Scorpio's Lot (98 page)

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 anything 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.

~ * ~

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.

From his office desk pressing
away at the keyboard of an IBM laptop, the warehouse manager caught a glimpse
of the new arrival. Abandoning his somewhat laborious duty, he cautiously
approached the man to establish his business at this unusual trading hour. He
looks a mean critter, thought the manager, realising he required a courteous
approach.

‘May I help you?’ he asked
politely.

‘Yes, I’m looking for Neville
Bradbury.’

‘That’s me, and who might you be?’

‘My name is Gino Palmero. I’ve
been sent here by Marcus Powell.’

‘Ah Gino, I’ve been expecting
you. Welcome to Pedley and Broadbent Warehouse,’ replied Bradbury with his
usual infectious smile.

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re travelling light, I see.’

‘Only pack what’s necessary,’
Palmero responded in keeping with his precise answers.

‘Why don’t you lighten the load
and drop your bag off in the office and I’ll show you around the place,’
offered the manager.

‘I’d prefer to hold onto my bag,’
he replied.

‘As you wish.’

Neville Bradbury guided Palmero
through the premises, initially taking him on the mezzanine floor to show him
the extent of their merchandise. A trip into the coolroom and then a visit
through to the kitchen and games room finally brought a reaction from the
sombre individual. The manager had worked overtime to create conversation,
receiving zilch in return for his efforts, until now.

‘Ah pool and darts, my two
favourite pastimes,’ Palmero said.

‘Yes, a good addition to the
premises which creates morale and harmony in the place. The guys work hard so I
see it as a bit of a reward.’

‘Great idea,’ acknowledged
Palmero.

‘I’ll show you our prized
collection of wine in the cellar next,’ offered Bradbury, who then led his
visitor down the steep basement staircase.

Gino Palmero appeared impressed
with the variety on sale. He particularly had a liking for the Shiraz and
Cabernet reds and could often polish off a choice bottle over an evening meal.
Conversation suddenly picked up momentum, with the visitor questioning the wine
regions and vintages on display. Choose the appropriate subject and you win
people over every time, thought Bradbury.

On their return to ground level
the manager decided it was time to introduce his staff, who had obligingly
worked back to clear the backlog of orders. It was important to at least make Palmero’s
presence known and that his services would indeed be welcomed to assist with
the already strained resources.

Realising the pleasantries had
run their course, it was now time to get down to business. The Piedpiper would
be expecting a telephone call and Bradbury didn’t want to delay the matter
longer than was necessary. Returning to his office he immediately dialed the
number and waited for the anticipated connection.