by Ray Smithies
‘I’m confident it’s only a matter of time before the final clue is revealed,’ I encouraged.
‘Perhaps you’re right and my guess is the answer is staring us right in the face. Give me a moment to study these nine sites,’ said Forbes, looking at the whiteboard and scratching his head to help the thought processes.
His team of detectives followed suit, muttering amongst themselves as to the likely outcome. I couldn’t help but think their evaluation was nothing short of a merry-go-round of hunches that were based on preference and gut feel, rather than factual evidence. In the end their hypothesis was nothing short of speculation that would yield no true answer. Parnell and Doyle continued to play with the template, forever moving the three-pointed star to a different location around the penciled circle. I could see the frustration on their faces due to the multiple choices. It was Forbes who let out a surprising call.
‘I will get you, Mr Piedpiper, if it’s the last thing I do!’ he fumed with considerable vengeance.
This issue was eating at the detective and I could sense there was an unrelenting determination to succeed like no other preceding case. In his mind this wasn’t simply about compromise, half-measures or better luck next time. No, Forbes had a strong will to triumph over corruption and the consequences that Scorpio had brought to the local community. The magnitude of the case was like no other with its senseless murders, kidnappings and now the likelihood of further rival drug backlash. For probably the first time I couldn’t help but admire Forbes’ genuine struggle to succeed in this obscure and difficult case. I could only envisage that drug-related crimes would be difficult to solve at the best of times, let alone with the added pressures of national exposure this particular case had brought.
Forbes turned from the whiteboard. ‘Mr Harrison, a great deal has transpired over the past few days, which to some extent has indirectly assisted the constabulary. We have it on good authority there’s been some reprisals within the drug fraternity. For starters, the psychopath known as Brad Morgan, clearly responsible for the Molly Bloom and Pedley Hill atrocities has been eliminated. Additionally, the Scorpio supreme leader known as the Keeper was murdered the other night by a rival drug syndicate. This act was purely in retaliation for the hill atrocity and Scorpio’s disclosure of the Traffik organisation that led to the arrest of four senior members.’
‘Will this bloodshed ever stop?’ I replied.
‘Well, it doesn’t stop there. We’ve been further informed the leader of the Traffik syndicate, known as Indigo, is about to arrive in Pedley for a showdown with the Piedpiper. Our source advises he’s hell-bent on eliminating the regional head, so as a consequence we’re gearing up for some anticipated violence, unless we can intervene beforehand. Another disturbing report is the apparent selection of arsenal at his disposal, supposedly comparable to that of a terrorist’s armory. So as you can see, Mr Harrison, it’s just one surprise and challenge after another. You may begin to appreciate our frustration in still not knowing the identity of the Piedpiper and the whereabouts of these underground entrances.’
‘And I thought the worst of the violence was behind us.’
‘It is therefore an understatement to try and have this three-pointed star resolved as quickly as possible.’
‘Agreed,’ I replied, looking at my whiteboard notes.
‘With regards to your nine listed sites, our immediate suspicion rests squarely with Broadbent Warehouse. We’ve conducted two thorough investigations, including with a search warrant, but unfortunately nothing has come to light. Like yourself, I must view this list with an unbiased attitude and not be persuaded by instinct or preference. To contradict myself, I must say that while Broadbent lacks proof it cannot be ruled out.’
‘Ultimately only three sites can be selected from the nine, but we do have one thing in our favour,’ I offered.
‘And what might that be?’ Forbes pounced.
‘The three landmarks must be of equal distance from each other. It’s therefore logical to assume that no three sites running in clockwise or anticlockwise sequence could be deemed as being entrance sites,’ I reasoned.
‘I don’t quite understand,’ said Gallagher.
‘I do,’ declared Paul Marsh. ‘George Franklin touched on that aspect at his computer shop. The three would-be sites must each lie on a triangular corner.’
I continued to summarise. ‘Correct! It’s simply a mathematical deduction. Look at the list on the whiteboard with emphasis on their numbered site and the clockwise order of appearance. For example, if you take the numbers one, two and three being O’Riley’s, the Botanical Gardens and Harrison’s Caravan Park, it is physically impossible to group this lot. You cannot expect this combination to be your answer because they run in sequence with each other and could not possibly form the points of a triangle. Therefore, by studying the likely combinations with sufficient spacing between each triangular point, our mathematical answers can only be
‘A clever deduction!’ offered Forbes in a further interruption.
Ignoring the detective’s ill-timed intrusion I pressed on. ‘In theory, providing they are of equal spacing, the combinations can only be one, four and seven or two, five and eight or three, six and nine.’
Believing we had stumbled across a vital clue, Forbes immediately grabbed his trusty black marker and commenced writing down the three possible combinations.
Group 1 1 O’Riley’s Inn
4 The Advertiser
7 Regency Nightclub
Group 2 2 Botanical Gardens
5 RSL Club
8 Broadbent Warehouse
Group 3 3 Harrison’s Caravan Park
6 St Patrick’s Church
9 Pedley Market
Nine men stared at the whiteboard knowing, at least in theory, that one of these combinations held the key to the subterranean passageways. But which group without the aid of the final clue?
Forbes broke the deafening silence with a clever idea.
‘I need to speak to Brigit O’Neill, who was taken to the underground via one of these entrances. Perhaps she can throw a bit of light onto the puzzle. Where’s the telephone number for the O’Neill residence?’
Forbes reached for the phone and punched in the numbers, putting the call on loudspeaker for all to hear.
‘Detective Forbes here, Mrs O’Neill. May I speak to Brigit?’
‘Certainly, one moment please,’ Helen responded.
‘Hello, Detective Forbes, how can I help you?’
‘Forgive me, Brigit, for being forceful, but I need you to cast your mind back to when you were abducted and taken to the underground network. Can you describe the entrance you were taken to?’
‘That’s rather difficult considering I was blindfolded.’
‘Then what sounds or unusual observation did you pick up on?’
‘Without realising I was actually in Pedley, I could have sworn we were beside the ocean in the countryside,’ declared Brigit.
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Forbes.
‘Well, I could hear the car wheels coming to a halt on a gravel road with the sound of surf hitting against some nearby rocks.’
‘What would you estimate the distance to be between the car and the underground entrance?’
‘Probably around fifteen metres,’ Brigit responded.
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes, a mechanical sound which turned out to be a door of some description being opened. I remember it quite well because the mechanics seemed to groan as if the entrance was made of something quite heavy like steel or rock. The same sound repeated itself when the door was closed,’
‘Nothing further?’ prompted Forbes.
‘No, I think that was about it. If I do recall anything else you’re only a phone call away,’ said Brigit.
‘Thank you for your time,’ said Forbes and hung up.
He turned to his audience and declared, ‘Rocks beside the ocean and a sense of being out in the countryside. Only
two landmarks could possibly fit that description, Harrison’s Caravan Park and the Botanical Gardens. So which is it?’
Again we fell into a preoccupied state of mind to contemplate the possibilities. Silence dominated for around the next two or three minutes, when suddenly Hamish came forth with a most unusual request.
‘Do you have a dictionary by any chance?’
‘What in the hell do you want with a dictionary?’ bellowed Forbes.
‘I think I’ve stumbled across a possible answer, but I need to clarify something first,’ he insisted with a degree of excitement.
‘Yes, I’m sure we do. Could someone retrieve one from the front desk?’ asked Forbes nonchalantly.
I wondered what Hamish was up to as he enjoyed a flare for the theatrics and I hoped he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself.
An Oxford dictionary was produced and Hamish immediately started flicking through its contents for his apparent confirmation. Dismissing the Irishman’s sudden interest in the hardcover book, the constabulary continued to analyse the nine sites. It really had become reminiscent of a lucky dip. Draw an answer and hope for the best. In my mind this was certainly not the logical approach. We were simply going around in circles where hope seemed to be the one last prospect.
Suddenly Hamish let out a scream. ‘I know where the three entrances are!’ He slammed the dictionary down on Forbes’ desktop.
We all stared in disbelief. Hamish of all people, I thought. But how?
‘Explain yourself, man!’ demanded Whittaker.
‘To pinch your earlier line, Detective Forbes, the answer is staring us in the face. With all this endless discussion, not one person has ever made reference to the full title of our major clue, which is of course the submerged three-pointed star, with emphasis on the word submerged. The word has been hovering around in the back of everybody’s mind, but no one has played around with its possibilities until now,’ said Hamish excitedly.
‘Get on with it, Mr O’Connor!’ called Forbes, growing impatient.
‘To begin with, the clue to point four is a central star well. We now know the answer is a disused well which by its sheer meaning implies it’s submerged.’
‘For Christ’s sake, tell me something I don’t know!’ bellowed Forbes.
‘Hear me out and it’ll all make sense shortly. Our next step is to analyse points one, two and three with the same logic in mind, meaning from a submerged perspective. Look on our nine sites and tell me what is implied by being submerged?’
We all studied the landmarks yet again, but this time with Hamish’s instruction in mind. Nothing seemed relevant, or what could explain the word ‘submerged’. They were simply the names of Regency, St Patrick’s, O’Riley’s, Botanical, Caravan, Advertiser, RSL and Market. I was at a loss as to what Hamish was implying.
‘I give up, Mr O’Connor. Would you please explain yourself?’ grumbled Forbes.
‘You’re not looking past your noses. Every one of you has a fixation with the name of the sites. Forget them. They didn’t exist all those years back. Consider the addresses of our nine landmarks. We have a Bridge, Pitt, Market, Finch, Kelvin, Esplanade and Covert. What three addresses mean being submerged? Pitt or pit is an obvious choice, but the remaining two are somewhat more challenging.’
The sought-after answers drew blank faces from the constabulary and myself.
Hamish continued holding the spotlight.
‘The word “covert” means a hole or tunnel and the word “kelvin” derives from an instrument which is a depth indicator, or more commonly referred to as a Kelvin machine in the trade. So there we have it, our three addresses become Pitt, Covert and Kelvin. Now all you have to do is transfer this information across to the whiteboard, and hey presto, group two completes your submerged three-pointed star. I rest my case, gentlemen,’ declared Hamish, whose chest had expanded with pride.
We were all literally stunned by Hamish’s powers of deduction, for it was a masterstroke of analysis. Forbes’ mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. He was struck dumb by this incredible and extraordinary explanation. It was possibly Hamish’s finest moment. The least likely of my surrounding participants had come up with the goods and he would forever now earn a special place in Forbes’ honorable role of thanks.
‘Words fail me, Mr O’Connor. I’m totally amazed and indebted to your incredible ability to see beyond the normal perception,’ offered the appreciative detective.
‘So we now have our submerged three point star,’ claimed Burke, placing the template in its precise coordinates.
‘Yes, indeed. Our trio comprises of the RSL Club, the Botanical Gardens and Broadbent Warehouse,’ stated a jubilant Forbes. ‘I’m not at all surprised to learn of Broadbent’s inclusion.’
Whittaker then raised an interesting point.
‘Tom, your assumption regarding that article in the Advertiser was spot on. These street names were definitely changed with the underground in mind. But I’m puzzled. I can understand the reconstruction of streets to protect the entrances and the relocation of buildings that may’ve been prone to poor foundations, but it’s the streets that baffle me. I fail to see the logic behind the name changes. I mean, whoever was responsible is drawing attention, not disguising the fact. Why create street names that provide clues to the entrances? I don’t understand, unless there was some purpose behind his logic.’
‘But these are cryptic clues that the public would be none the wiser to,’ offered Doyle.
‘Providing there was no serious attempt to discover their true intent,’ Marsh replied.
‘Aren’t you forgetting one thing? More than two hundred years have passed and by and large the three entrances remain secluded with the public in mind…’ responded Whittaker, believing their input held little relevance.
‘Except for the Piedpiper and crew,’ interrupted Gallagher.
The debate over name changes had stirred the emotions. Speculation and obstinacy had suddenly become a trading of opinions.
‘Perhaps these clues were deliberately devised with someone’s future ancestor in mind,’ suggested Parnell.
‘Why, in God’s name?’ questioned Whittaker.
‘I don’t know. Maybe some eccentric decided that secrecy of this magnitude should remain the sole knowledge of future generations.’
‘But that eccentric would have to be the person responsible for changing the street names,’ reasoned Whittaker.
‘It beats me. We may eventually uncover the reason one day, who knows; otherwise that answer has gone to the grave forever.’
‘Strange, to say the least,’ Whittaker added.
Forbes had had enough of this merry-go-round of theories. He was only interested in what purpose it served today.
‘The final clue’s been resolved,’ he said, ‘so let’s get on with the job. It’s irrelevant when these damn changes were made. Who cares? My only concern is in finding the cursed things.’
‘I believe the challenge still lies ahead, having briefly surveyed these sites,’ I stated more out of caution and to keep a lid on Hamish’s discovery.
‘In what way?’ Forbes asked.
‘Well, as mentioned before, there have been two thorough searches of Broadbent without unearthing any hard evidence. Naturally a third visit is warranted, but with a team of men that won’t leave any stone unturned. Our botanical gardens presents a massive area to be undertaken and -’
‘But Mr Harrison, you’ve forgotten what Brigit O’Neill said. A gravel road beside the ocean can only mean the track which leads to the top of the cliff. At least with this site we can pinpoint the area in question,’ claimed Forbes.
‘Yes, I acknowledge that, which leaves you with the remaining RSL Club. The main building sits on half the site, leaving a reasonable amount of exposed land to survey. There’s also a multi-purpose brick structure to the rear of the premises which conjures up a possibility in itself. I hope you prove me wrong, but I see a jackhammer as a means to uncover anythi
ng at that landmark,’ I insisted.
‘Maybe so. Gentlemen, I must call our meeting to a close, for duty calls with a busy day ahead. On behalf of all the men we thank you both for your valuable input. The Piedpiper has become one step closer to arrest and the elusive underground now lies in wait. We’ll pursue the matter concerning Arthur Simpson and let you know of any developments,’ concluded Forbes.
~ * ~
A
t six pm the shadowy figure of a man standing at around five-eight stepped forth from the backdrop of a darkened Covert Road. The roller door was raised on this particular evening, due to Neville Bradbury’s decision in arranging overtime. The man stood below the entrance light carrying a Gladstone bag, which appeared to have its contents filled to the brim. He was of European extraction, possibly southern Italian or Greek, and appeared to be around forty. Sporting a goatee and short-cropped hair, the man of solid build and olive complexion continued to stand observing the activity before him. His sullen face was expressionless. He flicked a cigarette butt to one side as he made his approach.
