The Temple Legacy

by D C Macey

  Alone together in the garden, Helen and Elaine had lapsed into quiet; contentedly thinking their own thoughts. Birds chirped and called in the warm air, tree leaves rustled faintly in the gentle breeze and Helen just enjoyed the tranquillity of the moment. It was rudely shattered by the ringing of the manse telephone. She had brought the portable handset out into the garden with them and now wished she had not.

  Almost reluctantly, she answered the call. ‘Hello, Helen Johnson speaking.’ Then she fell silent, squinting slightly as she concentrated, trying to understand the message. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand you very well. I certainly don’t know you. I think you’ve made some sort of mistake. Let’s just leave -’

  Helen fell silent as the caller interrupted her and good manners demanded that she listen a little longer. Having finally caught his name she took the opportunity to end the call politely. ‘Herr Brenner? Franz? I’m sorry but I don’t have the slightest idea who you are or what you’re talking about. I think I’d like to end this call now…’ Helen’s voice trailed off as she noticed Elaine’s movement.

  Wincing at a series of pains, Elaine seemed to hurry in slow motion, sitting up as quickly as she could while nodding and giving a thumbs up sign. It was clear that Elaine knew who Franz Brenner was.

  ‘Just a minute, Herr Brenner,’ said Helen. She placed her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece, while throwing Elaine a quizzical look. ‘Who is he?’

  Elaine mumbled urgently and rubbed her forefinger and thumb together, making a sign for money. Her speech was not clear at all, but Helen thought she could make out the word banker, and anyway, Elaine was clearly not threatened by the man’s presence.

  ‘How can I help you Herr Brenner? Where are you calling from?’ Helen paused to listen to the brief reply, and then responded in turn. ‘Oh, really?’

  She looked at Elaine. ‘He’s parked in the driveway. Wants to see me. What do you think?’

  Mumbling and nodding from Elaine made clear she thought it a good idea.

  ‘Hello, Herr Brenner? I’m not sure what you want, but I have a few minutes. Why don’t you follow the little path round the side of the house? Join us in the garden.’ She ended the call and quickly stood, moving to wait beside Elaine’s chair. The pair looked to the side of the house, waiting for the unexpected visitor to appear.

  A slim man of middle height with short greying hair and solemn brown eyes stepped into the garden. Aged in his sixties, but a well-lived life had him looking little more than fifty. His dark blue business suit sported a fine pinstripe. Franz Brenner seemed every inch the conservative banker. Helen saw his smile and wave as he approached, it was clear he knew Elaine.

  When he saw Elaine’s injuries, a look of shock registered, fleetingly. It was quickly replaced with concern and finally returned to his composed business face. By the time he had reached the two ladies his hand was stretched out to greet them, Elaine first. They had met several times over the years, during Franz’s previous visits to John. Good manners prevented him from commenting on Elaine’s appearance, but the nature of her injuries demanded an account. Elaine would speak with him later, when she was better able.

  Helen offered a hand of welcome too. Formalities completed, she quickly learnt that Herr Brenner, Franz, was indeed a banker. A private Swiss banker who had looked after certain affairs for John Dearly and he had travelled here to initiate a handover. Having followed recent events in the media his bank had some idea that things had gone tragically wrong. Then, when they were unable to contact Elaine any more either, he had travelled to Edinburgh. Business was business and no matter how insensitive the timing, he had to sort out affairs.

  ‘I don’t see what John Dearly’s affairs have to do with me,’ protested Helen. ‘I am sure you could find a distant relative somewhere. I’m the last person who would have an interest in anything from him.’

  ‘I would agree were I dealing with a family estate. But I am here for the trust fund,’ said Franz.

  ‘What trust fund is that?’ asked Helen. ‘I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.’

  For just a moment, Franz looked confused. ‘You don’t know about the fund?’ He looked at Elaine for some guidance. ‘I… We had understood from Elaine that you were John Dearly’s selected successor. Have I got this wrong?’

  ‘Well, that’s about the size of it, but it’ll take a good while before the Church process is completed,’ said Helen.

  ‘I’m sorry? What has the Church got to do with it?’ Franz sounded puzzled, again.

  Helen was confused too. ‘What doesn’t the Church have to do with it?’

  Franz looked to Elaine. She nodded and pointed at Helen. He took that as a sign to proceed. ‘My bank administers a trust fund that pays out significant sums of money each year. Much of that does flow through St Bernard’s. John’s church…’

  A little warning light was flickering in Helen’s mind. ‘Oh! That trust fund. Yes, I’m aware of it, but only in the passing. Why do you need to involve me? Surely the trustees of the fund have made the appropriate arrangements to benefit St Bernard’s?’

  Franz raised a hand slightly, excusing himself for a moment he paced steadily away down the lawn towards the shrubbery at the bottom of the garden. There he stayed for several minutes, staring intently into the greenery: thinking hard. He made a call to his office in Switzerland then another call. The two ladies saw but could not hear what was said.

  In hissed half whispers, Helen tried to coax information out of Elaine. Her responses were pretty well limited to head nods and shakes. By the time Franz returned, Helen was none the wiser.

  ‘Helen, this is difficult. Circumstances tell me you are the right person to speak to. Elaine seems to think so too. Yet… Yet, you know nothing. I do not understand how this can be.’ Franz paused, hoping that some inspiration would come from Helen’s side.

  ‘Well, yes, I know nothing. I only learnt of your existence a few minutes ago. How could I know anything?’ she asked. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

  Franz nodded slowly. He took a couple of paces back, ensuring he could see both ladies properly as he spoke. ‘The trust fund. John was not the trustee. The senior members of the bank are trustees. John…’ Franz paused again, before continuing. ‘John was the beneficiary.’

  ‘No!’ Helen could not help but challenge the statement. ‘I know the money was paid to St Bernard’s, not to John.’ She looked to Elaine for support. But the older woman was now perfectly still.

  ‘He was the beneficiary. The trust fund has no direct link with St Bernard’s. Money is paid to the church’s account each year because John instructed it,’ said Franz.

  ‘I don’t understand. How can that be? And anyway, what’s it got to do with me?’ Suddenly, Helen felt uneasy. The old concerns about John and the money came flooding back. Too many secrets.

  ‘It is how it has been for a long time. Before John, Archie Buchan was the beneficiary. And many others before them.’ Franz looked towards Elaine again. ‘Have I got this right? Is she next?’

  Elaine nodded in confirmation that Franz had understood properly.

  ‘I’m not due any money,’ said Helen. ‘There must be a mistake.’

  Franz tried a different tack. ‘Do you have a ring, a special ring? Something you received from John.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Helen, now very much on her guard. Suddenly the ring seemed to weigh heavy round her neck. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘The ring identifies the beneficiary. If you have the ring, you must be the beneficiary.’ Franz fixed Helen with a clear unswerving gaze. ‘Do you have the ring?’

  Elaine’s mumbled encouragement filled the background as Helen held Franz’s gaze, and thought very carefully. Finally, she nodded. ‘I do have a ring. What of it?’

  ‘May I see it please?’ There was a slight tension in the man’s tone. ‘I must see it.’

  Helen reached beneath the collar of her blouse and pulled on the gold chain, as it
emerged into the sunlight the ring came too. Keeping the chain round her neck Helen allowed Franz sight of the ring. He smiled at her, and pulled a photograph from his jacket pocket as he stepped closer to compare properly. After a long moment, Franz stepped back, satisfied.

  ‘It is the ring,’ he said.

  Helen nodded. ‘We know. So what now? What does it mean?’

  ‘I said the ring identifies the trust’s beneficiary. But that’s not enough to access and control the funds. You must have the account number too.’

  The sense of excitement that had begun to build in Helen fizzled away. ‘I don’t have any number. I wouldn’t know where to find it.’

  Franz looked concerned. ‘You must know. Without it I cannot proceed. You were given the ring; surely, you must have been given the number too.’

  ‘The ring wasn’t given to me under normal circumstances. There was no time for anything. I can assure you I don’t have the account number. Nowhere. I wouldn’t know where to start looking.’

  Franz slipped the picture of the ring back into his pocket. ‘This is tragic. I am sorry, but I can’t proceed any further. If you don’t have the number, I cannot engage with you.’ He glanced towards Elaine and back to Helen. ‘I am so sorry. I have known Elaine and John for many years. Since taking over from my father at the bank. And he, and his father before him, had the pleasure of serving your predecessors’ needs. I know Elaine is genuine but the instructions are fixed. You must give me the number so I can respond.’

  He sighed. ‘I will leave you now. If you find the number then please get in touch. But a warning, don’t guess, I can only accept one attempt at the number. You either know it or you don’t.’ Franz handed Helen a business card and then took a step backwards.

  ‘Can’t you give us a clue, how long is it? Does it have letters and numbers? How will we know if we find it?’ Helen had never approved of the mysterious fund, but now it had appeared only to be snatched away she felt a sense of loss. Never mind the money. It was almost certainly part of the wider puzzle they had been grappling with.

  Franz shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Helen, I may not discuss the account with you. I feel for you, but for me it is a sad day too. This account was one of the first ever opened at the bank. A founder deposit. For eight generations my family have managed it. Now it falls to me to see it end, our oldest and most esteemed account. I’m sorry, I must go now.’ Without another word, Franz shook Helen’s hand, stiffly, formally. He bowed his head just a fraction and she half thought she heard his heels click together. The man turned. Suddenly fading, he didn’t seem quite so dapper. He paused beside Elaine, stepped closer and took her good hand. He gave it a gracious kiss: a last goodbye, an apology, an ending to a long story.

  Helen and Elaine were equally stunned at the abrupt end to the visit. In silence, Helen watched a dejected Franz disappear round the side of the house as Elaine started to mutter and wave her good hand back and forth. Helen saw that she was making a stabbing motion with her good hand. The mumbling suddenly came to focus and Helen understood. Dagger. The numbers on John’s dagger. It had to be that.

  She ran round the side of the house, catching Franz just as he was getting into his hire car. ‘Franz, wait! I’ve got the number,’ she called.

  Franz smiled genuine pleasure, relief. He stopped, closed the car door, and hurried back towards her. ‘Are you sure? You only have one chance.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Helen, tapping her temple. ‘It’s right here, has been all along. I just didn’t realise it.’ She rattled off the number sequence from the blade. She had spent so long looking at it with Sam that she knew it as well as her own date of birth.

  Franz also knew the number by heart. It had been with him throughout his career. The relief he felt that it would continue to be was clear across his face. Together they re-joined Elaine in the garden.

  Xavier’s story about the task and the ring bearers had already alerted Helen that the ring’s role was to identify individuals. Clearly, the bank had come much later, so one of her predecessors must have thought it suitably symbolic, and secret, to use the ring as the identifier at the bank. Similarly, ascribing the blade’s numbers to the account had created a secret code that would never be broken by guessing. It was clever, very clever and very simple. Perfect.

  Sitting in the warm afternoon sun, Franz told her more about the trust. She was the beneficiary and could call on and direct funds as she saw fit. Helen suggested making no changes for the time being. St Bernard’s would continue to receive the money. Franz noted her instructions, told her there would be papers to sign, things to inspect and check over. The bank’s solicitors in Edinburgh would act as agent in the meantime and they would be in touch once things were ready. She could rely on the solicitors. They had dealt with matters for John and Archie and others before.

  Franz had stressed that when the dust had settled and she was ready, it would be imperative for Helen to visit the bank in Switzerland. Essential. Of course, she wouldn’t need to worry about the cost.

  Finally, as Franz made ready to leave, Helen asked how much the trust was worth. Franz was coy as he hummed and hawed. After much qualifying about only having a modest amount of cash, cautioning over share prices fluctuating and property prices being difficult to fix at present, he muttered a number. Fifty-four million pounds Stirling, approximately.

  The rest of the afternoon had vanished in a whirl. By the time Sam returned, Helen had scarcely started to absorb the scale of the trust fund. She was consumed alternately by glee and by guilt. There was a lot of thinking to do.

  As the information had sunk in, Sam asked the question that had been hovering unframed in the corners of Helen’s mind. If the parish’s, no, if her trust fund was worth so much, how much would the actual Templars’ treasure be worth? Enormous.

  CHAPTER 32 - MONDAY 1st JULY

  Helen looked out from the study window. She could see Francis’ parish minibus turning slowly into the driveway. She headed straight for the door, grabbing her overnight bag as she went. Sam followed, carrying her suitcase.

  After the first relief at DCI Wallace’s news of the killer’s arrest, she had been overwhelmed with a desire just to go home. Not until the threat had been clearly removed did she realise just how much it had weighed on her. Then there was Herr Brenner’s visit. On the one hand, such exciting news, on the other, just an extra layer of worry. Now she needed to unwind, spend time with her parents, catch up with family, see old friends, visit old haunts. She had worried it might be seen as running away, abandoning her friends in Edinburgh; they would have none of it. She had to go. But as Elaine had stressed, she had to come back too. There was still a tussle to have with James Curry and they wanted her back for that. Back for good. She’d be back, no worries.

  DCI Wallace had been happy to agree she could go away for a holiday on the understanding she would return when required by the investigation. The police were still holding the church as a crime scene, though Helen was relaxed about their searching - the dagger was not there any more.

  With Grace’s help, she had unearthed a cache of documents from a concealed compartment within the tunnel system. An initial inspection of the documents had revealed nothing that seemed relevant or might point them to the other daggers. But Sam had promised to start working through them in detail in her absence. Everyone was going to be busy while she was away and even as she hurried out of the manse, she could feel her friends exerting a pull; she knew it would not be a long trip.

  A run of threat-free days and the warmth of summer had slowly raised everyone’s spirits, everyone felt safer. Xavier’s countrymen were gone. He had called them back to Sardinia once the man known as Innes had been apprehended. He had also reminded her of her promised visit. His door was open and he expected her soon.

  The city council had acted remarkably quickly to promote security for the manse and the cemetery as a whole: sending in the stonemasons to block both the cemetery’s pedestrian access gate from
the main road and the private access gate into the cemetery from the manse’s back garden. Everyone was pleased, but suspected it had been done more to enable the police to secure the environment than to give the congregation peace of mind.

  • • •

  Francis’ minibus rolled into Edinburgh airport then forked off to the parking bays where it finally jerked to a halt. Everyone piled out. Helen, Sam, Grace supporting Elaine, and finally Francis, who paused to lock the minibus doors.

  And then here they were, at the security check-in desk.

  Grace squeezed up beside Helen and whispered theatrically. ‘Next time I’m coming too, or you don’t get to go.’

  Helen laughed. ‘You’re on. It’s a promise, right?’

  ‘I’m holding you to that,’ said Grace, giving her a hug and kiss, Helen reciprocated then stepped forward as the queue moved. Then her turn came. The group watched while Helen went through the check-in procedures.

  After a few moments conversation, Helen opened her overnight bag and produced a small wooden carry case, opening it to show the check-in clerk a silver communion set: plate, cup and cross.

  Helen explained the set was destined for her father’s church at home. The clerk listened attentively and then made a phone call. Within moments, the security supervisor arrived and inspected the set carefully. She lifted the items out of the carry box in turn, inspected each one and then placed it on the counter. The set eventually formed a neat row beside the check-in clerk. The supervisor stood back from the counter, looked carefully at the set and then after a long and agonising moment she leant forward, placed her hand on the clerk’s shoulder and whispered an instruction in his ear. The clerk listened intently and then began to type quickly on his keyboard.