by Ray Smithies
‘Upon completion, the governor had created his colossus. Inhumane by today’s standards, it was nonetheless an extremely effective means for controlling the prisoners and keeping them at bay. The governor had one remaining task and that was to have three buildings erected above ground. Each served as an entrance to the subterranean passages in addition to providing accommodation for the authorities, while the convicts below served out their remaining years amidst the network of tunnels and chambers.’
‘But how do you know all this?’
‘The story has been passed down through five Simpson generations, all of whom have lived in the Pedley region for nearly two hundred years. My great-grandfather, who apparently was a bit of a rebel and an adventurer, had defied a warning upon discovering one of the entrances and literally walked the entire length of one of these passages,’ said Arthur.
‘If what you’re saying is true, then why haven’t the authorities located this network long before now?’
‘This is where the story takes a twist. Some four or five years after the completion of the underground network, a deadly typhoid epidemic broke out in the region. It was a catastrophe on a major scale and in terms of human lives it wiped out nearly half the population. So huge were the repercussions, the authorities needed to quickly resolve the problem as to where the bodies should be buried, and you guessed it, the subterranean passages became the chosen site. Mass burials in church cemeteries were later exhumed and relocated within the tunnel network in fear the disease would resurface and claim more lives. Such was the panic that no thought or care was ever given to the plight of the convicts, for the many hundreds of corpses were literally carried into these chambers and left to rot amongst the prisoners. In the space of six months or so the underground network had been turned into a massive subterranean cemetery.’
‘And this episode in history actually happened beneath Pedley?’ I was totally engrossed with Arthur’s narration of the past.
‘Precisely. Although the sheer magnitude of the transition had been hailed a success, there was also the need to barricade the site to prevent any further possible spread. The authorities decided to seal the three entrances and demolish the three buildings erected above ground, otherwise if left to stand they would serve as access points to these condemned quarters. Their objective was to leave no trace and it became taboo for anyone to discuss the subject. With the passing of the decades and centuries, the story of the subterranean passages became folklore, or a myth, as you put it earlier.’
‘Arthur, have you seen this underground network?’
‘Never, and I have no desire to.’
‘Why not?’
‘The day they’re rediscovered will be the day Pedley becomes a tourist Mecca for the idle curious. In today’s society the tunnels and chambers would be turned into a haven for outcasts and undesirables alike. No, the place is best left alone unless it’s absolutely necessary. Unfortunately that time has now arrived,’ declared a subdued Arthur Simpson.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘If I was a betting man, Tom, my money would be on the table to lay claim that these subterranean passages are in fact the southern headquarters for the drug syndicate and the very spot where Brigit O’Neill is being held captive.’
I looked at Arthur in disbelief, dumbstruck by this blatant statement. Then I realised it all made perfect sense. The underground provided an ideal place to conduct their operations, store and distribute drugs, in addition to holding people against their will. My heart started racing in anticipation that Brigit’s whereabouts may be resolved after all. I understood this was all speculation, but it did at least appear logical that such a place could exist, and besides, no other leads or ideas were forthcoming.
‘If this is true, how would the syndicate come to know of this network?’
‘By doing their homework well. They’ve explored the theory and have now turned it into reality for the betterment of their cause. My guess is they’ve purchased one of the three original sites while the remaining two are still concealed and undetected. Today we could be looking for a house or a business address that rests upon an entrance.’
‘So how would the syndicate know which property to purchase?’
‘Forget current real estate for the moment. You need to focus on the original three sites within Pedley and where their potential locations may be. If early maps still exist they may help, particularly those which include street names and their relevant structures. Also, the sale of Crown Land all those years ago and resultant buildings may be useful. I don’t pretend to suggest the task will be extremely difficult, but not impossible. If the syndicate has located the source then the material exists.’
‘You understand this information can’t be withheld from the police,’ I said to my rather glum-looking friend, who undoubtedly had come to the realisation this secret could no longer be his alone.
‘Yes, I’m aware of that, Tom. Hence my earlier comment when I said that time has now arrived.’
‘Arthur, where would you start looking for this information?’
‘Initially I can think of two possible leads, the first being the Lands Department in the city where massive archive files are held covering all the municipalities within the state. As to how far back their records are dated, that’s anyone’s guess, but it’s at least worth a try don’t you think?’ he suggested.
‘Certainly, and the second possible lead?’
‘The media, or to be more precise, the tabloids. Start with the Pedley Advertiser with emphasis upon those earlier editions. This newspaper goes back one hundred years and I’m sure at some point in history there have been journalists who have decided to write an article based upon the fact-versus-fiction aspect. Failing the Advertiser, then the city tabloids are worth exploring given they go further back in time,’ advised Arthur.
‘I’ll have to leave this task until after the carnival because the park’s booked out. It wouldn’t be right to leave Emily by herself to face the masses.’
‘You do realise that any search through archives will be a time-consuming exercise. Do you have any objection to my coming too,’ asked my old friend.
‘Of course not, Arthur. Your company and knowledge would be most welcome.’
~ * ~
I
believe we have an informant in our midst,’ declared Neville Bradbury.
This unexpected news literally shook the foundations of Broadbent’s. Morgan, Charlie and Sol simply glared at Bradbury as if they had mistakenly lost something in the translation.
‘What did you say?’ said Morgan.
‘A certain someone has betrayed the organisation.’
‘I better get this right. Are you saying we have a rat among us, Neville?’ asked Sol.
‘Yes, let me explain. Over the past three days I’ve observed the unusually high presence of cops snooping around. If they’re not in patrol cars cruising up and down Covert Road, they’re peering into the place as they walk pass. So why the sudden interest in us? Tell me, have any of you been discussing syndicate matters here after business hours?’
The question drew blank faces, except for Charlie, who could recall a meeting with Ferret some nights back. It seemed fairly innocent at the time, but in his obnoxious manner he let forth with a typically aggressive remark.
‘Bloody Ferret, I’ll kill the bastard!’
‘For Christ’s sake, settle down, Charlie. What’s this all about?’ Sol could only tolerate his colleague in small doses when agitated.
‘I did mention a couple of things,’ confessed Charlie.
‘Oh, and what might that be?’
‘The downscaling of the operation, and the Keeper arrivin’ in town durin’ the carnival this weekend.’
‘Fuckin’ hell, Charlie, have you gone stark raving mad in volunteering classified information?’ roared Sol.
‘But Ferret needs to know the situation.’
‘Yeah, within reason, but not the downscaling of the s
outhern operation. And to tell Ferret about the Keeper’s intended arrival is just not on.’ Sol was livid with Charlie’s behaviour. ‘You’re a fuckin’ liability to the syndicate, breaching our seal of secrecy to some street dealer.’
‘That would be the same night we called into the caravan park,’ offered Morgan, recalling his colleague’s discussion with Ferret while he waited in the car.
‘Yes,’ Charlie acknowledged.
Neville Bradbury intervened, wanting to get the matter back on track and put a stop to the bickering. ‘Tell me, Charlie, was Ferret alone in the warehouse at the time?’
‘Yeah, to the best of my knowledge. We did look around a bit.’
‘Then you can’t be totally sure,’ persisted Bradbury.
‘Well, we looked at some wine in the cellar for a short while and then Ferret locked up the place after that.’
‘Then it’s feasible to suggest that someone may’ve been in the warehouse at the time of your discussion and made their escape while the two of you scrutinised some bloody wine in the cellar,’ said Bradbury.
‘I guess so,’ acknowledged Charlie sheepishly.
‘What time did you speak to Ferret?’
‘Somewhere between eight and nine.’
‘Let me think this over for a moment. Stan and Shane both finished around six that night, leaving only Ferret and Danny working back.’ Bradbury scratched his head, giving the impression this would help to resurrect some hidden memory.
‘But I’m almost certain Ferret was alone. There was no sound comin’ from the warehouse,’ claimed Charlie. ‘I’ll suss out those two tomorrow.’
‘No, Charlie, this matter will be directed by the Piedpiper. Any possible breach of security must be brought to the attention of the regional head.’ Sol had no intention of allowing Charlie to carry out this delicate matter.
Morgan was growing impatient regarding the identity of the informant. He couldn’t prolong his curiosity any further. ‘Neville, who is this alleged informant?’
‘My suspicion is focused on Ferret.’
‘For what reason?’ Sol asked. He wanted something more concrete than simply speculation to base an accusation upon.
‘I saw him enter the Pedley Police Station and leave around half an hour later,’ Bradbury declared.
‘Shit, then your conversation must’ve been overheard, Charlie. Otherwise why the hell would the cops be speaking to Ferret?’ asked Morgan.
‘Which also explains their presence with all this surveillance business going on,’ added Sol.
Bradbury was careful not to point the finger too quickly. ‘As I see it, there are three possibilities. Either Danny Murdock went undetected when working back, or person X happened to be in the vicinity, which is quite feasible given that the roller door remained open until Ferret locked up.’
‘And the third possibility?’ questioned Sol.
‘There is no further person, only Ferret. So in a nutshell it’s Danny, Ferret or person X.’
‘I agree,’ declared Sol. ‘We need to be very careful and evaluate all possible situations. An accusation against a possible informant is the syndicate’s most serious offence and is punishable by death in most cases. We need to interrogate both Ferret and Danny, but separately.’
‘So how ya gonna handle this?’ asked Charlie, trying to act tactful but deep down wanting blood.
‘I would suggest Ferret will come under the domain of the Piedpiper,’ Sol said, ‘who will more than likely request a lie detector test. Danny, by contrast, should be interviewed by Neville to keep things in perspective and within Broadbent’s. Neville can conjure up some story about wanting to know his whereabouts that evening, and if he’s cleared then work at Broadbent’s can resume without further incident. I’ll contact the Piedpiper regarding this matter and let you know what instructions are to be carried out.’
~ * ~
Alan Forbes held the eagerly awaited search warrant in his hand that authorised access to Broadbent’s. The process had moved swiftly, enabling the legal order to be acquired within a few hours. Lodgement via the after-hours registrar had proven useful. He would now assign Doyle and Carpenter to carry out the procedure. Their visit today would serve two purposes, since the interview with Ferret that morning did not eventuate, and Ferret’s employer might be able to enlighten the police as to his whereabouts.
The two officers had only a brief walk to reach Broadbents, having conveniently parked their car some five doors down from the warehouse. The short distance provided opportunity to view some of the preparations for the forthcoming carnival. The businesses along Covert Road were decorating their shops in the carnival’s theme of purple, gold and green. Doyle was astounded at the effort some people made in adorning their buildings with ribbons and ornamentation. It was as if they were trying to outdo each other.
A knock on the office door prompted a meticulous-looking man to abandon his laptop duties and attend to the enquiry. Carpenter immediately recognised him as the same person who had assisted with the wine and food sale some days back.
‘Good afternoon, officers. Can I be of assistance?’
‘Certainly. I’m Detective Doyle and my colleague here is Sergeant Carpenter.’
‘Yes, I’ve met your sergeant. Was your function a success?’
‘We had a good night, thank you,’ responded the sergeant with a blatant lie.
‘May I have your name?’ asked Doyle.
‘Neville Bradbury. I’m the manager of Broadbent. So what’s this all about?’
‘We have a search warrant to investigate these premises, Mr Bradbury.’
The manager appeared shocked with this unexpected remark. ‘Why in heaven’s name would you want a search warrant?’
‘We have it on good authority that you are in possession of illegal goods,’ said Doyle.
Bradbury was surprisingly calm. ‘That’s absurd, we run a legitimate business here, gentlemen. Feel free to inspect the premises. We have nothing to hide from the authorities.’
‘We have every intention to, with or without your cooperation,’ said a blunt John Doyle. ‘Mr Bradbury, before we commence our search I would like a word with Travis Ferguson.’
‘Ferret - I mean Travis - did not arrive at work today. It strikes me as somewhat odd because he’s the type of person who would always phone in sick.’
‘How do you know he’s sick?’
‘I don’t, it’s only an assumption.’
‘When he does arrive at work, have him call me at the Pedley Police Station,’ instructed Doyle. ‘Now, with regards to this search I need your attendance, Mr Bradbury, in case we have some questions along the way.’
‘Certainly, but I’ll need someone to cover for me in the office while we’re gone.’ Bradbury called over a replacement. With the office now attended, the Broadbent manager turned to the detective seeking more information. ‘And what are these illegal goods we allegedly have in our warehouse?’
‘Read the warrant, Mr Bradbury,’ responded Doyle, passing him a copy.
‘Drugs!’ Bradbury bellowed. ‘I assure you there are no drugs to be found on these premises.’
Doyle ignored the objection and proceeded in the direction of the mezzanine area. Following an audit of the food and drink segregated areas, in addition to the cold storage facility, the inspection of the aboveground premises was a mere formality. Logic implied that if illegal goods were to be found they would surely be stored in a more discreet location. Dismissing the warehouse area of any foul play, Carpenter led the small party down the cellar steps to the area where he had encountered the unexplained noise some days back. Upon reaching the basement the two policemen commenced their search. They initially examined each rack with its respective selection of wine and then prodded away at the bluestone wall. They also made an assessment of the above ceiling.
The whole process was beginning to irritate Bradbury, to the point where he began demanding answers. ‘I’m entitled to an explanation as to the meaning
of all this.’
‘I thought that was obvious. Reread the warrant,’ said Doyle.
‘That’s bloody ridiculous. You’ve mistaken us for some other establishment,’ objected Bradbury.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘What sort of drugs?’
‘Oh this, that and the other,’ taunted the detective.
‘And where do you propose we could hide something like that, for God’s sake?’ remonstrated the manager, now clearly angry with the detective’s arrogant manner.
‘That’s what we’re here to find out.’