Season 06 Episode 22: To Morn Names (Part 2 of 3)

Starring Olivier nominated actor and former Blue Peter legend Peter Duncan, When Darkness Falls is a spine chilling ghost story that delivers a twisted, terrifying and thrilling tale that the Guardian said will leave you cowering in your seat. Catch the brand new UK tour of When Darkness Falls from September fifteenth in a town near you. Select nights will also feature myself delivering a live episode of Unexplained. For more details or to book tickets, visit When Darkness Falls dot

co dot uk. If you dare you're listening to Unexplained Season six, episode twenty two to More Names, Part two of three. Nineteen months back, while working the sugar boats in Port Adelaide, Brian Joseph Deepmark, who had got acquainted with a man called Jack Thomas McLean, though, as he said, with the way things were in the docks those days, he wouldn't put much stock by that name. Deepmar knew McClean as a man who could handle himself, and suspected that he may have got himself in a few scrapes

throughout the years. The following day, Deepmar is that the morgue. Watching as the sheet is pulled back from the dead man's face, deep Mark instantly confirms the body as that of Jack McClean, before curiously correcting his previous statement, saying now that it had in fact been four years since he'd last seen him, not one and a half. Nonetheless, armed with a possible ID, Detective Lean's team contact the New South Wales Central Investigative Bureau in Sydney to see

if they have any record of a Thomas McLean. Deepmark had suggested contacting them, believing McClean might already be in their files due to a previous arrest. The team are overjoyed when a positive hit comes back, only, as deep Mar had suspected, his name isn't Jack McClean, but William Edward Price. What's more, despite deep Mark's positive id. Jack McClean stroke William Price is confirmed to have had brown eyes instead of gray and measured only five ft six

in height. Detective Lean's team are back to square one. Over the next few weeks, a steady stream of friends and family of missing people call into the Adelaide Detective's office, suggesting possible identities for the now once again unknown man, with many traveling up to the West Terrace Cemetery to view the body. A mother from Saint Kilda is looking for her thirty four year old son who's been missing for some time. Another searches for hers who'd only disappeared

six weeks previously. Both will inspect the body, but leave the morgue with desperate hope renewed that somewhere out there still their boys are alive. The owner of a local hotel suggests it might be a guest that had left recently without paying. When the police trace his family, they discovered they haven't seen him in months, but his description doesn't fit and he is soon scratched from the list. A woman from Salisbury hasn't seen her husband in almost

two years. A chain smoker in the habit of cutting the labels out of his clothes in a way similar to those found on the deceased. One man, a former inmate at Alice Springs Jail, thinks it could be a fellow former inmate who arrived on a boat from Bulgaria back in nineteen forty five. Many make appointments to visit the body, but don't show up. Others make positive ideas, only to later retract their statements, while most fail to

recognize the body at all. One by one, the leads are chased up, but all of them come to nothing. With hope of a swift resolution to the case receding, it's decided to have the body embalmed. On December tenth, nineteen forty eight, at the Morgue, local funeral director Laurie Elliott wheels his brand new turn of Porty Boy next to the autopsy table before filling its large cylindrical glass

with a formuline embalming fluid. Together with the assistance of Constable Sutherland, he removes the corpse from the refrigeration unit and places it on to the table. After massaging the body to warm it up a little. With great care, he makes two arterial incisions with a scalpel and places a canula into each of the marks, one connected via rubber tubing back to the machine, and the other connected to separate tubing that is left to dangle above the

drain at the foot of the table. Satisfied the canulas are locked in place, Lorry flicks a switch on the porty boy and it weres loudly into action. The two men watch as blackened blood pulled slowly from the right of the dead man, begins to snake its way through the tubing, while from the machine, a clear liquid is steadily creeping toward the insert in the left side of the body. As the blood begins to drip out onto the floor and down the drain, the formulin finally eases

into the body. Within three weeks, most leading newspapers in the country have published pictures of the dead man, while in Adelaide, all boarding houses and hotels have been scoured

for any useful information, but all to no avail. The following day, the case files are dispatched to every English speaking country in the world as the Adelaide Central Investigative Bureau look to widen the net, and on December twenty second, doctor Cowen, the deputy government analyst, delivers his chemical report to the detective's office, He's found no obvious evidence of poisoning,

which is deeply troubling for Detective Lean. Ordinarily, any of the more commonly used poisons in suicide cases, at least those which Cohen tested for, would have left a clear trace in the body. That there is nothing suggests that if a poison had been used, it would have been something far more rare and difficult to get hold of

than anything anyone looking to commit suicide would utilize. Cohen hastens to add that it may merely prove that there had been no poison involved, that the man's demise was one of simple heart failure after all. But Lean isn't convinced. How on earth does a man as powerfully built as he was with that strong heart just to collapse. Even more strange, if it had been a simple heart attack, why didn't he appear to have struggled or writhed? And why doesn't anybody know who he is? Now? A word

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As many in the nation prepare to celebrate the holiday season, the police are no closer to uncovering the man's identity, but at the turn of nineteen forty nine are promising. Lead emerges. On Sunday, January second, a smartly dressed woman walks into a police station in Morgan, a small town located on the bank of the River Murray, about one

hundred and sixty kilometers northeast of Adelaide. She approaches the front desk clutching a copy of that day's Sunday mail, with its picture of the unidentified man printed on the front page, along with the small black and white photograph. The woman introduces herself as Elizabeth Thompson, and, holding out the front cover of the mail, points to the picture of the unknown man, whom she identifies as her friend, Robert Walsh, also known as Nugget. Her photograph shows the

two of them together years before. Back in Adelaide, detective Harvey receives a message from an anonymous caller, who, having too seen the mail's picture that morning, identifies the man as someone he'd once worked with, also called Nugget. A few days later, on her way to identify the body, Elizabeth calls in on Stanley's Solotti in Port Adelaide. Slotti had one time been Robert Walsh's employer when Walsh was

lodging at Elizabeth's house. When Elizabeth shows Solottie the paper and an old picture of him and Walsh together, he's also convinced that the dead man is their mutual acquaintance and agrees to accompany Elizabeth to the morgue. Having both formally identified the body as Robert Walsh aka Nugget, Solottie and Elizabeth are taken back to Anger Street to be

interviewed by Constable Harry Storch. Elizabeth, who is a widow, explains that she'd met Walsh, who would have been sixty four that year, eight or nine years ago when he first arrived in Adelaide looking for lodgings. He claimed to have come originally from Wales in the UK, where his one remaining relatives still lived and a stranged sister he

had long since fallen out with. Clutching her photo of Walsh a little tighter, Thompson explained that he'd left her home just over a year ago before Christmas nineteen forty seven to visit Brisbane, hoping that she might later come out to visit him, but she'd never gone. It was

the last time she'd seen him alive. Stanley Solotti, who described Walsh as quiet and well liked, had last seen him at the Victoria Park racecourse eighteen months previously, adding that he suspected Walsh to be something of a gambling man. The following day, Jack Hannem, a storman working in Port Adelaide, turned up at the City Detectives office, identifying the unknown man as someone he'd met at the Morphettville Racecourse back in May nineteen forty seven, although Hannem too said the

man's nickname was Nugget. Curiously, he'd first introduced himself to Hannem as Bob Morgan, not Robert Walsh. In early February the following year, Jack had bumped into him again by chance at Adelaide railway station. The man was in need of accommodation, and Hannem had helped him move into the boarding house that he was staying at, a place called Turners. Morgan stroke Walsh stayed there for the next couple of months,

in which time he and Hannem became good friends. At some point, Morgan let slip that his name was in fact Robert Walsh, and sometimes even called himself Nugget McCarthy. In hindsight, it was a little peculiar, Jack admitted, but at the time he just thought it funny. As Constable Storch listened patiently taking notes, Jack went on to describe Nugget as roughly being in his late forties and five ft eight in height, with a tattoo on his right forearm.

Did you say a tattoo? Says Storch. Suddenly yes, says Jack, it was a faint outline of Australia. I think we all deal with. Sunday scaris right. Sunday scaries are those oh no, stressful, nervous, can't sleep, dreadful feelings to hit you on a Sunday evening when you think about the impending doom of work tomorrow, or school or frankly just life. Unfortunately, you can feel that same pit in your stomach any day of the week. Sunday scari CBD gummies were made

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percent discount. Visit Sunday Scaries dot com and use my promo code unexplained for your discount. That's promo code, unexplained, for twenty five percent off at Sunday Scaris dot Com. Later that afternoon, Starch accompanies Jack to the Morgue, who identifies the body as the man he knew as Bob Morgan. However, when Storch looks again at the dead man's four arms,

he finds no evidence of the tattoo. The next day, constable voice from in Leyton Station contacts the Adelaide CIB to inform them of a call he just received from another man identifying the deceased as Robert Walsh, adding that Walsh had wanted all his property to go to Elizabeth Thompson in the event that anything should happen to him. Then another message came in, this time from a different

caller confirming the exact same thing. The department decide eventually not to pursue this line of inquiry, perhaps because it was starting to sound suspiciously like a scam. Back on the second of January, surely, after Elizabeth Thompson had first made herself known, an entirely separate lead was about to come to light again. In response to seeing a picture of the deceased in the Sunday Mail, a man had pitched up at the Adelaide detective's office with a different

name for the police to pursue Ray Clark. This man went on to describe Clark as being late thirties, five foot ten, with reddish hair and complexion, and having several teeth missing. The man knew Clark to have been something of a boxer in his youth, and he was still in good shape the last time he saw him, all perfectly in keeping with the profile of the dead man. However, it wasn't until he was asked how he'd known this Ray Clark, that the detectives really sat up and took notice.

We worked together for the Commonwealth Department of Parks and Interior, he tells them. Down at Woomera, Woomera, repeats a junior officer with some confusion, but detect if Lean knows exactly what Woomera is. On July eighteenth, nineteen forty five, unbeknownst to most of the planet, a bomb was detonated at zero five forty eight local time, in the middle of the Hornado del Muerto Desert in New Mexico. The device, named Trinity, marked the first successful deployment of the atomic bomb.

Less than three weeks later, the atomic age announced itself in two mushroom clouds of death and destruction, when Little Boy and the Fat Man were detonated above the Japanese towns of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The bombs would go a significant way to ushering an end to the Second World War, but they would also mark the beginning of a seemingly endless arms race that to this day continues to haunt

every millatant aspect of foreign diplomacy. After the war, or more specifically, after the detonation of the bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, it was clear to all governments who considered themselves major world players that the game had shifted. Although the United Kingdom could provide the expertise to compete in the development of nuclear weapons, what they didn't have was

the space to test them out. The word woomera, taken from the indigenous Darg language, translates to English loosely as a wooden spear throwing device, the perfect name, you might say, for a nuclear grade rocket testing facility. Developed as a joint venture between the governments of Australia and Great Britain, the Woomera site located did roughly over five hundred kilometers to the northeast of Adelaide, in a wide expanse of South Australian outback covered an area of roughly one hundred

and twenty thousand square kilometers. What went on at Woomera was top secret, and Ray Clark had helped to build it. The suggestion that this Ray Clark, a potential murder victim with uncertain origins, had worked on such a top secret facility is deeply concerning for Detective Lean. Later that afternoon, PC Horsnell escorts Ray Clark's former colleague to the morgue, where he makes a positive identification of the dead body. The following day, the Adelaide Advertiser names Clark as a

possible candidate for the unknown man. Later that evening, another man who claims to have worked with Clark is also taken to the morgue, where he stayed that the body is not him. A few days later, a letter arrives from one of the lead surveyors on the construction of Woomera, who confirms that the likeness and description of the unknown

man does indeed resemble the Ray Clark he knew. He adds intriguingly that Clark used a different name on his Royal Australian Air Force driving license, but he isn't able to remember what it was. Despite their best efforts, Detective Lean's team are enabled to determine Clerk's whereabouts, but crucially, nor can they find enough information to identify him as

the unknown man. After six long weeks of fruitless investigations, the Adelaide Police, now boosted by the addition of the smart and amiable Detective Len Brown, reconvene to go back over the evidence. The must be something they've missed, some clue that they haven't pursued yet, thinks Lean as they pick through the dead man's belongings. Then he sees it. The train ticket. He bolts to the phone and immediately has Adelaide train station on the line. The luggage, he

says urgently down the receiver. Check the luggage department for any unclaimed suitcases that were checked in before December first. In fact, that goes for every left luggage department, he says to his startled team. Soon they're on the line to every boarding house or local transport depot they can think of, urging them to check for any items that might have belonged to the dead Man. A similar appeal is running the advertiser the next day and finally on

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Check out my link nord VPN dot com forward slash unexplained to get your subscription started today. It was checked in sometime on November between eleven and twelve pm, explains senior porter Harold North as he leads Detective Lean into the back of the Adelaide Station cloak room. Sadly, for Lean, Harold has no recollection of who he took the bag from, but it's the only one checked in before December that

hasn't been picked up yet, he says. Harold negotiates his way through the mountain of luggage and coats crammed into the small back room until finally he finds it. Lean takes the medium sized brown leather case from Harold's hand and places it on the ground. He notes a destination sticker has recently been removed, but finds no other markings. Flicking up the clasps, he pauses for a moment before

lifting the lid. Inside, he finds a stack of neatly folded clothes, along with several implements whose purpose he's not yet able to discern. As he slowly pulls out a shirt and pair of brown trousers almost identical to the ones found on the unknown man, Lean nose whose suitcase this is. He digs frantically for any sign of documentation, but there is nothing. Back At the station, the team

make a proper assessment of the contents. A small card of brown cotton and some buttons appear to match with thread and buttons found on the trousers of the deceased. They also find a red checkered dressing down, some slippers, brown leather shoes, a tie, shaving gear, a jacket and

handkerchief that also matches with one found on the man. Curiously, again, they find all the labels have been removed from the clothes, with three of the items bearing the name Keen, although Detective Lean suspects there is nothing to be gleaned from this. As for the implements, they find a small electrician screwdriver, a stenciling brush, a pair of scissors, and a table knife that's been cut into a smaller and sharper instrument

and covered in tape to keep it so. Detective Lean learned subsequently the items are commonly used for stenciling, and after speaking with a tailor, he discovers that the jacket in the suitcase was most likely made in America. Unfortunately, and you hope that this presented a new avenue of inquiry had been dashed a few days by a letter sent from the US Department of Justice informing the team that the prince they'd sent them had failed to show

up on the FBI's database. In fact, all international police departments contacted by Detective Lean's team had got back to them with the same news. There was no record of the unknown man. Despite the initial excitement at locating the suitcase, with no documentation being found inside, they have little more to go on, and by April the man is still nameless. At some point it's recommended to Detective Lean that he

turned to the University of Adelaide for help. Professor John Clellent, a well respected and experienced authority on the science of pathology, jumps at the opportunity to offer his assistance in any way he can. The following day, Cleland takes receipt of the case notes, as well as the suit case and its items found at the train station. Reading the details of the autopsy, it's clear to the seventy year old Clelland that the man had not died of natural causes,

confirming Detective leans suspicions. Finding blades of barley grass in both the lower part of the trousers left in the suit case and in one of the socks worn by the deceased when he was found. Cleland is able to confirm that the suitcase and its enclosed items belonged to the unknown man, but it adds little to what they already know. Going back to the clothes, he runs an infrared light over the trimmed labels, but finds nothing of interest.

Then he looks again at the trousers that the man had been wearing when he was found, made by Wilson, according to the little tag on one of the pockets, which he flips inside out to reveal a maker's mark chalked inside. The police had made inquiries about this early in the case, leading them to a manufacturer based out of Brunswick Street in Melbourne, which produced over three thousand

pairs of similar trousers each week. In other words, it would be nion impossible to trace the name of the buyer. Clelland is despondent and close to giving in. When working his fingers around the inside of the waistband, he feels a little bump in the fabric next to the opening of a tiny fob pocket. Putting his finger inside it,

he finds a small, tightly rolled piece of paper. Careful not to rip it, he unfurls the piece, which it's clearly been torn from somewhere, and is stunned to find two words of a language unknown to him printed on the inside of it in thick black stylized font, reading cryptically tam arm. Should you've been listening to Unexplained Season six, Episode twenty two to more Names, Part two of three, The third and final part, will be released next week

on Friday, September twenty third. If you enjoy Unexplained and would like to help support us, you can now do so via Patreon. To receive access to add three episodes, just go to patron dot com forward slash Unexplained pod to sign up. Unexplained, the book and audiobook, featuring ten stories that have never before been covered on the show, is now available to buy worldwide. You can purchase through

Amazon and Noble and Waterstones, among other bookstores. All elements of Unexplained, including the show's music, are produced by me Richard McClain Smith. Please subscribe and rate the show wherever you listen to podcasts, and feel free to get in touch with any thoughts or ideas regarding the stories you've heard on the show. Perhaps you have an explanation of your own you'd like to share. You can reach us online at Unexplained podcast dot com or Twitter at Unexplained

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