The Temple Legacy

by D C Macey

  Xavier and Angelo had flown home to Sardinia and flown back the next day with a photograph of a dagger, and it was engraved with the Roman numeral VII. On their return, they were accompanied by three of Xavier’s parishioners, tough men whose rugged complexions suggested they might have spent a lot of time deep in Sardinia’s wild and sun kissed hinterland. Not the type of men you would choose to argue with. Now there was always at least one hovering around the manse, providing Helen with a second shadow.

  Xavier’s dagger photograph gave Sam a lot more to get his teeth into and he was devoting lots of time to prove his ‘folded map hypothesis’, interpolating between the engraved sections, but so far with uncertain success.

  Also unresolved were the locations of the other daggers. They all accepted Xavier’s view that the St Bernard’s parish dagger was the key, either as Sam suggested or in some other way. In any event, the location of the other daggers must somehow be contained in the parish dagger or somewhere in St Bernard’s or its archives. How else could the daggers ever be recalled and combined?

  • • •

  DCI Wallace eased his car to a halt beside the play park. Based on Constable Reynolds’ description he reckoned he was just about where the white van had been parked. All around him, rising from behind low garden fences were blocks of flats, mostly three storeys high. They stood like sentinels watching over the children playing in the park. He had arrived a few minutes early for his rendezvous with Constable Reynolds so he leant back in his seat, relaxed and looked across at the children playing in the park. He smiled to himself.

  The tranquillity of the moment was shattered by the sound of something landing with some force on his car roof. Jumping out of the car, he saw it was an open and excessively soiled disposable nappy. It left a yellowy smear behind as it slowly slipped off the roof and down the windscreen. He looked around, then up. Standing at a second floor window were two women of indeterminate age, anywhere between twenty-five and forty, both with blond streaked hair: one thin, one somewhat heavier. Even from this distance he could see that life had clearly not been kind to them. Based on their use of the nappy projectile he guessed nearer twenty-five than forty.

  ‘Peado,’ shouted the heavy woman.

  ‘Pervert, get away from here,’ shouted the thin one.

  ‘Clear off or I’m coming down and believe me you don’t want that,’ the heavy woman’s arm swung and a second nappy flew towards Wallace, he ducked and it landed on the road behind him.

  ‘Cut that out, I’m a police officer,’ shouted Wallace, as he straightened up.

  ‘Aye, right,’ shouted back the heavy woman.

  The thin woman jabbed an arm out of the window. ‘We don’t button up the back, pal. We know what you lot are about.’ She disappeared from the window and her friend was quick to follow her.

  Wallace had hardly had time to compose himself before the two women emerged from the building’s common stair. They came directly up to him. Wallace was aware in his peripheral vision that play in the park had stopped and the children were gathering behind the fence to get a better view of proceedings. He was fishing in his jacket pocket as the women arrived.

  Heavy woman jabbed him in the chest and thin stood close beside her, fist clenched looking for an excuse to strike. A steady chant of, ‘peado,’ ‘peado,’ was rising from the children at the fence and Wallace noted one or two windows open in the flats as others took an interest in the show. The wonder of such areas was how residents never saw anything for the police but otherwise never missed a thing. He managed to get his warrant card out and thrust it towards the heavy woman who was just winding up for a further finger jab. It stopped her for a moment.

  ‘I don’t care if you are police, you shouldn’t have been perving at our kids,’ she said.

  ‘What’s to say you’re not a peado anyway?’ demanded the thin woman.

  ‘I can assure you I am not. I’m waiting to meet a colleague, that’s all.’

  ‘Aye, right. You were leching at the kids, and I’ll bet that card’s a forgery,’ said thin woman. In a harsh world, they looked out for themselves and their own, and necessarily assumed the worst of strangers. Strangers were guilty until proven innocent. That’s how to survive.

  Seeing the two women close up Wallace revised his age estimates. He doubted if either was much over twenty but they were not his main concern. More adults were arriving - two or three older women and a couple of men, each one of them looked ready and willing to dole out a bit of summary justice to a pervert encroaching on their patch.

  ‘I was not looking at your children. I just glanced into the park.’ Wallace was now backed up against his car, his body holding the door closed. He couldn’t get in, couldn’t get away.

  With the crowd behind them, the two women were growing in confidence again. ‘See you, I’m going to have you. I hate you peados, you hear?’ The heavy woman raised her hand, pulling it back, readying a good swipe at Wallace’s face.

  ‘Hey, you! Chanelle McLean, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Constable Reynolds pushed through the little crowd to stand beside Wallace.

  Unsure of how things were playing out, but recognising Reynolds’ authority was probably going to spoil the show, the children’s chant was replaced by a round of booing which gradually petered out.

  The odds had shifted in Wallace’s favour and Chanelle’s hand dropped, but she didn’t give any ground.

  ‘Hey! Reynolds, he’s a pervert, been spying on our kids,’ Chanelle spoke with real anger and again she took a half step forward, thrusting her face towards Wallace’s.

  Reynolds forced himself between the two. ‘Hold on Chanelle, you’re going to get yourself into trouble here, he’s my boss.’

  ‘He might be your boss but he’s still a perv’. We want him charged, he was staring at the kids and we can prove it,’ she retorted, though giving a little ground.

  Sensing his chance Reynolds raised his voice. ‘All right folks, show’s over. There’s nothing here. Come on, move along.’ The crowd rippled and stepped back a little, giving Wallace the space he needed to regain his dignity.

  ‘Come on now, move on. Just a misunderstanding, let’s be having you.’ Years of experience in handling tricky situations on the street found Reynolds in his element. Almost before the crowd realised it they were dispersing, leaving Chanelle and her friend.

  ‘I still say you’re a perv’,’ said Chanelle, her friend nodded support.

  Reynolds turned his attention from the dispersing crowd back to the two women. ‘Come on now, you’re talking nonsense, trust me,’ he said.

  Chanelle fixed him with a quizzical eye. ‘Trust you? Why would we do that?’

  Reynolds shrugged and gave a grin. ‘Just because I’m telling you, alright?’ The police weren’t really welcome here. He was tolerated partly because of constant exposure and partly because there wasn’t a person on the scheme that could honestly say he had misled or mistreated them. It was as close as they would ever get to trust and right now Wallace was thanking God for it and for decent coppers.

  Chanelle glowered at Wallace. ‘What are you doing here anyway? We don’t want your sort here, right? Reynolds might have got you off the hook but we know what you were up to.’

  DCI Wallace was confused. ‘What do you mean, this is nonsense. I was just waiting here for the officer.’

  ‘Aye, so you say, but we can prove different. You perverts, you’re all the same, coming round here bothering our kids. Why not go and do it in some fancy middleclass area? Because the law would be on you there, that’s why.’ Chanelle had the bit between her teeth and was reluctant to give up.

  ‘Look, I’ve told you who he is. He’s not a pervert. Now cut it out or I’m going to take this further, right?’ Reynolds’ voice had lost its conciliatory tone. It was time to push Chanelle back a bit.

  ‘We can prove it, we’ve got a trap. He was looking at the kids.’

  ‘No, he’ll have glanced into the play park just
like anyone might. Now come on Chanelle, let it go.’

  Something was not fitting quite right in Wallace’s mind. ‘What do you mean by, prove it?’ he asked.

  The thin woman butted in. ‘Easy, we’ve got you on film.’ She pointed back up to the second floor window. ‘It’s our peado cam. Anyone comes here now; we’ve got them taped. We don’t need the law. We sort things ourselves.’

  Chanelle nodded agreement. ‘My uncle fitted it. You come down this street and we’ve got you, no bother.’

  Wallace felt his chest lighten immeasurably: a street recording, perfect. He could almost kiss Chanelle; then he thought of his soiled windscreen and tempered his gratitude.

  • • •

  It had taken the best part of an hour of persuasion, cajoling, threats and promises to get access to the computer recordings. Wallace had noted Reynolds discreetly passing a twenty-pound note to Chanelle after which resistance had finally evaporated. He would have to reimburse the constable. Wallace had wondered for a moment how someone who appeared so poor could find the money for a state of the art computer and even a surveillance camera. Then he shrugged, so what, at least he had pictures.

  He’d watched the scene play through four times. A van, a man, a woman, a car passing the burning van: unfortunately, the flames distorted the light as the car drove through the picture so the camera didn’t catch the car’s registration number. But if they were involved, he was closing in. Time for the tec’ teams to get to work.

  Wallace said his goodbyes and left Reynolds in the flat with the two young women. There was plenty to be chased up elsewhere. He hoped the other forensic reports would be filtering through by now and perhaps other leads were coming up. He headed down the common stair and out into the road, then stopped dead. For the first time in days he gave just the hint of a genuine smile. His car windscreen had been washed clean. In fact, the whole car was gleaming.

  He glanced up to the second floor window where Chanelle’s thin friend stood watching him go. He gave a warm wave and she gave a friendly grin in return and followed it with a very public two-fingered salute.

  Still smiling, he opened the car door, and then froze. Something about the video recording niggled at him, what was it? He ran through the images in his mind and then quickly stepped back from the car. There in the gutter was a crumpled cigarette packet. Could this be the one discarded by the driver? He stared at it. Then saw another and another, there were four packets within twenty feet. At that moment some of the team arrived to harvest the IT and video files, he pointed them towards the discarded packets.

  • • •

  Cassiter was oblivious to the scene in front of him. The castle, the Old Town skyline, the lengthening shadows darkening the green of the municipal gardens, all things he normally lingered over. This evening they did not register, he was entirely focused on weighing up his options. Things had gone badly wrong, that was an occupational hazard, it happened from time to time. But there was a whole world for it to happen in, not here on his home patch.

  The close proximity to home was a disaster. He thought about how events had played out. Could he have done things differently? For a moment he found himself regretting taking on Parsol’s commission, but self-pity never delivered anything. He wondered exactly what prize could be so big it had lured Parsol out of his lair and into the front line; however, he was a contractor - ultimately, client motivations were not his concern. This job was of no consequence now. It needed to be removed from here, wiped away; some necessary sacrifices made to deflect attention.

  He reached for his intercom and buzzed the sour faced woman. ‘Have Barnett and Sharp arrived yet?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes sir, just a moment ago.’

  ‘Good, come through, bring them both with you, and bring the rest of the team too. We need to start the house cleaning now.’ He leant back and took a final quiet moment to consider again what needed to happen. He had no intention of doing time just for following his profession, yet with so much police activity they had to be prepared for every eventuality. The normal protocols would need to be enhanced, there was a lot to do, a lot to shift. This was going to be a long night. Finally, while he prided himself on his professionalism and very consciously did not get personally involved, those females at the church had to go: they had all seen his face. The old moaner, her daughter and the American, all three of them. As soon as things were tidied up here, he’d silence them. Forty-eight hours and things would be finally wrapped, but not before those women had identified the Latin priests for him. They had to be removed too.

  CHAPTER 28 - SATURDAY 22nd JUNE

  Helen linked arms with Xavier as they moved slowly through the airport car park. Close behind came Angelo, watching, ready to rush forward should Xavier so much as threaten to stumble. Helen was determined it wouldn’t happen on her watch, she wanted these moments together to be special. Sam was moving just ahead of the group pushing a trolley with the priests’ bags on. Bringing up the rear was one of Xavier’s parishioners. He strolled with an air of detached disinterest, but he constantly scanned, monitoring and assessing everyone; ready to strike down any threat in an instant.

  It seemed events had finally caught up with Xavier. He looked his age; the sparkle had faded from his eyes. The rapid succession of journeys together with so much death and violence seemed to have worn down his normal quiet strength. Helen could feel how frail he was; she hoped he just needed a good rest. Whatever it was, now he needed to be home, quiet amongst familiar things.

  Once over the pedestrian crossing in front of the main terminal entrance Xavier stopped. He pulled Helen to a halt too. Leaning in close, heads almost touching, he tried to force a cheery note into his voice. ‘Now young lady,’ he said, ‘you promise to visit me soon, yes?’

  ‘You can count on it, Xavier. But you recharge your batteries first, okay?’

  ‘Pah, a day, two, I’ll be fine. Bring him too,’ he waved towards Sam who had already gone through the automatic doors ahead of them and was now waiting patiently for them to catch up. The two men nodded to each other through the glass doors. ‘I think he can solve this riddle with you, for all of us. For sure, only that can make this hell go away forever.’ His attempted bravado lapsed back into concern.

  ‘I know, Xavier. But you’ve done your bit, you need a break.’ She placed her free hand on his free arm and rubbed it gently. ‘Come on, I want you well enough to visit. You rest, let’s hope the police can capture the bad guys, hey? The detective seems pretty sure they will.’

  ‘Hmmm, maybe, I hope so.’ Clearly, Xavier was not entirely convinced. ‘Stick together, yes? And be careful, for all of you.’

  Angelo and the Sardinian parishioner were very close behind them now, creating a protective buffer to deflect the stream of tutting, glaring pedestrians whose passage through the automatic doors was being slowed. ‘We go now,’ said Angelo. His limited English left it unclear whether it was a request or an order.

  Helen nodded and together with Xavier, she moved forward again, heading through the entrance doors and making directly to the private departures. At least Xavier would not be waiting for a scheduled flight.

  • • •

  For the first time since he had been called down to Dunbar to take charge of the Archie Buchan murder, DCI Wallace felt he might just be getting a break. It wasn’t what he expected. At first sight it all seemed entirely random, unconnected; but once he started building a people chain, who connected to who, some dots were starting to join.

  Forensics had lifted prints off all four cigarette packets. Two were children’s hands, one a local ned who Reynolds knew and was going to speak to, though he did not think he could drive and was sure the whole business was well out of his league anyway. But the fourth set, prints unknown. Unknown but not unfamiliar.

  Whoever this Mr Anonymous was, he had been busy. Had thrown down a cigarette packet beside a burning white van. Had left just a partial print on the blade of a knife used in a recent attack in Oba
n. Its handle was clean, and the blade smudged through the dog’s flesh, but they had found a single fingerprint on the blade, just where it hinged into the handle - it must have been left at some point before, when being cleaned. And he had left prints in St Bernard’s church office, the vestry, and crucially in several of the pews. He must at least have something to do with the church.

  It all kept linking back to the church and the university too. Wallace trusted his judgement and was happy that Helen and Sam were not killers; that was for sure. But there was something going on in the background, he could feel that too. Perhaps he should bring them in again for a slightly heavier questioning session?

  DS Brogan pushed his way through the scrum of officers who seemed to be congregating a little distance from the DCI. ‘Mixed news, sir. Turns out the van was stolen. False plates and too badly burnt to get anything useful from it-’

  ‘- and the good?’ cut in Wallace.

  ‘They found something in the back, burnt. It won’t do much as evidence but they reckon it was some sort of remote control box.’

  ‘Remote control for what?’

  ‘They can’t begin to say for sure. Though, we know of one remote control box that was used last Wednesday to fire off the decoy munitions. If that was it, then maybe that’s what the woman in our video threw in the van.’

  Wallace nodded, agreeing. He wished again that they could ID the faces. ‘Where’s my photographer? Where’s Stephens got to? If he’s moonlighting as a sports photographer at Tynecastle again I’m going to do my nut.’

  ‘The football season’s over boss, it’s the close season,’ replied Brogan.

  Wallace grunted a response that hovered somewhere between acknowledgement and continuing discontent. He knew the season dates exactly, very rarely got to attend matches now but followed the results. He used to love taking his son and daughter to watch his team, the Hearts, but work had made a habit of getting in the way. ‘Get Stephens over here. He promised to get me decent stills from that video recording, where are they?’