Scorpio's Lot (88 page)

‘That’s a clever deduction, but
where in God’s name do you place these triangular corners?’ asked Forbes.

The three men contemplated the
screen for a short while. Repositioning point four only brought frustration
with these random selections and different outcomes. There was need to view the
puzzle from a different perspective.

‘Buildings aside, what else do we
have?’ asked George.

‘Streets?’ suggested Marsh.

‘Okay, let’s see. The circles in
most cases cross Pitt, Green, Covert, Baker, Williams, Kelvin and Riley
Streets. Doesn’t tell us much.’

‘Perhaps not, but we’ve been
advised that back in 1859 a number of streets were repositioned and renamed due
to the installation of some drainage system. I’m not sure if there’s any
relevance to that project.’

Dismissing Marsh’s input, George
continued to pursue further possibilities. ‘Then historical sites, maybe? I’ll
check what Pedley has in town and their relevant addresses.’

George commenced a search and
they watched the hourglass perform its duty. The list finally appeared
onscreen. A war memorial in Green Street, two early explorer sites erected in
the Botanical Gardens and a Covert Street plaque in recognition of a mayor
whose service to the community dated back to 1938. Others were mentioned, but
with their locations positioned outside the CBD, they were quickly dismissed.

‘It just goes to show that
without the exact location to point four it all becomes speculation,’ Forbes
finally declared.

‘So where can you progress from
here?’ queried George.

‘We need to inspect this
intersection again and see if there’s some telltale sign of a bygone well,’
Forbes acknowledged.

~ * ~

It
was just after two am when Arthur Simpson suddenly awoke and sat upright in
bed. His dream seemed real enough as he gathered his thoughts. The articles he
had read at Perkins Press in the city were playing on his mind. There had
always been a vague recollection of the man they once called Lou Hanna and his
ongoing run-ins with the authorities over drug deals and distribution. He was
eventually sent to prison for his crimes and by and large the community had all
but forgotten this individual over time.

That was until now. Through his
dream, the penny had finally dropped. This very same person was amongst them
today, but under a different identity to enable an inconspicuous existence. The
time lapse would have to be at least seventeen years, but Arthur was adamant
the two were the same person. This breakthrough would be particularly useful if
the same person was mixed up in drugs today. Had his dream identified the
Piedpiper? It was a feasible deduction after all. His first port of call would
be to inform Tom Harrison and Detective Forbes tomorrow.

Additionally, Arthur Simpson’s
persistence was about to pay off as he decided instead to focus on the
underground network as opposed to returning to bed. In the confines of his
living room, he painstakingly spent the next few hours playing with his
three-pointed star on a street map.

At daylight the phone rang, but
Arthur chose to ignore the irritating sound. His overnight excitement in
discovering the possible entrances overshadowed the nuisance of some intrusive
phone call. Unbeknown to Arthur, it was Tom who had no choice but to leave a
recorded message.

Arthur rechecked his scribbled
notes, then focused on what he considered to be the correct circle and
positioning of the three-pointed star. The accumulation of all the clues tied
in with his hypothesis. He was tempted to call Tom to break the incredible
news, but decided instead on a walk to check if his theory was correct. After
all, credibility was important. He didn’t want to be some ageing eccentric who
just happened to get it wrong. It was now time to test the concept, but which
of the three entrances would he explore first? Arthur decided on the remote
site initially, given its location and the likelihood of fewer people.

The morning stroll provided an
overcast sky, but with the absence of rain. Arthur had decided on the use of an
umbrella, not prepared to risk the unpredictable coastal weather. He had walked
half the length of Finch Street and turned left at the intersection of
Williams. The coastline was now close by and light rain was beginning to fall.
A further block down and housing gave way to coastal scrub and a heavy
accumulation of rock.

Arthur looked at the map under
the cover of his golf umbrella. He appeared to be in the right area. The rocky
terrain was steep in places, and as he assessed the climb before him, he
noticed at varying heights the rock formation provided a number of plateaus.
For the young at heart it would be an excellent incline to ascend, but at
Arthur’s age and with rain progressively becoming heavier, he decided on the
safer route. From where he stood a gravel road could be seen on the top plateau
amidst the jagged rocks. A car had just driven off, possibly discouraged by the
worsening weather. Arthur commenced to climb the longer but less adventurous
path.

Now in his mid-eighties, the man
had remarkable energy and will to succeed. Having successfully launched himself
to the top following a fifteen-minute grueling climb, he paused for a moment to
analyse his surrounds. The rain had turned the road before him into nothing
more than a muddy track. Looking around he could see there was no shortage of
rocks, ranging in size from pebbles to giant boulders. But where was this
alleged entrance? he wondered. According to his calculations it had to be here.

Arthur studied the ground and
then the immediate rock arrangement to his left. The sheer dominance of these
stone structures resembled large upright monolithic tablets about to topple
over. Arthur was confident this had to be the site. He stepped closer to
examine the unusual formation. Layers of rock tablets had effectively become
the incline face. The stone fascia appeared granite-like but was thinly
layered. It was an unusual phenomenon that Mother Nature had created and shaped
over time.

It was time to phone Tom and have
him come over for a second opinion. Reaching for his mobile while carrying out
a balancing act with the umbrella, he commenced dialing. Unexpectedly, Arthur
then received a forceful instruction. The voice was strong and deliberate.

‘Stand still, do not turn around
and throw your phone to the ground!’

Arthur immediately obeyed the
command, releasing his mobile to the mercy of the wet and muddy track. His body
arched with this unexpected demand. He continued to hold the umbrella.

~ * ~

That’s
strange, I thought, reaching for my mobile. One missed call, the screen told
me. I keyed for the return number knowing full well it was Arthur trying to
reach me. I wondered what the old-timer wanted as I listened to the persistent
ring go yet again to the recorded message. I would try again later. Not knowing
Arthur’s whereabouts, I decided to contact Hamish instead.

‘Care to join me down at the
central star well?’

‘Sure, Tom. I’ll meet you there
in ten.’

I was first to arrive at the Pitt
and Williams intersection. While waiting for my Irish sidekick I thought a
quick look around wouldn’t hurt. Traffic was steady but not overly busy at this
time of day. I stared down Pitt Street, taking in the surrounding buildings and
general road surface. Where in the bloody hell would a well once have stood?
This intersection had been there for eternity. It was still in the same damn
spot. I told myself to forget the present-day structures and tarred roadways
for they were only distractions and camouflaged the precise location. Focus, I
kept repeating to myself. There had to be some indication, no matter how
trivial.

Hamish appeared beside me. ‘You
look angry, Tom, standing there glaring at everything in sight.’ He looked up
at the sky and added, ‘Hope the rain holds off for a while.’

‘Frustrated is an understatement,
Hamish.’

‘You’re going about it the wrong
way, my friend. Taking in the total site is only confusing you. Get back to
basics and try viewing a bit at a time.’

‘In what way?’

‘Our strongest lead is the word
alongside, is it not?’

‘Yes!’

‘Alongside implies off-centre, so
what do we have?’

‘You’re talking the bleeding
obvious! Where’s all this heading, Hamish?’ I grumbled at his theatrics.

‘You miss my point. It’s highly
probable the answer lies in one of these corners.’

‘But we’ve already looked at
these corners umpteen dozen times, along with everything else and there’s
nothing!’ I bellowed.

‘Not quite. I’ve spotted
something that requires explanation. Look at each of the corners and tell me
what they have in common?’

I studied the four corners,
wondering what Hamish was implying. ‘Certainly not the buildings ... can’t be
the roads since Pitt Street is wider than Williams. The footpaths aren’t the
same ... I give up, Hamish.’

‘You’re not very observant.’

‘Stop playing games!’ I fumed.

‘On the contrary, Tom, I’m deadly
serious. The answer is in the traffic light poles. There’s one noticeable
aspect,’ declared Hamish in a diplomatic tone.

I stared at the lights as amber
turned to red on Williams. I was still at a loss as to what Hamish meant. ‘What?’
I snapped back.

‘Why is one pole considerably
lower than the other on the north side of Pitt Street?’

Hamish was right. Although only a
road crossing separated the two sets of lights and they were erected on level
ground, it was clear there was an obvious difference that begged explanation.
How clever of Hamish to spot this, I thought. Sizing up both poles that
supported their respective traffic lights, the height variation must have been
in the region of a metre and a half.

‘Well done, Hamish. I’ve been
staring for ages and didn’t twig. Sorry for my impatience.’

‘I just happened to notice the
contrasting heights walking toward you. If you look closely at the respective
footpaths, see how they both protrude at the corner intersection. Eliminate
these protrusions and you’d be left with two traffic lights that would encroach
on the roadway -’

‘And according to the article we
read in the
Advertiser,
the well was removed because it was considered
an obstacle that interfered with the passing traffic,’ I interrupted in my
sudden rush of enthusiasm.

‘I’m excited!’ roared Hamish to
the surprise of a passerby.

‘Don’t get too carried away, my
friend. There are some enquiries to be made before we can lay claim.’

‘With whom?’

‘My guess would be with the
council offices. I’m sure someone there could provide the answer, and if not,
at least tell us the contractor who installed the lights. We’ll call in there
tomorrow when I have more time.’

~ * ~

Arthur
Simpson had been blindfolded by the two men, whose identities remained
concealed. Like it or not, he was about to experience the despised or intrigue
world of the subterranean passageways. He trembled as he heard the mechanics
closing the granite door behind him. Like Brigit’s ordeal before him, the use
of camouflage had again taken on a reverse role. Gone was the black hood and he
noticed his captors were now wearing balaclavas. Standing on the very platform
that had greeted young Brigit, he peered down into the obscurity of the cellar
darkness.

On reaching the basement he stood
and waited for his next instruction. He stared in disbelief at the sheer scale
of the network that his great-grandfather had observed all those years back.
The three men proceeded down the main arterial complete with a stench and
dampness to deter Arthur’s welcome. The enormity of all these skulls compiled
in receding chambers confirmed his belief that the underground had indeed been
transformed into a subterranean cemetery.