by D C Macey
‘They killed the boys for an old dagger. Why? What can it be worth to do such a thing?’ said Laila.
‘Mad people do bad things,’ said Helen.
Knut had been trying to tune out but enough got through for him to have a grasp of the key points. ‘You’re well out of it. If they want it that bad, best they have it.’
‘They don’t,’ said Laila. She swung her shoulder bag round and pulled out a rolled up polishing cloth. Unwrapping it, she let Helen see the dagger.
Knut spotted it in his driving mirror and immediately started shouting in Norwegian again. As before, Helen had no difficulty in grasping his message. Laila shouted back and for a few moments chaos threatened to break out.
‘Shut up both of you,’ shouted Helen. Her pulse had leapt at the sight of the dagger. The killers had not got it. How did Laila manage to get away with it? Again, she shouted, the command in her voice forced the others into silence. Then she prompted Laila to explain.
‘When I’d finished cleaning it I just kept it with me, felt too tired to take it back through. I knew Erling needed to sell it to you, for us, for the baby, so I just wanted it to look nice for you. When I ran, I took it - I didn’t think. I didn’t realise what they would do to him.’ The crying started again.
‘You did what you thought was right, that’s the best anyone can do,’ said Helen. ‘It’s no consolation, but I think they were both dead the moment the men walked into the house. If you’d gone back you would be dead too.’
Knut’s voice rolled in from the front. ‘Hey, you did well, girl. You saved your baby.’
Helen nodded. ‘Yes, hang on to that. Now, what to do with the dagger?’ Her question was rhetorical. She knew what she wanted to do. Leaning forward, she told Knut to make for the bank.
Laila was happy to relinquish possession of the dagger. By the time they arrived at the bank Helen had given her the briefcase, for Erling’s baby, and established that Laila had family near Oslo, Knut would take her there today. Both agreed for their own safety that they must never talk of this to anyone.
Oskar was not surprised to see her return to his bank. Helen’s original plan had been to leave the dagger at the bank after she had bought it. It would attract far too much attention at airport security. He took it without comment; then she stopped him and produced her phone to take pictures of the dagger, carefully recording the patterned markings on the blade. Those would keep Sam going until they could access the dagger again. It had been arranged that the bank would hold the dagger in safekeeping until Franz organised an interbank transfer to move it safely to Switzerland.
And as Franz had pointed out earlier, she was supposed to have visited them in Switzerland already. He needed her to visit to complete certain transfer protocols for her trust fund and now she would have her own reason to call at his bank too. She had promised to travel as soon as possible. Conservative, sure footed, in his impeccably polite way, Franz left her feeling that at least this task would work out according to plan.
Having checked local flight schedules she realised she could fly from Sandefjord’s Torp Airport to Edinburgh and there was a flight due out quite soon. Back in the car, she encouraged Knut to hurry; she could just about make the next flight from Torp if he got a shift on. She knew his view of her had changed over the course of the day, could sense the growing respect and the slightly nervous looks he gave her. There was an increased deference in his voice, and she suspected he was quite keen to see the back of her. They made the airport in good time.
Helen gave Knut a very generous tip and again confirmed the arrangement that he would take Laila straight to her mother’s home outside Oslo. After ensuring Laila knew how to get in touch in the event of an emergency, Helen left the taxi and allowed Knut to transfer her suitcase from the boot on to a trolley. She walked into the airport pushing the trolley with one hand while reaching for her phone with the other. Sam needed to be updated.
Helen had not noticed the black SUV that had rolled into the airport drop off zone just as Knut’s taxi pulled out.
CHAPTER 3 - WEDNESDAY 7th AUGUST
Helen studied Sam across the breakfast table. She had returned to Edinburgh with mixed feelings. On the one hand, delighted to be with him again after what had felt like a very long break; on the other, sick to her soul that all the trouble from before was re-emerging. She had anticipated that her return would herald an exciting hunt to unravel the mystery of the daggers; there was nothing exciting in this. They had shared their news the night before. Now, in the light of day, plans needed to be made - made fast.
‘I’ve been thinking, Sam, we need to let the guys know what’s happening: Elaine, Grace, Francis, Xavier and Angelo too. If this is going the way it seems then they are all at risk again.’ She waited for Sam’s reply as he swallowed a mouthful of cereal. Her experiences in Edinburgh had forged close bonds with a mixed bag of people. People who, but for the recent killings, might for the most part have remained little more than acquaintances.
The common link between them all was John Dearly, and he had been killed for that link. Elaine, the senior elder at St Bernard’s, had survived - though she had suffered cruel torture at the hands of the gang. Her daughter Grace was involved, young, loving life and always game; and Helen too, she bit on her lip. All three of the women now lived with the knowledge that they had seen the killers’ faces, seen them in action - a shared hell. Then there was Francis, priest of the local Catholic parish, he’d been John Dearly’s long-standing friend.
Finally, there was Xavier, the charming and enigmatic old priest from Sardinia. He at least had some knowledge of the real value of the daggers, and of the forces that seemed to be emerging once again. And always at his side was Angelo - a young assistant priest and his protector.
All together, they had faced evil before and against the odds come through. Now the friends needed to be warned that it was not over.
‘Yes. We should warn them today. But what about the problem itself, what do you think now?’ said Sam.
‘Our original plan had been to solve the mystery of the Templar daggers and then expose the whole story to the public, a fait accompli. If the whole world knows the whole secret, it’s not a secret anymore and there is nothing left to kill for. You and Xavier reckoned that was the only certain way to stop these lunatics. I think you were right then and, with the threat coming back, I still think you are right now,’ said Helen.
‘I know. We had planned to go after this secret hoard, or whatever it is, once you came back from the States - search it out in our own time. All I see now is it’s just become an urgent activity. No - the only activity. We will need to devote everything to solving this now. I’m not expected on campus too much for a while. Other than the workshop I’m booked up for at Bristol University early next week, I should have a good deal of time to focus on this. Perhaps your church work will need to take a backseat too.’
‘Agreed, I don’t see this threat sitting back and giving us the time to sort things at our own pace. We need to step it up again. Anyway, judging by the emails Elaine has been sending me while I was away, the Church has still not set a date for the reopening of St Bernard’s. So I don’t think I’ll have much on for a while.’
‘I wonder what DCI Wallace wants. Perhaps he can shed some light on why this is all blowing up again,’ said Sam.
‘Perhaps that’s why he’s coming. I’m seeing Elaine at teatime, getting up to speed with the parish news. I’ll warn her then; if Grace is around, I’ll tell her too. If not, Elaine will tell her later.’
Sam stood and carried plates and mugs towards the dishwasher. ‘Francis is coming round to visit this evening, we can update him then and I’ll give Xavier a call after we’ve spoken to Wallace. Are you going to tell Wallace about Norway?’
‘Not unless he asks. I am just pleased we didn’t get embroiled with the Norwegian police; otherwise, I might still be stuck over there while they try to solve the killings. And you know what? I’m not sure th
ey will. The killers over there seemed every bit as ruthless and professional as those over here were.’
‘I’m sure the Norwegian police will be able to work something out for themselves eventually, ours did. I don’t think you should worry about them, it’s not as though you were actually in the crime scene or left any evidence.’
‘You think?’
Sam tried to move the conversation on. ‘Come on, DCI Wallace is calling round to the manse at three o’clock. I want to spend some time trying to match up our blades with the picture of the dagger you took in Norway. You never know, we might get lucky.’ He had spent many hours studying the patterns engraved on the daggers that they had recovered during the summer; trying to understand their meaning. To date he had not made a breakthrough and was hoping the Norwegian dagger might help.
• • •
Cassiter sat motionless in the back of the limousine. It had collected him at Montpellier and set off at once for Parsol’s chateau estate. Other than confirming his identity, the driver had made no attempt at conversation. That suited Cassiter; nothing annoyed him more than idle chatter. He was content to sit back, watch the scenery pass by and think about recent events. The journey had taken them about 40 kilometres out of town. With every passing kilometre, the driver seemed more dominant, more possessive of the road they travelled.
Gradually the main road whittled away until it was little more than a single metaled track that traced a route high along the remote valley side. All around, the grey white stone had weathered in extremes of sun and cold. The gnarled and stunted trees seemed to have weathered in sympathy with the rocks. Yet still the grasses and shrubs remained determinedly green in the face of the summer heat. It was a beautiful yet inhospitable environment.
Suddenly, the car swung off the road, it nosed down a lane into the valley below. Ahead he could see an old stone bridge arching over what was currently little more than a stream, the long drop from bridge to water level indicating that at times the stream could swell dramatically. A tight cluster of buildings stood on the far side of the bridge. There were perhaps twenty or so houses, a little chapel, a café and two or three commercial buildings - possibly barns or warehouses. Every building looked as though it had been old long before Napoleon’s time. The lane wound amongst the buildings and the limo slowed for children playing in the road outside the chapel. The driver sounded his horn and waved two young boys down from their perch on the chapel’s Mary Magdalene signage. Then the limo pulled away to emerge from the village and follow the lane as it snaked up the opposite valley side.
There, perhaps two hundred paces above the village, a high wall marked an estate boundary. The lane continued to work its way up the hillside, following the line of the wall until it reached a pair of ancient stone gateposts that supported very modern gates. The gates opened automatically as the limousine approached. Cassiter wondered whether the limo had a remote control or if the gates were under the control of a surveillance camera operative. He spotted a couple of men patrolling through the wooded grounds within the walls; his money was on manned surveillance control. It was clear that even here, in the rural wilds, Parsol left nothing to chance.
The limo raced along the private estate road and as it pulled clear of the woods Cassiter saw a broad and perfectly maintained lawn, in its centre an ornate fountain playfully jetting out a plume of water. Beyond lay the chateau, a broad set of steps accessed a raised terrace that seemed to run right round it. The limo followed the driveway as it skirted the lawn round to the front of the building; there it drew to a halt at the foot of the steps leading up to the grand entrance.
Cassiter travelled light but did not get a chance to carry his own bag. Four men appeared on the steps as he got out of the limo. Two hung back, guards, fit, strong, always alert. Cassiter thought back to the guards that had died in Edinburgh. These were equally as powerful, as were the others he’d seen dotted about the grounds. It seemed as though Parsol had a little private army. The other two men approached him. The first took his bag and retired back up the steps. The second, older, greeted him. Was he a butler or a lieutenant? Cassiter decided it didn’t matter; the man clearly held station above the guards.
The older man informed him that Parsol was currently busy. Cassiter could settle in and they would talk over dinner - they ate early in the chateau.
• • •
Helen opened the manse front door to find DCI Wallace on the step. DS Brogan stood immediately behind him.
‘Good afternoon officers, come on in,’ she greeted them both with friendly smiles, hoped they had something positive to say. Though in the light of recent events, she and Sam were becoming increasingly concerned about the visit.
The policemen funnelled past her into the hall. Helen noted that both men threw glances towards the kitchen door as they passed it. Like her, they had been privy to the horrific events in their earlier in the summer.
‘Take a right, Sam’s in the study, we’ll join him,’ she said from the back. She followed them into the study, allowing her hand to stroke lightly against the kitchen door as she passed.
During her break back home, the church had replaced the whole kitchen and redecorated. It was the place where she had shared so much time with John Dearly and she remembered the laughter, the chat, the friendship; it would always be a special place. But the refresh had somehow made it easier to use the kitchen again.
Wallace shook Sam’s hand and then took a seat, as invited. He wasted no time with pleasantries. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid. The leader of the gang behind all the violence, the one who claimed his name was Innes, and by the way, I’m still convinced he had a false identity, I’m afraid he’s gone. Been released,’ his voice was level, matter of fact.
‘Oh, no! I thought you had it all wrapped up,’ said Helen. Sam stood up and crossed to stand beside her, his hand rested on her shoulder, provided a comfort.
‘How could this happen?’ said Sam.
‘Well, all I can say is it’s not what we planned. Sometimes the legal system just throws up outcomes that defy logic or the common sense of ordinary folk; that and the fact that a key piece of evidence is not to hand anymore.’
‘What do you mean, not to hand? Is it lost?’ said Helen.
Wallace shrugged, clearly couldn’t and wouldn’t explain the loss. ‘We have no evidence to press charges now and it turns out that even before the DNA evidence disappeared, the fiscal was having second thoughts. Apparently, there are other equally as plausible ways the DNA evidence could have arrived at the scene. Ways that are unrelated to the crimes.’
‘I’d like to hear them,’ said Helen.
Wallace shrugged again. ‘It’s for the fiscal to weigh up the evidence. You should know the police now officially consider that the whole affair was perpetrated by the two scumbags we found dead in their car up at Silverknowes after all the killings.’
Helen felt sick in her stomach, she knew who had been involved but had been obliged to keep quiet at the time to protect her friends. She couldn’t now provide the information without landing them all in trouble, and probably prison, for withholding evidence. The face of the man Wallace had just let go was etched behind her eyes. She had seen him in action. He was evil personified and now the police had freed him.
‘So, who killed the pair in the car?’ said Sam. Helen noted how calm he seemed in contrast to the emotions boiling inside her.
‘Murder, suicide,’ said DCI Wallace.
‘Really? Do you actually believe that?’ said Helen.
‘That’s how the evidence is being interpreted. Senior police, the fiscal, everyone seems to see it that way.’
‘You too?’ said Sam.
‘The important thing is to ensure you are all safe. The man would be a complete fool to try anything now, and be assured he is no fool. Even so, it makes sense for all of you to take care, for your own piece of mind if nothing else. But I am pretty sure you are safe here. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything now.’<
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‘Pretty sure?’ Helen forced herself to remain calm. ‘Would you be happy with pretty sure for your family?’ She turned to Brogan. ‘Would you be happy with it for yours? What’s your take on all this anyway?’
Brogan gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘I think what the DCI thinks,’ he said.
‘Don’t press him,’ said Wallace. ‘He follows my orders. Look, I know it’s bound to be distressing for you, but you should know I’ve put the man under surveillance. He left the country, so you can relax. I understand he’s in France. And when he comes back to Scotland we’ll pick him up again.’
Shortly afterwards, the police left. Wallace had agreed that panic buttons would be installed in the manse, both her and Sam’s flats and the senior elder’s home too. He had argued with Helen that the latter was not necessary but had conceded under pressure.
Closing the front door, Helen leant back on it, fixed Sam with a worried look. ‘Well, what do you think?’ She closed her eyes and breathed out long and slow. Then, feeling Sam’s arms around her, she responded, hugging him back.
‘Like you said before, I think we need to warn everyone, right now. Wallace might be saying there is no problem, but I don’t buy it. That business in Norway, it had all the hallmarks, and he is out free right now. But how did they know you were there? Have they started spying on us again?’
‘We’ll have to ask Elaine to have Scottie do another security sweep of the buildings.’ Helen was starting to feel annoyed. Who were these people to forever push and pry into their lives?
• • •
From her vantage point, just inside the entrance to St Bernard’s church, Helen saw Elaine at the head of the centre aisle. Given the distance, she could hardly make out the injuries the senior elder had suffered during the assault earlier in the summer, though it seemed that she was on the mend. With a wave, Helen walked up the aisle towards Elaine. Sam followed behind carrying a load of empty cardboard packing boxes that Elaine had asked him to collect. As the distance between them closed, she could see Elaine’s marks and scars. All the medical supports had been removed now but Elaine was disfigured; there was definitely more rebuilding to do.
