The Man with the Twisted Lip - Part Two

Audio books, every early access adventures, mailbag episodes, case file episodes, AMAs, behind the scenes, micro adventures, authored by Watson himself, a discord channel was nearly 2000 chat to little members, merchandise discounts, exclusive events, and yes, done. Yeah, it's the most important bit, mate. Oh. Patreon.com, forward slash, Sherlock and Co. Thanks. I want to know about a place. A place? Yeah, a place I can't locate, but I know exists. Name. Clinic. K-L-I-N-I-K. Nothing online about it. At all. Yeah, I know. But I'm not going in there unless I have to. What is clinic, where is it? For nearly 200 years, it was a leaky, damp old dungeon that served the opium addicts of the city. It was an opium then. Yep. It doesn't sound like one now, it sounds quite upmarket, if anything. Clinic with decay. Decay is for ketamine, John. Get off me. Where is this man? No phones in here. Oh, sorry, you have a screen time detox, are you? God, you need to see a doctor. It is my face. I'm talking about the wounds on your face. You need to see a doctor, do you understand me? Leave him alone. How about you, mind your own business? Can't you see the man's disfigured? Hey, I said leave it. Shut up. What are you doing here? What are you doing here? You were in a crackdown during the Christmas holidays. It wasn't a crackdown, then I wouldn't frequent such a thing because crack cocaine use has become too talkative and you know I can't tolerate that. Do you know what I mean? I know what they do there. I know what you're on. You don't. Wiggins told me. It's ketamine. That's why we're arguing about ketamine because you're taking ketamine. I'm not taking ketamine, John. Sherlock, I'm not. Oh, what are you doing in there and why would you lie to me? I didn't lie to you. I was working. Do you've been working on this for five years? Yes. How did I not know this? Because I'm the shame, I suppose. Now I haven't solved this case. Ruby, a friend from the Christmas party. Her husband, Neville St. Clair, disappeared five years ago. He was a rather successful trader in the city, married to Ruby and had a son together, Noah. Noah. Noah has Angelman syndrome, a deletion of Chroma's own 15 nonverbal, global development delay, learning complications. Right. Wow, that is tough for Ruby. Ruby's husband and Noah's father, Neville, went missing on Christmas Eve 2020. What this case asks of me is to believe in Christmas miracles. Oh, exactly. Because every 25th of December Noah wakes up to a gift from his father. You think you can figure this out after five years? The festivities have got me feeling that anything is possible. This is the season dear Watson and Sherlock Holmes is coming to town. Jingle bells, etc. How are we? Yep. Good. Great. Welcome back. This is the adventure of the man with the twisted lip. This episode and part three actually contain a very sweary woman. There is nothing I can nor want to do about it. So this is just me warning you. Okay, bye. Quiet. Very. Like walking in a winter wonderland, wouldn't you agree? I mean, it's Lee, South East London. It's all right. One that lands a bit far. The seed is just up here on the end. Seed is. That's her house. Correct. They are bigons. Yes, the city traders do seem to like them on the large side. They do indeed. Just here. Time to hear the case of Neville St. Clair, the case that stumped the great Sherlock Holmes. Stumps? Hmm? The case that stumps the great Sherlock Holmes. Stumped suggests I failed. But you have. I'm here, aren't I? At the door? Yeah, there's a failure. Aren't you glad we're spending Christmas together? No. It's lovely to see you again, John. I didn't know you'd be helping Sherlock out. Not that you need help, lovely. Well, I fear I do, Ruby. This being our fifth year. Stop it. It's more time and attention than the bloody police. This is a lovely home. Yeah, no, we're very lucky. For now, the, I don't know if Sherlock told you, insurance companies don't really pay out in such circumstances. Life insurance. You mean third, for Neville? That's right, yeah. But fingers permanently crossed in this house. Oh, nice. I like the padded carpet. It's from my son. He can hit his head on the floor when frustrated or when happy or just any fucking occasion will do. Right, yes, Angelman's syndrome. Sherlock said, I hope that's okay. Now, of course, don't be daft. I'm not embarrassed to talk about my beautiful boy. Am I love, eh? Look at that big smile. Hello, Noah. Oh, I know that face. He needs the toilet. Come on, my love. Yeah. Come on. Can I get anything? Can you just get that door for me? Of course. Yeah. He's heavy at 12. I hope he figures this out before he's 20. At 2 cents. I'll make a cup of tea. Thanks, Sherlock. And there, John. Oh, thank you, mate. Uh, uh, right. Cup of tea, cheers, anyone? Of course, yeah. Let's have some of that. Clink. Here we go. Cheers. Merry Christmas. Wish, Lowe, and... Like, I'm just going to say it, because I can see it on your face. See what on my face? You're being all bloody glum and mopey. I am absolutely not. None of this is your fault, Sherlock. It's a case. It's a mystery, right? They're meant to be challenging, OK? Yes, I know, but it has been five years, and I'm no closer to it. Hey, you think I give a toss, whether it's two years, five years, ten years? Well, yes, you should. It's just a deleture, look. That's all. My whole life is on delay, right? I mean, I've got a near teenager in there watching the fucking Teletubbies. I tell you what, if you ever hear the Teletubbies have been shot dead in cold blood, you found the killer right here. Oh, I cannot just that big fucker with the bag. Tinky-winky. Or for wanker. Oh, god. But it makes him happy. Where was I? A delays. Part of my life, OK? Turn that fucking frown upside down, OK? I've only just finished changing that piece. I'm in no rush. I know Neville is out there, right? I know he is. And you know he is. And even nowhere knows, which means we can get him back. And that's all I need to know, all right? But what I don't bloody need is your soppy little face moping around my kitchen, because that makes me feel bad. So are we going to be happy? A, be fucking Mary and Bright and all that bollocks, yeah? Yes, fine. Well, drink your tea, eat your biscuit. Well, that's you told. Yes, Merry Christmas. How you doing anyway, John? Good. Yeah, sorry, we didn't get to chat much at the party, did we? Always the way. But now you know how sure luck and I know each other. Sad way to get to know someone, but still, glad we did. Right. So, sorry, I hope you don't mind me. No, we're going to go for it. When he disappeared on that Christmas Eve, was there any indication to you that it was deliberate? In what way? Well, I'm just, if we think he's still out there, there has to be a question as to why he hasn't come back. And usually when people won't return, it's because they left. Sorry, it sounds cruelly coming out of my mouth in my head. No, no, it's fine. I get what you mean now. So basically, I mean, I'll fully rewind here. I met Nerval when I was doing... I have to keep my voice down because no, I mean, I can sway, obviously, because he can't talk, so he's not going to repeat it. But I don't want him knowing this. I was doing a particular job in the city. That's paid well, but didn't require the qualifications. If you know what I mean. Great, you don't know what I mean. I worked with a poll and I don't mean a bloke from Warsaw. Get what I mean? Ah, okay. Yeah, there we go. I would do that. Weekdays, really bloody rowdy, hard work, you know. I mean, they're bad, so-but-that lot. Pump them full of alcohol and coke and show them, well, big ol' pair of boobs and they're even worse. Yeah, can imagine. So weekdays were like that because the city is alive in the week, right? But at the weekend, dead as a door-nil. Anyway, it's not a glamorous how we met story this, but I'll tell it. Hopefully he'll show up just to ball at me for telling it. I would take Sunday night bar shifts because you never had to get up and dance because there was no one in there, which meant not much money. But I had peace and quiet and still got paid. So I would do that and I'd work on my degree and whatever else, right? In Mox's Sky, I say to him, what can I get you, sort of thing? And he goes, this was a strip club last time I was here. I think, oh, he's angling for a little dance. So I show him. I mean, it literally is a menu of naughty things he can have, right? Yes, I've just seen one in a massage parlour. Have you? Have you? It's a long story, carry on. And he just puts it to one side and he says, my name is Neville. I said, my name, oh god, don't laugh. Okay, but I go, my name is Vixen. I said, don't bloody laugh. Sorry. Anyway, what was it? Yeah, what he said. Oh, yeah, he goes, how much for a private dance? And I go blah, blah, blah, blah, you know, this much. And he goes, right, not worth it. And I'm about to go off on him, because rude, right? But he carries on. He goes, not worth it for you, how much so you can study full time. And you don't have to dance in front of those one, because every night. And I sort of, I step back. I mean, this is pretty woman's sort of stuff, you know. But it wasn't. It didn't feel arrogant to me. It was like he was really weighing it up. Still romantic, like, I didn't, but it was almost like he had a, like he wanted me to achieve kind of feel to it. I can never tell the story and get that sense across. There was a magic to his words that was beyond rich man's saves girl. It was so considered. And yeah, anyway, I don't bloody know how he did it, but we would meet up just for coffees and I didn't, I never had a relationship like it before. It's like we came at it from the other end, you know. We became trusted, loving best friends first. And then just couldn't, you know, keep your hands off each other. Bingo, correct answer. Exactly. I did my psychology degree. I started my masters and after a little holiday in the South of France, I missed my period. But he's get paused, baby on the way, lovely, jebly. Well, not quite, I mean, bloody scary, because I was young, but exciting, you know, we had this place by then, so no, it was born. And yeah, did the whole baby thing sing him songs, pulling faces, pointing out every bloody duck and cat and doggy? Are you seeing them? Young parents in the park, exhausting watching them, but yeah, did all that. And I just had this nagging feeling. I just would look into his eyes and I knew he wasn't looking back. Physically he was, of course, but he was not, he was struggling. He was stuck in there, you know. We'd go to these baby classes and I'd be doing anything to try and get some reaction out of him, get him communicating in any way, anyway at all. Yeah, those places I'd catch other babies pointing or clapping out of the corner of my eye and I would just think, oh, fuck. Something is wrong. I tell Neville, he's a bit more hopeful, but still as clueless as I am. The months go by, the milestones don't get reached or we might get one like blabbering, but a day or two later it's gone. Go to the doctor, they fancy it for autism. Get assessed, but at the time you've gone through that waiting list, you know, I mean, by the time we got there they diagnosed him with angel and syndrome. And what is that exactly? Like autism, but without the kind of spectrum to it really, just definite global development delay, cognitive delays, non-verbal, as you've seen already, unusually happy. It literally says that on the diagnosis thing you get, unusually happy. Yeah, there's worse things, right? You know, like this miserable git. I am merely trying to solve a case ruby. I'm winding you up. Yeah, they used to be called puppet child syndrome or they'd be called puppet children. Why? Oh God, testing me now. Well, Harry, Angelman, Harry Angelman, yeah, sort of discovered it. He saw a painting, I think, in Italy, of a boy drawing a puppet and the puppet reminded him of his patients. As you saw when I was taking him to the toilet, you know, their limbs can sort of flop around because they're so often unusually happy, the arms kind of fly around like a puppet on a string. I think maybe someone maybe thought that name was cruel and it became Angelman, but yeah, God, when are we going with the story? This is meant to be about never. Sorry. Yeah, I can't lie. Love the man very much, but never took it badly. He was already stressed with his job and being a parent with special needs child is not... You can't live for you anymore. You just can't. Yeah, all parents will say that, but until you've structured your life around needs, you don't have for a person that's, be honest, you don't understand and may never understand, you have to lock part of your way, you know, forever, because he's not leaving the house at 18, is he? No. He's, uh, he'll be with me until I go and then what the fuck happens to him and these were the conversations I'd have with Neville and I thought that Neville was angry about that. You thought? Yeah, basically six months or so before he disappeared, he'd been awful, debts of despair, misery, he got to work every day, just almost grey, everything was piled up and just crushing him, but I say he'd got to work. He wasn't? He wasn't. When he went missing, I called this company. They said he hasn't worked here for... Six months, hence the misery. Bingo again, six months. I said, where is he? They said, we don't bloody know love, I call the police and they're all, yeah, it all just kicks off then, doesn't it? No sign of him, but they did show me old footage of him. Sure enough, he'd leave this house. Buy love off to work, type thing. Was he off to work? Was he, Bollocks? Not till he do. He just waltz around London from the looks of it, right? Popping in the museums, having a bit of a lunch, job interviews now and again, I'm sure. But then he'd come home, hire love, long date at the office, blah, blah, fucking blah. Some of my mates say like, oh he carried that burden because he knew it would be stress on you and all this and I'm like, do me a favour. Why do you think I can't handle that? Why do you think I'm going to fall apart because you got fired? I don't need a bloody four-story townhouse in Lee. I'm... Anyway, I'm just going to run, no. They found his coat, didn't they? When was that? March 2021, dredged from the Thames. Really battered it, wasn't it? But his wallet was in there. Yeah, that was... Rath, that was heartbreaking. But then I saw him, didn't I? You did. She did. Where, when? In that horrible place. Clinic, is it? Clinic with a K. Indeed. It was in there, in the ketamine place. So, every day, no, I was in K. I would go around near where he used to work, near where he met. I'd loop around down by the Docklands, and I was walking past that building of that awful place. I mean, I didn't know it at the time, obviously. The bottom windows were all frosted and that. You couldn't see in. But something inside me told me to look up. Just this once, total off-chance, and I did. And there he was. What was this? About six months after his disappearance, I'd say. And that's when I got Shoe Lock involved. Upon entering clinic for the first time, all those years ago, I observed the actions of a man by the name of Hugh Boone. Uh-huh. He would beg for money, yet treat himself to these ketamine-fueled indulges. But there was a very notable thing about Mr. Boone. An orange hand. He had an orange hand. Not quite. His watch. A Rolex explorer. A very particular one made between 1971 and 1974 that had an orange hand. Correct. And that's exactly the watch Neville had. Mr. Boone was questioned by police when the coat was found. He was nearby with stains up to his knees of dark, temp, silt, and sludge. He refused to cooperate. I brought to their attention sometime later that he seemed to be now wearing Neville's watch. This is the guy. This is the guy they arrested but couldn't charge. Indeed, I could have tried harder, but not all that easy to do without a body. I even had confirmed DNA traces of Neville on Boone's clothing. Wow. But, yeah, I mean, they can't go for murder because, well, no corpse. But also, you said there's gifts each year. There are gifts. From Santa Claus? Nope. Father Christmas? Same person. Yes, I know, thank you. They say from Daddy on them. So... That is insane. Yep. They just appear under the tree. Every year. Baffling. Speaking of gifts, I have something for you, Sherlock. You do? I do. What exactly? Well, I haven't asked him yet because I was going to do it with you here. But I spoke to one of Noah's carers and she said when he was at school, Noah was looking at a man out the window and the man was looking back. Description? She didn't have one because the second she came over the fellow buggered off. How intriguing. Last night, Noah was completely dysregulated, so I was never going to get anything out of him. But we've done everything as we should this morning, all the things in the right order. He's got his favourite socks on. He's even had his favourite cereal. He's got that purple wanker on the tally. You have his AAC. Oh, right here. Then, if you'd be willing, could we hear more of this man outside the window? We can give it a try, can't we? So what's this? AAC? Oh, God, don't. I can never bloody say it. Augmented, evil, alternative, communication. Right. Wow. OK, what does it do? It's a tablet device thingy that allows Noah to communicate. A talk, I mean, sorry. Actually, wow. What's the difference talk? Communicate? Communication can be anything. Him screaming is communication. Him pulling my hand towards something. Him pointing or gesturing. That's communication. He can communicate. He just can't talk. Right. Of course, yeah. Let's give it a whirl. We look here. If I use the letters instead of the pictures. Hello, Sherlock. Hello, John. Nice. Finish your old bloody tea. Prick. That's naughty. Cut that baby. If it ever goes out. Noah, hello. Look, look, look, look, what you're talking. No. Yeah, and I've got some friends here, Sherlock and John. We're all going to have a little chat. That's all right. There you go. Please be in the room. Please be in the room. Hello. Hey. Hello, Noah. Hello, Noah. Where do you live? Where do we live? We live in Baker Street, by Regent's Park. Do you know where? What are you getting for Christmas? Oh, good question. Hopefully the Swindon town away shirt. What about you? Bath time. No. Not bath time yet. Noah, I was speaking to Mrs. Wallace yesterday and she said that there was a friend at the window. You saw a man? I saw a man. Did you know him, Noah? Yes. Yes. Do you see him often? Yes. Who is he? Noah. Who is he? Oh, man. With the twisted lip. Tuesday night on a sofa, watching Tilly with mum again. Pay all could stay with the mothers for life. This is the moment Stephen chose to speak to Barclays about mortgage boost so he could borrow more with help from family or friends. For helping first time buyers get on the property ladder sooner. Such Barclays mortgages. Barclays. Back in your future. Your home may be repossessed if you do not keep up repayments on your mortgage. Subject to application financial circumstances in borrowing is treat, teasing sees apply. Does it ever feel like you're a marketing professional just... Speaking into the void, but with LinkedIn ads you can know you're reaching the right decision makers, a network of 130 million of them in fact. You can even target buyers by job title industry, company roles, seniority skills, company revenue and did I say job title yet? Get started today and see how you can avoid the void and reach the right buyers with LinkedIn ads. Spend 200 pounds on your first campaign and get a 200 pound credit for the next one. Go to LinkedIn.com slash lead to claim your offer. Terms and conditions apply. Why can't we tell her? Because she already fears so many things about Noah. I don't wish for her to fear for his physical safety too. The Christmas parade is a single street left open. But who is he? Sherlock, who is the man with the twisted lip? Boom. Boom. The man that was arrested, you mean in 2021? For the murder of Neville, some Claire, yes. Why is he stalking the kid now? What some special needs school? I don't wish to answer that question. Yeah, well I wish for you too. Answer the question, how about that? You must understand John. I've had this man arrested for a murder. I have watched Hugh Boone in that dreadful place at every possible opportunity. And I cannot understand it. What dreadful place? We would be came to see me all those years ago. She said she had seen Neville in that very building. In clinic with a K? Yes. That is why I frequented it. To search for Neville and the person I saw in there was Hugh Boone. Who would beg for money? Who would ask for anything? Coins cash. Whatever those poor souls had in there. Yes, so... When the coat of Neville was found, the pockets what? I found nearly 40 pounds in change. Blood soaked. The blood of Neville sent Claire. Jesus. During the height of London's attention on the case, Boone hastily tossed the coat he stole into the river. Too hastily. He forgot to empty his pocket. Exactly. And why? Why would Neville be weighed down with change? He wouldn't. But why would Hugh Boone? Because I'd seen him do it. To everyone he can. Spare change. Spare change. I've even given him some myself. He even asked you. Keep... He what? You met him. The... Wait. That guy with the bad face with the... Oh, the twisted lip. Yes. That is Hugh Boone. That is who I was watching. Who I followed so closely. Yet nothing. Nothing but that watch. And that coat can pin him down. I've even snatched items of his old disgusting rotten and half decayed clothes right there in clinic, right under the nose of that last car animal and on them I proved DNA traces of Neville sent Claire. And yet still, I cannot get this man put behind bars. I cannot bring justice to the killer of Neville sent Claire. Excuse me, Christmas parade rehearsal. Can you move back? A parade does not require a rehearsal. Right. Can you move out of the way of the sleigh in the rain, dear, please? Their ponies, Mr. Claus. God, shite. Can you please move back? Just come this way. Just show up. Just... I don't want to confuse. How can you possibly think he's dead? How can we get across town if they're closing all this off a good mistake? Every Christmas. Are you heard from Ruby? Every single Christmas day. Mate, no one wakes up to Christmas presents from his dad. I don't confront that one in Ruby's presents, my dear Watson. Certainly not this time of year. She is a woman of remarkable inner strength. I do not wish to fracture the foundations that hold her together. But I do fear. Yes, I do. Five years is too long. I must shatter her first to be able to put all this together. What are you talking about? Sherlock. Sherlock. You have any idea how difficult it is in this country to be tried for a murder when there is no body. Why do you think Hugh Boone is a free man? You must look at the incentives, Watson. You must. I am, mate. Then you can surely see it. He's dead. Er, her husband really is dead and Hugh Boone is planting those gifts to keep up the pretend that Nevelson Claire is alive. But how is he one thing missing from the dredged, sodden coat Watson? House keys. House keys indeed. Wouldn't she change the locks? If you thought your late husband was dropping gifts off every year as a seemingly ghostly father Christmas, would you change those locks, keep him out of your life and that of your child forever? No, I wouldn't. No, you bloody wouldn't. Good tidings we bring to you and your kin. We wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy New Year. Oh, bring us some piggy boarding. Oh, bring us some piggy. When? When? I've been revisiting the Nevelson Claire case. Remember our chief suspect, Mr. Hugh Boone. Remember that? Good times, eh? Fugger. Any other bright ideas? Not as bright, but an idea nonetheless. Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright. Round your virgin mother and child. What do you want? I want you to have a wonderful Christmas. That is what I want. Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Marvelous sweater Tom. Freeze. It's Christmas. You have the right to remain jolly. Highly amusing. I have always admired your sharp wit. I was saying that on the way here, wasn't I Watson? Yeah, yeah, something like that. How's Christmas, Tom? Busy. Oh, yeah? You're hosting? What gave me away? The turkey based it. Tom, I feel this time of year that we should serve those that need us most. Right. Which is why I require you to formally arrest and charge Mr. Hugh Boone with murder. Thank you so much. Sleep in heaven, Lee. Sherlock. Yes, Tom. You want to arrest a homeless man who begs for money? Correct. Yeah, I don't think you've quite got to grips with this Christmas thing. I have reason to believe. Not this Nevelson Clirthing again. Please, Tom. He was a city trader, Sherlock. He found his coat in the terms by the docks. Yes, exactly. That's literally where the city is. He lost a load of money. He lost his job. He chucked himself off a bridge made. Give it up. Remember? I told you. I detected his blood on Boone himself. Remember? I told you desperate men do desperate things. Boone is pissed poor, severely disfigured and he needs a psychiatric help, right? Do you think he's second guest taking a coat and a nice watch off a dead bloke? That is a crime. So is she having this turkey based right up your ass. But right now, I feel like I've got no choice if I want to get back to my Christmas. If the police cannot serve justice, then I will have to ask my friends to serve it. I advise against that. Merry Christmas, you two. Don't get into any trouble. Hello there. I would like some ketamine, please. Oh, yeah. Yeah. How much exactly, then? I charge us the splash I'm driving. That's a joke. Just whatever the sort of kind of usual dose is. You think I'm as brain dead as my clients do you? Just, you're a business. I've got the money. Just give me the stuff. Please, thank you. Why would I do that? Last car I have been coming here for many years. I have paid more than my fair share. Let us through. I don't trust this little one. Little one. This is the most trustworthy man I know. You know it's funny. I've got a building. Three stories I. Full of addicts to the same substance. And I've got you. Addicted to something else. Not even a something. A someone. Last car, let us through. Addicted to our Mr. Bonature. Fascinating character I have to admit. He's a dangerous man. I'm doing you and your clients a service by removing him from this place. Kettaman is used to blunt what his shop Mr. Holmes. He is used to turn predator to prime. The only dangerous man on a myroof is to claim man. With nothing but anger in his flames. Let him through. Langdale. That shadow does work and I'll let you do yours. Langdale, I don't want any of my clients disturbed. But your clients are disturbed, that's why they're your clients. And as long as they stream in from my pubs, my clubs, and my parties, then you will remain in business. This uh, shush, I know it can't be easy to stand in the shadow of a drag queen as they exercise their power over you. That can be rather trying for a proud little man. So I'll give you the benefit of my considerable doubt. They didn't come here to get it, they get it from worse places. Exactly. Words I told you years ago when we made the deal. Have you nothing original to say? Sherlock Holmes is a fraud. Look around darling. Do any of us gals have the piety to sit atop the tree this Christmas? Twinkling amongst the baubles and the snow globes? I don't think so. Do you? There is no naughty list for us, Mr. Nascar. Nor is there a nice one. Why? Because we get a things a done. And that requires a little light and shade. Does it not? Get off me! Ah, scar! Help! Help! Just put him down! In here! You! Yes, you too. We've got him. Come for me in here. They don't look conscious to me. Let's keep it that way. Stay where you are. You want to cause a police? Good. Tell them I've been assaulted. I'll tell them that, by all means. I'll also tell them that you've been stalking a child, taunting a family who lost their father, spying through the window of a special need school. At a boy who can't even speak to advocate for himself, you are a sick, disgusting man. Is that it? Sit down. You are under arrest for being a sick, disgusting man. I know your game, Boone. No. You don't. Hump. Oh, I assure you I do. He's dead. Neville's not clear. He's dead. So, you keep telling me. But somehow every Christmas little noir gets a gift. Now how can that be? It must be that guy with the raindies and the big sack. What's his name again? You see Mr Boone. We finally got Mr. Lascar down there to cooperate. Turns out we have friends in high and low places. He provided me not only access to your dwellings here, but also with some clinic client documentation. And goodness me, the drug game has come a long way, hasn't it? A form. You have to sign a form. Look at this. I confirm that clinic is not responsible. I am taking these risks myself, blah, blah, blah. Ah, this is the intriguing bit. Dated, signed, printed name. Yep. That's me. I've seen that handwriting before. Shut up. Now where could that have been? Where was it that Ruby St. Clair first contacted me? All those years ago, when she showed me her evidence, I took a picture of the most significant piece. Ah, yes. Here it is. This is Rachel. Oh, best. Christmas note. Merry Christmas to my beautiful noir. Love daddy. Same in 2020. Same in 2021. 23. 24. It? That's nothing. I hope Father Christmas can fill the gap because there will be no present from daddy this year. Now tell me, boom. Where is he? Where is Neville St. Clair? Here. What? Speak louder. I can't. You're recording. His mic. Never mind the mic. If you've got answers, you give them. The mic. These luck could be listening. They are unconscious drug addicts. Mate. Speak. Not. Just nod or shake your head if it pleases you. Did you kill Neville St. Clair? Jesus Christ. It has been trying, Mr. Boone, to be outwitted by your year after year. I'm just relieved to return the favor. You think, do you? That in that silent emission you evaded giving the evidence. And now your tears try for my sympathy. Pathetic. That everything. Oh, your confession is everything. I assure you. But I'm pleased for you. No more lonely Christmas's. Nice to have company for this time of year. Even if it isn't prison. I assure you. That is not happening. A Christmas alone sounds better. If that's all. Oh, but we're not alone, Mr. Boone. We have our wasted, degenerate friends, strewn across the floor, groaning, writhing and contorting as the drug works its way through their body. Yeah. Or at least that's how I told them it works, but these performances are somewhat unconvincing. I'm doing my best, man. I was riving and contorting. What the fuck? I'm talking about him. Are you pointing at me? I'm well convincing you, Nubbed. Get up and arrest him. Oh, no, no, no. Down you go, mate. Down you go. Mr. Boone, you are under arrest. You do not have to say anything. Get up! But it may harm your defense. If you do not mention it, don't question it. Something that you may rely on. Let's it go! To binge this adventure in full and without ads, visit patreon.com-sla-shurlock-n-cub. www.nubbed.com