Scorpio's Lot (100 page)

‘I can picture one of those stone
houses from the convict days being erected on this site. I’m sure the
authorities at the time would have selected the prime spots on offer,’ declared
Doyle.

Ignoring his colleague’s
fascination of the past, Gallagher was more interested in the practical side of
things. ‘Our next step will be to find something appropriate to force the
bloody thing open! Surely we wouldn’t need clearance for this.’

‘Yeah, providing a truck can
handle the weight of machinery going up and down this incline,’ replied
Carpenter.

The crew pondered over the
possibilities. They were quite adamant this site led to one of the entrances.
It was now only a matter of time.

~ * ~

Arriving
at the RSL Club, the immediate impression was the lack of activity. A side
bitumen driveway ran its straight course to a rear car park where only six
stationery vehicles offered any sign of life. It was Wednesday morning and
obviously not a popular time for members to be patronising the premises. Most
of these cars would undoubtedly belong to staff, thought Forbes.

A short walk to reception saw the
men greeted by the assistant manager, who welcomed the officers with a
courteous but wary smile. It wasn’t every day that ten policemen stepped forth
from the lobby. She was a tall, well-groomed, bespectacled woman of around
thirty who appeared puzzled by the sudden presence of the law.

‘Good morning, can I help you?’

‘We wish to have a word with your
manager please,’ said Forbes.

‘Certainly, one moment,’ she
responded, leaving her desk.

A short plumpish man, who looked
in need of some exercise, approached the police with what could only be
described as a forced smile. He wore an unbuttoned suit that gave the impression
the vest could never be secured due to his mid-section bulge. The man of around
forty-five extended his arm for the customary handshake with Forbes.

‘My name is Alex McLeod. How can
I help the police?’

Following introductions and
pleasantries, Forbes took the manager to one side to explain their intentions.
McLeod listened intently, his eyes unblinking and widening at the unexpected
news. He nodded frequently at Forbes’ unfolding story and appeared to accept
and cooperate with the detective’s wish list. After Forbes ordered the manager
to keep the matter under tight wraps, the two men returned to the waiting
entourage.

‘Gentlemen, Mr McLeod has kindly
granted us free reign of the premises. I’ve explained the situation and he has
agreed to total confidentiality. I have stressed to Mr McLeod that any
structural removal or excavation processes will only be carried out if deemed
absolutely necessary. Today is simply an assessment of the property both
internally and of the grounds. The manager has agreed to a guided tour and he
will then leave us to further investigate any aspect in more detail.’

‘We’ll start with the club
building, if you would please follow me,’ gestured the RSL manager.

With their departure from the
spacious lobby entrance, Alex McLeod led the police contingent through to the
games room, a sizable area comprising fifty poker machines and a smoker’s room
tucked away in the far corner. A near full-length bar was stretched along one
sidewall and a cashier was attending to a patron from her centrally positioned,
caged-box counter.

The room, which measured
twenty-five metres across, was an open space with no internal support columns.
The detective envisaged the overhead beam to be of massive structure and
possibly one that had been installed during renovations in latter years. Forbes
contemplated over the foundations being modified to address this excessive
weight factor. He decided to ask their tour guide.

‘When was this room previously
upgraded, Mr McLeod?’

‘There was a major renovation
back in the eighties, but it was before my time, detective.’

‘Were excavations carried out to
support a room of this size?’

‘I have no idea, but I’m sure
engineering drawings exist, and if not, they would certainly be archived at the
shire offices,’ he replied.

‘Fair point,’ acknowledged
Forbes.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘You’d think a concealed
passageway would’ve played havoc with excavations, if one was to be found
beneath this spot,’ Forbes responded.

Other than the overhead beam,
which begged an explanation, there was little else to get exited about, unless
some secret passageway led its course beneath the concrete floor. McLeod
pressed forward with his excursion. He directed the group through to a lounge
area, an agreeable sort of room which had a more laidback atmosphere to idle
the hours away. A large, digital, widescreen television was mounted on a
predominant wall, while a series of smaller screens reflected bingo results and
some choice horseracing events. Comfortable chairs were strategically placed
throughout the room and free hot beverages were offered from a nearby servery.
The area was considerably smaller than its predecessor, but again access to the
subterranean world could only be deemed possible from under the concrete base.

Escorted through to the dining
area, the architecture took on a surprising different mood from the previous
two rooms. Exceptionally wide central pillars supporting the overheads looked
distinctly out of place, almost to the point where they could be considered a
hindrance if one wasn’t watching one’s step. Tables were positioned on all four
sides of the pillars and dim overhead lighting was used to give an intimate
presence to the room. Walls were decked out in a combination of brass-like
materials, draped either side with full-length cloaks that resembled stage or
theatre curtains. The occasional van Gogh hung strategically in place. The room
was totally out of character with the remainder of the club.

Forbes was so surprised with the
decor he couldn’t resist asking, ‘Why a dining room of this extent?’

‘We refurbished around six months
ago and it’s been an instant hit. The room prior to the transformation
resembled that of a cafeteria and wasn’t patronised very well. We chose an
extreme theme and employed the services of an excellent city chef and haven’t
looked back since,’ stated McLeod with an air of pride.

‘I’m flabbergasted. Perhaps I’ll
try the cuisine one evening,’ declared Forbes, who was a sucker for fine food
in comfortable surrounds.

‘You’d be most welcome, detective.’

‘Now tell me, why such wide
pillars?’

‘They weren’t always this size,
but to answer your question they do seem bizarre since there’s no second storey
to warrant so many. When the designer came to evaluate some refurbishing
themes, she decided to use the columns to advantage by increasing their size to
accommodate tables to all four sides. The effect has been remarkable, for it
adds a privacy aspect to the individual settings,’ stated McLeod.

Forbes could envisage a secret
passageway leading from one of the columns. In their present width an entrance
was quite feasible, but logic told him his intuition would need to be based on
the size prior to refurbishing.

‘How big were the original
pillars? he asked.

‘They would’ve been under a metre
across.’

Forbes immediately dismissed the
idea.

The guided tour wound its way
through to a small public bar. It was a typical two-way counter arrangement
that served patrons from both the lounge direction and the passing trade off
Kelvin Street. The area was quite compact, providing sufficient working space
to accommodate no more than two barmaids. A cellar was accessible from a
trapdoor situated within the confines of the bar floor. To be expected, it was
Forbes who requested a closer look at the basement.

McLeod held the entrance door
ajar for the constabulary to descend the sharp staircase, but asked that no
more than four officers accompany him given the space restraints. Some fifteen
steps down into the cellar the room resembled a long and narrow construction,
the far end serving as means to offload the nine- and eighteen-gallon barrels
from beneath the Kelvin street footpath. The area was entirely bricked where
beer and spirits sat stored on a concrete base. With five men surveying its
full length, there wasn’t much room to swing a cat and the air was distinctly
cooler, to the point where Forbes had started his shivering routine.

The brickwork and mortar looked
relatively new with no sign of impairment. Similarly the concrete floor showed
no ageing defects, with no visible evidence of cracks or movement. The entire
area had been constructed by a master of his trade. If this location was to
become the elusive entrance point then it was indeed well camouflaged. On their
return to the public bar, Parnell questioned the manager with regards to the
age of the basement.

‘I would say it was possibly
excavated as part of the original building. The bar area has always maintained
its same locality throughout the decades, which makes good sense when you
consider the convenience of the basement. It would be reasonable to suggest the
cellar was upgraded at some point, but as to when would be anybody’s guess,’
declared McLeod.

‘We’re talking about a basement
erected many years ago and yet the brickwork looks relatively new, don’t you
think?’ Parnell persisted.

‘Yes, but that could be deceiving
since the area is not exposed to any climatic changes. I’m no expert on the
matter, but it could be said the walls are as good as the day they were
erected,’ claimed the RSL manager.

‘Anything further to see in this
main building?’ asked Burke.

‘No, other than my office, a
conference room, the kitchen and toilet block.’

Following a brief visit to these
remaining areas, the entourage then made its way outside to survey the grounds.
In looking around there wasn’t much to get Forbes excited about, for the land
was primarily flat throughout the entire site. A sealed driveway and car park
provided little clue, but the sight of a bricked structure to the far corner
stirred the curiosity level. About the size of a two-car garage, it stood
inconspicuously behind the parked vehicles and a row of silver birches, which
partially hid its redbrick exterior.

The structure looked particularly
old and was quite possibly erected in conjunction with the main club building.
Forbes decided this warranted further investigation. He couldn’t afford to
leave any stone unturned.

‘What is this building used for,
Mr McLeod?’ he asked.

‘Primarily for storage and
archive records, but we also keep garden tools and a lawnmower here for
convenience. It also contains a cellar that was once used by the club for
preserving wine. It may look slightly dilapidated, but it’s waterproof and
serves as an excellent stand alone storage facility.’

‘We need to look inside.’

‘By all means. I have a key with
me.’

Forbes and his men peered into a
darkened and tainted windowless room. Deprived of ventilation, the trace of
stale air was apparent. The manager immediately turned on the light. The room
was as McLeod had described. Garden utensils and an array of tools leaned
against a brick wall in no apparent order and an old Rover lawnmower sat beside
the entrance. Numerous cardboard boxes, presumably filled with archive records,
were stacked three high in one corner. The odd disused item or two lay
scattered around the floor. Everything sat squarely on a concrete base.

The room gave the impression it
had stood untouched for two lifetimes, complete with its fair share of cobwebs
which still maintained their stranglehold on the rafters and contents alike.
The smell of dust and mildew was very evident as the men rummaged around the
room. Other than relocating some loose items to expose any underlying
suggestion of a passageway, there was little to indicate that the storage area contained
any possible access to the underground.

Growing impatient, Forbes was of
the opinion they had exhausted all avenues. There was simply nothing here to
suggest otherwise. It was time to investigate the basement.