by Ray Smithies
‘Better find her quickly or else she’ll be a candidate for hypothermia with this bloody weather. Would you like some help?’ he offered.
‘That would be appreciated. A further set of wheels can’t hurt.’
‘Have you alerted the police?’ he questioned.
‘Not as yet. We’re just learnt of her release and came here immediately, and besides, we were warned not to contact the authorities. The girl’s name is Brigit and Helen here is her mother. We have every intention of informing the police shortly,’ I responded.
Introductions were exchanged and the proprietor, whose name was Peter, asked for one minute to lock up his premises. He suggested we search either side of the main street and report back at the service station in ten minutes.
I initially tried a side street where lighting was exceptionally poor. Due to the thickly grouped row of peppercorns and sheer darkness of the area, I deliberately drove slowly in hope we could pick up some obscure figure looming from behind the trees. There was nothing, for the street appeared lifeless.
Helen was becoming impatient. ‘Perhaps Brigit’s walking back to Pedley.’
‘I doubt it. We would’ve seen her driving into town.’
~ * ~
From the other side of the main road Peter was surveying an equally dark street. With the aid of a torch he constantly stopped to shine his beam of light along the slightly recessed footpath. No person was to be seen. At the end of the street he decided on a U-turn to examine the passenger’s side of this return route. He had travelled a short distance when suddenly his torchlight caught the reflection of a young female pedestrian, standing alone on the footpath and looking bewildered. He stopped his car and called Brigit’s name. He was surprised by the young girl’s response.
‘Go away! You people don’t give up!’
‘I’m here to help you -’
‘Leave me alone!’ she yelled back and started to walk away from the intrusive light.
‘But your mother is here and I’m helping them to find you.’
‘Where is she? I can’t see her! You’ll try any trick to get me into your car!’
‘I mean you no harm.’
Peter stepped from his car but his attempt to help Brigit was futile. She started running away from the stranger, for in her confused state no one was to be trusted. She desperately sought a familiar face. Continuing down the side street, she eventually reached a group of shops in the hope that someone would be still up and about. Unfortunately for Brigit her hopes were dashed, as the main road bore no sign of life. She had temporarily escaped the clutches of this unknown man, but for how long could she survive this chase and wretched weather? Her ears and nose began to burn from the icy air. Her hands and feet were now numb and she was in desperate need of warmth. She had once again blended back into the dark obscure night.
Peter returned to his premises, hoping the three visitors were waiting. Their car was not in sight and it was obvious they were still surveying the now wrong side of town. He continued to wait at the service station. Due to Coxwold being situated in a gully, a mist had now started to descend and spread its cloud of obscurity. This was not the night to have a fog to contend with. So bloody typical at this time of year, thought Peter. Headlights now appeared from around the corner, the car slowing to a halt beside the proprietor.
~ * ~
The proprietor was waiting for us at the service station.
‘I saw Brigit,’ he said, ‘but she ran away thinking I was some sort of threat.’
‘Is she all right?’ Helen could barely contain herself.
‘Hard to tell, but she looked cold and confused,’ offered Peter.
‘We’ll find her very soon, Helen,’ said Emily in support.
‘Okay, let’s keep moving and search the other side of town,’ I insisted, not wanting to hang around contemplating what might have been.
The two cars drove up and down the side streets, and with the ever-present drifting fog the task had become more difficult. A lone figure was suddenly detected with assistance from Peter’s torch, beaming its light source from the second car. We immediately stopped to inspect this person more closely, but unfortunately the light produced an outline of some male individual walking his two greyhounds. The man appeared uneasy with all this sudden attention and immediately increased his pace, obviously fearing he may be subjected to a mugging.
We had progressed to a further side street where our surveillance was again set amidst a dark and gloomy backdrop. Back and forth we travelled, occasionally stopping, when suddenly Peter’s light caught the reflection of someone peering from behind a winter-stripped golden ash. The shadowy figure ran to the next tree, possibly out of fear with the presence of two vehicles and a spotlight seemingly focused on her every move.
The human outline was distinctively female and it warranted further examination. We all abandoned our respective vehicles and set out on foot to gain a closer look. The torch picked up movement from four trees down. Helen was beside herself with anxiety and could not be detained any longer. She called out to the unknown person from around fifty metres away.
‘Brigit, is that you?’ she yelled into the darkness.
No reply. The torch continued to shine in the direction of the appropriate tree. The individual refused to step forward, most likely scared and unsure of what all this commotion would lead to. I decided on a different approach.
‘Brigit, it’s Tom. I have both Helen and Emily with me to take you home.’
‘Please come out, dear!’ pleaded Helen.
With the light still focused, the lone figure cautiously emerged trembling with fear and cold. It was unmistakably Brigit, looking thoroughly exhausted and still with her arm in plaster. She stepped forward, still a little apprehensive with her captive audience.
‘Is that you, Helen?’ she murmured.
‘Brigit!’ screamed Helen.
Ignoring her stepmother’s advances, Brigit immediately ran toward Emily and me. In an open display of affection she hugged us both, the tears freely running down each cheek as the emotional outpour touched us deeply. Emily began crying, unable to hold back her feelings. I thought it odd that Brigit’s initial response was not directed toward Helen.
Eventually gathering some composure, she looked up to see her stepmother waiting in line to share the emotional reunion and relief. Helen hugged Brigit’s cold body tightly. Her fractured arm was momentarily forgotten. The tears flowed freely from both women. Although a somewhat delayed reaction, it was the first time I had seen Brigit express any compassion toward Helen.
Despite the anguish and fatigue she at least looked in reasonable condition. Her abductors had obviously fed her well throughout the ordeal. Like a child seeking affection, she buried her head into Helen’s embrace and released an uncontrollable sob of despair and heartfelt feeling. Her bottled emotion was now being released from its deeply embedded innermost domain. After all the torment, trauma and the realisation she may never get out alive, Brigit now felt reassured to be once again in the presence of familiar people.
Brigit then sighted the proprietor a further two steps back and seemed puzzled by his attendance.
Sensing her confusion, Peter explained his presence. ‘Hello, Brigit. I’m the person who saw you earlier, but I couldn’t persuade you to come with me to meet the others.’
‘I’m so sorry. I thought you were one of those syndicate people coming to take me back to that wretched cell they kept me in.’
The proprietor didn’t appear offended, stating all had worked out well in the end. We thanked Peter for his help and advised him we would return in the near future to express our gratitude for his Good Samaritan act. The priority now lay in getting Brigit back to Pedley and into some warm, clean clothes. The drama and details of her kidnapping could wait. I would inform the Pedley Police Station about tonight’s ordeal on my return.
~ * ~
The following morning I decided not to pursue the details of Brigit’s kidna
pping, instead leaving this in the hands of the police who I had informed late last night. Besides, Brigit would be in need of rest and to have some time with Helen before the rest of us started probing her with our umpteen dozen questions.
Dismissing Forbes’ boastful comment about the use of a photocopier, I decided to press forward with my original plan to buy a Pedley street map. I could only hope they were printed to the scale specified by Gordon Findlay. When I contacted Arthur and Hamish they both jumped at the opportunity to pursue this mystery a step further. It was agreed we would all meet at the Pitt Street newsagent in ten minutes.
‘Back soon, Em, but give me a call should Helen phone,’ I said as I left the house.
Downtown the two lads had already commenced looking for the intended map as I made my entrance. Surprisingly, the selection was exceptionally good, but rather than open each map to check the scale I decided to ask for assistance.
‘Tom, that scale’s fairly standard for street layout. Let me come over and help you,’ volunteered the attendant.
The assistant gazed at the variety on sale, initially reaching for a Purser edition printed some five years ago, but still very much accurate with today’s outline. On opening the map the scale was unfortunately not to our liking.
‘Is the scale that important?’ she asked with a puzzled look.
‘Yes!’ responded the three of us simultaneously to the assistant’s surprise.
‘All right then, I’ll look further,’ she replied, pondering over the remaining selection.
She retrieved a Tresize edition of similar vintage which, like its counterpart, still managed to contain accurate information in line with today’s format. The scale was finally exact and in recognition Hamish blew a victorious whistle. The young lady was beginning to think we were a trio of halfwits. I made the payment and we proceeded next door to La Porta’s Cafe, an ideal location to spread out the map and discuss the contents over a hot cappuccino. When we sat down I informed Arthur and Hamish about Scorpio releasing Brigit, the trip to Coxwold and her eventual return to Helen’s house.
‘In what condition did you find the lass?’ enquired Hamish.
‘Emotionally drained and confused. Her physical state appeared reasonable, but she’s in need of plenty of rest. Helen’s taking her to the hospital this morning for a checkup.’
‘Did you inform the police?’
‘Yes, I spoke to Forbes late last night and the bugger accused me for not advising him earlier,’ I acknowledged.
‘Bloody typical of the man! That bastard’s never grateful,’ said Arthur.
‘I tried to explain the syndicate’s warning not to alert the police, but he just wouldn’t listen.’
‘I would enjoy thumping that prick!’ Hamish remonstrated.
‘Okay, but now back to the matter in hand. Did you bring the three-pointed star template?’ I asked Arthur.
‘Yes.’ He reached into his side pocket and retrieved a plastic transparent creation.
I spread the map and suggested we all sit to one side of the table to eliminate neck strain. Arthur produced the template, but unfortunately he had overlooked bringing a drawing pin to act as a central pivot. We asked the cafe attendant if there was a pin to be found, which she obligingly placed on our table a minute later. Our coffees had arrived and all was in readiness to delve further into this two hundred year old puzzle.
‘Okay guys, here we go,’ I commenced with a degree of enthusiasm. ‘Our central star well is Pitt and Williams Streets. Assuming they mean the intersection, we’ll put our pin through point four and place it just off-centre since the article implied alongside.’
We spun the star, but without the aid of a pencil to commence a circular outline. It was far too premature to start marking the map assuming our first attempt would be the correct circle. Today was primarily to get an idea of what possible area we were dealing with. We watched and followed a triangular point on its circular journey. From the central star well, the circle encompassed a circumference of between three and four present day street blocks. By adjusting point four and relocating our pivot point to the other side of the intersection, our immediate circular area remained distinctly similar, but with one noticeable exception. Our second such circle had moved the elusive points one, two and three to a spot three to five building sites away from the initial landmarks. We quickly learnt the importance of the central star well or point four being pivoted in the precise location. Anything off-centre would conjure up a multiple number of incorrect land sites. It appeared this task had now provided a greater challenge than first thought.
‘We can’t tell the authorities to start excavating when in all probability we could be as much as three, four or five sites out in any one direction,’ I declared with a slightly agitated tone.
‘You’re right, Tom. I think we need to go down and look around the intersection,’ Hamish suggested.
‘There’s so much more to this puzzle. Even if we locate the true point four location, then we have the additional burden of finding points one, two and three on the true circular line,’ said Arthur with a sigh.
‘That may be so, but one step at a time, Arthur. We’re not done yet, this is only the beginning,’ I encouraged.
We finished our coffees and walked down to the intersection. There was nothing spectacular about the corner of Pitt and Williams. It was your typical country main street intersection where some of the town’s leading retailers were located. Traffic lights operated here, together with one other set which intersected Pitt with Covert.
We stood and observed the tarred road surfaces on both streets. Not surprisingly, there were no telling signs from a bygone period. There were no unusual landmarks, no evidence of some ancient relic that once stood in a specific spot and no sign of any undulating road surface that appeared out of place.
Johnson and Buchanan suddenly came into view on the other side of the road. They stopped at the intersection and pointed at the roadway, singling out a couple of nearby buildings. A conversation followed and then further directional indicators were again raised with emphasis on the two intersecting streets. The lights turned green and the two men walked the pedestrian crossing on an easterly course and then disappeared from sight. How odd, I thought. If I didn’t know better, I would swear they had arrived at these crossroads for the very same reason we had.
Our search was disappointing, to say the least. We simply could not find any evidence to support the whereabouts of some past well that was once sunk on this site. I would revisit this intersection for a second and closer look when time permitted. Round one of our investigation remained solely the secret of our ancestors and that of the Piedpiper.
~ * ~
W
ithout the fanfare of helicopters and chauffeured limousines as per his previous visit, the Keeper had chosen to arrive in Pedley the more conventional way. On this occasion a sporty MG in the company of his loyal bodyguard, Max Kirby, had become the desired transport. Ushered straight to the underground headquarters for a meeting with his southern operation, Marlow was surprised to be entering the well-guarded and restricted area during daylight hours. He had anticipated an evening gathering that would be less conspicuous. The Piedpiper, Neville Bradbury and Sol were in waiting for their supreme leader. They could foresee a tense meeting in light of Brad Morgan’s sudden departure.
‘We need to recruit a further person,’ prompted the Piedpiper.
‘Not at this point in time. You cannot possibly justify an extra hand,’ claimed the Keeper.
‘You don’t seem to fully understand our situation,’ the regional head insisted.
‘On the contrary, I do have a grasp of the facts. You no longer have the burden of Brigit O’Neill to look after and city supply has effectively been cut off for two weeks now,’ Marlow stubbornly insisted.
‘Victor, look at the bigger picture. Morgan and Ferret are no longer with us. Neville’s time is primarily tied up with running Broadbent, and on top of all this, you
r directive now is to reduce existing stock levels. I simply lack manpower to achieve your requests!’ stated a defiant Piedpiper.
‘But you have Charlie, Mick and Sol at your disposal,’ argued Marlow, who seemed reluctant to yield to his southern leader’s pleas.
‘That may be so, but Charlie and Mick in duel roles has limitations.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re basically drug dealers and help out with some manual tasks. Beyond that, both would undoubtedly struggle. Charlie and Mick are not your intellectual types, if that’s what you had in mind,’ said the Piedpiper.
‘Oh, weren’t they in line when intelligence was handed out?’ declared Marlow sarcastically.
Ignoring the swipe, the southern head continued. ‘A further point to consider is the persistence of both the police and media. Broadbent has been inundated with their presence and it places enormous strain on Neville to keep up appearances.’
