Case of the Shady Shamrock

by Jeffrey Poole

  “All right, sport. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Ooooooo!” Watson howled.

  Surprised, I looked down at my little girl and grinned. Watson typically didn’t howl. She let her packmate handle that department. In this case, since he was absent, she decided to voice her enthusiasm. At least, I think that’s what she was doing.

  “Bombs away.”

  I pulled the lever. The entire eastern wall started trembling as barrel after barrel was ejected from the storage ramps, and without the brake lever to keep them in check, they all rushed forward, one right after the other. A series of loud crashing sounds began as each empty made contact with the ground below, and what’s more, the crashes increased in frequency as each barrel removed from the line picked up speed.

  “Aaauuggghh!”

  “Yeah, that’ll probably leave a mark. Sorry ’bout that. I did warn you, didn’t I?”

  Pulling the lever back to the locking position, I felt the ramps shudder as the collective weight of about a dozen empty barrels clanged to a stop. Slowly walking around the corner, I peered out from behind a double-row of filled wine barrels and got my first look at Shady Dude. Well, make that the lower half.

  It looked like the first barrel had landed directly on the intruder’s head, knocking him to the ground. But, before he could regain his feet, barrels two and three came crashing down, followed thereafter by nearly a half-dozen more. Therefore, all I saw were Shady Dude’s legs, jutting out from under several smashed empties.

  “I suppose we should go tell Vance,” I amiably told Watson.

  The red and white corgi wriggled with excitement.

  SIX

  “Are you still upset your guy got away? Let it go, pal. We have this guy, and that’s only because I dropped nearly a dozen empty wine barrels on him.”

  “That accounts for his broken leg,” Vance conceded. “Still, I should have been able to catch the guy.”

  “How did he manage to get away? The Mercedes was still in the driveway when the police arrived.”

  “I’m not sure,” Vance admitted. “I did hear something in the distance, after Sherlock alerted me he had doubled back and made it outside.”

  “What did you hear?” I asked. “Another car?”

  “Motorcycle,” Vance decided. “He must have had one stashed in the trees. Might explain why we didn’t see it as we pulled up?”

  I shrugged. It was possible. We both turned our attention to the man with his leg in a cast, sitting handcuffed to the bar bolted onto the table. It was Shady Dude, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was about to turn on the waterworks. Now that I had a good chance to look at him, he looked to be in his early sixties, had short gray hair, and seemed to be in decent shape. And, I’d like to add there wasn’t a single intimidating thing about him.

  Vance tapped me on the shoulder and then headed out of the observation room. Following closely, he led me down the hall and into a room I hadn’t been in before, which was a large conference room. Captain Nelson was already there, seated at the head of the table. On his left was a middle-aged lady who I recognized almost immediately: Debra Campbell, mayor of Pomme Valley.

  The two of them looked up as we entered. Thankfully, the mayor had a smile for me, while the captain simply nodded. Mayor Campbell rose to her feet as we approached, which prompted the captain to do the same. Once the two of us were seated, Mayor Campbell resumed sitting.

  “Hello, Mr. Anderson,” the mayor said.

  “Ma’am. How are you today?”

  “Quite well, thank you. It has come to my attention that you are in possession of some type of chest?”

  I nodded. “I am.”

  “Could you tell us about it?”

  “Sure. I came home a few nights ago to find a wooden crate on my doorstep. The dogs seemed to indicate it was harmless, so I brought it inside and opened it up.”

  “What was in it?” the mayor curiously asked.

  “A silver chest. It has markings all over it. A shamrock on one side, a thistle on the other, and a cross on another.”

  “Three symbols,” Mayor Campbell softly repeated. “The chest is British?”

  “That is what we think, too,” I said. “Burt explained it to us.”

  “Mr. Johnson, from the antique store?” Captain Nelson asked.

  I nodded. “Yes. I should also inform you that, for all intents and purposes, this chest doesn’t have a lid.”

  Mayor Campbell looked up, interested. “No lid? Indeed. And you say it’s covered with markings and symbols?”

  “Every square inch,” I confirmed.

  “It’s a puzzle box,” the mayor decided.

  “How so?” Captain Nelson asked.

  “You have to prove yourself worthy,” Mayor Campbell explained. “Solve the puzzle, and the chest opens, so you can claim the prize. Am I right to understand this particular prize might have some value?”

  “If it’s what we think it is,” Vance began, “then yes, it’s worth a pretty penny. If word got out that something like this was in Pomme Valley, then we’d have every thief in the area rushing to our city.”

  “Why?” the captain demanded. “What’s so important? What is it you think you have?”

  “The Irish Crown Jewels,” I answered.

  Both of the captain’s bushy eyebrows jumped with surprise.

  “Is that even a thing?” Captain Nelson wanted to know, as he looked to the mayor for an answer. “I’ve heard of the British Crown Jewels, of course. I know they’re in London. I didn’t know Ireland had some, too.”

  “Only a few pieces,” Vance said, as he pulled out his notebook and flipped a few pages. Settling on one, he began to read. “Stolen in 1907, the jewels consist of a star decorated with Brazilian diamonds, a diamond badge, and five gold-and-jewel-encrusted collars.”

  “How big are they?” I asked. “Could they fit in that chest?”

  “They were last seen over 100 years ago, pal,” Vance reminded me. “I have no idea. Most jewelry is small, so if I had to venture a guess, then I’d say it was possible.”

  “And you’re in possession of this chest now?” Captain Nelson asked.

  I nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “And you have no idea who sent it?” Mayor Campbell asked.

  “We were able to get some information off the shipping invoice,” Vance announced, as he flipped through a few more pages in his notebook. “Cwmbran, a small town in Wales.”

  “That’s where it was shipped from?” Captain Nelson asked.

  I nodded, and then shrugged.

  “Do you know anyone living in that town?” the mayor asked.

  “I don’t, I’m sorry.”

  Captain Nelson seemed to make up his mind about something and he nodded. Then, pushing himself away from the table, he rose to his feet, prompting the rest of us to do the same.

  “What do you say we go talk to our guest? We’ve given him long enough to stew.”

  “Do keep me posted, Dale,” the mayor said, as she turned to go. “Detective Samuelson. Mr. Anderson.”

  “Ma’am,” Vance returned.

  Once the mayor was gone, the three of us headed back through the hall and into the interrogation room. My friend from yesterday glared at me as I took one of the three chairs set up on the opposite side of the table.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I said to Shady Guy, as I sat down. “I tried to get you to surrender. I told you that pursuing this was a bad idea.”

  Shady Guy’s lips narrowed as he frowned harder.

  “Let’s start with your name,” Vance began, as he flipped open the police report and started to read. When several seconds of silence had passed, and there wasn’t a response, my detective friend looked up. “We’ve already taken your fingerprints. It’s just a matter of time before you’re identified. Are you sure you don’t want to save yourself some trouble?”

  “Any status on those prints?” Captain Nelson asked, without lookin
g at anyone in particular.

  After a few moments, there was a knock at the door and a familiar uniformed officer appeared. Officer Jones, a tall, lanky policeman, owner of the biggest, bushiest eyebrows I have ever seen, handed a folder to the captain and quickly left.

  “Well, well. Let’s see what we have here. Still nothing to say?”

  Shady Dude folded his arms across his chest, sat back in his chair, and smiled.

  “Very well, Ernest. We really don’t need your input.”

  Ernest? Vance and I turned to regard the prisoner with a pitiful look. Ernest, having been identified, scowled and, as though someone had flipped a switch, suddenly became very cooperative.

  “Look, this has just been one huge misunderstanding,” Ernest began.

  “I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to,” I repeated, as I sat back in my chair and looked at the idiot in handcuffs. “Ring any bells?”

  “I was joking, okay?”

  “No, you weren’t,” Vance argued. “You and your pal were caught breaking and entering, on private property.”

  “You want to help yourself?” Captain Nelson asked. “You can start by leveling with us. What were you there to do?”

  “It’s just a misunderstanding,” Ernest insisted. Beads of sweat could be seen trickling down the guy’s pale forehead. “We were just horsing around.”

  “We?” Captain Nelson repeated, clearly pleased Ernest had chosen that particular pronoun. “Let’s talk about that word. Who were you with?”

  Ernest fell silent.

  “Come, come, Mr. Beckman. You can do better than that.”

  Try as I might, I couldn’t hold back the snort of laughter. “Beckman? Your name is Ernest Beckman?”

  “Yeah? What of it?”

  “You tried to intimidate me, threaten to kill me, and your name is Ernest Beckman?”

  “Not very scary, is it?” Vance remarked.

  “I’ll say.”

  “Talk to me about Stupid,” Captain Nelson instructed.

  Both Vance and I turned to regard the captain as though he was now speaking tongues.

  “What was that, sir?” Vance neutrally asked.

  “Stupid,” Captain Nelson said. He turned to Ernest and clasped his hands together. Then, resting them on the open folder in front of him, he leaned forward. “It says here that you’re a member of something called Stupid. I was giving you a chance to elaborate, because I personally think that has to be the silliest acronym I have ever seen.”

  “He works for someone with an acronym of S-T-U-P-I-D?” Vance incredulously asked. “That’s gotta be a mistake, sir.”

  “For your information,” Ernest hotly snapped, “that’s S.T.P.I.D. We’re the Strategic Team of Patriotic Irish Descendants.”

  I held my hands up in a time-out gesture. “Wait. Just wait a minute. You’re telling me you work for the forces of STUPID? Is this a joke? Are we being filmed?”

  Vance stared at Ernest, waiting for the punchline he was certain was coming. When nothing more was offered, Vance looked over at the captain and pointed at the police report.

  “May I?”

  “Of course, Detective.”

  Now, Captain Nelson might not have been laughing, but I did notice his eyes were watering. The captain must have thought this was the silliest thing he had ever heard, too.

  “Ernest Beckman,” Vance read, as he skimmed the contents of the police report. “Occupation: custodian. It says here you’re a janitor at an elementary school.”

  “So?” Ernest sneered. “What of it?”

  I tapped the open folder. “Where? Here, in PV?”

  Vance read a bit farther. “No. Looks like he’s from Sacramento, California. Actually, it looks like a suburb just north of Sacramento called Lincoln.”

  “That’s about four hours away,” I recalled.

  “What do the forces of STUPID do?” Vance idly asked. “Do you guys have a mission statement? Maybe a motto?”

  “There is no U,” Ernest haughtily informed us. “And mock us all you want. It’s not like we haven’t heard it before.”

  “What is it you do?” Vance said, as he struggled to keep the smile from forming on his face.

  “Whatever we are called to do,” Ernest answered. His nose lifted. “Unlike you, we have a cause, and it’s one worth fighting for.”

  “You know what’s in the chest, don’t you?” I asked.

  All eyes turned to me. Ernest stared at me, dumbfounded.

  “You couldn’t possibly know what the chest contains. It’s a secret.”

  “Not a very good secret,” Vance said. “Seriously? Do you really think that silver chest contains the stolen Irish Crown Jewels?”

  “I know it does,” Ernest insisted. “I just don’t know how you managed to intercept it.”

  “Intercept it?” I repeated, confused. “Look, pal, that thing showed up on my doorstep. It was addressed to me, and it now falls under my protection. As you might have guessed, I’ve since moved the chest to a more secure location.”

  “Where is it?” Ernest demanded. “It doesn’t belong to you. It belongs with its rightful owners.”

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “I know that thing doesn’t belong to me. If those jewels are, indeed, inside that chest, then I have no problem telling you that I intend to see to it that the jewels are returned to Ireland.”

  “See?” Vance said, as he looked up at Ernest. “We can all be friends here. We want what you want. We’re going to get those things returned to Ireland. You’re welcome.”

  “You can’t!” Ernest protested.

  “What’s that?” Vance asked.

  “What was that?” Captain Nelson said.

  “Say what?” I added, all at the same time.

  “Ireland has no business in owning those famous pieces of history.”

  “Umm, they’re called the Irish Crown Jewels for a reason,” I pointed out.

  “They belong to the Irish Royal Family,” Vance added. “Of course, they’re going to get them back.”

  “There is no Irish Royal Family,” I whispered to my detective friend.

  “Huh? Sure there is. If there are crown jewels, does that not indicate there’s a king and queen?”

  “There was a king and queen,” I said, “later known as the king and queen of England. This was after 1949, when Ireland left the British Commonwealth and was declared a republic.”

  Vance threw up his hands with frustration. “Okay, Mr. PBS, how do you know so much about this? Oh, let me guess. You wrote a book about Ireland.”

  I leveled a gaze at my friend. “I’ve written a lot of books, buddy, and yes, I’ve written one about Ireland. Quite recently, as a matter of fact. Ring any bells?”

  Vance’s eyes widened with surprise. “Oh. Uh, sorry. Forgot about that one.”

  “You forgot about which one?” Captain Nelson asked.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, sir. Now, back to you, Mr. Beckman. You claim Ireland has no business owning those jewels? What do you propose to do with them?”

  “Maybe he wants to send them to the Queen of England?” I suggested. “After all, at the time of the theft, Ireland fell under England’s rule.”

  “I think he wants them for himself,” Captain Nelson said.

  “Or else someone in the STUPID organization does,” I said. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I shouldn’t keep trying to provoke the guy. Apparently, I have more of an evil streak than I let on.

  “Of course we don’t want them,” Ernest said. “Listen, the Irish Crown Jewels were never associated with any monarchy.”

  Vance looked at me. “Did you know that?”

  “I did, but to be fair, I only learned that about a day or two ago.”

  “What does that mean for us?” Captain Nelson inquired.

  The three of us looked back at Ernest.

  “Well, Mr. Beckman?” Vance prompted.

  “To give those jewels back would certainly result in those priceless,
historical pieces being broken up and inevitably turned into something else. No, the pieces must remain as they are.”

  “So, you don’t want to give them back,” Captain Nelson said, as he tapped his fingers on the table. “What are your plans? What do you plan on doing with them?”

  Ernest fell silent.

  “Did your STUPID compatriots tell you what their plans are?”

  “S.T.P.I.D.,” Ernest repeated, through gritted teeth. “They’re not stupid.”

  “Prove it,” Vance challenged. “You have yet to tell us what your organization plans on doing with these jewels, provided you ever get your hands on them. Trust me, from the sounds of things, you won’t. But, you’ve piqued our curiosity. Do tell.”

  Once more, Ernest fell silent.

  “Look, Mr. Beckman,” Captain Nelson began, using an uncharacteristically sympathetic tone, “say what you will about your … organization, but everyone at this table can tell that you guys are nothing but amateurs.”

  “Are not,” Ernest sulked.

  “You were caught,” Vance pointed out.

  “So, I was hit with a bit of bad luck. It could happen to anyone.”

  “You’re sitting on that side of the table,” Captain Nelson argued, “with a broken leg. You didn’t get hit with bad luck. You were knocked out by Mr. Anderson’s wine barrels. A professional would never have allowed himself to be backed into a corner.”

  “They would have scoped the place out first,” Vance added, drawing a nod of approval from the captain. “They would have learned where all the exits could be found.”

  “There was just the one,” Ernest grumped. “What was I supposed to do, make my own door?”

  “There are loading docks on three sides of the building,” I pointed out. “And two of the walls, the north and the west, have dual loading bays. You didn’t even bother to check. If you had, then we most certainly wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “We might be able to help you,” Captain Nelson said, adopting his soothing tone once more. “We can’t do that, though, until you level with us. Tell us more about STUPID.”

  “S.T.P.I.D.,” Ernest insisted.

  The captain waived off the correction. “My apologies. Tell us about them.”