The Temple Legacy

by D C Macey

  He didn’t flinch as someone came up behind him.

  ‘Come on Barnett, let’s go,’ said Fiona Sharp. She threw a little signal control box into the back of the van and turned to go back to her car. ‘Burn it.’

  He shrugged and took another draw on the cigarette, held the smoke in for just a moment. As a car engine fired up behind him, he flicked the glowing cigarette end into the back of the van, turned away and walked over to the car.

  From his place in the car’s passenger seat Barnett could make out the flames taking hold in the rear of the van as Fiona Sharp drove past it. He gave a snort of satisfaction and they were gone.

  CHAPTER 26 - THURSDAY 20th JUNE

  Sam woke at five in the morning. The street outside his Marchmont flat had not yet started to fill with the familiar rumble of urban noise and he lay quietly for a moment thinking through his idea. Then, leaping up, he ran into the living room and grabbed the photograph of the museum dagger. He looked at it carefully for a little while, considering the possibilities. Then he hurried to Helen’s pillow and gently slid his hand under it, feeling carefully for the parish dagger and Sarah MacPherson’s replica of the dune dagger, both of which Helen had decided to sleep with. She stirred and woke with a start and demanded to know what he was up to.

  ‘I’ve had an idea,’ said Sam.

  Helen was still tired from the previous day’s exertions. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, sitting up.

  Sam sat on the side of the bed and waved the photograph of the museum dagger at her. ‘Five o’clock and time to wake up. Look, it’s what you said last night that’s got me thinking. Both you and Francis.’

  ‘What did we say?’ Helen asked, still struggling to wake up.

  Sam picked up the parish dagger. ‘You said this dagger, your dagger, is the key, yes?’

  ‘I guess so,’ said Helen, ‘but, it must be a weird lock.’

  ‘It’s not a key for a lock, more like a cipher, well no, not even that actually, I think it’s really simple. Do you remember saying, let’s put together a proper plan?’ he said.

  ‘Vaguely,’ said Helen, ‘but I just meant start afresh in the morning, think again, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, that’s not what you said, and I think the whole engraving thing is not a message or text. It’s a plan, or rather a map. And your dagger is the key,’ said Sam. ‘Look, take a regular map, think about how you’d read it when you go hiking. It’s all folded and you see only the bit you’re using. As you turn it, unfold it, there are lots more similar sized sections, all different but part of the same map.’ He looked at her triumphantly. ‘Each dagger’s engraving is part of a big plan or map. Individually the lines are a pretty but meaningless pattern. Put them together and you have it. Your plan to the treasure or whatever it might be.’

  Helen was interested but cautious. ‘Okay, but if none of the lines join up how can it be a plan or map?’ she said.

  ‘Easy’ said Sam, as he let his hand run down the list of engraved numerals on the blade of the parish dagger. ‘See the list of seemingly random numbers? Well I don’t think they are random at all. As far as we know, each of the other blades has only one numeral, and so far, each of those numbers is also found on the list of numerals that appear on your parish dagger. I think the parish dagger is the key or list that tells what order the other daggers must be laid in to make the map.’

  Sam twisted the blade so Helen could see. ‘Like this,’ he said. Letting his finger trail down the parish dagger’s blade again as he called out numbers in the order they appeared. ‘Two, seven, three, eight, four, and so on.

  ‘Because none of the patterns ever reach the edge of the blades there is always a little bit of map missing, so the daggers can’t ever be lined up successfully by trial and error. I think once you have all the daggers placed in the right order you’ll have a map with little strips missing at the blade edges; but if you are confident of the daggers’ place order, it should be straight forward, easy even, to interpolate and fill in the little gaps.’

  Helen was impressed by the idea, but could not quite see the end result. ‘Hey that would be a really neat solution and if you’re right, once you have all the pieces it really is simple. It takes us a good bit further on, but it doesn’t solve the whole problem. There are no words, so how can we tell what or where the map is of?’

  ‘Well, one thing at a time, let’s build the map first,’ said Sam. ‘We know we have numerals three and four and their patterns don’t remotely match up. That fits if we accept those two are not meant to be side by side because they aren’t listed side by side on the parish blade. Now, Xavier has a seven, and the three and seven are next to each other on the parish blade. If we could line those two blades up, see if we could interpolate, fill in the gaps between them to link the sections of pattern logically. Maybe get on our way to building a map. See where it takes us.

  ‘There must have been a template somewhere; an original map that they based their dagger engravings on in the first place. If we could somehow trace that template it would probably have words on it, who knows…’ Sam shrugged.

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ she asked.

  ‘With a lot of work still to do,’ said Sam. He stood up from the bed and drew the curtains open. ‘We’ve got to shed some light on this and do it without anyone noticing. Even if you wanted to tell the police that time has gone now.’

  ‘So it seems. But there must be a way to reconnect with them, surely?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so. For days, weeks even, we’ve been withholding little bits of information, telling ourselves they’re not so relevant, not really related. Now it’s as clear as you like that every bit is linked, and God help us, you were all there at the killings yesterday. We’ve been obstructing the enquiry. We’ve withheld evidence. Even if they didn’t think we were involved before, they would smell a rat now as soon as you mentioned any of it. There really is no way back.’

  Helen swung her legs off the bed and onto the floor. Leaning forward she rested her elbows on her thighs and cupped her face in her hands. She blew a long slow breath out. ‘We’ve cut ourselves off from the authorities completely, haven’t we?’

  Still at the window, Sam allowed the morning sun to bathe his face; Helen could see his head nodding as he replied. ‘Yes, completely. I’m not happy, Helen. This could completely discredit me, you too, actually. Our professional reputations would never recover if it gets out.’

  ‘Will it?’ she asked.

  ‘I hope not. But right now I do know we must be very careful, everywhere.’

  ‘We should never have listened to Elaine and Francis with all their schemes to protect John’s reputation and his life’s work. It’s probably going to wreck ours instead,’ said Helen.

  ‘Perhaps, but we have to do everything we can to prevent it, and let’s be fair - they couldn’t ever have anticipated any of this. They’re innocent victims just like us and they’re our friends. There are still killers out there and we are probably still the target. We need to solve this before those madmen regroup and come back.’

  Helen checked her mobile messages and gave a groan. ‘The police want to see me. DCI Wallace has asked if I can go to the church. He wants to do a walk through with me this afternoon, whatever that means.’

  • • •

  DCI Wallace had been watching Helen carefully as they worked their way round the church. She had pointed out little bits of damage, mostly caused by the police teams as they pressed into the church. She had answered his questions clearly, but without giving him any fresh insight into why the incident had occurred. He was prepared to accept she didn’t have a clue. The girl seemed a little vulnerable and seemed very slightly shaky when they entered the vestry, which wasn’t surprising with his team bustling about, lifting fingerprints, taking photographs. And the dark congealed blood stains around those body outlines on the floor. It must all have been disconcerting. Particularly here in the vestry amidst the aftermath of chaos.
r />   Helen had assured him that nothing was missing. Even the open safe did not offer any clue as to motive. The only things it normally contained of any value, and not much at that, was an old communion set in a carry case, plus some papers and a few bits and bobs. And they weren’t missing. She had it all at the manse, for an inventory and some sort of evaluation that was underway.

  With a sense of relief, Helen left the death scene behind as they stepped out of the vestry and into the little corridor. DCI Wallace led her beyond the old wooden exit door and out into the fresh air. From there he guided her along the path towards the cemetery gate where they had to dodge around a couple of officers who were intently scouring the ground. They were carefully gathering up and bagging everything that wasn’t grass or gravel. Beyond them lay the cemetery; she had never seen it so busy. It seemed that dozens of police officers were engaged in a fingertip search. Radiating out from the gate, they were meticulously checking everything, lifting anything and everything that should not have been there.

  ‘You’re busy out here. Do you think you’ll find anything of use?’ asked Helen.

  ‘If there’s anything to find, we’ll find it. Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘I hope so. Your men will be treating the graves with respect though, won’t they?’

  Wallace did not answer her directly. There were rules about graves and cemeteries but he had no intention of restricting his men unnecessarily. ‘I’m very grateful for your help this afternoon but there is something else I’m going to need your help with, Miss Johnson.’

  ‘Yes? Anything. I’ll be happy to help however I can.’ Helen surprised herself at just how innocent she could sound.

  ‘We are going to need a set of your prints for elimination purposes. Yours and everyone else who had business to be in the vestry or office recently.’

  ‘That’s no problem, I’m sure everyone will want to cooperate. I can put together a list of names for you if that would help.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll have someone visit you later to collect it, but they might not get round to you until this evening. Will that be time enough?’

  ‘Plenty of time, I’ll phone around for you, make sure everyone is expecting you. I’m sorry I couldn’t shed any light on the identity of the men who were killed, or name who might have done it. I hope you find the killers soon. It’s a real worry. Now, if you’ve finished with me detective, perhaps I could go? There are so many people that I need to speak to.’

  Wallace nodded, gave her a smile and left her at the gate as he headed off into the cemetery. He liked the girl and was confident murder was not her game, but there was something about her. She had a secret she wasn’t sharing, he’d bet on it. Still, he was too busy right now to worry about any side issues.

  CHAPTER 27 - FRIDAY 21st JUNE

  DCI Wallace glared round the room. Forty-eight hours into this latest outrage and nothing. His team had not produced anything of note. Blank, zero, nadir. They needed to pick up the pace. The chief constable was demanding results; the man was being hounded by politicians and the media and he in turn was kicking Wallace.

  His team had grown dramatically in size and they had explored every conceivable angle to establish why two unknown men should end up shot dead in an Edinburgh church. No ID on them, but their clothes were mostly French labelled, and they had forensic suits on too, which just made it all the more puzzling.

  There was an obvious church link with the other murders, and he knew in his bones the MacPherson killings were linked too, somehow. This morning he’d also called in the file on the university’s dead night security guard: no proof that it wasn’t an accident but it happened at MacPherson’s place of work - maybe there was a link there too. For now, he’d keep an open mind. One common theme that did stand out was the brutality, the heartless, careless dispatch of life. But other than a growing pile of dead bodies they had nothing, nothing at all. No suspects, no motives.

  ‘Listen up you lot.’ He raised his voice a little, though it was not necessary. The team knew they were up against it and were desperate for some leadership. The room fell silent.

  ‘Today we’re making a change. So far we’ve found nothing, no clues no leads. It’s as though we’re chasing shadows that just melt away, that leave no trail. Well let me tell you, I don’t buy it. There must be something we’re missing.

  ‘There must be consequences, cause and effect, links. Nothing happens in isolation. We must find that link today. Today! Every day that passes lets the trail go colder. So we have a new approach. We’re going to review every little thing that happened in this city in the 24 hours before and after the crime. I mean everything. Every parking ticket, every speeding car, every dog owner caught letting their dog mess the kerb. Speak to them all. Find out what they were doing and why they were where they were.

  ‘If a wee girl lost her sweeties, I want someone interviewing her. I want to know what kind of sweets and where she last saw them. Speak to everyone. Assume everything matters now, no matter how unlikely.

  ‘During that day things happened that we’re missing, things we haven’t linked together yet. Find the link, that’s all, just find it. Any questions?’ He looked around the room defiantly. Nobody spoke. ‘Okay, team leaders, you have your task lists. Let’s go then. Make today count, people. Make it count.’

  Even as the teams filed out to start their information trawl, the team leaders were calling out instructions, starting to allocate work. DCI Wallace beckoned DS Brogan over. ‘I want you to get on top of forensics. I’m not interested in a neat report next week, I want information filtered through as soon as it’s available, no delays. And have every action double-checked. I don’t want to give the chief constable the excuse to sack me before I get my retirement request in.

  ‘Come on. Let’s go over what we’ve got one more time.’ As they began the rehearsal of events for the umpteenth time, they were interrupted by a uniformed constable.

  ‘Excuse me, sir.’

  ‘Yes? Reynolds, isn’t it? What have you got?’ Throughout his career, Wallace had taken a professional pride in knowing the people he worked with, and he had been around long enough to be able to put names to many of the city’s longer serving officers. Though in the past year or so he had been feeling the call of retirement and was subconsciously less worried over fixing the younger officers’ names. Reynolds was an old hand.

  ‘Sir, I’m not sure if this is what you’re interested in; it’s a fairly regular occurrence over at my patch, insurance jobs mostly. But you said you want everything. Well, a white van was torched late Wednesday evening on the housing scheme I work. No one hurt, no damage to other property, so just run of the mill.’

  Wallace looked at his sergeant. ‘Nothing’s run of the mill that day. A white van. Wasn’t one seen leaving from beyond the far end of the cemetery? I think there was. Let’s check it out now.’ It took only moments to pull up the report. It was flimsy, there were umpteen white vans in Edinburgh, but a white works van had indeed been in the road at the time of the incident and one had been torched that night. It needed to be checked.

  ‘Right now anything is a possibility, let’s follow it up. Reynolds, where did the torched van end up, do you know what happened? Can we see it?’

  ‘Yes sir. I only know about the incident myself because I was on duty that evening. It’s not exactly a remarkable event over there. It’s more unusual not to have a fire or something going on. I was actually just round the corner when it went up. The fire brigade had been called out to a rubbish bin fire and we always attend with them there, just in case the local kids take against the firemen for spoiling their fun.

  ‘It was lucky; we actually got the van fire out before it burned out completely.’

  ‘What? You saved the van, where is it now?’

  ‘Well, it’s in the vehicle ‘pound sir. It’s just junk now. I expect it’ll go off for scrap eventually. But I don’t know if it has anything to do with the killings.’

  ‘Nor
do I, but we’re going to find out. I don’t suppose forensics bothered going over it?’

  ‘Sorry sir, they were all pretty preoccupied with the killings and to be honest, we don’t normally bother for burnt vehicles unless somebody’s hurt.’

  ‘Okay. Brogan, get the van checked out as a matter of priority and Reynolds, that housing scheme is your patch, get over there and see what you can pick up. Have a nose around; if that’s our van, I want to know anything else you can learn. Now let’s get moving.

  ‘Oh, and Reynolds, thank you.’

  ‘Sir.’ Constable Reynolds acknowledged DCI Wallace and headed off for the scheme, hoping the lead was not a red herring.

  • • •

  Forty-eight hours without a death or an attack. In the crazy world they had been dragged into, it seemed almost like peace. There had been no further signs of trouble but Helen, all of them, worried it was just a façade of calm. Still, Helen hoped and prayed that the assailants really had withdrawn, scared off by the publicity and heavy police involvement. Xavier was less convinced and deep down she felt it too.

  Right now things were quiet, maybe they should welcome that, count their blessings and pray the police would get the breakthrough that would lead to the killers. It was the one thing that would allow them all to relax again. And how they needed to relax.