The Shorthand Notebook - Part 4.

"Okay - so let me get this straight! Judge O' Sullivan - who was murdered in his driveway yesterday morning - happened to be on the same flight as the missing reporter Pierce Carty?"

"Yep."

"And that bloody fingerprint belongs to the reporter?"

"Yep."

"What do you suggest we do next Rob?"

"I haven't a clue. You got any ideas?"

"We could see what the shorthand means. Is there an app that could help us read it?"

"Let's have a look. No. Nothing there. How do you know it's shorthand? Apart from the fact it says the words shorthand notebook on the cover?"

"Do you remember I shared that house in Rathmines while I was at college? One of those housemates was a girl - called Lenore."

"As in the fabric softener?? Brings new meaning to the slogan "Everyone feels good in..""

"Don't! Jaysus she hated that slogan. She was doing secretarial studies and had a few of these notebooks lying around."

"I don't remember her. Was I here at the time?"

"I'm not sure but it was first year in college. You could have been in the US training."

"I don't ever remember you mentioning her. Because I would've remembered her name for damn sure."

"It eh, didn't end well. Let me see if I'm still friends with her on Facebook."

"Wait! Don't!"

"Why?"

"They might be keeping an eye on all your accounts and shit!"

"But they don't know my name Rob! At least, I didn't tell them. Would they be able to identify me from my mobile number and facial recognition software?"

"They would be able to identify your face alright, I'd say. Sure didn't they track you to the airport? But to get your name, they'd have to access confidential information to your phone records from your phone provider. They wouldn't be allowed to do that."

"But these bastards don't seem like boy scouts Rob! I'm not sure we should risk it. They could be here in a flash!"

"Let me try finding her through my account. What was Lenore's second name?"

"Martin."

"Wow! She's local! What are the chances?"

We stayed silent in the taxi, so to be as forgettable as we possibly could. The driver seemed content staying quiet too. We drove into Malahide village and asked the driver to drop us right at the front door of Gibney's pub. Keeping our heads down, we scurried into a quiet corner. En route to the pub, Rob had sent Lenore a private message via Facebook.

"What did you send her?"

"I asked her if she remembered you from your days in college. Let's get her interest first and then we'll ask for her help. I'll send her my number if she replies."

"Did you do your scanner thingy to check for bugs and stuff?"

"Way ahead of you. I scanned as we entered the pub. We're good. There's cameras outside and at the bar. Also at the main entry points. We'll be fine sitting here."

While we waited hoping for Lenore to respond, we went through the notebook in minute detail. Rob took pictures with his phone of anything that later might be important. The notebook was mainly notations, numbers and scrawling of the reporter. I flicked back to the front and started to go through the shorthand pages. There were forty one pages, back to back, of shorthand scribblings I couldn't understand. But something caught my eye on the back of the page that contained the name Sergeant James McCarthy - something that irked me.

"She just sent me a reply."

"What did she say?"

"She remembers you alright and asks how I know you. What should I reply with?"

"Say you're a very good friend of his and in his company right now. He might need your help. Could you ring me on this number? How about that?"

"Sounds good."

While we waited, I forgot about showing Rob the notation I had spotted. Lenore rang and I answered. She seemed very reticent to speak.

"Hiya Lenore - it's me, Tony."

"Eh, hi Tony? I haven't heard from you in ages. What's going on?"

"I know it sounds a bit weird Lenore, but I need your help."

"You need my help? Are you serious? After leaving me in the lurch six years ago?"

"Please don't get mad Lenore. I really need your help."

"You want help from me? What with?"

"Understanding some shorthand."

"What? Are you serious? I have barely used that in the years since college. And I don't live anywhere near town anymore."

"Yeah I kinda know that. We're eh, in your village right now."

"As in my village?? You're in Malahide right now?"

"Eh, yeah."

"What the fuck is going on Tony?? Why are you ringing me up after six years and asking for my help? I've a good mind to ring the Gardai right now! This whole thing smells like shit to me! You have some nerve!"

"Please don't do that Lenore! Please! Just meet up with us first and let me explain! Please?"

"You're presuming one hell of a lot from me here Tony!"

"I know, I know. Please Lenore? For old times sake?"

"Okay then! Where are you?"

I asked her not to tell anyone what she was doing, while she made her way to us. The fewer people who got involved with this, the better. I told Rob the short story of Lenore and I.

Lenore arrived and I asked Rob to get her a drink. I explained the entire situation to her while Rob shielded his face from the bar cameras. She initially sat with her arms folded and legs crossed. As I told the story of the past couple of hours, her stance and posture slowly relaxed. She was fascinated by the time I pulled the notebook out onto the table. She was hooked.

As Rob returned with her drink, she asked for a piece of paper and a pen. She would try to decipher the notations and transfer what she understood to the blank sheet. We sat transfixed.

"Tony - this is an interview. This reporter is frantically writing his quickest shorthand. He's leaving out everyday common words that make up sentences."

"What do you mean?"

"Words like it, and, like, but - those type of words. This guy being interviewed is dying."

"Well I hate to point this out - but he's dead already."

"Shush Rob! We know that! You say he was already dying at the time of this interview?"

"Yeah. From lung cancer. He had six months left to live."

"Holy shit!"

"Hold your questions until I'm finished. I'm not quite remembering the strokes and nuances of it. You're going to have to be patient!"

We fell back into silence as Lenore asked for another blank sheet, writing front and back. She kept shaking her head and exhaling - loudly. We didn't interrupt until she was ready. It took her almost forty minutes to transcribe it all. We were now on our fifth pint, eagerly awaiting news.

"Well?"

"What's written here could get us all killed."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure either of you should know. It gives you both deniability."

"I'm in up to my neck already. Give it to me."

"Me too," agreed Rob.

"This was an interview with the judge. It took place I think, on a flight going somewhere. This fella knew he was dying and took the opportunity to speak out to whomever owns this notebook."

"So Carty took this opportunity and sneakily took notes?"

"No Tony. The judge told him to take notes. He even signed the notebook. That's why you see his name at the end of the shorthand notes."

"So this was like his last will and testament?"

"In a way, yes Rob. He spilled his darkest secrets. He said he'd probably never get a chance to write his autobiography, so this was going to be his opportunity to somehow right his wrongs. I could swear he was drinking heavily during the interview."

"How do you know?"

"He makes reference to scotch on at least four occasions Rob. And he's not talking about Scotland."

"Shit! Guys - I'd forgotten to show you both this. I saw this earlier and I just realised it's significance!"

I use my thumb to flick hurriedly through the notebook. It's as if a light bulb has been switched on inside my head.

"What would you both make of this notation?"

"Gibberish."

"It's just a number and some random letters Tony. It's nothing."

"Reverse them."

The notation read 6IM ARIR.