44Last time, Peter, Jones, and Diana discussed Neal's innocence regarding the U-boat art.
Neal was in heaven, or at least how he would have designed heaven. Gems of the art world were on every side. Carefully setting aside one masterpiece after another, he marveled at the pieces. A blue, yellow, and grey Vermeer here and an early work of Dali's over there, the surreal melting sky no more surreal than Neal's feelings at the moment. An intricate marble lion sat curled up next to a painted field of sheep, so lifelike you expected to hear a distant baa.
This had to be the work of Alex, and probably Mozzie. Mozzie wouldn't have worked the heist alone, but the note indicating the location of the storage unit hadn't been written on one of Alex's signature origami flowers. Mozzie chose a new writing style every month or so to keep anyone who might be on his trail from connecting different pieces of his life, a typed card wouldn't be out of the question. Who else would hand him the keys to this heaven? He had a few other friends in the criminal underworld whom he generally trusted, but no one else who would bring him in on something like this.
Neal glanced at his phone. Shoot, it had already been seven minutes. While he would have loved to stay and bask, to sift through the boxes, he couldn't stay long. Peter was sure to be checking Neal's anklet, and he couldn't draw attention to the place by hanging around. On his way to the storage box he had made several detours, and on the way home, he did the same. If anyone asked, he had been canvassing the city streets, looking at the usual fences. (In fact there were several fences that were quite usual. Some were grey chain link; others were high wrought iron. There was even a white picket attached to a house that seemed to be pretending it wasn't located in urban New York).
Neal was just starting on a block full of ritzy bars, when his phone went off. He glanced at the caller ID. He wasn't ready to talk to Peter yet, so he let it go to voicemail.
Neal needed to decide what to do with Peter. He could legitimately look him in the eye and tell him that he hadn't done it. He could not account for how his painting had ended up at the scene. Besides the painting (which he was assuming one of his friends had taken in order to have something to replace the stolen items with), there shouldn't be anything to link him to the crime. Peter didn't have a case against him. Of course technically, Peter didn't need a case. He didn't even need a suspicion to put him away for the next two years or so. All Peter had to say was that working with Caffrey had become difficult, and he would be returning to orange suits and a room the size of his closet at June's. It had been a while since Neal had seriously worried about that, especially as he hadn't ended up behind bars after the Fowler incident. But Peter's reaction at the dock, made Neal unsure. Speaking of Peter…
A chirp from his phone alerted him to a voicemail. "I need you in the office. Be here by 6:30," Peter's voice pronounced. The tone was even, and Neal wasn't quite sure what it meant except that the team must be pulling overtime right now. There was no apology in Peter's voice, but was he heading in for an interrogation? or an interview? Well, it was 5:50 right now, and it would take him at least 25 minutes to walk the distance to the FBI building. As he wasn't exactly planning on running, he better get moving. Showing up late probably wouldn't help anything. He sighed.
Peter looked at his watch, 6:20. So far, forensics hadn't had time to come up with anything that helped the case. The initial report stated that they had what appeared to be a "TNT explosion and subsequent inferno that destroyed the contents of a large trailer. The contents appeared to have included wood, canvas cloth, and pieces of iron and other metals." Hopefully forensics would turn up more, but for now, he had no new information, nothing that supported or disproved Neal's claim to innocence. None of Adler's men had been induced to talking yet either.
6:25 Neal pushed open the glass door, and Peter Burke put on his FBI face. Part of him wanted to yell at Neal and throw him back into Supermax. Part of him wanted to move back into partner mode, asking him where someone would take a cache of this size and pushing him to check all the local fences. But if Neal was guilty, then any information he gave would only be misleading, encouraging them to look up promising, but false, leads. Neal was a suspect, not the only one, but still a suspect, and that's where Peter was going to start from.
Neal walked in with purpose, but his usual smile was gone. Neither casual friendship or charming opponent fit the current situation. "I believe you wanted to speak to me," Neal addressed Peter, his voice polite, but certain edge cut through the undertones. The entire office watched with furtive intensity. This wasn't the first time that Neal had been accused of something, and certainly not the first time Peter had been mad at him. Last year, they had seen Caffrey led out in cuffs. Then, however, Peter has still protected Neal, tucking his coat over the cuffs, and the charges were later proved false. (Not of course before Caffrey jumped out of a window and therefore legal custody.)This time, the level of personal involvement had changed, and it was obvious that both of them were pissed.
Peter indicated a door that led to a smaller, less visible room off to the side of the office. Jones and Diana made a few hesitant steps, but then decided against following.
The table in the room was fairly standard, conference room equipment, but the two chairs opposite each other, one on either length of the table, distinctly reminded Neal of an interrogation room. Peter sat down, but Neal held back for moment looking at Peter, trying to get some idea of where this was going to go. Peter growled out a, "sit," and Neal finally took a seat, leaning back ever so slightly.
"Where were you between 9 pm yesterday evening and 7am this morning?"
"Wow, standard interrogation question #1, you're definitely going by the book," snorted Neal.
"Answer the question," a stony-faced Peter replied.
"After leaving YOUR house," Neal stressed, "I walked home. I stopped by the Duane Reade convenience store on the way to buy a new bottle of aspirin."
"And?"
"And nothing. That's it. I went home, went to bed, end of story," Neal ended irritated.
"Then how did your painting end up at the scene of a major heist." Peter demanded.
"Heist? All I saw was a docking house full of artistic masterpieces go up in flames," contradicted Neal. "I'm not sure what you are talking about," he ended in a deadpan.
"Fine, where were your friends Alex and Mozzie last night?" Peter countered.
"I don't know," Neal replied coolly. "I don't generally track my friend's every movement."
"Well, it sure seems like a lot happens when I stop keeping track of my friend," Peter snapped back, his detached FBI demeanor broken.
"I'm not sure that that kind of tracking qualifies as friendship." Neal's voice had gone from cool to icy. "I've answered your questions. If you have any more, you'll know where to find me," Neal sneered. He stood up, smoothed out his pants and walked out of the room.
He had been planning on talking with Peter, assuring him of his innocence, and then pointing out some facts that would get Peter working in the wrong direction. It shouldn't have been a problem, convincing people was Neal's area of expertise, but Peter's attitude, had triggered Neal's hurt and anger. It wasn't just that he had pulled out his professional FBI face; that was expected. In fact, it was somewhat natural; Peter Burke was an agent of the law, and would not shirk his duties if he had clues pointed to Neal. But the censure in Peter's eyes broke Neal's heart, and if Peter wasn't going to give Neal the benefit of the doubt, Neal wasn't going to beg.
Peter opened the door to his house and set down his briefcase. "Honey, is that you," El swept down the stairs in blue silk pajamas.
Peter swept her into a hug, holding her to his body for several seconds. After his day, just wanted to say there, holding his wife forever, not trying to be the hero, judge, jury, and executioner for all of New York. "Hun." It was simple, perhaps even corny, but it showed his love in their own way.
"Mmmhh, hun," El murmured back. After a moment of swaying there, she turned and prodded him towards the dining room. "Food is on the table. You need to eat."
Peter leaned over and gave her a kiss. "You're the best." And really, she was. He was usually thought of as the strong one, but really, El was strong. She was that stable base that he knew would always be there when rest of New York seemed to be coming unglued.
El sipped at a cup of hot cocoa as Peter ate dinner. As he finished, she leaned in, took Peter's hand and said, "You told me over the phone that something had happened. Explain."
Peter explained what had happened at the docks. How he has walked in on Adler about to shoot Neal. How he had shot Adler. At this point El shuddered and looked over her husband once more. It wasn't the first time Peter had had to use his gun, but he never liked it, always tried to talk to suspects if he could. That on top of yesterday's kidnapping and murder attempt, no wonder Peter had come home shaken. But as El leaned in to rub his arm and express this, he shook his head.
"No El, it's not even that. I don't like shooting, but I know what Adler's done, what he was about to do. No, it's Neal."
"Neal? Was he hurt? Is he ok?" El couldn't stand the thought of the young, romantic man lying in a hospital bed.
"It's not that," Peter replied, shaking his head. "He might have conned me, big time." And he went on to explain about the scrap from the Chrysler painting that had landed at his feet.
After hearing all the theories he, Jones, and Diana had discussed, El responded, "Wow, that is pretty serious." Peter nodded as El continued, "Well, listen to me. I don't know if Neal did it. I'd like to think that he didn't, but I know I haven't seen every side of him. But I do think you should talk to him." She shushed Peter's protest. "You'll have to in order to get to the truth. But hey, know what I do know?" She leaned in closer, "I know that my husband is the best FBI agent there is, and he'll always figure it out."
It was 7:30am when Neal heard what he was pretty sure was Peter's knock on the door; his knock had always sounded very official. He had so been hoping to get ahold of Mozzie or Alex, not have Peter Burke show up at his door on a Saturday. He set down his French Roast and walked from the patio to the apartment door. As he suspected, Peter was standing there, suit and all. "Hello Peter. Here with more questions, or should I be asking about a search warrant." Despite the words, the coldness from the earlier exchange had left Neal. Instead, he was leaning towards defeated and tired. He didn't want to fight with Peter, and at this point, whatever was going to happen was going to happen.
"No, no search warrant, and this isn't well, completely, official." Peter replied.
"Not completely official?" Neal raised an eyebrow, and Peter stepped in.
"If you didn't take it, and I'm not saying whether or not you did, why would a piece of your painting be at the scene?" He hadn't brought a bottle of wine (corkscrew or pop-top), but his tone was more conciliatory.
Neal gave him an appraising look, and then offered Peter a seat on the short end of the dining room table. Outwardly Neal was calm, but his mind was racing. Peter was asking direction, not demanding that he explain himself. He was giving him the benefit of the doubt.
The trouble was, even though the true answer wouldn't implicate Neal, it would implicate his friends. As much as he wanted Peter to trust him, he wasn't going to voice his true suspicions. Perhaps he would try for a related answer.
Neal lay his hands flat on the table, "After I got back from your place Thursday, I was pretty exhausted. The whole being kidnapped, drugged, and shot at kind of wore me out."
Peter's pursed lips indicated that a pity story wasn't going to cut it. However, his mind was spinning back to memories of last night. Watching El and Sarah, discussing relationships, discussing life. Was that really less than 48 hours ago?
Neal continued with a shrug, "I probably should have noticed, but Mozzie's U-boat vessel chart was on top of the easel. I didn't even notice that the painting had gone missing. I basically went straight to sleep."
Peter raised his eyebrows. Neal resumed speaking, "I did a basic check-over last night. June was out, and Maddie hadn't noticed anything unusual." Well, Mozzie coming by didn't count as unusual right? "The lock up here wasn't broken, but it's not a difficult one to just pick. Even you'd probably manage it just fine after taking Mozzie's lessons. Nothing else in the apartment is missing, but the storage room was emptied as well."
"Which means that whoever it was must know about your paintings," said Peter determinedly, but Neal noticed that, whether he meant to or not, Peter was addressing the situation as if the paintings had been stolen from Neal's, not moved by Neal himself. "Neal, that leaves me with Mozzie or Alex, unless you want to tell me that Sarah or June was behind this.
"Neither of them has told me of any plans to pull the heist. You have nothing solid on either of them."
"Nothing solid Neal, you think I can't figure out something solid to pull up on Alexandra Hunter?" Peter's voice had grown harder again.
The corded muscles in Neal's arm tightened as he clenched his fist, but before replying he closed his eyes. He didn't want to go back to angry, distrustful Peter. "Peter,"He turned to his FBI partner and looked him in the eye. "I didn't move the U-boat treasure, nor has anyone else told me that they did. Seriously."
Neal felt a twinge of guilt with that last line, and the key in his pocket started to burn. At this point he was extremely grateful that he hadn't met up with Moz or Alex yet. He didn't have to lie. But he was misleading Peter, playing the role of con while also trying to re-establish his relationship with Peter.
Whew. That was harder than I expected. The plot is starting to come together in my head, but it still has a lot of holes, so I can't promise that I'll be fast at updating Sorry.
But please don't be mad at me by withholding reviews! I felt very honored to have gotten the ones I did. Thank you for the advice, including several of you who filled me in on how to add lines. Please tell me what I did right, and what I could continue to work on.