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The Longwood Pot
Kenneth Lawson
The insurance recovery business has been slow lately, but I didn’t mind. It gave me time to indulge in other hobbies. The payout from the recovery of the Third Sister had put me in a new tax bracket, which hurt every April. But even that, I didn’t mind.
Winters here in Virginia were mild, at least compared to most of the country, but it was too cold for me. I’d spent most of the winter season bouncing around in Texas and Florida, even as far west as Arizona. Upon returning to my Virginia ranch in mid-spring, I found a new Jaguar parked in the driveway, taking advantage of the shade from a giant oak. I had to laugh. Even when driving a rental, he went in style.
As I got out and opened the boot of my Mark II, I recognized the figure coming up the driveway. Simon Reynolds had traveled from his cushy air condition office in LA to find me. His ever-present glasses looked like they were ready to slide off his nose, and what little hair he had was windblown in all directions. He didn’t care or notice. Simon’s blue suit hung baggy on his frame, his tie loosened, and his white shirt unbuttoned to let air in.
“Where the hell have you been?” He glared at me, breathing heavily in the afternoon sun.
“And Hello to you. Simon, you know I take off during the winter and disconnect completely. As to where I was,” I picked up a large leather carry bag and headed for the front door. “I was in Texas, Florida, and Arizona. Where it’s warm in the winter. You know how I hate cold.” By now, I’d opened the front door and let us in. He followed me inside, and I tossed my bag in the neatest empty corner. I’d deal with it later.
“Okay, Simon, what’s so important?” I motioned for him to sit in the living room.
He sat on the couch and plopped an old leather briefcase onto the coffee table.
As he opened the case, the spring latches made a loud clicking noise in the still room. He rummaged through the numerous files inside, pulled one out, and handed it to me.
“Rodney Longwood owns some hotels in Phoenix and a vast parcel of land that he inherited from a shirttail aunt a few years ago. He allowed archeologists from a California university to come in and do a dig site on his property last year. They found some interesting and rare stuff—pottery and the like. One of the clay pots found was rare and worth a fortune. We have insurance on his personal property and wrote riders for the items they found.
I leafed through the file. “Okey. What’s that got to do with me?”
Simon leaned forward, his tie dangling over the coffee table and jacket hunched on his shoulders. “Longwood loaned it to a collector in England.” He pulled a photo from the folder, an image of an old castle.
“What does a Native American pot have to do with a castle in England?”
“From the story I got, they have a remarkably similar pot, with the same marking and type of clay. Longwood loaned it to the archeologist on the English site to compare.” Simon paused, shifting nervously. “And now it’s missing.”
“Stolen from an old English Castile where it never should have been in the first place. How much insurance?”
“A million dollars.”
“And if I don’t find the pot intact you have to pay Longwood?” Simon swallowed hard and nodded.
We sat in silence while I read his report more closely. “Okay, I get it, at least most of it. They wanted to directly compare the two pots side by side, something impossible to do properly over video. Longwood ships his pot to them using a secure courier to transport it to the castle in England where they had a lab to examine artifacts found on the estate grounds.”
Simon nodded. “Yes, the castle has been guarded by a private security firm since they opened the grounds to an archelogy team. They had problems with vandals and protesters who didn’t like them digging up the grounds around the Castle. The tightened security stopped most of it, but I understand they still get the occasional prowler and vandal, but not like before.”
“Everyone connected with the castle and the dig has been vetted?”
“Twice over, once by the local police and surrounding agencies and by the Home Office. They’re clean.”
I scoffed. “Someone slipped through, and I’m guessing someone inside the dig or castle.”
Simon sighed. “Likely.”
“The security company vetted?” Simon answered yes as I flipped through the papers and found the files detailing the security firm. They all looked good, as far as I could tell. No names jumped out at me. I took that as a good sign.
I was lucky last year to find the third painting of a set of three. I also knew having a place to start had helped. But there was no obvious place to start here, at least not from what I read in the files. I would know more when I got there and talked to people.
The question of my fee was next. I knew how Simon hated to part with his company’s hard-earned money.
“The pot is insured for?”
“The whole collection of about a dozen pots and other pieces of pottery and fragments are estimated to be over a million dollars, considering their rarity and how pristine some of them are. Individually, it’s hard to tell. A good auction with people who know their stuff, the pot in question could easily get half a million.”
“Speaking of which, where is the rest of the collection?”
“Safely locked up in a bank vault in Phoenix.”
“You’ve seen it there?”
“Yes, I oversaw transport and placement of the items in the vault.”
“I want $250,000 if I recover the pot in one piece, but I need a $10,000 retainer as a base price for my time and effort regardless of the pot condition if found or if not recovered.” I grinned. “Plus, expenses.”
Simon leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a minute, He knew damned well I was expensive, but he knew that most of the time, I saved them money in the long run. “Okay, $10,000 flat fee for your time, pluses expenses, $250,000 if you find the pot, and maybe a bonus if it is quick and the pot’s undamaged.”
We shook hands, and he pulled out a contract and filled in the necessary numbers.
Simon made a call, and within a few minutes, ten grand was sitting in my account.
We shook hands at the door, and Simon headed back to LA.
~~~
The flight to London would have been boring, but I had all the paperwork and files to read on both dig sites and the personnel at the castle. There was a lot to digest and remember. Troubling was a report that some hacked into the company’s cyber unit and accessed files concerning items found at the dig. The ID of one of the cyber techs was stolen and used to access the unit and the computer system.
I concentrated on the castle, the staff, the dig teams, and security. None of the names stood out to me as potential suspects. I would be able to get a better idea of who was who. Then, I turned my attention to the photos from the castle dig site and the original photos from the insurance company. After examining the metadata and the images, I determined that things were not what they appeared.
By the time I arrived in London, I had emailed Simon on his private email deductions with instructions to check who had access to the pictures and the files in general at the insurance company.
Lord Edmonds of the manor house had offered to send a limo for me, but I declined. I always rented a car. The rolling countryside flew by quickly as I glided along the winding back roads, making occasional stops for tractors, sheep, or lorries with a wide load.
The sun was low in the sky when I pulled in behind a Bently limo, parked on a sandstone driveway flanked by large, perfectly mowed lawns with neatly trimmed edges. The castle stood over us like a set from an old movie. Its flanking turrets were bookends of a sizeable blocky building. I lost count of the windows that looked down on the main driveway and lawn. Stone abutments served as railing for the five steps leading to the ornate front door.
I barely took all of this in before the front door opened, and an older gentleman came down the steps. As he approached me, I noticed his casual but elegant clothing, his expertly cut gray hair, and the etched lines on his face. He offered his hand, and I took it instinctively.
“I’m Lord Edmonds, but you may call me Charles.”
“Peter Malloy, but you can call me Pete.”
He noted my car, a new Mercedes. “The insurance investigator occupation pays quite well, I see?”
“It can with the right cases, but I’ve also seen it go bust.”
The front door opened, causing us to turn and look up at the steps. The lord’s face lit up at the sight of the woman standing on the landing. “Pete, this is my wife, Angela, Lady Angela Edmonds. Darling, this is Peter Malloy, the insurance investigator we’ve been expecting.”
As she came down the steps and over to meet me, I noticed she was petite and thin, contrasting with the tall, robust lord of the manor. She held her hand, and her grip was firm but not enthusiastic. She didn’t seem happy to see me. But she never indicated it directly. She looked at her husband. “Charles, dinner is ready.”
“I am certain our guest is hungry, as well.”
“Now you mention it, I could eat.”
I followed them up the steps through the front entry. Inside was a large foyer with a high ceiling, several doors flanking the side walls, and a large stairway leading to the floors above. I noticed several marble statues and busts on tall, thin pedestals standing between the many doorways. A coat of arms hung high over one door.
“I’m afraid it’s potluck today. The staff are off this week for a wedding. Our butler is marrying my wife’s lady-in-waiting, very ‘Downton Abby.’ We’ve had to fend for ourselves all week.” He grinned at his joke and led me through the house to a dining area next to the kitchen. Bread and a selection of hams, cheeses, other lunch meats, and plates of fresh fruits and vegetables sat on the rustic wooden table.
We sat the lord at the head of the table, Angela to his right. I took the seat beside him.
“Help yourself. We decided not to cook tonight as it is so hot.” He took bread slices from a basket and passed it to me. I did likewise, and before I knew it, I had one of the best sandwiches I’d had in a long time. We washed our food down with lager.
During the meal, Edmonds asked me questions about the case, while Angela didn’t say much other than ask me to pass something. I couldn’t decide if it was her customary manner or if she was just being cold to me. Time will tell.
I washed down the last of my ham sandwich with the last of my lager and decided to get to business. “I’d like to see the Vault Room, where the Longwood Pot was when stolen.”
He half-coughed, and his expression became serious as he sensed my change in tone. “Come. It’s this way.”
We rose, leaving Angela to clear the table, and walked through the main corridor to the opposite side of the manor. We stopped before a large, paneled door with an antique lock. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and fumbled a little until he found the key that fit the lock. The key turned quickly, and the door swung open into the room.
The windowless room looked like a scene from a movie set. The ceilings were tall and supported by three stone and one wood-paneled wall. Several suits of armor, displays of swords, and a couple of glass cases with some small pieces in them stood along the walls, highlighted by downlights. Two coats of arms hung on either side of the room.
The main attraction was the three large safes that stood on a raised stone dais. The center safe was much larger than the two flanking it, and none were small. Edmonds went directly to the center vault, pulled out a second, larger set of keys from his pockets, and opened it. The large door swung out and hung over the edge of the platform.
“It was here.” He pointed to an empty spot in the middle of the safe. I looked over the safe. There are no signs of tampering or forced opening. The only way in was with the key.
“What else in here?”
“A few family papers and this box contains my more valuable watches. This case has Agatha’s favorite jewelry. The wooden boxes on the lower shelf contain other pieces they found on the dig here.”
“The pot was here?” I pointed to the same empty spot he’d indicated.
He nodded yes. “It was too big to fit with the others, so we put it in a separate, larger box.”
“Close it up,” I instructed, standing back while he closed the door. It swung easily and quietly.
There was only one way in and out of the windowless room. I took my time examining the displays. At the paneled section on the right side, I noted several pictures which I assumed were of past lords of the manor. I studied the panels carefully and eventually found what I was looking for—a tiny crack in a panel edge. You’d never notice if you didn’t look closely and in the right light. I didn’t say a word. I told him I had seen all I needed, and we exited the room, and he locked the door.
“What’s next to this room?”
“My office.” He unlocked his office door. The room was smaller than the Vault Room but still spacious. I noticed the paneled section on the wall behind his desk, which was on the same wall as the Vault Room.
“You don’t carry both sets of keys all the time?”
“No, I only carry the door set. The vault keys remain in my safe.”
He pulled them from his pocket and handed them to me. There was nothing special about them. Both sets were old and well-used, but the keys for the vault itself were much larger and heavier.
I noticed a safe built into the shelves on the far wall opposite his desk. I watched as he punched the numbers to open the safe and put the safe keys back in, mentally noting the numbers. Bookshelves and cabinets filled with electronics, a small pair of speakers, and a flat-screen television lined the walls. He locked the office, and I followed him to the main hall.
“The dig site?” I purposely didn’t use his title, and it appeared he was put off by my not being impressed with his title. That lasted for about thirty seconds when I first met him.
“Oh yes, this way, please.”
He led me through the house, down a corridor past several well-appointed rooms with areas cordoned off with fancy velvet ropes. Rooms open as part of the public tours conducted there regularly.
Large French doors opened onto a large stone patio that ran most of the length of the main section of the castle. Several sets of outdoor tables and chairs, each with an umbrella, and side tables for the extras one invariably needed when dining alfresco.
The dig roped off with heavy rope strung on metal fence posts, and it took up a smaller section of lawn than I expected—a grid pattern created by sting marked off the interior of the excavated site. Canopies covered the dig site from the English rain, and a couple of covered work areas sat alongside. Under one were tables filled with flat frames and other tools of the trade—a couple of laptops and a makeshift photo booth set up on a third table. A cool breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees nearby and made the papers on the tables flutter.
A well-worn safari jacket moved around the dig site. Edmonds coughed slightly, and a floppy hat popped up from the hole. The man wearing the jacket was Devon Rogers, the lead archeologist, who had secured funding and permission for the dig. He was short, under the floppy hat he wore bald, and his clothes looked like he’d slept in them for the last several days. He climbed out of the pit and shuffled over to the tent we were under.
“Devon, please meet Pete Malloy from the insurance company about the Longwood pot.”
Sticking out a dirty hand, he grinned through several days’ worth of beard.
“Glad to know ya, Pete. So, they decided to finally send someone to see what happened to that dammed pot.”
It was more a statement than a question. I ignored it. I shook his and confirmed I was here about the Longwood pot.
By now, the other two had joined us in the tent, and Deven made the introductions. Ginger Bown had arrived two weeks ago, after the pot went missing, having completed her dissertation and awaiting oral finals for her doctorate at the university. She was tall and skinny, with long black hair tied in a loose ponytail behind her head. Even through her loose-fitting t-shirt shirt, I could tell she had been working hard for a while. Her jeans had holes in the knees and wear marks from tool belts riding on them.
“What another stupid suit here to tell us what we already know? Trudging all over the site. We just found some Roman artifacts. We don’t need you here.”
I told her I was just here to confirm what Lord Edmonds had reported and, if necessary, recommend that the insurance company pay. She snarled. “Yeah, right,” and returned to the dig hole.
Larry Perkins was the last person in the tent with Devon, Edmond, and me. Larry came forward and shook my hand, not saying anything other than a grunt hello.
Devon explained. “Larry is a local student from the university here for the summer. He helps out, carries dirt, cleans up, and generally does whatever we need him to do. He is supposed to be learning how to work a dig.”
I noted Larry’s long hair, well-worn, and dirty cowboy boots. They aren’t something you see very often in the middle of England. But I turned my attention to Devon.
“Professor Rogers, I have some questions for you.”
“He waved a hand in front of his face. “Stop all that professor crap. Out here, I’m just Devon—in the classroom, professor.”
“Okay, Devon. I still need you and the others to answer some questions.”
I spent the next forty-five minutes asking them questions. I also took pictures of the dig sites and where they found the original pot. Eventually, I let them get back to work.
Lord and Lady Edmonds went into town on business, leaving me alone. While they were gone, I popped the lock on his office door. Once inside I played with the combination on his safe. It didn’t take me long to figure out the last number I forgot.
Once the safe opened, I grabbed the vault keys. Twenty minutes later, I knew exactly how the pot had been stolen from the main vault and had a pretty good idea of where it might be and who was behind it. But I needed more information.
Back in my room, I wrote out what I suspected had happened and then emailed Simon and Lanna, my personal assistant. Officially, she did administrative work I hated doing, running errands and updating files when needed, but she was also my right-hand gal for researching.
I tasked them to find more information about the professor and the college student, Larry Perkins. While I requested information on Gina, she seemed harmless. The Professor and the kid were the two I was most interested in. Particularly if the kid had been to California about the time the files were stolen from the company and if he had been around the assistant who had her ID compromised.
Also of interest was whether either of them was in Arizona when the Longwood Pot was found or soon after. I tasked Lana with finding out if any of them had photo and video editing experience, officially or not. I also needed to know if Larry and Devon had crossed paths before the dig.
It was late evening when I received replies from Simon and Lanna. It was time to rewrite my notes before tomorrow.
~~~
I rose early, and after a quick breakfast in the kitchen and a chat with Lord Edmonds, I asked him to have everyone meet in the vault room. Promptly at nine in the morning, Edmonds let everyone into the vault room, but I waited out of sight. I decided to let them stew for a few minutes.
I could hear them talking, puzzled as to why I summoned them. When I figured they’d had enough time to wonder, I entered the Vault Room. Not expecting movement from the left side of the room, they all turned to see me step into the room from a panel that appeared to be part of the wall.
I stood there, a file folder in my hand, and let them ponder how I got there. I noticed a slight glance between Devon and Larry before they looked shocked.
“Good morning, everyone. You likely wonder why you are here and where I came from.” No one spoke, just nodded yes.
I walked into the middle of the room, leaving the panel open. “As you know, a priceless artifact found in Arizona has disappeared. Supposedly from here.” More nodding, but no one had found anything to say. However, I noticed Devon glancing at the right vault. “The artifact did disappear from here, but it didn’t go far.” Larry and Devon exchanged another glance.
“Let’s find the Longwood Pot, as it’s called. Then I’ll get into the mechanics of how it was stolen and why.”
I pulled the keys that opened the vaults themselves from my pocket. Edmonds shot me a questioning look, but I ignored him. Standing in front of the vault, I looked at it carefully.
“Lord Edmonds, when was the last time either of these archive vaults have been opened?”
He joined me. I pointed to the vault on the right, where the accumulated dust had been partially wiped from the handle. I then pointed to the handle on the left, covered with undisturbed dust.
“Oh, I don’t know, at least six months ago.”
“You don’t open these vaults often?”
No, they’re used mainly for storage and archiving family records and some documents for the castle.”
“So, generally speaking, you have no reason to get into them very often.”
“No. We mostly use the center vault for things we want to get regularly.”
“Such as?’
“As I told you, I have several very valuable watches, and Agatha likes to keep certain pieces of jewelry here that she wears often. The rest is at the bank.”
“I see. What if I were to tell you, I think we’ll find the Longwood Pot in the right vault?”
His eyes widened. He was catching on.
“Let’s open it and find out.” I slipped the key into the lock and turned it, listening to the lock mechanism creak as the big door released. Swinging it open, we stepped back so everyone could see. On the middle shelf, on top of a stack of papers, sat the wooden box that held the pot.
“Wow and oh shit,” and various other comments to that effect echoed about the room. I looked directly at Devon and Larry. Both had paled before regaining their composure.
Carefully sliding the box from the shelf, I carried it to a nearby display cabinet, and everyone watched as I opened it. Wrapped in protective padding sat the Longwood Pot, rumored to be at least five hundred years old and worth a small fortune.
“But how? I have the keys to the door.” Edmonds pointed to the opened panel for the first time and looked at me questionably. I nodded yes.
“Let me explain how the thief did it, then we’ll get to who and why.” Edmonds went back to his chair. I leaned against the display case next to the pot.
“It’s well known that Lord Edmonds carries the keys for the door with him pretty much all the time.”
“When it’s not on me, they’re locked in the safe in my office.”
“Correct. These keys came from there, too?” I held up the keys to the vaults.
Edmonds nodded yes.
“You need to rearrange the display cabinets in your office. I got the combination yesterday while you opened the safe to get the safe keys. Anyone standing in the right spot can see the reflection of the keypad in the glass. You need a better lock on the door, too. It didn’t take much to get it open.”
I carefully watched Devon and Larry’s reactions as I continued. “Okay, I’m in your office, and I have the vault keys but not the door keys.” Everyone turned to look at the open panel again.
“Being a history buff and knowing the history of this castle and the area, you would know about Priest Holes—small places were built into walls to hide the priest when the army or someone else came looking for them.”
Everyone nodded, and I looked toward Lord Edmonds. “You didn’t know you had one in your office?”
“It never occurred to me to look.” Edmonds countered.
“No, it wouldn’t, but because of the way the stone walls are configured and the way the halls and rooms are set up, it was the perfect place to put one. Let me guess, it wasn’t always your office?”
No, it had been a storage room for ages before we redid things a few years back.”
“Also, making it perfect for a priest hole. Back then, there were no lights, and no one would look too closely at the old storage room.”
“I just added electricity and lights, the safe, and the furnishing.”
“They did a good job hiding it here, but only if you’re not looking for it. Which I was. I noticed a crack in the panel that shouldn’t be there yesterday. So, while you were out, I came down and looked. Sure enough, in your office, that panel next to your desk opened up too easily. It should have squeaked and not wanted to move, but once I figured it out, it swung open.”
“So…” Edmonds stuttered. “Someone else’s found it, cleaned it up, and then went to work on the other side.”
I nodded. “Correct. They cut a small door into the panel and added some hinges to make it work and a catch to close it. When the time was right, they just came through like I did.’
I noticed Devon and Larry looking uncomfortable in their chairs and glancing at each other.
“Okay, that’s how it was done, but who?’ Edmonds asked, looking around the room.
“That’s going to take a little more explaining. It all started two years ago when the Longwood Pot was found. It was a big deal. There was a lot of press coverage, which made national and international news. My company handles the insurance for Rodney Longwood, his hotels, and other properties. We insured it for a quarter of a million dollars. A hefty sum for an old clay pot.”
I paused for effect. “At that time, Professor Devon Rogers was in dire straits. He knew his future as a professor would not be long if he didn’t fulfill his tenure. You were required to submit five peer-reviewed papers in a year, which you hadn’t done. Not to mention, your teaching performance was less than great.” I looked right at him. He looked down at his lap and played with the edges of the safari coat.
I glanced around the room and slightly shifted my position against the display cabinet. “Anyway, I digress. The Longwood pot came out, and you saw dollar signs, which may be a chance to redeem your career. Suppose you found a pot identical to it, a place that should never have it. It would be big news and national attention and perhaps save your career, or as a last resort, you could get your hands on it, sell it, and make enough to live on for the rest of your life. To hell with teaching.”
Deven didn’t look up. I continued, “You met Larry Perkins somewhere during your travels in the States and got back in contact with him. But for this to work, you needed Larry to do some things stateside. The first order of business was finding out where the pot was. It was in a local museum in Arizona. Then you needed good pictures of the pot. The ones online weren’t good enough. So, you realized if it was insured, they would have good pictures. Once you figured out what company had the insurance for it. You researched and found our offices and, eventually, our cyber unit. You sent Larry in to befriend a girl who works there. Over time, you got her confidence and eventually her credentials and access to our system. Once you had that, it was easy to download and copy the entire file and pictures of the pot and disappear from her life.”
I paused for effect and glanced at my notes, which I’d laid on the corner next to me. Everyone stared at Larry, who looked at Devan and squirmed in his chair.
“You now had the pictures of the pot, but you needed a place to “find it.” To that end, Devon, you convinced the university to fund one more dig for you. You found a nice castle out of the way and talked the Lord into letting you do a dig on a back property. Probably gave him some bullshit about past finds in the area or something about the water table. Either way, you got him roped into it.”
“You knew the only to get the pot out of the museum was to find the second one, as it were, so you set work making up some pictures with the real pot in them, making it look like it had been found here. They didn’t have to be perfect. They would only be seen online and then taken down.”
I had everyone’s attention. “With a hubbub over the second pot, the museum had no choice but to send its pot over for direct comparison. Of course, by then, you made sure to have your pot sent somewhere for authentication or testing. So that when the real pot came, there wasn’t a pot to which to directly compare. You strung everyone along, saying it would be back soon. As expected, the Longwood pot was put in the vault here.” I pointed to the main center vault. “It didn’t take much to figure out they never get into the side vaults very often. You knew you’d be suspects, so you couldn’t have it found in your belongings. The next best thing was to hide it where you could get it later after everything died down.” I crossed my arms and stared at Devon and Larry.
I had already called the local police, and they were waiting for me to finish before they arrested Devon Rogers and Larry Perkins for theft. Larry was also charged with cybercrimes back in the States.
Epilogue
The Longwood Pot was returned to the Arizona Museum by secure courier as soon as it was processed as evidence against Devon and Larry. Meanwhile, Ginger Bown, who had known nothing about the pot or its theft, continued with the dig. The university supported keeping the dig going after she uncovered artifacts from the Roman era in Britain. The university was so impressed with her work that they put her in charge despite not yet receiving her doctorate.
Lord and Lady Edmonds benefited from the whole thing with a renewed interest in their castle and a significant growth in the number of tourists visiting the castle every weekend.
It took me a week to settle everything with the insurance company and local authorities before I could fly back to the States.
~~~
We were back at my ranch in Virginia. Simon had flown in to give me the rest of the money owed me and stayed for a few days. My PA, Lana, who lived nearby, joined us for a fancy dinner I had catered for the occasion. Simon raised his glass to me. “Here’s to the king of finding lost or stolen items.” We both grinned a little as we drank.
“And saving you about a quarter of a million dollars,” I added.
“Yeah, and that too.”
I sat up and looked directly at Simon and Lana. Raising my glass, I toasted them.
“Without your hard work here, I couldn’t have put the pieces together. Thank you.”
After everyone left, I sat back in my favorite leather chair, sipped a hundred-year-old bourbon, and put a record on. I fell asleep in my chair to the sounds of Miles Davis.
Please visit Kenneth on his blog: http://kennethlawson.weebly.com
And on Vocal Media: https://vocal.media/authors/kenneth-lawson
Images are free use and require no attribution. Image by DerWeg from Pixabay .
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