Righting Wrongs

NYCM Prompts:
Genre: Mystery | Subject: Restitution | Character: An octogenarian

_{[Round 2: did not place]}

Synopsis: While searching for a misplaced item in the repository vault of the Cultural Heritage Agency, Lucie discovers that sometimes two wrongs can indeed make a right.

“Huh.”

Frowning, Lucie glanced between the repository catalogue printout on her clipboard and the space on the shelf in front of her. Unhooking the walkie-talkie from her belt, she held down the call button and spoke into the dimpled speaker.

“Kev, can you confirm that item X43278 hasn’t already been transferred upstairs for inspection?”

Static blasted through the tiny speakers, immediately swallowed up by the oppressive quiet of the repository vault belonging to the Cultural Heritage Agency.

“If it was here, I wouldn’t have put it on your list,” came the tinny reply. Lucie had only worked here for a few months which put her squarely at the bottom of Kevin’s respect.

She bit back her retort, pressing the walkie-talkie again. “Well, it’s not here.” Once more, she glanced down at her clipboard, then at the space where the crate should be. It had not miraculously reappeared.

Swearing spat through the static of the radio. “That bloody Ralph Smith. He’ll have gone and lost it! Honestly, why that man is even still permitted on site—”

Lucie winced. She recognised the tone of someone on the warpath. Hastily, she cut through the rant: “I’ll have a look around. It’s probably nearby.” From the description, item X43278 was a small earthenware vase. It would be easy to move and forget to return to its place. Besides, she liked Ralph and wouldn’t want him to get into trouble.

Besides, if Kevin actually bothered to come out of his office, he might have a better idea of the chaos of the repository. It held a huge number of state-owned artworks, including those which had been unlawfully seized during the two World Wars. There were hundreds and hundreds of items. It was easy to overlook the relocation of a few, particularly when requests for inspections were so regular.

Working her way outwards from the empty space, Lucie began checking each item label on the surrounding crates. For something as small and delicate as a vase, it would be stored in one of the custom-made crates. At least that narrowed her search somewhat as she skimmed over label after label after label.

“Thought I saw someone down here.”

Startling, Lucie turned at the hoarse voice of Ralph, shuffling down the narrow aisle towards her. Strictly speaking, Ralph was retired. In fact, his years of retirement probably outnumbered the years of service of most full-time employees. Yet despite being eighty-eight and a little unsteady on his feet, Ralph knew more about the repository than anyone, including Kevin. For that reason alone, he remained an “honorary” member of staff, and still worked a few hours a week in the vault.

“Just me,” Lucie smiled. “One of the crates has been misplaced. I’m trying to find it.”

“Misplaced, eh?” Ralph sucked on his teeth, his thinning white hair stark against the dimness of the vault lights. “What are you looking for?”

“This.” She held out the clipboard with the printout.

He eyed the information, rheumy eyes watering. “Hm.” Shakily, he pointed further down the aisle. “Might have transposed my numbers by accident. Try the spot for X34278.” The ‘X-number’ denoted the location within the vault; it was an easy mistake to make, especially for someone with poor eyesight.

“Ah, that’ll be the issue then.” She flashed Ralph another bright smile. “I’ll go check that section instead.”

Diligently, Lucie set off, carefully examining all the labels beginning X3 in the hopes of finding a pesky X4 nestled among them. Nothing.

Her heart began to sink. Missing items required reporting. That in itself was not problematic, but she knew that Kevin was just itching for the chance to oust Ralph from his “honorary” status.

Sighing, she turned on heel and headed towards the small workstation crammed into the far corner. Sparse and isolated, Kevin never opted to work from here. So, naturally, it was where Ralph could most often be found. She wanted to give him the bad news about the missing crate. At least giving him advance warning might grant him some additional searching time before Kevin summoned him.

Yet the space was empty. Only the flickering of the ancient computer screen greeted her approach. But there, sitting on the desk, was a rectangular crate. Lucie let out a delighted little whoop, noting the label on the front which stated X43278. Ralph was a marvel!

Except when she went to pick up the crate, she realised something was very wrong. It was too light. Cracking open the lid, she glimpsed empty space where the vase should be. It was gone.

No, not just ‘gone’. Stolen. There was no reason why the crate should be here but not the vase. None of the custodians were authorised to handle any items. Not Lucie, not Kevin, not Ralph.

Her ears pricked at the unmistakeable shuffling gait of Ralph from nearby. Seized with an irrational sense of wrongdoing, Lucie retreated down another aisle, relying on Ralph’s poor hearing to ensure she was not caught. Only when she judged she was safe did she turn around, peeking between the crates on the shelf towards the workspace.

When Ralph came into view, he was holding something in his hands. Lucie stifled a sharp intake of breath. The earthenware vase.

Carefully, lovingly even, Ralph placed the vase on the desk. His arthritic fingers fumbled with the latches of the crate before he was able to open the lid. Then, with the utmost attention, he placed the vase in the midst of the protective foam within the crate, its form fitting the internal cut-out precisely.

“I’ll get you back out after this damned inspection,” he spoke to… well, the vase, Lucie had to presume. “Just a few more days to wait, I promise.”

With that, Ralph shut the crate again and picked it up, turning in the direction of the lift.

Heart pounding, Lucie realised he was going to ‘return’ the crate to her. If he found her anywhere near the workstation, he might suspect that she had glimpsed the crate sitting on his desk. Hurriedly, she abandoned her spot, dodging through the repository until she could circle back to the lift.

She arrived with moments to spare. Just as she pressed the button to summon the lift, Ralph tottered around a corner.

“Lucie?”

She pretended to have only just noticed him, despite the hammering of her heart in her chest. “Yes, Ralph?” Her voice was too loud, too bright.

“I’ve found your missing crate.”

“Oh, excellent!” She rushed forward to take it from him, trying not to reveal her agitation. “Where, um, was it?”

“Oh, I misread the last two numbers,” he fluffed. “No harm, no foul, eh?”

“No harm, no foul,” she repeated weakly. “Well, thanks!”

Only once Lucie was ensconced inside the lift did she feel her shoulders drop away from near her ears. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to marshal her racing thoughts. What on earth was she supposed to do? In theory, she had nothing to report since item X43278 was right here in her hands. But what about after the inspection? She had heard Ralph admit to planning to take it away after a few days! But it was his word against hers…

The ding of the lift arriving at the ground floor interrupted her thoughts. No sooner had she stepped out of the lift than Kevin was bearing down on her.

“So you did find it then.”

“I, uh, yes. Yes, I did.”

He made an irritated sound at the back of his throat. “Just as well. I’m fed up having to complete paperwork for missing items. All because of that doddery old—”

“What do you mean?”

“Ralph. Puts things down and forgets where. Time and time again—”

“No, I meant about the missing items.”

Kevin frowned, evidently weighing up whether to be irritated at the interruptions or keen to flaunt his superior knowledge. He decided on the latter. “Items go missing. I mean, what do those higher-ups expect? Some of these things,” he tapped the crate which Lucie still held, “have been lying around since the forties. Of course they’re going to get broken or mislaid. Should just sell the lot as salvage and be done with it, I say. If no one has proven ownership by now, they never bloody will.”

“Proven ownership?”

“Yes.” He stared at her as though she were stupid. “The repository stores items seized during the World Wars. Amongst other artworks, of course.”

Lucie resisted the urge to snap. “All,” she lingered on the word a fraction longer than necessary, “the missing items have been art stolen during either World War?”

“Just Second, actually. Not that it matters. Most applications can’t prove original ownership. Not now after so long. They appeal, of course, but it’s pointless.” Kevin nodded towards the crate. “That’s why this one is back out again. An appeal on a rejected application.”

Her mind began to whirr. Shoving the crate at Kevin, Lucie mumbled something about having left her clipboard in the repository. She stabbed at the lift button, grateful as the doors slid shut against Kevin’s open-mouthed disbelief.

She barely waited for the doors to slide open once the lift reached the repository. Barrelling out, she rushed through the aisles, honing in on Ralph with the dry wheezing cough he let out every so often. He was rearranging some crates on a shelf.

“Looking for the next thing to steal?”

Pausing what he was doing, Ralph cast a brief glance in her direction. “Now, now,” he cleared his throat, “let’s get our terms right. ‘Stealing’ is what the government is doing by keeping these items here. What I do, is restitution.”

The gall to not even deny it! Lucie did not know whether to be appalled or impressed. “Wh-why?”

Shrugging, Ralph pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “To try and right many, many wrongs.” He shoved the cloth back into his pocket. “Always felt a coward for anglicising my name. Not my choice, of course. I was only six when my parents fled to Britain. Political opponents, you see.” He held out his hand. “Ralf Schmidt,” the shift in pronunciation from the anglicised ‘Ralph Smith’ was clear. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Lucie stared at his hand. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his, hooded and wrinkled with age. “How long?” she forced out. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Fifty odd years.” He glanced up at the shelves on either side of them. “It was easier with paper records. Trickier now. Not impossible, but trickier.”

Head spinning, she closed her eyes against the dizziness. “There are proper processes for the claimants to go through, Ralph!”

“Oh yes, committees and advisors and experts.” His tone was scathing. “Yet the burden of proof lies with the families. No, that’s not a due process. They deserve to have these items returned to them without administrative bureaucracy.”

“If Kevin ever found out…”

He drew a long breath through his teeth, raising a bushy white brow. “Well, that depends on you now, doesn’t it?”

That realisation struck her harder than anything else. She had been so focused on confronting Ralph that she hadn’t considered what the consequence would be.

“I… I can’t let you keep doing this.” That was the right answer, wasn’t it? She wound her fingers together, swallowing against the indecision. “You have to retire. Properly, I mean.”

“Hm.” He nodded thoughtfully. “That seems a fair demand. What should I tell the families expecting to hear from me?”

Her resolve faltered. “I don’t know. I mean, items… do… go missing,” she drew the words out. “Even Kevin said so.”

“A wise man.” Sensing her conflict, Ralph reached out and patted her arm. “I’ll leave, Lucie. Properly, I mean. But,” he paused, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “maybe someone, somewhere, might come around to feeling the same way as I do.”