by Ray Smithies
‘Very good.’
‘Alan, read out their covering note you referred to earlier,’ Bailey requested.
After Forbes had complied, the narcotics detective raised a valid point. ‘There’s one glaring observation - our drug lord refers to himself as the Piedpiper of Pedley, which means he resides in the township and not some neighbouring farmland or village as was our earlier belief. It therefore strengthens the argument in favour of the subterranean passageways, does it not?’
‘Graeme, a further point we’ve since learnt about our evasive Piedpiper is the likelihood of there being a lover involved.’
‘Good god, he’s human after all.’ Bailey reacted with a hint of ridicule.
‘On the contrary, his so-called partner may prove beneficial to the case,’ counteracted Forbes.
‘On the proviso this person is identified.’ Bailey continued. ‘We need to get back to the case in hand. Tell me what happened at the carnival.’
Forbes reiterated the events of the day, drawing Bailey’s attention to the sighting of the Molly Bloom assassin.
‘Who identified this person?’ Bailey asked.
‘Initially Tom Harrison, who in turn alerted Burke,’ responded Forbes.
‘And he slipped through your fingers.’
‘With all due respect, we were dealing with an individual amongst many thousands and only a vague description to go by.’
‘Seems to be a constant pattern of obscure characters, doesn’t there? All of whom are evading your every move. First the Piedpiper, then the Keeper and now this boat assassin. They all continually vanish at will.’
Rejecting his colleague’s remark, Forbes said, ‘There’s one person worth further investigation. One of my men observed the callous behaviour of a certain individual at the Esplanade Hotel the other evening. With Scorpio in mind, does the name Henry Lloyd and either a Brad or Bradley, surname unknown, ring any alarm bells?’
‘One moment, Alan. I’ll check the database.’ After a few moments Bailey said, ‘Nothing on Henry Lloyd, but there does appear to be something on a Bradley Fisher, alias Brad Morgan, who is supposedly still employed by the Scorpio syndicate. Details are a bit sketchy, except to say he’s of English descent and around five-eight, slim build... has been known to wear a moustache and a beard at some point ... wait a bit, there’s more on the next page ... oh shit!’
‘What?’ Forbes said.
‘You’re not going to like this. The guy’s a psychopath with a history of insane murder behaviour. Most of his victims have been targeted in Europe, where he’s left a trail of hideous crimes, all of which appear to be drug related in some way or another. The overseas authorities have had him on their most-wanted list for the past four years, but he continues to elude them. If this is the same person, and it would appear to be, then we have a further problem to deal with, I’m sorry to say. There’s no mention of extreme violence directed at the police, but then again the guy’s probably too smart to incorporate some vendetta against a law enforcement agent.’
‘Which explains why the guy was somewhat lenient with our punishment aboard the Molly Bloom,’ contributed Burke.
‘And his description on your database matches with what I encountered at the Esplanade that evening,’ added Marsh.
‘What was his intention in visiting the hotel?’ Bailey asked.
‘He passed some money to one of the security guards,’ Marsh replied. ‘Claimed to be winnings on a horserace at Middleton and he was acting on behalf of a bookmaker.’
‘Did you believe his story?’
‘No, but I couldn’t prove otherwise,’ Marsh said. ‘I checked later with the TAB and they confirmed the racing result.’
‘Obviously had done his homework,’ said Bailey.
‘I can check out the bookmaker if you wish.’
‘No need, it’s irrelevant which way he answers. To my way of thinking it all points to drug money. Did you by any chance obtain the name of this security person?’ Bailey further questioned.
‘This particular guard called himself Gavin Jackson,’ Marsh said, ‘but there was also a second security person that night by the name of Angelo Caresso. I should also mention that the publican at the Esplanade, Ben Johnson, employs five security guards who all work on a rotating shift basis. We’ve been told that most of them, if not all, dabble to some degree in the drug scene.’
‘Speak further with these security men and see what else you can dig up on our elusive Mr Morgan.’
‘Very good.’
‘Just one more thing before we finish. You need to speak with Arthur Simpson regarding this underground network. You maybe able to extract something further, given your only insight into all of this was by way of Tom Harrison.’
‘Graeme, I have Mr Simpson waiting outside as we speak. I intend to interview him following our proceedings,’ stated Alan Forbes.
‘Good, I’ll expect a further update tomorrow.’
~ * ~
‘Thank you for your patience, Mr Simpson. Please come through.’ Forbes gestured toward the office.
Arthur was astounded to see a room full of officers who appeared to be giving him some sort of assessment as he approached the one remaining vacant chair. With a number of the constabulary being out-of-towners the occasion didn’t sit comfortably with the old fellow. He did, however, recognise the familiar faces of the local constituency, which somehow softened the impact of the ordeal.
‘Before we begin, can I get you a cup of tea or perhaps some coffee?’ asked Forbes.
‘A glass of water will be fine, thank you.’
‘We wish to speak to you regarding the subterranean passageways. Tom Harrison felt it his public duty to come forward with the story. I must say the coincidence is remarkable,’ Forbes commenced.
‘Yes, I gathered this would be the topic for conversation, but what do you mean by coincidence?’
‘Meaning how convenient it was for Harrison to just stumble across a story like this,’ Forbes said.
‘Just a moment, detective. Until now I’ve never told anyone of this matter in all my eighty-five years. I had every intention of taking this secret to the grave until Tom told me of Brigit’s dilemma. Considering the young lass is his niece, the least I could do was to inform him of the girl’s possible whereabouts. And don’t dismiss the Simpson ancestry, the oldest family name in the district. You don’t buy this information, detective, you inherit it and with that comes a responsibility to keep the subject taboo,’ responded Arthur proudly and then added, ‘I insisted that Tom only speak to his wife Emily and the police about this matter and no one else.’
‘And I’m sure Tom has kept to his word. Tell me, Mr Simpson, why the secrecy?’ Forbes enquired.
‘Detective, the underground network has remained dormant for over two hundred years and it would be best left that way, otherwise the place will be filled with undesirables.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘If this network suddenly became public knowledge in today’s society it would attract two possible scenarios. Firstly, it could be turned into some circus attraction whereby local government or some private organisation would charge an entry fee to exploit its potential. Pedley would therefore be turned into an attraction that it was never meant to be. Secondly, and more detrimentally, this underground would be turned into some modern-day ghetto where its corridors and chambers are used by drug users, murder and cult worshipers, vagrants, the homeless and so on.’
‘I see what you mean, but what makes you so sure the underground exists?’
‘Against the wishes of his peers, my great-grandfather travelled the length of one of the main passageways and his story has been passed down by the Simpson generations over time.’
‘But with all due respect, that is only based on hearsay,’ Forbes declared.
‘Is that your polite way of saying you don’t believe me?’
‘Not necessarily, but for your story to have credibility one needs proof. I mean,
look at the circumstances from a sceptic’s point of view. For over two hundred years the subterranean passageways have been considered no more than fiction, or a fabled story invented by someone’s ancestor to conjure up some monetary or literacy benefit.’
‘So you want proof.’ Arthur Simpson produced an envelope from his pocket. ‘I’m revealing this information for one reason only. The fate of Brigit O’Neill may rest squarely on showing the authorities this evidence. What I’m about to show you is a document that has never been seen outside the realms of the Simpson circle of trust.’
Arthur spread the document open on the office desk.
To my future Simpson generations,
With the assistance of a kerosene lantern, it is my intention to record my findings as I proceed through this underworld of endless passageways. I have travelled some three hundred feet into this wilderness and have discovered the mass burials that were rumoured to exist, due to a typhoid epidemic that swept the area some decades back. These graves housed inside chambers contain the skulls of literally hundreds of poor unfortunate souls. As I continue to walk the length of this main corridor, I applaud the engineering skills that created such a vast and inventive system. In fear of this testimony falling into the wrong hands, it is not my intention to divulge the location of the three entrances, except to say that a mathematical formula in conjunction with a street map will assist the curious. A submerged three-pointed star should hold the key.
Good hunting
Alfred Benjamin Simpson
Pedley, 17th April 1856
‘ “A submerged three-pointed star should hold the key,” ‘ repeated a puzzled Alan Forbes.
‘Yes, I could never quite understand the meaning behind this cryptic clue,’ confessed Arthur.
‘The paper and ink seem authentic, I suppose,’ remarked Gallagher in a blatantly cynical approach.
‘It bloody ought to be. No one else has had opportunity to meddle with it.’ The old-timer clearly resented Gallagher’s tone.
‘Mr Simpson, may we hold onto this document for a while?’ asked Forbes.
‘I’d prefer you didn’t.’
‘Then we’ll take a copy, if you have no objection.’
‘Please do.’
‘The evidence you’ve laid before us certainly dismisses any previous scepticism we may have had. I fully understand and appreciate the potential damage this discovery may bring to your township, but I assure you our intention is purely with the drug case in mind. As suggested by Tom Harrison, it’s quite feasible to believe this underground network concurrently serves three purposes - presumably it’s Scorpio’s operational base, it gives them a means to store their vast quantities of drugs, and it’s a penal system to house their captives.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Arthur concurred.
‘It’s therefore obvious the subterranean passageways are no longer the sole property of the Simpson clan. The question therefore arises, how in God’s name can a drug syndicate stumble across such a highly guarded secret?’
‘I’ve thought about this for a long time and the only logical answer is the homework undertaken by their regional head called the Piedpiper.’
‘What exactly do you mean?’ Forbes said.
‘Well, this drug person is reputedly a Pedley resident who decided to explore the possibilities of its existence. Rather than accept the public’s perception that it was only some fabled story, he began the painstaking task of delving into the archive records of appropriate establishments. His endless research was eventually rewarded when fiction turned into fact but the second part of the puzzle still eluded him. He needed to resolve the location of the three concealed entrances.’
‘And how do you propose he figured that out?’
‘Make no mistake, Detective Forbes, our resident drug lord is one very clever individual. The Piedpiper is probably a well-educated person who most likely excels in mathematics, given the complex nature of Alfred Simpson’s cryptic clue.’
‘Yes, but that clue came from your great-grandfather and wasn’t known to any outsiders,’ Forbes pointed out.
‘Perhaps. Don’t let my age deceive you. I’m a well-educated person myself, having graduated with an engineering degree many years ago. I’ve studied a street map of Pedley in conjunction with Alfred’s submerged, three-pointed star many hundreds of times, but I could never crack the code or decipher its true meaning. Undoubtedly the Piedpiper would have had a similar challenge because no archive documentation is going to pinpoint the exact location for fear of reprisals from the general public and authorities alike. After all, the subterranean passageways were concealed for very good reason.’
‘Yes, Tom Harrison spoke of some typhoid epidemic,’ acknowledged Whittaker.
‘That all sounds quite feasible, Mr Simpson,’ Forbes said, ‘but where would the Piedpiper retrieve such information?’
‘Could be a number of sources. Who knows? One thing’s highly likely - the underground is currently being used for unscrupulous intentions and the sooner the authorities put a stop to this the better.’
~ * ~
A
t nine pm, in the confines of Scorpio’s underground headquarters, the Keeper, the Piedpiper, Neville Bradbury and Sol were discussing their strategy with respect to the Traffik invasion. Brigit O’Neill, Ferret’s intended fate, and a review of the southern operation were also high on the agenda.
Victor Marlow was in an agreeable mood following the outcome of today’s proceedings.
‘I must admit there were some anxious moments, particularly when those women were begging me for money,’ he said. ‘It occurred to me at the time that they may have been decoys sent by Traffik to lure me away from the crowds.’
‘You will give the impression that you’re a person of unlimited resources,’ declared the Piedpiper dryly.
Ignoring the accusation, Marlow continued. ‘Having known a few members when they were employed by some other organisation, my biggest concern was being recognised. You therefore can understand why I didn’t want to hold onto the damaging evidence longer than was necessary.’
‘Understandably,’ declared the ever-obliging Neville Bradbury.
‘Have you sent the envelope to the authorities?’ Marlow asked the Piedpiper.
‘Certainly. I marked it for the attention of Forbes and included a covering note highlighting the police’s clumsy and failed attempt in trying to locate the Keeper,’ declared his regional head.
‘That was a bit cheeky,’ responded Marlow and then, realising the possible consequences for such action, added ‘Bloody hell, I hope it wasn’t handwritten.’
‘Of course not. I’ve kept everything consistent with computer printout,’ explained the Piedpiper.
‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall when these Traffik bastards are rounded up. My one regret, though, was not being able to include their leader on the document,’ Marlow said.
‘I wouldn’t be overly concerned, given there’s enough evidence to destroy Traffik anyway,’ said Sol.
‘Good. Have Klaus Schmitt and Dean Templeton been relocated here?’ Marlow asked.
‘Yes, sir. They were brought across from the farm around an hour ago. We have them in a cell near Ferret,’ Sol replied.
‘Speaking of Ferret, what was the outcome with this one?’
‘Guilty. I took the liberty of conducting a lie detector test last night and my worst fears were proven to be correct. He squealed to the police, who immediately increased their surveillance on Broadbent’s,’ responded the Piedpiper.
‘And arranged a search warrant,’ added Neville Bradbury.
‘Unfortunately that suspicion will remain for some time. Tell me, Neville, on the day of the search warrant, how close did they come to discovering the concealed entrance?’ asked Marlow.
‘Extremely close, but at no time were either of the officers aware of their surroundings. Let me explain the Broadbent’s access, given your entry to the network is always via the alternative way.
Whoever designed the above-ground layout was a master of deception. To the untrained eye or ignorant observer, the two cellars appear to be separated by one wall only, when in reality a narrow passageway descends between two walls. Viewed from above, the kitchen and toilet block look like they run the full length of the first cellar but they actually stop short some one and half metres, with sufficient width to accommodate a descending staircase between the two basements.’
‘And access to the passageway?’
‘Under the end cubicle in the gents’ toilets.’
‘Is that toilet still functional?’ enquired the Keeper, seemingly surprised to hear of such an unconventional entranceway.
