The work in progress

Work has been suspended on The Shandon Code, an experiment on writing a  novel on the Facebook status line . More later. Ah'll be back !

The Shandon Code

a novel by Brendan Long Started Thursday, May 16, 2013

A cold wind gusted in from the Lee and whipped round the concrete bollards in Emmet Place .The glass facade of the Opera House seemed to wince at the blustery night as the wind challenged the pants legs of the newly emerged audience as they lit cigarettes, and squinted into the blustery rain.Another Cork summer was upon them.

Across the river , from his eyerie atop the tower of St. Ann's Church , Shandon, a cliched shadowy figure pulled the wet bell ropes to form a melody known to locals.

In the ornate vestibule of the Opera House, German ex-pat Herman Hackenbauer found himself remembering the lyrics

' The Bells of Shandon,

that sound so grand on

the pleasant waters

of the River Lee'

Hackenbauer smiled and then grimaced as the he faced in the inhospitable night.His years as reservist on Germany's Hamburg coast prepared him well for Cork's varied climes.As he walked towards the river he glanced at Shandon's steeple and registered the time,half past ten.The hands , parted by one hundred and twenty degrees , seemed to mimic a fascist salute but something was wrong with the picture.The number 3 was missing from the dial.Odd, thought Hackenbauer, as he spat into the gutter..

Sorry ? said a whiny voiced Garda.Cork people said 'sorry' instead of 'excuse me '.

Yes ? said Hackenbauer.

You can't spit there, like, said Garda Noel O'Toole.....

In the narrow gap of Shandon Street, a man lay prostate, his neck pinned to a drainpipe by a two foot golden number 3.Like a mini McDonalds sign.Happy meal indeed...

========================

- In Shandon St. a crowd had gathered, around the corpse.O'Toole shoved them aside , using his rugby skills learned on the played fields of Pres, the southside's patrician academy.

- O'Toole pondered the puzzling phrase, his mind drawn back to his schooldays. Bradán Feasa, the salmon of knowledge.Legend had it that Fionn, the great Fenian hero, stuck his thumb in a salmon , and was thereafter blessed with awesome knowing and understanding.

- Its going to be a long night, he thought

- Meanwhile, 170 feet above him, a man was at work , his imperial measure 1-inch spanner gripping the hexagonal nuts holding the 12 foot salmon to the steeple's apex.

- Revenge will be mine, thought the slimy spannerer, as he worked in the shadows, invisible to all but the seagulls gliding above him.

Chapter 2 - wherein the plot thickens... Wilton Shopping Centre hummed with activity , the motorists snaking around the building, like beetles at a beetle gathering.In the concourse , at the Cash for Gold booth, sat Mustafa Ben McCarthy, a Jordanian immigrant, typing idly on his iPad, as he redrafted his doctoral thesis on nanotechnological breakthroughs.Suddenly his mobile rang.

a gruff voice coughed and then asked ,' can you purchase large objects? '.

How large ? 12 feet long, said the caller, the wind howling in the background.MCarthy thought he heard a seagulls screech...

The call ended suddenly.

Meanwhile back at Shandon St., Hackenbauer was surveying the scene outside the All the Tripe You Can Eat takeaway restaurant , the nighttime diners in various stages of ill repair.Someone was singing Rainy night in Soho: ' ..and we saw them as they fell..' when his incantation was rudely ended as a mobile phone clocked off his head and ricocheted off the pavement.

Up on high , the man cursed his fallen telephone.The dismantling continued as the salmon was parted from his nuts.Gently he was lowered by ropes on the northern-facing sand stoned face, his progress unseen by the crowd milling below.As the piscian prize descended to the church grounds, its arrival was handled by a triad of shifty figures, working feverishly, to land their ichthian icon

O'Toole surveyed the crime scene .The body was that of a - body – 40 years old, cops - Hackenbauer speaks to O'Toole, Fancy a pint ?

For sure, said Herman.In here ? , he asked, pointing to a local pub .They were soon ensconced behind the bar of The Oul Shillelagh tavern.Two pints of stout were delivered by the barman.Thanks Arthur, said O'Toole

Arthur, thought Hackenbauer.Interesting.

Symbolics , said O'Toole. Who, the barman ? said Hackenbauer

No.Symbolics , the study of signs and symbols.I was at a lecture in UCC last month.Given by Professor Fergus McFergus. 

Meanwhile back at the fish ... Shandon struck 11pm as the leader of the nefarious group removed his balaclava revealing his rugged features, distinguished by a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his left cheek.One of the group had erected a Men Working sign and handled spectators' queries with the reply that it was routine maintenance .Another had covered the salmon with black cloth to disguise it. - Author's note: I know the logistics are dodgy , but i have to move it on ;) -

• Did anyone see where my mobile fell ? He asked

In pub, a mobile rang. Monday

Hackenbauer didn't recognize the ringtone , but felt the vibration in his pocket.He took out the phone, the one they picked up. The phone that had hopped off the singer's head.He answered the call.Hello ?

They watched the door eagerly.A few people entered then a teenager, looking around.He took out his mobile to redial..
- Over here .
Hackenbauer raised his hand.
The young man approached.
- Thanks .That's great.
The men looked slightly perplexed , as Hackenbauer handed over the phone.O'Toole was doing something on his smartphone.
- So, thanks.I'll be off
- ok. eh..
O'Toole nudged him.
-Yeah, grand , said O'Toole
The teenager headed off through the crowd

Hackenbauer winced with anger
- Why did you let him go ?
- You have his number in your phone and I have his photo on mine

Vlad and his furtive friends looked relieved as their young teenage colleague returned, mobile raised in his hand

The crowd had dispersed as the black-clad group and their young apprentice got in the van and drove down the winding streets towards the river

Mustafa was watching tv at his home in Bishopstown as his mobile vibrated with an incoming text.From the previous caller.'might have to check size of object.Tx' Hmm, Lets give this guy a call..He pressed the contacts number and hit the green button.He also paused his Cloud live tv coverage of the playoff match between Little-Towbridge -on-the-Mould and Dullston Town (3-3 , 75th minute). The call was answered by a man with a deep voice .'Yes Mr Gold Purchaser.How are you?'
- Im fine thanks.We eh normally buy earrings, bracelets things like that. How eh large is your large object ?
- I eh I'm not sure if I can part with it..
- Hmm. Oh ok.Cheers.
As he hung up Mustafa pondered how curious people were.What exactly was the guy trying to sell ??
The match ended with a Dullston victory (7-6 in a penalty shootout; 'press red button for action replays of all goals').
Ah Dullston.Dullston of my youth.He wondered what happened to the beautiful Jasmin...

Back in the pub Hackenbauer sat staring into the middle distance , his mind wandering with thoughts of the capriciousness of existence. He supped his pint and ,sat contemplating his torpor . He spat on the floor.
- No spittin' on the floor, said O'Toole
Behind them sat revellers the worse for beer, launching into a bawdy ballad about lusty maidens . And some strange connection to loaves and fishes .
' ... the comely maid-en, her eyesight fad-in'....gazed skyward gazin'...her love to see..'
Hackenbauer looked up , took his pint in his hand and began thinking..what is it with these people and fish..

Will we have one more , Beckenabuer ? asked O'Toole

Hackenbauer , said Hackenbauer

Hackenbauer, Beckanbauer..it's all the same to me ..O'Toole caught the barman's eye. 'Same again please Arthur'.

At Slab 4 in the city morgue, pathologist Laetitia Flood spoke into her digital solid state dictaphone. ' Male Caucasian, age around 40, wounds on the left temple, possibly caused by bludgeoning...'

She knew O'Toole was off duty so she recorded a voice-activated email on her Sooper Dooper F47 Voicesender : 'No surprises.Bludgeoning with a heavy object.Report tomorrow. The instrument that was death had left a mark on her soul.

Downtown it was buzzing in the Arousal Nightclub . A dark-haired woman danced and gazed at possible conquests. She moved like a salmon in a landing net and not like a mini digger in a hurricane. A swarthy stranger approached and .He took her hand and gazed at the bracelet on her wrist , from which hung a single gold letter ..J.....

• Whats the J for...?
• J ? she laughed haughtily. Ha ha haaaaaaaaaa! , meeting his eyes with a bold glare.
• 'J is for Jasmin'. Achoo ! Achoo ! She burst into a sneezing fit.
• 'Sorry', she said. 'Hay fever'.

Outside of Shandon, the ground trembled.Walkers flinched at the sudden movement of the earth beneath them.Dust and stones began to fall and people dived for cover.Then came a mighty roar, the steeple shook violently and the 4 walls parted, from summit to base, ripping the bricks like opening a Tw*x, and there emerged amid earth-shattering noise and explosions, a huge rocket that blazed out of the rubble and roared up and further up into the night sky.

The noise was excruciating , deafening and overwhelming.Hackenbauer sat up in the bed his face dripping with cold sweat.What a nightmare !

The night lay like a dead weight on the southern capital.The ancient stones lay astride the bones in the graveyard of St. Ann's Church , Shandon, oblivious to the passage of time. Flood examined the driver's licence and looked again at the familiar face.Fergus McFergus had breathed his last.

Deep in the cold green depths of the Lee , a herring floated eastwards, it's red colouring flashing against the neon, as it journeyed towards the endgame

The daybreak brought web headlines of the McFergus death.Top College Man dies in Suspicious Circumstances said the Mail; NCU Boffin Bludgeoned in Brouhaha, said the Gazette.St Josephs Junior B hurlers training hard said The Southern Sport.

Noel O'Toole checked his early morning emails .One from Flood included the information that lab reports showed a blood sample on the wound was linked to that on the 3.The numeral was from shopfront, No. 3 Shandon St.Odd thought O'Toole.

Flood stared at the screen of her phone. Should she message Jasmin ?

O'Toole's phone rang.Flood.
- How's it goin' said O'Toole
- Busy night.
- Yeah.I can imagine.Hard to believe he's dead.Whats the story with the '3' Like ?
- The blood matches.It could be the murder weapon.And there's something else.
- Yeah ?
- This is even better.You know the famous fish on top of Shandon ? Twelve feet long ?
- eh yeah ? said O'Toole, puzzled.
- It's missing. Gone. Hors de combat.
- F*ck ! What's the story like ?
- Looks like somebody removed it under cover of darkness.Posing as Corporation workers.
- Why would anyone steal the fish ??
- That , my dear , is the question.

Jasmin McCarthy-Donietski awoke to the penetrating drillbit that was her alarm clock.Her wild night on the town left a banging headache and a mouth drier than a camel drover's armpit.

She checked her phone.Musical welcome screen.Swirly animation and annoying signature tune.

- Grnnnnn. Come on ! She groaned as she grabbed a bottle of water from the floor next to the bed.

Email from Laetitia Flood.: It's Fergus. He's dead ! He's here in the morgue.Sorry if this is the first you hear of it.Really sorry.

She dropped the phone and sat back, Jesus.Fergus ! She felt her heart belting against her chest as she sat , paralysed, staring into space.

O'Toole sat in The Mockya Mocha coffee shop ruminating over the situation. He needed help.The police were on the case all right but were adrift in a sea of puzzling clues. Taking out his phone he finally checked the online profile of Hackenbauer.'Hobbies - Symbology..' .Having seen a lot of Scandinavian tv detective series he decided.That will do.He's in.

Hackenbauer fingered his furrowed brow as his Teutonic temples throbbed with a persistent intensity.Wagnerian rhythms forged their way through his cerebral cortex like a chippy thro a fish supper.The symbol of the three.The Trinity.The salmon - the fish: a symbol for Jesus ? What on earth was going on ?

After McFergus' funeral, the web was ablaze with rumour and counter-rumour. Hackenbauer and O'Toole met for lunch in The O'Bergin , a trendy vegetarian spot overlooking the north channel of the Lee.

- What do you think ? said O'Toole

- It's hard to avoid the symbolism, said Hackenbauer. The 3, the salmon.Hardly accidental ?

- Is the murder connected with the fish , do you think ?

- Are we sure it's murder ? Said H

- Unless he leapt up at the shop sign and headed it vigorously , said O'Toole

Hackenbauer pursed his lips.

  - So what do you want me to do ?

  - Look at the evidence , brainstorm it , suggest things

 -  Exactly , said O'Toole smiling.
  - Like on the telly , said Hackenbauer