A Declaration Goes Independent

  

“So there you have it,” Agent Davies concluded.

The middle-aged man with no visible paunch and arm muscles that hinted that none was available stared hopefully at Sheila.

“Well, do you have an ideas?”

“Not yet!” Sheila blurted out. “Even Japp gave Poirot time to solve his mysteries!”

The older lady sat still for a few minutes and then asked for some water to drink.

“I’ll tell you what, Agent Davies. Give me until noon tomorrow and I’ll either have an answer or I won’t.”

The agent looked worried, as if 20 hours was too much time.

He sighed, “OK. If that’s what you need. I’ll let the president know right away. I’m sure that he will want to speak with you.”

With that, Sheila Truet, the elderly spinster from Groton, rose to leave.

“I’d like to take one more look if I could,” she said.

Agent Davies obliged and escorted Sheila down the hallway to the display area.

It was a very straightforward case actually. There was a very important missing document and no discernable way for it to have been stolen. After all, it’s not as if the Declaration of Independence was ever left lying around.

Be that as it may, sometime in the past three years the Declaration had been stolen and replaced with a fake. No one knew exactly when it disappeared. The last time the document was authenticated had been three years hence and no one had noticed or suspected anything until the ransom note had shown up four weeks ago.

Sheila, of course, was flabbergasted when one of her former English students at the Groton School for Advanced Preparatory Training had called and begged her to come to D.C. but would not explain why. The school, of course, was the brain child of Miss Shelley Iverson, a descendent of the Revolutionary war Iversons whom Sheila had long suspected were not nearly as heroic as Miss Shelley liked to think. Women from the Groton School, a school designed to equip young ladies after high school for the rigors of college, i.e. Ivy League, academics and husband hunting, were not known for being flighty, so Sheila had complied.

Be that as it may, Julie Williams nee Vanderbuilt had done well in life, becoming the press secretary and an informal advisor to the president. It was she who suggested that Sheila be consulted over this mystery. The president, who greatly feared the news of the theft becoming public, was very willing to grasp at straws – even when they came in the form of a 68 year old English teacher from Connecticut.

Soon Sheila found herself again standing in front of the safe that had once held the Declaration. The titanium case was no longer filled with argon gas to protect the document, but other than that, the forgery was treated with the same care as the original. Each night, the case was lowered into a further protected area beneath the rotunda of the National Archives. There, it was considered completely safe from fire, flood, earthquake – and theft.

In addition, when the case was raised to the rotunda, there were always at least two guards in attendance, not to mention the thousands of tourists each day. All of that, plus the intricate alarm system and roving patrols of guards made it impossible to imagine a successful theft could ever occur. But one did. Once the ransom note had arrived and the Declaration on display was inspected, it was clear that it was a fake.

Sheila slowly examined the front of the case and then walked around to the rear. In the back, behind alarmed and secured doors, was the access hatch to the document itself. Even a wet-behind-the-ears police recruit could tell that no one had tried to open the case with anything but the proper keys. There were no scratches or marks of any kind on the burnished metal door.

Bending down for a closer look, Sheila asked, “Why is the door so wide?”

Davies replied, “The door is 26 inches wide and 8 inches high. It’s designed that way so that the Declaration could be removed without having to bend it in any way. The display area itself is 27 inches wide and 32 ¼ inches deep. That gives room for the document to sit on its stand.”

“What is the procedure for raising and lowering the document?”

“We have two guards monitor the process. One comes in the back are and operates the controls while the other monitors the progress from the rotunda.”

“And who has the keys to the case?”

“Those are kept in a safe located in the guard room where all of the security monitors are. Only three people know the code to the safe and none of them work in this building.”

“Can we open the door?”

Agent Davies stiffened. “I’m not sure that I have the authority to do that. I’d have to contact the head of the National Archives to get the key. That may take a few hours.”

“That’s alright. If I could go back to my hotel now that would be fine. I think I’ve seen enough.”

The hotel Sheila stayed at was only a few blocks from the archives and the White House. Still, the traffic congestion and heat made the trip a bit of a hardship for her New England sensibilities. As it was, Sheila enjoyed a large suite and the company of a Secret Service agent everywhere she went. The spinster had fussed about this unnecessary expense when she talked to Julie.

“That’s just how D.C. works,” Julie shrugged in reply. “Besides, you’re a very important person these days. If the theft goes public before it’s solved, all hell will break loose!”

“Really?”

“Of course! That’s why this is so important. How would you like to be the president who lost the Declaration of Independence?”

Sheila nodded. That didn’t sound like a good way to be remembered at all.

Once at the hotel Sheila rested for a while and worked on a few crossword puzzles. Then, after a brief dinner in the restaurant, she went back to her room. The seafood was OK, she thought, as the elevator doors opened, but nothing like at Chaplin’s.

“John,” Sheila called the agent into her room.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Closing the door, she said, “Could you let Agent Davies know that the, umm, document will be returned by noon tomorrow with no ransom paid. If your boss would like to see it, he can come to the National Archives at a time of his choosing and I’ll be glad to talk with him.”

The agent looked puzzled.

“Yes,” Sheila continued, “I’ve solved your problem. Now I’m off to bed. I hope I can get a good sleep on this hotel mattress. I didn’t last night at all.”

The next morning, Sheila received more phone calls than she had in the past two months combined. First it was Agent Davies, then Julie, then Davies again, and again Julie followed by a few others whom Sheila had never met before.

After a late breakfast, the English teacher and her Secret Service companion headed back to the National Archives which, for a third day was closed to the public because of a “water leak” that required fixing.

Agent Davies, the head of the Secret Service, Julie Williams and several other people were already there, each one in a different stage of excitement or mild panic. Davies was sure that he was about to lose his job when the elderly spinster from Groton came up empty-handed in front of the President of the United States.

After about half an hour of the type of chit-chat that one would normally expect before a funeral, the room suddenly filled with about 20 more people, quickly followed by the president himself.

Soon, the formalities of introductions were completed and chairs were brought for the president and the spinster to talk.

“I understand that you’ve solved our little problem,” the president stated somewhat obtusely.

“If you mean the theft of the Declaration of Independence, then I certainly have,” Sheila replied, beaming.

“So, tell me. What happened?”

“It’s simple, really. Once you realize that the Declaration was never stolen, then all of the pieces fit together.”

There was a murmur of disbelief among the crowd. Everyone knew that the Declaration on display was a forgery!

The president paused to size up Sheila once more. Her bright eyes and quick tongue belied a sharp brain. And Julie spoke very highly of her ability to see what others missed.

 “So if the Declaration was never taken, you’ve left me more confused than ever. Tell me what you think happened.”

“Well, I don’t know with 100% certainty about everything. But you can check out what I say and prove it true or false very quickly. Here’s what happened: One of the guards is responsible for the ransom note. I suspect you will find it to be someone who worked here for many years and probably retired in the past two years or so.”

“In all of his years guarding the Declaration, the guard knew that there was no way someone could ever steal the Declaration single-handedly. This made the theft of the Declaration a perfect crime because it was impossible.”

“His inspiration was the realization that he didn’t have to steal the Declaration at all. He just had to make you think it had been stolen. This is what he did. The guard got a fake copy of the Declaration made several years ago. He also cut out a metal plate that was exactly the size of the interior of the display case. He hid both of these here in the building and waited.”

“Then, when the document was last checked and authenticated by a preservationist, the guard made sure he was the one to close up the case. While everyone else walked around to the front of the case, the guard quickly slipped the metal plate and the forgery into the case and laid them on top of the Declaration.”

“From that moment on, everyone assumed that the Declaration on display was the real one. Then the guard waited, and waited. So long as no one was going to be inspecting the document, there was no way for his ruse to be discovered. After a year or so, the guard could retire and then, a few years later, send in a ransom note without anyone suspecting his involvement.”

“So I am certain that if you open the case up, you will find the Declaration of Independence sitting inside, never having actually been stolen. You will also find among the guards who have retired in the past two years one who has the patience of Job and the scruples of a scoundrel to pull this crime off.”

There was a pause in the room as Sheila’s words soaked in. Then, as if on cue, everyone rose and rushed to the display case. After a few moments the back door to the case opened up and the curator’s hands reached in. Pressing against the metal plate holding the forgery, he pried it up and removed it from the case. There, on its original stand, was the Declaration of Independence, unharmed and ready for public display once again.

That night, the local news at the airport noted that the president had made a special trip to the National Archives that day, but it was understood that the purpose of the visit was to thank the workers there for their faithful service. Sheila smiled as she watched and then headed off to go through security.

© 2015, Kevin H. Grenier