have to enjoy while they last. Maltese's bunnies, here but only for Easter. Maltese's, look on the light side. She changed, didn't she Jack? Hmm, yeah. Dementia's nasty trick. It presents people in their reverse form. The nasty become nice. The nice become nasty. Belligerent. Angry. Yeah. Identity is something we begin to build the second we enter this world. For many it becomes firm. Unshakable. Fixed deep into the foundations of who we are. For others it wobbles. Cracks, decays and can even crumble entirely. For her whole life, your mother built herself to be the Margaret Bracken store that she wanted to be. Sweet, kind, considerate, conflict averse, polite, affectionate. These traits give you love. They give you family and friends and when managed carefully, they can give you a fuller life than those more cynical, skeptical and isolated types could ever imagine. That was her construct. And it served her well. But... Dementia is a wrecking ball. For a long time I didn't quite understand the need to become someone I'm not on such a regular basis. To converse, to share feelings, to be curious about the livelihood to others, to matter to people and have them matter to me. But I realised if I was to knock it all down, what would I be left with? I would be left with many things but nothing that makes life... life. When you came in the room, Jack, what did you see? Eustace was... on the floor. Just... coat and... coated in the in the blood. Her face was... I only recognised her clothes, to be honest. You're a man of action. A commander in the Navy, you faked a robbery, tied your mother up with a rather impressive knot, I must say. It's wrong. It's so wrong. You were protecting her. They're just kids, man. I tried. I blamed it on some poor kids who already get enough shit. Jack, just... and then the weapon. The walking stick. Eustace used a walking stick, of course. Yes, and Jack here took the blood-spotted walking stick of Eustace away, along with the jewellery, to his car. A man of your frame, your size, would not have required so many blows against the skull of an elderly woman. Your mother, on the other hand, even when full of rage having missed her morning medication, required multiple. Dozens. You made sure her untethered mood was remedied with the pill left on the side. You poured her a glass of water and made her swallow her dosage. Don't. Please just stop. Um, Sherlock, I was just, um... Jack, this here is PCSO Stanley Hopkins of Kent Police. He may try to arrest you, but I feel it is my responsibility to advise you on the law, as I am so familiar with it. He is not authorized to do so, do you understand? Sherlock. Not authorized to arrest you, but... his reluctance to make said arrest is not only down to his lack of authority, nor his almost non-existent experience. He, like me, is stricken by the problem we find ourselves in. The inconvenient truth that it is not a bunch of rowdy hoodlums to use the word bounded around downstairs. It was not the enemy we all craved it to be, but the hero. The friend, the ally. A beautiful, elderly woman who has had an extremely difficult life, and now who faces her hardest challenge yet in the form of mental decline. Eustace has faced the bloody consequences of being her torturer, her captor, and her abuser all these years. Margaret's condition it would seem has taken so much, but it has returned her in that momentary fit of rage, a final taste of freedom. Morality is something I speculate on because I often struggle to understand it. To my colleague, however, my companion, it is purely natural. Woven into his very fibre, I will let him make this judgment. Sherlock. PCSO Hopkins, come. Let Watson deliberate. Oh, I must have dozed off, love. It's okay, Mum. Don't worry. Hello, John. Everything all right? Yeah. All good. Margaret, all good. Why do I try? Why don't I try to forget? It must happen that something love is causing. We are gathered here today because, well, my rental bike got a flat tire, but we are gathered here today. Two months late, I might add. Get on with it. Gathered here today on the something of July, I think, 2025, good Lord, to celebrate and honour the life of Margaret Brackenstall, a spirit that showed me the true power of personality, what it takes to hold it all together when inside there is such turmoil. She didn't do that for herself. She did it for her family, for her friends, for all whom she met. Not a single day in her life was easy or straightforward, but she never complained. Never wanted to bring anyone else down. Always wanted to be the sunshine, never the rain. Such was your charm, Margaret. I call just about every contact I have to get you a psychiatric assessment and no prison time. No trial, even, just to live out your life. Your son, you don't know this, but I can tell you now, he actually did do some prison time, but he was allowed to visit until they quite rightly shut the place down for, well, negligence, obviously, but your most impressive feat, Margaret. You got me to shelve an episode. Hey. Hey. Hey, Archie Boy. For 18 whole months, just because I didn't want you getting in any more trouble, or you to be ashamed, or... Or you to be ashamed, or... Yeah. Yeah, I sat on the adventure of Abbey Grange. How did it go? Did you catch the killer? Um, yeah. Yeah, we got him. So what happened? Oh, uh, you will have to listen. Right, right. Hey, so Christmas decorations. I'm listening. I hope I did the right thing. I never be me. And that you didn't feel any shame in your final days. Not that your mates in there could give it a listen. Half of them couldn't even hear me when I was sat right next to them. You know, I do think about those lot every now and again, wondering if they're still with us. Are you quite finished? Sorry, there seems to be a pretty abusive heckler at this funeral, Margaret. Um, I'm also sorry because it has gotten properly late here now, and I'm just... I'm standing in a graveyard, and that's a bit spooky, but yeah, you... You may not have been case number five, which, yes, would have been great exposure, but, uh... I hope you don't mind being case number 31. 32? 32. Your lucky number. How about that? Take care. Hope wherever you are, you're... You're finally free. Bye-bye, Margaret. Goodbye, Margaret. Hey, you found a bike? Indeed. Is it a rental? Yes. Different branding and tent. Ah. Okay, right, well, where are we off to? Home. Watson. Let's go home. Let's. Hey, that's my fucking bike! Go, go, cycle, cycle! You're fucking a boy! Took their bike! You're a boy! Pussies! Shout out! Hey, everyone. Well, I finally got to share it with you. That was the adventure of Abby Grange from way back in 2023. And, uh, yeah, to be honest, I would rattle off some interesting things that happen in that year, but I can't honestly remember any. I'll tell you what happened in 2024. I launched the Patreon. And I am... Well, all of us. Sherlock, Mariana, Archie. We're all so Graham, too. We're all so proud of it. It's got vast mountains of content that you will love, and it is going to get so much more exciting, exclusive stuff. I'm off into the Discord now to see what everyone thinks of the adventure, and what they think of me snogging a pensioner. Uh, cheers.