by Ray Smithies
Departing the office building I gave Hamish a clout across head for nearly ruining our session with Mr Glum.
The one-minute car trip to Fletcher and Haines brought us to a yard which appeared in total disarray. Earthmoving equipment of practically every description stood in no particular allocated area. Disused parts and tools of the trade were left scattered around looking a bit worse for wear. The place was a bloody mess.
It was agreed that Hamish would do the talking, making out he was from the Shire’s Lands Department. I couldn’t uphold the role, given my local identity, whereas Hamish was basically an unknown in Pedley. I made it quite clear to my Irish friend that I wouldn’t tolerate a further performance of some traffic light surveillance team doing their rounds. Besides, if the state of this yard was any guide, it was quite possible some rough nut would kick us off the property.
A large tin shed that stood to one side was in need of a lick of paint. The signage above had probably once served with reasonable pride, but sadly through neglect the letters F and S were now missing from Fletcher and Haines. Having seen our arrival, a man of about forty years decked out in blue overalls stepped forth from the shed.
‘G’day mate, can I help ya?’
Following introductions, Hamish proceeded to explain the reason behind our visit. At first the excavator, who called himself Luke, appeared wary of our business. It was a tricky situation. We needed to sound convincing without divulging the real reason behind our motive. As the explanation unfolded, he appeared intrigued with our story, which Hamish made more convincing by fabricating his make-believe role. Luke started nodding in agreement, as if anticipating where the story was heading. I was impressed with Hamish’s powers of persuasion.
‘Yeah, I remember that job. The bloody ground had some air pockets and we had to bring in some special equipment to compress a solid base. The problem was caused by heavy rain, if I remember correctly,’ stated Luke.
‘Our records indicate this happened a few years ago,’ said Hamish.
‘That sounds about right. Billy and me did that job. We had to bring in more fill and the tar we laid had double the required thickness. It was weird, that piece of ground.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Well, despite all the filling and compacting we did, somehow Billy and me sensed we could’ve used more. Fill and press, fill and press, there seemed to be no end to it. It was as if some giant hole loomed below the surface.’
‘Tell me, were both traffic lights on that side of Pitt Street erected at the same height?’ questioned Hamish.
‘Shit, yeah. We’d get our arses kicked if they weren’t. There’s a regulated minimum height, particularly for level ground. Something to do with driver’s vision, they tell us.’
‘Do you realise that one traffic light has sunk more than a metre in five years?’ asked Hamish.
‘No shit! I travel through that bloody intersection every day and it’s never occurred to me,’ he confessed.
‘What do you make of all this, Luke?’ I intervened.
‘Like I said, the only logical answer is some bloody big hole deep below the surface. I mean, what else could cause that to happen?’
‘You’re probably right, I can’t think of another reason,’ I agreed.
‘I suppose you’ll be askin’ us to fix it again.’
‘More than likely, but it will initially warrant further investigation,’ responded Hamish and then added, ‘Thanks for your time, Luke, we’ll be in touch.’
Travelling back to the caravan park, I felt a sense of victory. Our session at both the shire offices and Fletcher and Haines had proven fruitful. There was no mistaking we had unveiled the exact location to the central star well. Our elusive point four was no longer unaccountable. With assistance from Hamish, I was now anxious to place the star template on the map to see where this circled line would lead through. My one disappointment, however, was the absence of Arthur in not sharing the triumph.
When we arrived back at the office I spread the map across the reception desktop and retrieved my makeshift template from one of the nearby drawers. The excited noise generated by Hamish and I had attracted Emily to see what the commotion was all about. I informed my wife about our discovery, telling her we were about to witness the disclosure of a two-hundred-year-old secret.
A hush came over the room as I placed the triangle in the precise star well location. Ignoring the pivot concept, I chose instead to transfer the measurement between point four and one of the triangular corners with the aid of a protractor. It served to produce an easy drawn circle and the subsequent result would be the same.
The three of us watched as the penned outline completed its circumference. We commenced assessing which landmarks the circle had been drawn on. The variety of sites was interesting to say the least. Reaching for a notepad, I started to write these down in their clockwise order for future reference. I was about to get the shock of my life.
The Advertiser
RSL Club
St Patrick’s Church
Regency Nightclub
Broadbent Warehouse
Pedley Market
O’Riley’s Inn
Botanical Gardens
Harrison’s Caravan Park
With the last entry I nearly had a coronary.
‘What the ... surely not here!’ I yelled as if there was some mistake. It sounded like a mixture of disbelief and protest.
Emily immediately responded to my abrupt reaction. ‘Not necessarily. You’re jumping the gun, Tom. There are nine sites listed and only three contain an entrance to the subterranean passageways. For goodness sake, get a grip on yourself!’
‘Guess you’re right,’ I conceded, returning to reality.
‘Wow, that’s quite a handful of well-known landmarks and to think we’ve narrowed it down to this lot,’ declared the exited Irishman.
Ignoring Hamish’s remark, I pursued the possibility. ‘But Em, it’s quite feasible we could be standing on the underground network.’
‘That I won’t deny but it’s highly unlikely. I’m sure we would have stumbled across something long before now,’ she reasoned.
On this occasion I couldn’t agree with Emily’s logic. We simply didn’t know and therefore the park could not be ruled out. I decided to keep my opinion to myself in fear of having a domestic. Sensing that Emily didn’t take kindly to the idea of a subterranean world directly beneath her, it was time to press on with some further analysis. Hamish came to the rescue with a rather predicable comment.
‘Which three sites would be your logical choices?’ he asked Emily.
‘How in the hell would I know that, Hamish?’ she responded, which didn’t help defuse the sudden tension.
‘We can speculate all we want, but it’s impossible to even select one at this stage, let alone three sites,’ I declared.
‘Of course,’ Emily concurred.
‘I wonder what the police would make of this,’ said Hamish.
‘Interesting. Maybe they’re privy to something that’s off limits to the public. I mean, they may have their suspicions already,’ I reasoned.
Conversation momentarily ceased. Emily decided she had had enough and excused herself to resume work. Hamish and I continued to stare at the circle on the map. Which three sites? I kept repeating to myself. What possible clue could align the triangle in its one true fixed position?
~ * ~
There was a persistent ring from the Piedpiper’s mobile phone. In anticipation that a quiet day lay ahead, the caller was about to change the regional head’s foreseeable plans.
‘Hello.’
‘Piedpiper?’
‘Speaking.’
‘This is Marcus Powell. I’m calling to inform you of some grave news,’ commenced the Keeper’s 2IC.
‘Oh, what seems to be the problem, Marcus?’
‘Victor Marlow has been murdered.’
‘My god! What happened?’
‘Our source advises it was th
e work of Indigo, with assistance from four of his Traffik thugs.’
The Piedpiper stared into oblivion, finding it difficult to comprehend this sudden news. Silence reigned for a while.
‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes, Marcus, I’m just in shock,’ replied the Piedpiper. ‘Tell me what Indigo has done with Victor?’
‘Together with his bodyguard, Max Kirby, the pair were placed in the MG and then crushed to death by some car compactor here in the city,’ he informed.
‘Bloody hell! When did this happen?’
‘Last night some time. We can only assume that Indigo followed the Keeper on his return trip from Pedley,’ he advised.
‘That throws a spanner in the works. Where does Scorpio go from here?’
‘We’ve had a meeting today and it’s been agreed that during the interim period I’ll take on a caretaker role until we appoint a successor.’
‘Very well... and what do you require of the southern operation?’ questioned the Piedpiper.
‘At this stage I just need to know what instructions Victor had left with you.’
‘With all due respect to poor Victor, his latest orders were totally unrealistic.’
‘In what way?’ Powell queried.
‘He issued orders to substantially reduce existing stock. I explained that not only do we lack resources, but with all the current police and media presence we cannot rely on the usual logistics for fear of being caught,’ explained the regional head.
‘Did you suggest some other way to Victor?’
‘Yes, with a number of car trips. We would never get a truck out of Pedley without a search. The car option is at least achievable because it’s less conspicuous, but it would be a time-consuming exercise.’
‘And did Victor agree to your suggestion?’
‘Yes, but I must add it was on the proviso that he would provide us with a further person,’ informed the Piedpiper.
‘Victor spoke of this over the phone yesterday. It was considered a reasonable request given headquarters’ demand, so I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for a further person to arrive in Pedley tomorrow. His name is Gino Palmero and he’s been instructed to report to Neville Bradbury at Broadbent’s around six o’clock.’
‘Thank you, Marcus, the extra hand will help a great deal.’
‘Now this leads me to the unpleasant task of informing you that your life may well be in danger,’ declared Marcus Powell.
‘Oh, from whom?’
‘The word is out that Indigo’s appetite for revenge is not over by simply removing Victor. He’s apparently after your scalp next and plans to visit Pedley to square the ledger. Two Traffik murders equates to the same number for Scorpio is the mentality of this guy,’ Powell advised.
‘But I had nothing to do with the hill atrocity. That was the work of Brad Morgan,’ explained the Piedpiper.
‘Indigo is not aware of that. In his mind the ultimate responsibility lies with the regional head. All I can say is be careful and watch your back for a while and use the sanctum of your underground network to your advantage.’
‘Of course. Do headquarters have a description of Indigo by any chance?’ asked the Piedpiper.
‘He’s reputed to be a man of around forty-three, about six feet and of average build. One noticeable feature is a tattoo on the outer side of his left wrist, which is supposedly a picture of a Chinese dragon. Not surprisingly the tattoo is depicted in the colours of blue and violet, or to be more precise, indigo. On the downside, the tattoo is relatively small and can be partially hidden when he wears a watch.’
‘Not much to go on. Average height, average build and probably average appearance. I mean the guy might as well be wearing a mask. He could be just about anyone walking pass in the street. The advantage is strictly his.’
‘Masked or not, your theory is irrational,’ said Powell. ‘Aren’t you forgetting one thing? Your own identity is still intact. To my way of thinking it would make Indigo and the Piedpiper on level terms, would it not?’
‘Yes, I guess you’re right, Marcus,’ responded the regional head unconvincingly. ‘At least I have some idea of the size of this guy and that tattoo may yet prove useful.’
‘Just one more thing. Once we’ve elected the new Scorpio head, arrangements will be made for this person to visit Pedley for a briefing. I’m sorry you had to learn of Victor’s untimely death, but as you can appreciate the syndicate must now focus on the future and not dwell on its past,’ Powell concluded and hung up.
The Piedpiper was left to ponder over this horrendous news. Victor had always held the southern operation in high esteem, but with the imminent appointment of a new leader, would Pedley retain its expectant privileges? The regional head was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable about the idea.
~ * ~
‘I’ve got my doubts this would be one of the sites,’ I answered with a degree of certainty.
‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty to -’
‘Hamish, I spent hours looking around the place yesterday. Other than under our house, the games room as well as the shower and laundry block, I’ve searched everywhere. There is nothing to suggest a secret entrance was created some two hundred years ago on this site.’
‘But what if there’s something under one of these buildings?’
‘Think it through. When the foundations were laid, surely they would have come across some degree of unstable ground. If by some chance it was not picked up, then logic tells me that time would have brought about some structural problem. Take a good look at these buildings today and there’s no sign of earth movement,’ I declared.
‘Okay, point taken, but what about around the cliff edge? That area has to be considered as well,’ persisted Hamish.
‘Again I would say no. You’ve got to remember that back then the authorities lived in stone houses erected above the three entrances. Why on earth would they build an extremely heavy stone building beside a cliff edge? Even in my short time we’ve had part of the cliff break away. I mean it would forever be in danger of collapsing. It just doesn’t make sense,’ I reasoned.
‘Um ... sounds convincing.’
‘Hamish don’t get me wrong, anything is possible, my friend, but to be here I have extreme doubts.’
‘So where do we go from here?’ asked the Irishman.
‘We need to check out the other eight sites, but it can only be a casual look. We don’t have the authority to carry out a thorough search. You got away with your shire impersonation before, but not here.’
‘Oh.’
‘Come on Hamish, use your head. Do you really expect we would be allowed to snoop around the likes of St Patrick’s, the Regency Nightclub or the RSL?’ I grumbled back.
‘All right then,’ said Hamish, a little taken back with my aggression.
‘So let’s do the rounds, commencing with the Advertiser’ I suggested.
A short trip to the newspaper outlet provided no leads. It was simply a large, uninteresting building that sat squarely on its entire block. A short concrete driveway to the one side provided entry to a warehouse. If the Advertiser were to be a serious contender, then access to the underground would need to be by way of an internal opening. Perhaps a jackhammer or similar tool would be required to smash through the concrete base? Our recent visit to their archive vaults reinforced the idea of some form of destruction, for the whole place sat squarely on a vast and solid area of concrete pavement.
We decided to leave the parked car and walk the short distance to the RSL, situated on Kelvin Street only a block away. Arriving at the club the similarities were uncanny when compared to the Advertiser, but with one noticeable difference. Whilst a large and equally uninteresting building sat perched to one side, the land provided a reasonable amount of exposed ground running beside the establishment. To the rear of the building a car park was provided for members, in addition to some bricked structure about the size of a squash court. It gave the distinct
impression of being used as a multi-purpose room for storage, tools and maybe archives. The ground provided no irregularities and we conceded it was an unlikely candidate, unless the interior offered a hint of some past giveaway. Probably a further jackhammer prospect, I thought.
Given the close proximity of St Patrick’s and the Regency Nightclub, we decided to pursue these further two sites on foot. Following the short walk to the church grounds, the immediate observation was rather daunting to say the least. It was Hamish who raised the very point that plagued my mind.
Hamish groaned. ‘If this is to be one of the sites, where on earth would you start looking for an entrance?’