The Temple Legacy

by D C Macey

  • • •

  DCI Wallace had sat through the church service. Apart from the media prowling the edges he had not seen anything that struck him as out of the ordinary, nothing to attract his attention. Afterwards, he decided to take a walk before heading home for Sunday lunch. He had promised his wife he would not be late and after all the recent domestic turmoil triggered by this case he knew he had to keep his word. Nonetheless, he needed to clear his mind and so opted for a stroll through the quiet of the cemetery where he could put his thoughts in order.

  As he wandered amongst the gravestones, a movement caught his eye and his observer’s instinct brought him to a sudden stop. He was pleased it had. Sat on a bench perhaps twenty paces ahead of him were the two women who found John Dearly’s body. What were they doing here? Consoling one another? Perhaps, but this was a lonely place to give support. He couldn’t make out what they were saying but he’d stop and watch a little. Who knew what this was all about?

  CHAPTER 16 - MONDAY 10th JUNE

  The media storm had grown over the weekend and police officers were posted outside both the church and the manse. Helen was relieved, thankful for the protective blue barrier that kept the paparazzi at bay. Now safely ensconced in the church office, she sipped at a strong coffee and tried hard to ignore the ghoulish headlines staring up from the morning newspaper that lay on the desk. She was functioning physically but was quite detached from life around her. The daily routine seemed of no consequence and she really did not want to confront the events of recent days. Staring hard at the desk’s worn and mellowed wood, she absently traced patterns in the grain; keeping her mind busy on nothing.

  Elaine sat at the other end of the desk; neither woman had chosen to sit in the seat behind it. In the absence of a minister, it was probably Elaine’s place as Kirk Session clerk, but as assistant minister, Helen might have staked a claim. Today, both had subconsciously decided to leave John’s seat vacant as a mark of respect. The phone on the desk was silent now - its constant ringing had prompted Elaine to unplug it at the wall and Helen had not objected. Both the women were working hard to mask their disquiet. Traumatised by events, neither was feeling ready to face the world, but it kept turning and it seemed with scant regard for their pain or loss. Both were ill at ease with what was about to arrive.

  James Curry had been in touch. He would be with them at any moment. Under the circumstances, this was not unusual; a parish would expect its presbytery to rally round at a time of crisis, to lend whatever support it could. Curry’s note did make reference to their loss and offered support, but it seemed to suggest that he also had other business he needed to address today.

  ‘You don’t have to be here you know, I can deal with it,’ said Elaine.

  Helen pulled herself into the day and shook her head. ‘No, it’s alright, I’m fine, perhaps we had better see him together, moral support, safety in numbers and all that stuff. Though technically I think you’re in charge at the moment. What do you think? Curry might be just delivering his condolences.’

  Elaine grimaced. ‘Well his is not a face I want to see here just now, and I wouldn’t bank on him calling round just to be nice,’ she said. ‘He’s a heartless one. John wasn’t keen on him, for all his clean cut public image. He’s one who shouldn’t bank on his maker being that pleased to see him when his time comes.’

  A rapping knuckle on the vestry door brought them both up short and an inappropriately cheery voice called out. ‘Hello, anyone home? The police let me through, I’ve shown myself in.’ James Curry walked through the vestry and on into the little corridor leading to the office. ‘Don’t get up on my account. Quite understand. I’ll see myself in.’ Then he was there, framed in the doorway. They both turned to look at him and their hearts sank yet further.

  Curry syruped into the room, he parroted a worried concern that was belied by the enthusiastic tone in his speech, which he could not quite suppress. ‘Elaine, my dear lady. Helen too,’ said Curry, turning to them each in turn. ‘How are you both bearing up? Awful business. Tragic. Inexplicable.’

  Elaine was careful to be holding the coffee pot in her right hand as she stood to greet the presbytery clerk. She waved the pot in his direction, offering him both the hospitality of a coffee and a hollow excuse for not shaking hands. Instead, they exchanged brief head nods in greeting. Elaine tilted the pot towards a tray of clean cups and James Curry nodded acceptance of the offered hospitality. Helen remained seated at the end of the desk, avoiding the hug of condolence that she feared would come if she stood. Instead, as Elaine poured everyone coffee, Helen stretched out an arm across the corner of the desk to shake the presbytery clerk’s hand. Greetings over, Curry picked up a chair from the side of the room and purposefully placed it in front of the desk.

  It had been a surprise for Curry to find Helen there at all. He put it down to a combination of some misplaced deference on the part of that dullard McPhee, while the pushy American girl clearly did not understand the proper parish protocols. He had expected to find the senior elder behind the desk, filling the leader’s role until the parish selected a new minister, which with his guidance and support was going to take many months. Then he’d ensure a nice, conventional, compliant minister was selected. Job done.

  Now was the time to break up McPhee’s little coven, time to dismantle their traditions once and for all: James Curry had it planned.

  After the short exchange of pleasantries, James Curry plunged straight to the point by addressing himself to Elaine. ‘Now, Elaine, my dear, I know you and the other elders will be anxious to ensure parish affairs are kept appropriately during this difficult time. Don’t you agree?’ he did not allow Elaine the time to reply. ‘You really must have things in order for the next minister, whoever he may be,’ Curry paused, turned and gave Helen the slightest of smiles. ‘Someone quite special will be needed here, don’t you think? After all the urr… All the unpleasantness.’

  Curry turned his head towards Elaine again, addressing her alone. ‘Of course, presbytery knows the responsibility for appointing a new parish minister ultimately rests with your nominating committee. A grave responsibility for you and the other elders involved,’ he stretched out his hands to embrace the whole parish, ‘and that is your responsibility. We will guide you and you know you can rely on my support throughout, but ultimately it will be the congregation here that makes its choice,’ James Curry fixed Elaine with a steely gaze. ‘And perhaps we might hope for a more conventional procedure too. I want to regularise things here. Get a level playing field for the next minister, that’s important don’t you think?’

  His smile gave no warmth. ‘However, we do still have these concerns about certain financial arrangements that might not be as they ought. I met with John Dearly to discuss that very issue,’ he turned pointedly to Helen, ‘and you will recall, young lady, John agreed to co-operate with an informal investigation. He agreed in a gesture of goodwill and public spirit that St Bernard’s would provide what information might be needed - so heading off any risk of our needing to implement a formal investigation and perhaps, helping to avoid a financial scandal. Now, in the light of circumstances surrounding the previous two ministers’ mmmh…, ending, we think it’s all the more important to do that investigation quietly and at once, don’t you agree?’ He fell silent, sent Elaine a smug smile and waited for her to agree.

  Elaine stared back without returning his smile. ‘I don’t think you understand the situation here, this is turmoil; we’ve no time to help informal investigations. No time to help any investigations. We’ve got to appoint a new minister, there’s a murder investigation going on and there’s a parish to run.’

  Curry smiled back at her. ‘Now don’t you worry about a thing, we thought a helpful gesture might be appreciated. The presbytery thought I should personally make myself available to support the running of the parish in the interim. I’ll just beaver away in the background, nobody will even notice me. It will give you all the peace of mind t
hat things will be as they should be for the next minister, allowing you to concentrate on pastoral business and the appointment of a suitable new minister. Oh, and the time to give access to any and all financial information that might be needed. What do you think?’ Curry paused, contented. Confidently, he lifted his coffee cup and sipped. It was nice coffee, but not quite the quality he liked. As he intended to spend some time here, the first thing he would do is upgrade the coffee quality. St Bernard’s could afford it.

  Elaine sat silently. The prolonged presence of such a senior administrator was not normal, nor was it necessary. But she was cautious, St Bernard’s had always sought to keep a low profile, avoiding attention or comment for any reason. Recent events had forced it into the limelight and the close interest of the presbytery’s senior administrator was undesirable, but so was the attention that would be attracted by resisting such interest.

  Curry relished Elaine’s discomfort as he allowed the silence to stretch. Finally, accepting the prolonged silence as acquiescence, complete surrender, he carefully drained his cup, put it on the desk and pulled out a slim pocket diary. ‘Now, Elaine, firstly is there any more of that coffee available? Perhaps you could top up my cup, hmm? Then we need to fix some dates for me to attend and get things underway.

  ‘I don’t think we should wait until after the funeral - with the police involvement that could take a little while. Best if I set aside a couple of days a week to support you, perhaps Tuesdays and Thursdays? Shall we say starting this Thursday? Of course, I’ll need access to the accounts and records and so forth, and I’d expect the parish’s support in every way. What do you think?’ Curry started to enter diary dates but stopped short as his proposal was challenged.

  ‘I think you’ve skipped a line somewhere, James,’ said Helen. Quiet spoken, confident and masking the growing irritation she was experiencing over this smug man. She could tell he was little more than an apparatchik, making the wheels turn to best suit the system, to protect the system and his place within it, and with no concern for the thoughts or feelings of those affected. John Dearly had not liked the man, had been right about him all along, and she was not about to let him push in over John’s dead body.

  Curry paused and peered over his glasses. ‘I beg your pardon, my dear. Did you say something?’ Turning his head towards Elaine, he asked theatrically. ‘Have I missed something, Elaine? I can’t imagine what.’ Turning back to Helen, he gave her a disdainful look. ‘And I’m not exactly sure what purpose you serve in this meeting anyway, Helen. A transient parish assistant has no role or voice in this essential work.’ He tutted, chiding her like a naughty girl, then looked back at his diary to complete his arrangements. ‘Now, as I was-’

  ‘Listen, yes, I am the assistant here but I am an ordained minister too. This is not an empty place where you can just roll up and wipe John Dearly away. I’m here as part of the existing parish team and I’ll be supporting Elaine and everyone else too, believe it,’ said Helen. She met and held Curry’s glare as his head snapped up.

  ‘What?’ Curry’s voice betrayed sudden and intense irritation.

  She nodded, giving him a sweet smile of confirmation. ‘That’s right, I’m still here. John trusted me, wanted me. And you know what? When the time comes, I’ll be putting my hat in the ring too. I hope you think I’ll be a really suitable new minister.’

  Curry almost sneered at her. ‘There’s a selection process, advertising the post, whittling down, then the congregation have to make the appointment. I don’t know what silly dream you’re having but why don’t you go and pack your bags, and let Mrs McPhee and I sort it out? Hmm? There’s a good girl.’ Curry swept her aside, blustering himself back into control, but it was short lived. Even as he half turned in his chair, directing Helen towards the office door with his pointing hand, he was brought to a halt.

  ‘She is part of our parish team. I know the parish wants her to stay. I hope, no, I believe she will be selected as the new minister,’ growled Elaine. Her voice made clear that there was no scope for give and take. She had hoped to keep things as low profile as possible, to put up with Curry’s arrogant and superior behaviour, and hopefully avoid the issue of succession altogether today. However, once Helen and Curry had clashed that hope had vanished and Elaine stood beside Helen at once.

  ‘Rubbish! You can’t make that decision. It’s not in your gift. Church rules are quite clear, and make no mistake; you’ll be following the rules to the letter. It’s for the parish to form a nomination committee with the guidance and oversight of the presbytery, to follow a selection process, to deliberate and recommend a minister to the congregation,’ said Curry, confident of his ground. ‘And then the congregation will need to vote acceptance.’

  ‘Yes,’ Elaine replied, ‘and we’ll follow the rulebook to the letter, with your guidance and support, I’m sure. But the other elders and I have conferred, taken soundings around the congregation. Oh, it’ll have to be seen to go through process, but rest assured we know who we want right now.’

  Helen stood up, fixed Curry with her gaze and gave the sweetest of smiles while pointing at herself. ‘Me, a minister,’ she said, as her head tilted slightly to one side and she nodded and arched an eyebrow, seeking his acknowledgement. She spun her finger pointing round the room in a little circle, ‘My place, my people. Yes?’

  Curry leapt up, his chair falling over behind him, the carefully cultivated veneer cracking to let his irritation show through. He directed a blast at Elaine. ‘Impossible, you can’t do this! It’s completely irregular, against every procedure. I demand you stop this charade.’

  Elaine looked at him, her craggy features betraying none of the turmoil she felt inside. ‘We’ll follow the rulebook, every letter just as you direct. But in the end, everyone wants her. She will be the new minister once the processes are followed and complete.’

  Curry felt a rage bubbling up; he could suddenly feel his access to parish records and the source of the parish’s secret bequest slipping away.

  Curry was in no mood to surrender meekly. He would force this parish into line. ‘Never! I’m not standing for it. This is absolutely wrong, and I’m going to make a full report on it. Don’t think you’ll stand in my way. I don’t know what you are up to, but I’ll have you all out. Out for good!’

  Helen repeated her sweetest of girly smiles, pushing Curry’s blood pressure up yet another notch. ‘We’re not up to anything here,’ she said, ‘I know I will have to follow process to take up the post, but I’m qualified and I’m wanted, and there’s nothing you or anyone can do to block that. And you know it, friend.’ Helen had spoken gently, now she mimicked his own earlier gesture, directing Curry towards the office door with her pointed hand. ‘Of course we will welcome any advice you might want to give us. After John’s funeral, not before.’

  With an unintelligible splutter, Curry glared round the room and then turned abruptly away. He stalked out and slammed the office door behind him. That bang was closely followed by two more as he stormed through the vestry taking out his anger on those doors as he passed.

  Helen and Elaine stood in silence for a moment looking at one another. Helen stepped round the desk and hugged the older woman. Still unaccustomed to such expressions, Elaine responded awkwardly, half hugging Helen, half patting her back. Helen sighed, long and loud, and then stepped back. Taking one of Elaine’s hands between hers, she rubbed it gently. ‘You know, Elaine, I don’t think we made a friend there.’

  ‘I don’t think he has a friend anywhere,’ Elaine’s deadpan response broke the tension. For the first time in days there was something to laugh at, even for a few moments.

  ‘And did you see his face? I wish I’d a camera.’

  ‘Aye, he was sick, for sure.’ Elaine paused; she fixed Helen with an eye that seemed to twinkle for just a moment. ‘I take it that’s an official yes then. You’re staying?’

  Helen gave a wistful smile. ‘There are so many questions that still need to be answered. I�
��m sure things will work out, but I need to talk it over properly with Sam and my family back home first. Okay?’

  • • •

  Neither radio nor TV news was on in Helen’s flat. She and Sam both knew the only story in town; they knew it better than the media. Sam was turning fish suppers out of their paper wrappers on to plates - this had not been a day for home cooking. Helen joined him at the table, setting down mugs of hot tea. The day had gone in a flash and while there was no doubt James Curry would not let things rest, there were so many other issues to think about, so many puzzles to solve, and right now the man was way down the list of worries.

  Helen’s day had been topped off on a brighter note by a call from home. Her father was worried about her. John Dearly had been his good friend, he needed to pay his respects and he wanted to be near his daughter too, but his own poor health prevented travel, so a phone call was the best he could do for now. Just hearing his voice had been a release mechanism and she’d poured steam and tension down the line until his ear burned. She was his daughter so he didn’t mind, though he worried about some of the things she confided.

  The rushing release of words had helped her, and by the time Sam arrived, she had regained some equilibrium.

  ‘You know, I think Elaine is a really good person after all. I’d always felt she had something against me, but it’s just she’s looking out for the parish. She’s taking me to visit Father Francis on Wednesday evening. They’re going to explain, I hope. Though how a catholic priest fits into the picture, I don’t know.’

  ‘Wasn’t he a good friend of John’s?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Yeah, very good friends, with my father too, from way back, when my family used to visit years ago. Before my time.’ Helen placed salt, vinegar and sauce on the table as they both sat down to eat. ‘It’s going to be interesting to hear what they’ve got to say. It’s really strange. All these events must be connected somehow. It seems too much of a coincidence that John had a ring just like your Templar’s skeleton from the Fife dunes.’