Les Norton and the Case of the Talking Pie Crust (13 page)

‘Holy bloody shit!’ said Les. ‘Who did all this?’

‘I don’t know,’ smiled Marla. ‘You tell me.’

There were scarab beetles, mummies, five pointed stars, radiating suns and birds. Sphinxes, water signs, drinking vessels, hands, eyes, snakes, curved rods, boats, angled lines and circles. Anything you would find painted inside an ancient Egyptian temple was carved into the two facing walls of the cave. Some carvings were inside cartouches. They went as high as ten metres and as low as a metre from the floor. There wasn’t a chip on the wall or a mistake, every carving had been executed in perfect detail.
The wall on the right split into a fissure and the hieroglyphs continued on the other side, where carved down on the left was Thoth, the scribe of the Gods. There was no mistaking the figure of a man with the head of an ibis, dressed in priestly robes, holding a lamp, ready to convey souls to a place of higher learning.

Les turned to Marla, gobsmacked. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. Especially not out in the middle of the Australian bush.’

‘Now you know why I got a bit excited in the pool last night,’ said Marla.

‘But who did it?’ asked Les, staring around the cave.

‘I don’t know. I rang two professors of Egyptology in Sydney. And they got all uptight and tried to tell me some diggers did it when they came back from the First World War.’

‘What?’ said Les. ‘The average digger in the First World War was a country boy about seventeen years old. Half of them couldn’t read or write properly, let alone have the skill to carve something like this.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ smiled Marla. ‘And why would they do it anyway? And why out here?’

‘Yeah. There’d be bugger all round here just after the First World War,’ agreed Les.

‘Now take a look at this.’ Marla pointed out a carving level with her face, a little away from the others. It was an oblong, half a metre in length with little circles along the side, standing on four legs. ‘What’s that look like, Les?’ she asked.

Les stared at the carving. ‘Well, it ain’t a beetle, that’s for sure.’ He turned to Marla. ‘A spaceship?’

‘That’s what I reckon,’ answered Marla. ‘And did the diggers, or anybody else for that matter, know anything about UFOs back in nineteen eighteen?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Les.

‘Now come and have a look at this.’

Marla led Les to the other end of the cave and they climbed over a pile of rocks at the opening. Just to the right, three thick boards, a metre or so long, were sitting on the ground with a large rock on top of them.

‘Give me a hand to move these boards, Les,’ said Marla. ‘The National Parks put them there so people wouldn’t fall down.’ ‘Righto,’ said Les.

Les moved the rock first, then they both moved the boards to reveal a two-metre deep pit, edged with jutting boulders. At the bottom was a perfectly straight, stone ledge with a narrow gap beneath it.

‘What’s that down there?’ asked Les. ‘It looks like a ledge.’

‘It is,’ said Marla. ‘I haven’t been under it, because the gap’s too narrow. But I’m told it’s a big square room carved out of solid rock.’

‘You’re kidding?’ Les stared down into the pit in disbelief, then turned to Marla. ‘So how did you get onto all this?’ he asked her.

‘I’ve got a girlfriend works for Gosford Council,’ replied Marla. ‘She brought me out here. And I came out a couple of times on my own. Then I decided to video it and offer the story to one of the TV networks. I got a few contacts between Newcastle and Sydney.’

‘Won’t all that publicity expose everything?’ said Les.

Marla shook her head. ‘There’s already been photos and a story about the cave published in a New Age magazine. And I’ll keep the location secret. No one will know where it is.’

‘Fair enough,’ nodded Les. ‘If you didn’t know the exact spot, you wouldn’t find it in a hundred years.’

‘Exactly,’ said Marla. ‘So let’s put these boards back and you can start filming.’

They replaced the boards and the rock, then dropped their backpacks on the floor of the cave.
While Marla was sorting out her video camera, Les got his camera and started taking photos. He got Marla to take some of him with the hieroglyphics in the background and he took some of Marla. Finally, Marla had everything together and Les had her camcorder in his hands, ready to go.

‘Start with me standing in the middle of the cave,’ said Marla. ‘Then follow me around while I point things out.’

‘Okay,’ said Les. ‘If there’s any hiccups, we can just rewind and shoot again.’

‘Exactly.’ Marla stepped into the the middle of the cave. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it.’

Les squared her up in the side viewer and pressed record. ‘Righto,’ he said quietly. ‘Roll film. Roll sound. ‘Annnnddd—action.’

‘Hello,’ smiled Marla. ‘I’m Marla Ritchie. And I’m standing in a cave near the Hawkesbury River in New South Wales, where I’m about to show you something you may not believe. But trust me. It’s all true.’

Les followed Marla around with the camcorder like a pro, zeroing in on the particular carvings she’d point out, taking close-ups of her and panning round the walls while she spoke. At the same time, Marla was a natural. She spoke slowly
and clearly, moved well and rarely fluffed a line. They checked the film every now and again and both agreed, you couldn’t tell the difference between their efforts and what you saw on
Sixty Minutes.
They took a shot of the boards but didn’t bother to move them, got a shot of the open ceiling and one of a lizard hiding in the fissure. At the end, Marla stood next to the carving of the spaceship and smiled enigmatically into the camera.

‘This is Marla Ritchie, somewhere near the Hawkesbury River. Thank you for your time.’

Annnnd—cut,’ said Les. ‘Okay. That’s a wrap. Check the gate and let’s have lunch. Principals first. Extras can wait.’

‘You’ve done this before, Les,’ smiled Marla.

‘I did a TV commercial once,’ said Les. ‘A beer one.’

‘Yeah? What was that like?’

‘It ended up in a gigantic brawl.’

Marla looked at her watch. ‘Shit! I’m going to have to make a move. Dad’s away. And I promised Mum I’d run her down to the dentist.’

‘No worries,’ said Les.

Marla stepped over and put her arms around Les. ‘Hey, thanks for doing this, Les. I really appreciate it.’

‘You don’t have to thank me, Marla,’ replied Les. ‘Thank you for bringing me out here. It’s one of the most fantastic things I’ve ever seen.’

‘My pleasure,’ smiled Marla. She gave Les a quick kiss then let him go. ‘But before we leave, Les. About the diggers coming back from the war and carving all this.’ Marla pointed to the walls. ‘You see all the lichen growing everywhere. You know how old that gets, don’t you?’

Les ran his fingers across a patch of lichen growing over an ibis carved into the wall. ‘Yeah. Real old,’ he answered.

‘Well, my friend at Gosford Council said a piece of lichen from here had been carbon dated. It was two hundred years old. And it was growing over one of the carvings. So I’d say that shoots the diggers theory down in flames.’

‘Shit! Does it what,’ replied Les.

Marla had a drink of water then placed her camcorder in her backpack. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get going.’

‘Righto.’ Les threw his bag over his shoulder and followed Marla out of the cave.

Not a lot was said on the journey back to Terrigal. Apart from being blown out by what he’d seen in the cave, Les was running a number of things over in his head. Marla was no doubt
concentrating on how she was going to frame what they’d just filmed before she offered it to the TV networks. Before Les knew it they’d passed the hotel coming into Terrigal and were slowing down for the speed humps in front of the shops along the beachfront.

‘Bad luck we haven’t got time for a bit of lunch,’ said Les, as they drove past Serene’s.

‘Yes. All that exploring and filming’s made me rather peckish,’ smiled Marla.

Les returned her smile. ‘Maybe some other time, Marla?’

‘I’ll keep you to that, Les.’

They approached Ocean Star Apartments and Marla was about to cross the double lines and swing into the driveway when a white Holden driven by a bull-necked man in a grey suit with another bull-necked man in a suit, sitting alongside him, swung out of the driveway and continued on up the Scenic Highway.

‘Shit!’ said Marla jumping on the brakes. ‘You know who that was, don’t you?’

‘No,’ replied Les. ‘But allowing for my timing, and going by their big boofheads, I’ve got a pretty good idea.’

Marla checked for other cars then swung the maroon Laser up into the driveway. She cut the
engine and turned to Les with a concerned look on her face.

‘Seriously, Les,’ asked Marla, ‘what are you going to do about last night?’

‘What am I doing?’ answered Les. ‘I’m going back to Sydney.’

Marla placed her hand on Norton’s leg. ‘Les,’ she said. ‘I think that’s the best thing to do.’

‘Yeah,’ sniffed Les. ‘You’re only saying that because you want to get rid of me.’

‘No. No way.’ Marla was adamant. ‘I like you, Les. A lot. Your washing machine’s definitely not going the full cycle. But no man’s ever made me laugh as much as you have.’ Marla lowered her eyes. ‘Or seduced me so sweetly. I want to see you again.’

Norton couldn’t help but feel warm inside. ‘And I want to see you again too, Marla,’ he said. ‘Come here.’ Les placed his hand on Marla’s cheek, tenderly drew her face towards him and kissed her long and soft. He let Marla go then smiled into her eyes. ‘Go on. You better go and get your mum.’

‘Make sure you ring me,’ said Marla.

‘I will,’ replied Les. He picked up his bag, opened the car door and got out.

‘Goodbye, Les. Be careful driving home,’ said Marla.

‘No worries.’ Les closed the door, Marla backed out of the driveway and bipped the horn then drove off towards the beachfront. Les smiled and waved goodbye before his expression abruptly changed. ‘Fuck it!’ he cursed, and walked into the resort.

Glen was behind the desk when Les entered the reception area and by the look on his face, Les could clearly see there was something on the manager’s mind. Before he could say anything, Les decided to get in first.

‘Hey Glen,’ smiled Les. ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, I’m good, Les,’ hesitated the manager. ‘How are you?’

‘Up to shit,’ replied Les.

‘Oh. Why’s that?’

‘I just got a call from Eddie. There’s been a bit of trouble at the club and I have to get back to Sydney. Pronto.’

The manager rolled his eyes as a look of pure relief swept over his dapper face. Les had no doubt he’d been trying to do the right thing by Eddie and keep the local police on side at the same time.

‘Gee, that’s no good, Les,’ said Glen.

‘Tell me about it,’ grunted Les. ‘Anyway. I’ll go up and get my gear. I’ll be back very shortly.’

‘Okay, Les.’

Norton walked down the hall and caught the lift to his apartment. He dropped his backpack in the bedroom then went to the kitchen, got the last of the mineral water from the fridge and took it onto the sundeck to check out the view for the last time. With the sun sparkling on the ocean, it looked more beautiful than ever.

‘Thanks, mate,’ said Les, looking up at the sky. ‘You couldn’t help yourself. Could you?’

Les finished the mineral water, went inside and packed his gear. It didn’t take long. When he was satisfied he had everything, Les locked the apartment and caught the lift down to the lobby.

‘Shit. That was quick,’ said Glen, as Les approached the desk.

‘Mate,’ replied Les, ‘when Price says get your finger out, he means get your finger out.’

‘Nothing too serious, I hope,’ said Glen.

‘Well, between you and me,’ said Les, sliding the keys across the desk. ‘There was a double murder in the club. Two members of an Asian Triad.’

‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Glen.

‘But don’t worry, Glen,’ winked Les. ‘You won’t read anything about it in the papers.’

‘Yes,’ Glen nodded. ‘I know how you boys operate.’

‘Not exactly by the rules,’ smiled Les. ‘But apart from that, Glen, this place is absolutely fantastic. Okay if I stay here again?’

‘Hey, Les,’ gestured Glen, ‘any time, mate. Just give me a couple of days’ notice.’

‘Unreal,’ beamed Les. ‘Well, I’d better get going. Thanks again, Glen.’

‘Les,’ smiled the manager, ‘it was a pleasure having you here.’

Les walked down to the garage, threw his gear in the Berlina and left the resort. After a quick lap of Terrigal he reluctantly nosed the Berlina towards The Entrance Road and the F3.

While the shops at Erina were going past, Les rehashed what he’d been thinking about earlier in the car with Marla. It burnt his arse something awful having to end his holiday because of a few would-be tough guys. But it wouldn’t be much fun if a whole team of idiots jumped him one night or whenever. And you could bet they’d be the ones with the baseball bats. Then there was the local wallopers. They’d have no trouble nailing him on an assault charge. It was his word and Marla’s against four others. Plus, with all his form, they’d oppose bail. And a cell in Gosford
wouldn’t be anywhere near as nice as his apartment at Ocean Star Resort.

Les was also spooked about Rose the tarot card reader’s uncanny predictions. She said he’d find someone from the past. And he bumped into Houston. He’d find something really old. And Marla took him to a cave full of Egyptian hieroglyphs. And along two trails. She also told him to expect the unexpected. The last thing he expected was to get into a fight, and for the pricks that started it to go running to the police and turn his quiet holiday on its head. So all up, he was better off getting out of town while he was still in front. Which wasn’t the end of the world. Everything would eventually blow over and he could come back, stay at the resort again and catch up with Marla. Thinking of Marla made Les smile. What would she say when the widowed millionaire motel owner turned up at her door, driving a battered Berlina with a rotten smell coming from the back? Before Les knew it, he’d climbed out of Kariong and was at the F3. He slipped on a tape and with Adam Harvey twanging out ‘Genie in the Bottle’, helped of course by Rod McCormack, Les put his foot down and headed for Bondi and home.