CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Mitch put Peanut outside and grabbed his new walking stick. Two walks in two days. He wondered if he was overdoing things. He didn’t care.

From his house there was a shorter more direct route to the library traveling in the opposite direction to the one passing the plate and shopping centre. He rarely walked the route, in fact couldn’t recall the last time he did. Expectantly, manhole covers dotted the path and all had strangely the same yellow markings Mitch noticed yesterday. Only with a different suffix, a K not a J. The pits were about three hundred metres apart and the numbers declined as they had yesterday. 134K, 133K, 132K. He became transfixed on the trail of covers, looking eagerly up the road for the next in the sequence. The path drew him further from the library and despite the overuse of his leg, he kept following.

Mitchell came upon a crew of workman camped over one of the pits. They looked similar to the team seen months before his accident on the other side of the river and corralled an area with witches hats and safety barriers. Parked by the road was a flatbed truck with a large spool of black cabling sitting on its tray. One worker was down in the pit feeding the cable into the concrete wormholes with others attempting to look as equally busy above. They weren’t of course and Mitchell couldn’t help but ask what they were doing.

“Hey guys. How’s it going?”

“Getting there for a Friday arvo,” said the biggest workman. He had the largest stomach Mitch had ever seen and guessed had spent years perfecting the art of delegation and looking active. He also appeared the oldest of the group.

“Yep, will soon be beer-o-clock. What are you guys doing in the pits?” Mitch asked inquisitively.

“Laying the new fibre optic telephone lines. It’s a prick of a job. We have to pull out the copper ones first, then feed through this bitch,” the self-elected foreman slapped the thick black cable snaking its way into the pit.

“Yeah, I read about that,” Mitchell lied. “How long does it take you? I mean, for each of the pits along the route.”

The man with the enormous stomach seemed to relish the opportunity of legitimately stopping work to talk with a customer. It justified his inactivity. He explained the cables were fed systematically through each pit via a large vacuum connected to one end of the piping. The vacuum was so powerful it would suck a block and feeder tape through a length of pipe up to four hundred meters long. Once the tape emerged from the underground pipes in the pit, it was connected to the optic cabling and pulled through from the opposite end. Sometimes the tape was passed through two or three pits at a time, but usually the cable was reconnected at each pit. It was dependent on the distance, the junction point and accessibility.

“So, to answer your question, we are supposed to pull through four pits a day but if we’re lucky, we can stretch that down to three,” the man said with evident pride. Mitch quickly calculated that was approximately twelve hundred metres a day.

Mitch asked about the yellow code markings on each of the covers and the workman explained they were the cabling sequence the team were to follow. One of the engineers - pompous prima donnas was the term the fat man used - worked ahead of the crew labelling each pit accordingly, then provided a sequence map for the cablers to shadow.

“And where are you headed next?” Mitchell asked already realising the implication of the crew being so close to his home.

The man reached over and grabbed his work order sheet. It had the pit numbers superimposed over a schematic map of the suburb.

“From here we continue on down thought the K’s, then around the back of the shopping centre to connect to the J pits.”

Mitchell scanned the diagram expertly. With an eye sharper than the man holding the work order, he acertained there were nine pits between where he stood and his plate at the top of the hill. A little over two days work. Three at best if the crew decided to stretch things out.

It was Friday afternoon and Mitch suspected the cabling team would draw this pit out for the rest of the day, finishing nice and early for the week. With the weekend Mitch had only four days. When workman arrived at the pit designated 311J and lifted the four metal plates from their rails they would discover the Caduceus Coil. Regardless of what they made of it, whether or not they report the contraption to the engineers, the coil and the copper wiring would be revealed. It would then only be a matter of time before they dismantled the coil never realising the power it possessed.

Mitch sensed the foreman could have chatted all afternoon but was more interested now in getting to the library. He thanked the telephone crew and continued on.

There were two trips needed: one to stop the fire, the other to restore Albert’s sight. Now both had to be made within the next few days!

When Albert first mooted the idea of destroying the coil Mitch was reluctant for obvious reasons. Selfishly clinging to the perception the plate would return Juliana to him, though not entirely sure how, he’d never lost hope. He believed there was a way. But things had amplified. The plate will shortly be gone making the next few trips his last. His hope of Julianna returning had vanished. Mitch suddenly felt under pressure to save Albert very quickly.

He doubled back toward the shops having walked way past the library. With every step he regretted pushing so hard on only his second day out of hospital. His leg was throbbing and hurt beyond compare, but he ignored the pain and hurried toward the library.

The smoke and flames had long dissipated however the distinct smell of fire lingered in the air: like a campfire drawing it’s last breathe during the night, loitering with a charred smoky odour. The building though was decimated. Only the brickwork skin remained, and then only in places. The network of wooden trusses holding the roof lay twisted and scorched among the ash of books. Amazingly though not all were destroyed. Mitch could see spines still intact, their pages torched or singed around the edges. Oddly the entry doors remained unbroken, albeit distorted and melted, defiant to the fury of the fire. Everything else was a mass of singed, carbonised rubble.

The area remained a danger to the community and was heavily barricaded. Although desolate, eerie in the sense all life had been obliterated, Mitch wasn’t alone. Investigators clad in bright orange overalls sifted through the rubble collecting countless charcoal marks along the cuffs of their legs and arms. Mitch sat under an elm tree to rest his aching leg. Forming the centrepiece of a circular courtyard joining the library, café, community centre, and concourse to the shopping centre, its branches fanned in all directions. Those closest to the library visibly browned by the fire. He surveyed the scene in greater detail knowing his friend perished somewhere amongst the scorched mess. After everything they’d discovered of the plate, all the trips and exciting adventures they’d shared, he questioned how this could have happened. It just wasn’t fair. Or was it exactly as meant to be?

Judging by the epaulettes Mitch noticed a senior inspector talking to a woman by the outdoor café he’d visited once before. Only just hearing their voices, he picked up enough to learn something very fortuitous. The woman was Lucinda Albright and couldn’t believe his luck happening upon her so freakishly.

He suspected Ms Albright was in her early forties though today looked in her early sixties. Her face sullen and grief stricken even two weeks after the tragedy. She’d obviously been crying the past fortnight.

Lucinda had spent every other day of the past week visiting the site talking to police and fire officers alike. Today it was the senior investigators final meeting and she was hoping to put the tragedy behind her. The forensic team had confidently determined the cause of the fire and advised Lucinda, off the record until offically published, she was not to blame in any way. The news though didn’t absolve her from feelings of guilt.

Another fifteen minutes passed before the pair shook hands. Mitch overheard the officer thanking Lucinda for her candour and not to hold herself responsible in anyway. Without knowing the facts, Mitch suspected he said that to all of his interviewees. Lucinda Albright stayed in the café seemingly in no hurry. Mitch took his chance. He knew the time wrong, but when would be better?

“Um, excuse me. I am sorry to disturb you. It’s Ms Albright isn’t it. The librarian?” Mitch offered tentatively. “My name’s Mitchell Atherton; would you mind if I sat down?”

If Lucinda had an objection she didn’t offer it. To Mitch she seemed a shell of a woman and knew if he could stop the fire, it would stop her ever feeling that way. Cautiously he sat, offering his condolences. Unsure how to approach the subject, he decided a common dominator was perhaps the best angle.

“I know we have never met, but I feel I already know you,” Mitch said.

“How so Mitchell?” Lucinda replied clearly not in the mood for a friendly chat.

“Well, a good friend of mine often spoke of you. Of your kind nature, of how helpful you were when he visited the library. He really couldn’t speak more highly of you.”

“And what friend would that be?” she said a little too curtly.

“Albert Churchill,” Mitchell answered hoping to soften things a little. It did.

Ms Albright started crying. It was cruel to play that card but Mitch figured it the only way to get the librarian talking freely. He apologised for upsetting her and echoed the fire inspector’s words; the fire was not her fault. His words seemed veiled comfort.

“Mitchell I am sorry for your loss. Albert was a great man and so joyful to be around. His insight and optimism were astounding. I learnt many things from him.”

“Me too.”

A waitress advised the cafe would be closing soon, and although it was late afternoon, Mitch suggested they grab a coffee. Lucinda thankfully agreed allowing more time together. He asked about the fire and how she thought it started.

Any catastrophe rarely stems from a single event. More often they are caused by a series of seemingly unrelated events. On their own, occurring independently, they have little consequence. But when they happen at once it becomes problematic. It’s called the Swiss cheese effect and based on the notion that gaps in various defences align causing major accidents. That’s exactly what happened with the library fire.

“According to council records, the library’s last scheduled safety inspection was conducted the fourteenth of November last year,” Lucinda explained. “I remember the young officer. He had long hair, was dressed very casually and loud music bellowed from his van on arrival.” Mitch couldn’t believe it. He saw the same man on the same day when getting a coffee. He remembered the loud music.

“As I told the inspectors, I didn’t follow him around the library but recall it a brief visit. When he left the man was juggling his stepladder while trying to answer his phone. He looked preoccupied.”

Through a combination of interviewing Lucinda and the safety officer, together with meticulously going over the documented records, the fire department concluded the fire and hindered evacuation were caused by many factors. Routine protocols call for the alarm safety system to be disengaged before any inspection. That isolates the system allowing technicians to test each component independently and not as part of what they call the ‘matrix’. The master switch has a backup mechanism that engages when the alarm is shut down for more than four hours. It does however only have battery backup lasting seventy-two.

When the inspector visited the library he followed protocol by switching off the master control before conducting tests on each component. When finished, he neglected to re-engage the master switch admitting later to being distracted by a telephone call from his girlfriend. The alarm system remained on battery backup for three days only before shutting down entirely. The loophole never closed meaning the library wasn’t covered by any alarm for nearly three months. Mitch ascertained that alone wouldn’t have stopped the fire but would have given ample warning for everybody to evacuate.

“I am told the poor boy is undergoing counselling. He’s apparently very remorseful, I honestly feel sorry for him. It was a simple oversight,” Lucinda said sympathetically.

“Where is the master control panel for the fire system Lucinda?”

“It was in the hallway behind the front counter, next to my office,” came her reply in a very puzzling tone.

Hearing the tone Mitch realised his mistake. He’d refereed to the switch in the present tense. Mitch was thinking the library still existed…because in his mind it did.

The fire department also discovered the mains water supply outside the building had been closed. That was unusual. Under normal circumstances a tamperproof cage accessible only by the site manager and local fire station protected the control valves. The library though for reasons unknown hadn’t received the upgrade leaving the valves easily accessible on the western side of the building. They were most likely closed by children but could never be determined in any case. The investigation into the oversight would be ongoing for months with someone at council surely held accountable.

The forensic investigators further determined the ignition source was an overheated photocopy machine. Dust accumulation on the cooling fan overheated the motor eventually causing it to burn out. Only a small thing, but it ignited more wiring within the machine. It soon spread to the closely stacked boxes and papers, together with a deadly cocktail of flammable chemicals stored contrary to standard regulations.

“So, it was a combination of many things causing the fire. And others hindering an escape,” Mitchell observed.

“The smoke on our side of the building was unbelievable. I can’t describe the intensity of the fumes. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. It must have been the same on the other side too.” Mitchell envisaged the mayhem. The panic.

“Tyring to dodge the tables and chairs proved extremely difficult and I can only imagine what it was like for a blind person and twelve-year-old girl.”

As to the victims, autopsies revealed they’d perished from smoke inhalation. The only consolation the coroners assurity it would have been painless and quick.

“Do you think the young girl was trying to help Albert escape?” Mitchell asked uncertainly.

“Knowing Christina as I did, such a lovely and kind young lady, always willing to help others…I’m convinced she tried to help Albert leave the building.” Lucinda’s confirmation the girl was Christina wasn’t lost on Mitchell. Stopping the fire was now paramount and if Mitchell failed, everything else would be for naught.

He thanked Lucinda for her honesty and hobbled home slowly to Peanut.

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