Scorpio's Lot (82 page)

‘So let me get this right. Find a
map of Pedley to the specified scale and place this three-pointed star outline
on the exact spot.’

‘Yes, but that can only be
achieved by finding the location to point four, or as the clue states, the
central star well,’ I responded.

‘Which is the disused well you
speak of.’

‘Exactly. Once this has been
located we have our central pivoting point. We then spin the star producing a
circle from any one triangular corner -’

‘And somewhere on that outline
will be the three entrances to the underground.’

‘Spot on! The three-pointed star
is therefore your tool to locate its hidden whereabouts.’

‘Not quite, Mr Harrison. Even if
we locate this so-called central star well, there’s the issue with the circle.
Where on this outline does one find the entrances?’

‘I don’t know, detective, but one
thing at a time We have at least the means to star! this search and it’s a
helluva lot better than any previous lead.’

‘Mr Harrison, you’ve overlooked
one thing. To search for a map to a specified scale is an unnecessary exercise
-’

‘Why?’ I cut in, bewildered by
Forbes’ remark.

‘Because we have a photocopier
here which has the ability to reduce or enlarge by percentage.’

‘Yes, that’s all very well,
providing you have access to one.’

Forbes then promptly brought
discussions to a close, claiming there was a further meeting he needed to
attend. It was now time to catch up with Arthur and Hamish.

~ * ~

My
trip from the police station to the
Advertiser
was a short five-minute
car journey. There I would meet up with Arthur and Hamish, who had hopefully
retrieved that elusive microfiche card. I was greeted by the forever-grinning
Ashley Collins, who was eager to uncover the reason behind this second visit.
Curiosity seemed to be the habitual trait of a reporter and Collins was no
exception.

‘I couldn’t get any sense out of
the other two. Perhaps you could tell me what’s going on, Tom,’ he said.

‘Just some more research on the
possible existence of these subterranean passageways.’

‘I questioned Detective Forbes on
this matter at his recent press conference, but he refused to elaborate. What’s
your opinion, Tom?’

‘I’d like to think we’re not
dealing with some fabled story, but who’s to know, the proof may fall into our
lap one day.’ I believed this to be the best approach without divulging too
much. The press was indeed the last resort to inform and for all the wrong
reasons. Breaking this sort of news would only encourage the public to start
probing around for entrances.

‘Have Arthur and Hamish been here
long?’

‘Around half an hour. Suggest you
go right on through and join them in the back room,’ Collins said. ‘I’ll pop in
later to see how you’re going.’

A picture of concentration and
enthusiasm greeted me as I entered the archive sanctum. With neither Hamish nor
Arthur wearing their previously outlandish apparel, they appeared orderly and
dedicated, hovering over their respective readers. It amused me to see such
meticulous devotion.

‘My, aren’t we a ball of
concentration,’ I said forcefully, raising my voice and scaring the dickens out
of them both.

‘For Christ’s sake, Tom, are you
trying to send me to my grave?’ Arthur had his hand over his heart.

‘Scared the shit out of me!’
echoed Hamish.

‘Well, it proves your minds are
on the job,’ I declared with a wry smile. ‘So what have we got so far?’

‘Sorry, haven’t found the right
card yet,’ Hamish said. ‘We’re concentrating on the years sixty-seven to sixty-nine
because it was in the sixties that I read about this disused well. It was
towards the end of day when I came across the article, so logic says it’s in
one of these three years.’

‘That’s good deduction and may
save us a lot of time. I assume you’re each doing a year so I’ll start on the
other, which is ...’

‘Sixty-nine, but you’ll have to
go to the back room for the third reader.’

‘No problem.’ I took the
appropriate box of microfiche through to the rear area.

The three of us recommenced the
repetitive task of entering, scrolling and discarding. Today reflected a more
serious mood and a determination to find this elusive card. Following around
half an hour of rummaging through these tedious records, it was Arthur who
stumbled across a curious editorial and subsequently called out for our
attendance.

‘Found something rather
interesting. It’s not the well story, but I think it’s at least worth taking a
look at. I was never aware of this until now,’ he confessed in a surprised
tone.

Three faces peered over Arthur’s
screen where a report was headlined: ‘When town planning changed Pedley forever’.
The article covered a story regarding a major road reconstruction and the
relocation of various businesses in the year 1859.

Hamish was obviously becoming agitated
with this needless account from the past.

‘It all seems a bit formal and
boring to me, Arthur. What’s the bloody relevance to all this crap anyway?’

‘Have some patience, Hamish, and
let us finish reading,’ Arthur demanded.

I could see that Arthur’s mind
was working overtime. I was curious as to where all this was leading.

‘Okay, out with it, Arthur. What’s
got you so intrigued?’

‘Here’s an article dated the
fourteenth of March regarding an event that precedes the paper by more than a
hundred years ago ...’

‘So?’

‘I’m reading this with the
subterranean passageways in mind. It’s only a thought, but is it possible that
Pedley had undergone a major transformation to further obscure or even pinpoint
the location of the three entrances? Perhaps back in those times these
entrances had become somewhat vulnerable and steps were taken to heighten their
camouflage. Maybe the drain system provided the perfect excuse to correct an
otherwise fragile existence. In other words, this major change was carried out
primarily to protect the underground.’

‘On the proviso the official was
aware of this underground,’ I said.

‘Of course, but think about it.
What’s to stop a handful of ancestors from passing down the secret? The Simpson
clan wasn’t necessarily the sole beneficiary to such a claim. This so-called
officer at the time may’ve been desperate to maintain its obscurity. He held a
position of influence and exercised his authority accordingly. Perhaps these
buildings or landmarks required relocation because they threatened to expose
the subterranean.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know, perhaps their
foundations were giving way,’ Arthur responded.

His answer had some merit, which
prompted Hamish to raise a further puzzling aspect.

‘I can understand the reshaping
of roads, but why the name change?’

‘Maybe unrelated and there could
be a number of reasons. I mean it’s not unusual, even streets today are
renamed. It could account for political or even local heroes. Who knows, there’s
probably countless other examples.’

‘What about this person who
implemented the changes? Is he worth investigating?’ I asked.

‘Hardly. Even if we track down
his name it doesn’t serve any real purpose.’

‘Guess so,’ I agreed.

‘I’m intrigued that someone would
go to such enormous lengths to change the town’s layout, when a less ambitious
method would have been equally effective,’ said Arthur.

‘Perhaps the drains were laid
this way with the underground in mind after all.’

‘I wonder how many street names
were changed, and for that matter which businesses were relocated,’ said
Hamish.

We all turned in unison to
recheck the editorial. Six streets were highlighted at the bottom of the page
together with five affected commercial premises.

‘My immediate thought is that all
six streets were renamed to honour either national or regional figureheads,’
said Arthur. ‘As for these businesses, they really don’t mean anything. All
have long since passed.’

An interesting observation, my
friend, but we must press on with this disused well matter,’ I said.

We all returned to our respective
screens. I could sense our objective was about to be revealed. Silence and
determination, it seemed, were united in hot pursuit.

We had searched for a further
twenty minutes when suddenly the Irishman let out an almighty cry.

‘Bingo! Found it, guys!’ declared
a jubilant Hamish.

The three of us gathered around
the screen to view the report. Whilst the paper was dated 23 June 1968, the
article made reference to the well being abandoned in March 1903 as a result of
its inappropriate location. Further incidents were documented with both serious
and satire inclinations, including Hamish’s discovery from our previous visit.
It was the main story titled ‘The Town Well - End of an Era’ that drew everyone’s
attention. We read the long-awaited details.

After a century of continuous and serviceable water
access for the local community, the last bucket was lowered on 27 March. The
authorities advise a new water supply will be relocated at the eastern end of
Pitt Street. This service will be made available to the general public by the
end of the month. Rainwater tanks will assist during the next fortnight. The
decision to relocate is necessary advise the authorities, due to the
inappropriate location of the well. Alongside the intersection of Pitt and
Williams Streets, the well serves as an obstruction to horse and cart that
frequent this route. The removal of this obstacle will provide sufficient path
to permit two-way traffic. It is hoped that in due course Pedley will be
provided with
...

I skimmed the remainder of the
account. ‘The rest of the article seems irrelevant,’ I concluded.

‘Um ... alongside the
intersection of Pitt and Williams,’ Arthur said. ‘How close do you think they
mean? I’m trying to visualise the crossroads in my mind.’

‘Damn close, would be my guess.
Consider there’s reference made to widening the path, so obviously they’re
implying to the roadway itself,’ I declared.

‘Yes, but which one - Pitt or
Williams?’ Hamish questioned.

‘That’s something we won’t know
until we’ve checked the site,’ replied Arthur to the sound of Ashley Collins’s
arrival.

With my back to the approaching
reporter, I frowned at both Arthur and Hamish to indicate this was not the
moment to share our newfound discovery. As to be expected, Collins started with
his unrelenting questions. The curiosity show had recommenced.

‘So, are our subterranean
passageways fact or fiction?’ he coaxed.

‘That’s a bit presumptuous. It’s
barely an hour since we started looking.’ I turned around to look at the eager beaver.

‘Okay, then what is it you’re
looking for?’ he pressed.

I took over the conversation
deliberately. To allow Arthur or Hamish to intervene would be a recipe for
disaster. I was sure both could involuntary slip up, allowing the reporter to
pounce on the well concept I so desperately wanted to conceal.

‘As I said before, we’re looking
for something that may assist, not necessarily specific.’