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THE PENDLETON CODE

Peter Murchie
Contact the author via the editor by e-mail at christopher.johnstone@ntlworld.com

It was a balmy February night, and in Seaview Guest House, Port Glasgow the oppressive tropical air was unmoved by the whirring roof fan. GP and world famous Abertay University symbolist Bob Longdone slept fitfully, his pie-stand sculpted body slicked with sweat. Longdone was in town attending a conference of internationally acclaimed GP cryptologists working on video consultation exam criteria. After an exhausting day spent poring over documents alive with weird hieroglyphs and byzantine diagrams, some dating back to the Balint dynasty, the boffins had called it a night. Before bed, Longdone had eschewed the art deco delights of the Port's wine-bars and bistros, opting instead for a stroll through the gardenia festooned old town.

Suddenly, a chap on the door! Leaping from bed, Longdone leapt from bed and opened the door, only to recoil in horror - a horrible gargoyle! It couldn't be! Slowly Longdone's eyes adjusted to the soft moonlight breaking through the landing window. He regained his composure as he recognised Mrs McPhee, his landlady. “Dr Longdone” she purred, jingling her rollers coquettishly, “The Polis are needin ye. Doon at the Comet”

Forty minutes later and Longdone crouched over his mentor, Jack Sandyhair, the now late curator of the National Consultation Musuem. It was a baffling scene. Sandyhair's body had been found by a cleaner in the back-room of the Comet Bar. Lying on his back, he grasped his right pinkie, his face a compassionate grimace, a number seven drawn in the grime nearby, the last act of a dying man. Longdone noted the owl device on the tie that had strangled him. “I really don't know, Inspector” said Longdone. “A quite baffling cipher. It's like he was trying to achieve a shared understanding with his killer.”

“Hmmmm” said the Detective. “Well thanks anyway, Doc. I just hope I'm not setting you off on a breathless race through Paris, London, and beyond matching wits with a faceless powerbroker who appears to work for Opus Dei - a clandestine, Vatican-sanctioned Catholic sect.”

“Unlikely” thought Longdone as he walked back to his guest house, oblivious to a hulking, pink eyed, white haired, cowled demon in human form with tie marks on his palm tailing him in a silver 2003 VW Golf. Longdone's shadow was the evil Silastic, a fanatical member of the “Registrar's”, a shady organisation known to stop at nothing to unlock the secret of the perfect video consultation, and comprising amongst its weaponry such diverse elements as: fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, and an almost fanatical devotion to the pub.

Longdone spent a wakeful Byrne and Long night, answering all six of Helman's questions and finally reaching a decision. He would seek the help of his partner and gifted cryptologist, Softly Niceview.

Longdone and Softly's minds were elsewhere as they otoscoped, empathised and amoxycillined their way through morning surgery. Solving the enigma of last night's crime scene by coffee-time Longdone and Softly were stunned to discover that it led them to a trail of seven clues in the works of Pendleton, clues visible for all to see and yet disguised by the ingenious device of sending the unschooled reader to sleep by page five. Clues in a consultation model - they could barely health believe it. That only left the grasped pinky.

In their excitement they failed to notice the ominous whirr of video equipment and the evil pink glint of glee in their registrar's eye.

All through the lunchtime meeting, Longdone and Softly wrestled with the seven clues. Suddenly, in a particularly improbable plot twist they discovered that Sandyhair was actually Softly's uncle and had belonged the “Examiners”, an ancient secret society definitely not including Sir Isaac Newton, Botticelli, Victor Hugo and Leonardo Da Vinci amongst it's members. What a day! As revelation followed revelation they next realised that Sandyhair had sacrificed his life to protect the “Examiners” most sacred trust: the location of a vastly important hidden relic, containing the ultimate truth.

With Silastic in hot pursuit, Softly and Longdone set off in search of the relic, driving around Port Glasgow for hours in search of an extremely wealthy knight and royal historian, crippled by polio, and so obsessed by the relic that he had created an alter ego, the Teacher, to carry out his evil plot to possess it. Surprisingly, they couldn't find one. When they were also unable to locate a Swiss bank, failure loomed. Then suddenly in a couple of Dan Brown style plot twists, a pawn ticket and a comet over Ailsa Craig led them to discover a copy of the BJGP in a wheely bin behind the bookies. And within that BJGP, a news-cutting about the St Valentine's Day Massacre……

“Oh no” cried Softly despairingly. “We're utterly defeated - we'll never get to Chicago in time!”

Longdone rested his head on the steering wheel. Dejectedly he took the clipping from his beautiful sidekick and began to read. His face broke into a wide grin and his foot hit the accelerator. “There's still time. I'll explain on the way” he said. Softly couldn't help noticing a passing resemblance to Tom Hanks as she admired his profile. He explained that the St Valentine's Day Massacre referred to in this article had nothing to do with Al Capone. It referred to the 14th February 1981 when Greenock Morton defeated Aberdeen FC in the Scottish Cup. “Oh she squealed. Then…”

“Exactly!” said Longdone triumphantly. “If that relic isn't buried at Cappielow at the exact point where Andy Ritchie began his mazy run to net the winner that day, then I've no right to be played by a two-time Oscar winner in the film.”

Reaching the Stadium they sprinted down deserted terraces onto the pitch. Mercifully it was match-day. Just north of the centre circle, they could see a hunched cowled figure. In one fluid movement Longdone leapt at the kneeling villain and swung the shovel he was inexplicably holding. Silastic slumped forward with a groan, spilling a mauve hardback book, lately buried beneath the turf, from his enormous hands.

After a handcuffed Silastic had been led away muttering “I'd have gotten away with it too, if it hadn't been for those meddling principals.” Longdone and Softly were left alone in the deserted stadium. “Softly, the secret is ours. We can be examiners now” he said, handing her the precious mauve book.

“The Inner Consultation” she said reverentially. As she read her face lit like a desert sunrise. “Safety netting” she breathed, realising the significance of her Uncle's last sign.

Other hoolet online articles by Peter Murchie can be found at:
hoolet edition 49 - Sandyjim Saves the Day
hoolet edition 48 - And The Winner Is...
hoolet edition 47 - A Christmas Caper
hoolet edition 46 - The Edinburgh Festival
hoolet edition 45 - Struck By Enlightenment
hoolet edition 44 - The Pendleton Code
hoolet edition 43 - Christmas Eve at The Pole
hoolet edition 42 - An Unexpected Reunion
hoolet edition 41 - The Complementary Garage
hoolet edition 40- Up General Practice!!
hoolet edition 39- Ten Years From Now
hoolet edition 38 - Finlay and the Contract Summit
hoolet edition 37 - Johnny the Bow and the New Contract
hoolet edition 36 - Science For Football's Sake
hoolet edition 35 - Evidence-Based Golfing
hoolet edition 34 - Dr. Marlowe

hoolet is the magazine of RCGP Scotland. It is supported intellectually, financially and emotionally by RCGP Scotland.

This issue maintained by Robert Hallam.