Fic: Remain Faithful, part three [White Collar]
Part 1 / 2 /
A Day Later Than Yesterday
A single guilty finding out of dozens of charges leaves Peter with a bad taste in his mouth.
Kate bats her big blue eyes and speaks so softly the judge has to instruct her to speak up so she can be heard and the jury eats it up with a spoon. Once he's given his testimony, Peter makes a point of sitting in on the rest of the trial. Kate's attorney works for Pearson Hardman, so it's a weirdly Harvard crew versus Harvard alums trial, and Pearson's almost as good as she thinks she is, a tall, fierce, dark-eyed woman. She convinces the jury Kate's a victim in all of this, misled and straying from the path of righteousness, but how could a little girl like her do the things the big bad FBI accuses her of? It's ridiculous. He sees one juror nodding along.
The AUSA brings in Sterling Bosch's recovery agent to testify. Pearson makes Sara Ellis bite off every word of her answers and convinces everyone in the courtroom Ellis is an ice-cold, ball-breaking bitch with the ethics of a crocodile.
Ellis is supposed to be their secret weapon. Instead, everyone on the jury now believes she's is as big a law-breaker as Kate's accused of being.
Caffrey wears a good, but not too good, suit and sits behind Kate at the defendant's table every day. Pearson doesn't call him to the stand, but the AUSA does. It's a worse mistake than Ellis. Caffrey charms the jury and dances rings around the prosecutor. No one in the room has any doubt he's in love with Kate and everyone is a sucker for true love.
Peter thinks they're lucky the jury brought in a guilty verdict for the forged bonds. They only got that thanks to Kate's sloppy thumbprint. Every other charge comes back not guilty.
Pearson leans close and surely, certainly, tells Kate this is a better result than they had any right to expect, but Kate is stone-faced.
Behind her, Caffrey is pale and shocked, but rallies fast. He leans as far forward to speak with Kate as he can without ticking off the bailiffs. Peter can't guess what he says, but the words soften Kate's continence before she's led back to holding.
Caffrey's there for Kate's sentencing. Peter notes his presence, while focusing all his attention on Kate. He half-expects her to attempt an escape. The Bureau had surveillance on Caffrey all night, along with a tap on his phone, in case he meant to help her. Caffrey did nothing but get drunk, throw up, and cry, before spending the rest of the night painting. Now he's watching Kate like he'll never see her again and Kate's facing the judge, poised in a royal blue dress, the picture of a woman in control despite the circumstances. She won't make a scene, unless there's a purpose behind it. If she does, Peter's going to be ready to stop her. He has no faith the bailiffs or security guards could catch Kate in a physical chase, not that it would come to that, because Kate would outsmart them first.
He catches her gaze once with a silent admonishment that she won't outsmart or outrun him if she tries anything. Her mouth lifts in an exasperated, amused smile before she turns her attention back to the judge.
He doesn't have a damn thing better to do. The Moreau case is closed with Kate's conviction and his divorce papers are no longer lying on the dining room table at home, waiting for his delinquent signature. He gave in days ago.
"Four years."
Peter shakes his head in disbelief. Four years? It's barely a slap on the wrist for the charge, but the judge obviously fell for Kate's act too.
Four years is still a long time when you're as young as Kate and Caffrey are, though.
Kate doesn't say anything until the bailiffs urge her to her feet. Her voice is raised to carry, but still not loud. "Neal, I love you."
Caffrey bolts to his feet and cants forward to watch her until the last second as she disappears into the prison system.
Once Kate's gone, Caffrey crumples into a seat, drops his head into his hands and ignores whatever Pearson tells him before she leaves the courtroom.
Peter stays in his own seat as the courtroom empties until it's just him and Caffrey. He feels hollowed out. What the hell does he do now? Three years of work and what does he really have to show for it? Sure, his star is on the rise at the Bureau. It's likely he'll be put in charge of the New York office's White Collar unit. It doesn't mean much to him. He loves the job, not the titles.
Elizabeth is gone. He signed the papers and sent them back to the lawyers. By now, they've been filed. He's officially divorced. Another marriage falls victim to a law enforcement career; that's the cliché. He misses her so much it nauseates him some nights. He needs to find an apartment too; the house has to be sold, the proceeds split evenly between Elizabeth and himself.
The courtroom lacks windows, so it's lit with overhead fluorescent lights that leach all the normal color tones from everything. It has padded seats instead of plain benches and pressboard furniture rather than age-patinaed wood. It's supposed to be modern and more comfortable. Instead it is soulless and cheap, lacking in the dignity Peter thinks the law should display. Sometimes a door swings open and he can hear voices from the bailiffs' chamber or even the judge's.
The court recorder wanders in, fixes something at her desk, glances at Peter and over to Caffrey, who hasn't lifted his face from his hands, shrugs, and heads out again.
They're almost in the same situation, he and Caffrey, Peter reflects grimly. Only Caffrey didn't orchestrate the destruction of his relationship. Kate isn't leaving him voluntarily, after all, and if he still loves her in four years, they can be together again. The slate will be wiped clean; Kate will be a free woman. There's no reason Caffrey and Kate won't be able to start over and make something good with their lives. If Kate can have a chance at happily ever after, why shouldn't Elizabeth and he? Why not start over?
Peter sits forward, his elbows on his knees, and shapes those words to himself silently.
Start over.
Kate's case is done. When he leaves this courtroom, he's not going to have anything to do with it or her again. The main reason Elizabeth left him - he isn't fool enough to blame Kate entirely - will be gone.
He still loves Elizabeth. Maybe there's a chance he can woo her into loving him again?
They could start over.
The idea energizes him as nothing has since the handcuffs closed on Kate's wrists.
Peter pushes to his feet and starts out, only to pause, because Caffrey's still there, the very picture of desolation. The hope sprouting in Peter's heart makes him generous. He walks over and stands next to Caffrey until Caffrey looks up.
"Agent Burke."
"Caffrey."
"Happy?"
Peter ignores the bitterness. "What do you think?"
Caffrey shakes his head. "I don't know."
"They'll probably send her to Danbury. It's the closest Bureau of Prisons facility that handles women."
"Connecticut."
"Better than Carswell. That's in Texas," Peter tells him.
Caffrey slumps. "I'd move."
Peter thinks he's telling the truth. "Visit her. Write her. Make sure she's got money on the books. Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."
Soft laughter sparks from Caffrey at that last. "Kate? Kate's not stupid." He doesn't look at Peter as he says it.
"No, she's not, but she's done some damned stupid things, and I think you know it."
Another shrug.
"If you can't stick with her all the way, don't make her think you're going to," Peter adds.
That earns him a flame-hot glare. Caffrey's in it for the long haul. Peter respects that.
"She can do good time, walk out and do something worthwhile. Convince her. Keep her on the straight and narrow. It won't be easy." The things that are worth the effort always take a lot. He's taken Elizabeth for granted, instead of putting in the work their marriage needed. It will be ironic if the con and the artist are better at relationships than the cop and the event planner who live the straight life. "If you love her - "
"It'll be worth it?" Caffrey's voice is low but earnest. "Kate's everything."
"Then you'll make it through four years."
Caffrey nods. "We will."
Peter holds out his hand and Caffrey takes it, shaking hands without any self-consciousness
"That's a new one," Peter observes. "I did arrest your girlfriend. Most guys would want to punch me."
"Who says I don't?" Caffrey is almost smiling, though Peter can see that much of his mind is still caught up in Kate and figuring out what comes next and not on Peter or his part in bringing them to this point. His gaze sharpens and he turns serious in the next breath. "You brought her back to me. Thank you."
Peter shakes his head at that and laughs. "Okay, then. Good luck."
"To you too, Agent Burke," Caffrey says, "though I kind of hope I never see you again."
"Same here."
Peter leaves the courtroom and Caffrey, along with Kate Moreau, behind, feeling oddly good. In four years, Kate may step out of prison and go right back to her old ways, but it won't be his problem and it won't be him chasing her down.
Like Film Noir
Elizabeth likes getting into the office early, especially before the city stirs into real wakefulness, when the night shifts are ending. She likes the soft gray light before the sun rises, the early promise of a new day, the way she can hear the quiet streets fill up and come to vibrant life. She keeps a sharp eye on her surroundings though, because sometimes the predators are still hungry and lingering in the shadows, even in the best parts of town.
Of course, thanks to Peter, she knows sometimes the predators wear silk suits worth as much as a compact car and do their hunting in the board room.
It's both those things that make her look twice at the young man in the perfect gray suit waiting under the streetlamp closest to her doorway, hat tipped over his eyes, hands in the pockets of his pants. He really shouldn't do that, she reflects, it wrecks the exquisite lines of the classic tailoring. Then she thinks, he's waiting there, and he's waiting for me./p>
She watches him cautiously while she unlocks the door, prepared for him to rush at her or any number of things, her free hand buried in her bag and locked around the Mace can. He doesn't move, though, just slouches against the lamp pole like someone from a noir film, black and white in the predawn light.
Once inside, with the door locked again behind her, she shakes her head at herself with a laugh. Why would some man be waiting for her this early? She tries to schedule all her clients for the afternoon; it lets her get much more done and she hasn't anyone on her schedule for the day. It's all calligraphy and invitations along with backing up Yvonne when she deals with the caterers.
Being divorced from Peter means she doesn't need to worry so much about anyone coming at him through her either. A little bitterly, Elizabeth tells herself there's always a plus side.
The light, syncopated knock on the door behind her makes her jump.
"Mrs. Burke?" a male voice calls from the other side of the door. "My name's Neal Caffrey. May I speak with you?"
~*~
He really is one of the prettiest men Elizabeth has ever seen. She can't say exactly why she lets him in except curiosity. This is the man Kate Moreau wanted back so bad she went to jail. And Kate is the symbol of why Elizabeth's marriage ended. So she's curious.
From the instant she hears his voice and his name, she isn't in the least scared. The NYPD might think Neal Caffrey killed Kate, but Peter doesn't, and even if Elizabeth didn't still have faith in Peter's instincts, she has it in herself. She knows this man is no killer.
She takes him back to her office and sits him on her couch and only then really gets a look at him with his hat off and a sad smile on his lips. Oh dear, no wonder Kate fell for him. It isn't even those extraordinary eyes. It's something in his expression. If he wasn't a good ten years younger than her... But those eyes are bloodshot and puffy in a face that is too pale. She can see the healing split in his lip too. Of course, Peter mentioned it. Hard to imagine anyone willing to mar that face, but some people are vandals by nature, Elizabeth thinks; they'd rather destroy than create or caretake.
"Thank you for not screaming and calling the police," he says to her with a charming little smile.
"Oh, I would've just maced you."
The charm falters, but the smile becomes that much more real and Elizabeth, well, Elizabeth knows she's caught. The admiration in his gaze makes her preen a little inside. Nice to know she still holds up in comparison to other women. She's going to help him out, no doubt about it.
"Sit."
"Do I get to speak next?" He folds himself down onto her low couch, hat off and set on his knee, and she wonders where he found it. Most men don't bother with one, which is a shame, they look so nice. Then again, she never wants to mess with one herself. Neal Caffrey, though, seems immune to hat-head.
Swallowing a ridiculous giggle, she leans her hips against her desk and gives him an inquiring look. "Speak."
"Woof."
"Words this time, Mr. Caffrey."
"Neal."
"Why and how did you find me?"
He fingers the brim of the hat, glancing down at it, then up. "Kate had your husband checked out when she realized he was really after her. I read the file too."
"And remembered where I work."
"That you had your own business," he corrects.
Elizabeth folds her arms and considers him. He didn't lie. That's a plus. But there's more he hasn't said. "He's not my husband any more," she informs him.
Those blue eyes widen and then he's jerking to his feet, upset and apologetic, as he blurts, "I didn't know. You must think I'm an idiot, I just couldn't risk calling the FBI directly and I thought - I wasn't thinking, not after I found out Kate's - " He hides his face in one hand, gulping in a breath that's almost a sob. "Thank you again for not - for letting me waste your time."
"Stop," she tells him before he's taken two steps toward her office door.
He stops with his back to her and the tension in his shoulders shows right through the fine cloth of his coat.
"Peter and I have stayed in touch and I know he wants to find you very much," Elizabeth says gently. "He found... "
"Kate."
She's almost glad his back is still to her. Even one word gives away that he's devastated. Seeing his face just now might have her in tears.
"He found your Kate," she continues, "and he knows you could never have done that to her."
His shoulders lift twice and his voice is tight and thick. "Thank you."
"Go ahead, sit back down, and I'll call him."
"Don't tell him it's about me," he whispers. His voice shakes.
Elizabeth raises her eyebrows at that, but busies herself making the call to Peter, while Neal seats himself again, the hat on the cushion beside him.
"Peter," she says when she ends up shuffled into voice mail hell, "when you get this, please come to my office. It's important." Peter's quite smart enough to know if she didn't say 'call me' she doesn't want to talk about it over the phone. "Well," she says when she's ended the call, "now we have to wait for him. Would you like some coffee?"
Neal looks up at her gratefully. He's back in control of his emotions. "I would love some coffee."
"Good. I want some breakfast too, so I think I'll order in. We can eat together. And you can call me Elizabeth."
"It's a deal," he answers softly.
~*~
They both realize Peter Burke isn't going to drop everything and run to his ex-wife's side the minute he gets the voice mail. It surprises Neal when Burke doesn't call Elizabeth at lunch, though. She works steadily at her desk while Neal sits on the couch hoping he won't go insane from waiting and trying not to think until he can't stand it any longer.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asks.
Elizabeth lifts her head to look at him instead of the work on her desk. Such blue eyes and dark, long hair - not as dark as Kate's, but it still makes him ache with the memory of the silky slide of it in his hands - and she has an air of competence and compassion that makes him wonder if maybe Burke isn't an idiot after all. How many people let the boyfriend of a criminal, never mind a murder suspect, while the day away in their office? Not to mention feed him a take-out breakfast. (Neal picked at it until Elizabeth gave him a stern look and pointed out, "I paid for that, you know." He has to admit, eating did make him feel better.)
"Well, can you do calligraphy?" Elizabeth asks. Neal knows she expects him to demur. "Because I've got all of these - " she gestures to the box of invitations, " - to make out. By hand. By myself." She laughs softly. "Because Yvonne's calligraphy looks like a drunken doctor's scrawl."
"Actually, I can."
Up go her eyebrows. She immediately finds a piece of paper and extends the pen in her hand. "Show me."
Neal leaves the couch and bends over the desk. He takes a quick look at the wording of the invitation Elizabeth just made out and recreates it with sure, quick strokes on the piece of scratch paper. With a smug smile, he turns it and slides it to her.
Elizabeth exams it with bright eyes, while tapping her lips with one manicured finger. The next instant she nails Neal with those eyes. "All right, mister, you're hired."
"What's the wage?" he asks as she divides the blank invitations into two piles and hands him one.
"Oh, couch privileges and lunch."
"Sounds good to me." Neal helps himself to another pot of ink and her spare pen. He double checks it has the same size nib she's using.
The soft shuffle of heavy paper and pens on it fills the office for the next hour or two, interrupted only when one or the other of them pauses to stretch and flex their fingers. The delicate, repetitive work soothes Neal. He lets his mind and heart empty for a while, the flow of ink a meditation. He's intensely grateful for the sense of peace it gives him, though he knows it won't last much longer.
It doesn't. Eventually boredom replaces zen and his mind wanders. He's still surprised Burke divorced, though he doesn't know why. Probably because he idealized the marriage he read about in those reports Kate had on the man. He thought Peter Burke had the things he wanted to have with Kate. Not that he thinks Elizabeth is the reason for their divorce. Burke's the one who hasn't even called her back and Neal can't help thinking of how much time the man spent chasing after Kate. That must have burned.
He glances up at Elizabeth for a moment. It still doesn't compare to the way Kate sometimes dropped Neal for a con, insisting they act like strangers if they even saw each other, or the way he had to swallow back his anger when she hooked up with another man for a job. Everybody lies, Kate always said, everybody uses everyone else, and Neal accepts that, but it still hurts, even now.
Right now, Kate's voice is telling him to beware of whatever Elizabeth means to get from being nice to him. Sometimes Neal hates that little voice. He'd rather just trust her.
Elizabeth sets her pen aside and waits for the ink to dry on the invitation she just finished. She glances at the phone sitting beside the pretty lamp Neal admired earlier. Her lips press together for just a second. "So," she says, smiling the next moment, like nothing bothers her, "are you hungry? Who'd think something like this would be so exhausting?"
Neal's about to say he isn't hungry when his stomach gurgles. He winces while Elizabeth laughs.
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Sorry."
"Don't be ridiculous. I have a plan. There should be a sample platter and some other things from the new caterer in the refrigerator. We're going to taste test."
Neal sets his own pen aside. "Why am I suddenly afraid?"
"Hey, buster, this'll keep you off the streets."
"One poison-taster, at your service."
Elizabeth's gurgling laugh makes Neal want to laugh too.
"Let's hope nothing's that bad."
He exerts himself to be funny and entertaining over the meal. Elizabeth's bright and shares many of Neal's real interests; it isn't hard. They talk about art and culture and food and music, what they like and what works for various venues - Neal did a lot of the event work for the auction house that just fired him. Somehow, Elizabeth segues him into talking about Kate and he's telling her about Monaco - the legal parts anyway - and she's asking him questions that give away exactly how much Agent Burke knew about Kate and shared with his wife.
"But I loved her," he says finally, with a shrug, because he knows it doesn't make sense. Kate wasn't perfect, except in his heart. "Not just the idea of her. Her." He has to look down at the canapés on the plate before him, because Elizabeth's eyes are glittering with tears. "And I want whoever killed her to go away for the rest of his life."
"Do you know how baffled Peter was by you and her?" Elizabeth asks in a choked voice.
"No?"
"Well, he was. He couldn't figure out why Kate kept popping back to New York over and over. It made him crazy, because he thought he knew her."
No one knew Kate. Not all of her. Neal knows that. Kate was made of secrets and invisible scars. Neal frowns at the idea Burke could have known her better than he did.
"And then he figured out it was you," Elizabeth goes on, "that you left and she was trying to find you."
Hiding from Kate had been hard. Not just because she knew Neal and how he thought, but because it left him with an ache in his chest that never quite went away. He'd just... He couldn't take it after Barcelona and Matthew Keller. With Mozzie's help Neal had done his best to disappear, though he never told Mozzie why, only that he couldn't live with Kate if she kept partnering Keller. He still has nightmares.
"He spent weeks trying to find you and trying to figure out why you left Kate."
"He did, though," Neal states with some bitterness. If Burke hadn't... He shuts that line of thought down hard. Too many ifs and he'll never finish apportioning blame.
"He did feel a little bad about using you to get to her."
"He bugged my apartment," Neal tells her.
"Barely came home long enough to eat, shower, sleep and change clothes for months," Elizabeth continues and she sounds just a little bitter herself. "He leaked where you were and then he watched. Oh, and he talked about you too. He kept speculating over what Kate could have done that finally broke you two up." She looks at Neal and waits for him to fill that in, but he's never going to talk about what Kate and Keller did in Barcelona. He looks back silently until she nods her understanding that the unspoken question won't be answered. "Well. Since Peter is taking his own sweet time, do you want to get back to those invitations?"
"I think we can get them done by the end of the day," Neal agrees.
"I really should hire you. You're perfect."
"I should take you up on that. My last job tanked after someone told my boss about about Kate."
~*~
Maybe Elizabeth is right, Peter acknowledges to himself as he knocks on the rear door to Mitchell Premier Events. He's already so intent on finding Neal - Caffrey, he corrects himself, but somewhere in the last day, Caffrey's become Neal to him - that he blew off her phone message. He has no idea why she'd contact him so soon after saying they were done, but now he worries she's in trouble.
It certainly cements all her reasons for not getting back together.
Elizabeth opens the door with the strangest expression.
"I'm sorry I didn't call back or get here sooner," Peter tells her sincerely. "What's wrong?"
Elizabeth's rolls her eyes at him. "Nothing, but if there was, I'd have dealt with it by now." On occasion, Elizabeth can be a little bitchy, but Peter figures she's entitled. It's nine in the evening and he never even called her back. She gestures to him to come inside. "This is something of yours."
Peter starts to apologize again and stops himself. "So what is it?" he asks instead as he follows her inside and into her office. A single, Tiffany glass-shaded lamp and Elizabeth's laptop are all that lights it; it takes him a moment to realize someone else is in the office. "Who - ?"
His eyes adapt and he recognizes the figure curled on his side, asleep under a light blue blanket on Elizabeth's office sofa. Caffrey's too long for it and his knees are bent, forming his body into a question mark. What the hell is Neal Caffrey doing in Elizabeth's office?
His attention snaps back to Elizabeth as he tries to make sense of this collision of personal life and professional. "Why didn't you say it was about my case?"
"I wanted to see what you'd do if I didn't."
Oh. Damn it. What had he done? Ignored her call because she hadn't given him a reason she needed to speak to him, because it wasn't case-related. He couldn't take the time to make a single phone call. He doesn't need to wonder why he is divorced, does he? How can he be so utterly stupid when it comes to someone he loves?
He just counts on El being able to handle anything she needs to on her own. It's one of the things he loves about her. Having to always do so, though, that's likely one of the things she doesn't love about Peter. The cynical twist to her lips says it all. He's blown it again and he'll have to work hard for her to forgive him. Again.
El will forgive him in time, she doesn't hold grudges long. She doesn't forget, though, either.
He wants to protest, again, I love you. He doesn't. It's neither the time nor the place. Besides, Peter's finally starting to get the idea that loving her isn't enough, that he needs to do more than just say it.
Caffrey stirs, half asleep and half bewildered by the blanket over him as he sits up and squints at Peter and Elizabeth. "I asked her to keep my name out of it, just in case," he murmurs. A wave of disheveled dark hair falls over his forehead. He shoves it off impatiently and Peter sees his hand tremble.
Peter frowns at that. "Why?"
Caffrey glances at Elizabeth and asks her, "Do you want to hear this? Since you're not - "
"I feel like I'm involved now," Elizabeth tells him. Another thing Peter loves about her: she's fearless and utterly unimpressed by his job. She's going to champion Caffrey, even if Caffrey doesn't know it yet.
Or maybe he does.
The soft smile Caffrey gives Elizabeth burns Peter with jealousy. He doesn't want any man to give El a look like that. He doesn't want Caffrey looking at anyone like that either, which makes no sense, so he's not going to think about it.
"Okay."
"Sit down, you don't need to loom over everyone," Elizabeth orders. She takes her desk chair, a reminder that they are in her office. She's not to be an afterthought in this, she's involved herself. Peter smiles at her despite himself.
Caffrey folds the blanket neatly and sets it on the back of the sofa, fingers smoothing over the waffle weave absently, before straightening the satin edging. Peter takes the client's chair opposite Elizabeth's desk and turns it so he can see both of them. It's easier to make out details now and he can pick out the fading marks of the beating Buenavista mentioned. Caffrey makes bruised look good. It's almost annoying, except Caffrey's eyes are blood-shot and glassy with a pain that has nothing to do with anything physical. He's at the end of his rope.
He knows about Kate, that's clear.
"I'm sorry I didn't find her fast enough," Peter says.
Caffrey's head jerks up and his eyes widen. "You - you're the one who found her?"
"Not that hard," Peter tells him as gently as he can. "She ran straight to you, to where she thought you'd be."
Grief crumples Caffrey's face as he chokes out, "I wasn't there." He covers his face with his hands briefly, then shoves his long fingers through his hair. "I didn't know she was going to do that, I just... I ran. I didn't think anyone could get to Kate in Danbury and I was... "
"You were scared," Elizabeth murmurs. "It's okay."
He's shaking his head.
"Why'd you run?" Peter sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He's still got his overcoat on and it stretches tight over his shoulders, faintly uncomfortable thanks to his suit coat and the shoulder holster he's wearing under that. He doesn't want to intimidate Caffrey, so he keeps the coats on, hiding his service weapon, and tries not to frown or loom. It isn't necessary anyway; Caffrey's as helpless in the face of El's warm smile and kindness as Peter.
She really should have gone into interrogation.
"God. It started with a feeling, a couple of months ago. Someone was watching me." He angles a sardonic look up at Peter. "I am familiar with the sensation."
"Granted."
With a tiny flinch at the memory, Caffrey pushes forward. "I couldn't figure it out, why you or anyone else would be watching me again, so I tried to ignore it. A friend got me some things to do a bug sweep and there was nothing. It felt like I was going crazy, actually, so I didn't say anything to Kate."
Finding out the name of the 'friend' that could provide bug-sweeping equipment will have to wait, but Peter makes a mental note.
Caffrey explains the first break-in of his apartment and his choice not to report it, since nothing was taken. It's more that he's absorbed a bone deep distrust of law enforcement from Kate and the life they led, Peter knows, but doesn't call him on it.
"The second time, the whole place was tossed," Caffrey says quietly. A shudder runs through him. "Stuff just ruined. It felt... mean. There were phone calls too. Hang-ups."
"It must have been awful," Elizabeth sympathizes.
"Yeah, but it was still stuff. The calls were almost worse. I thought it was just a breather at first, but the threats started after the last break-in. Things he was going to do, stuff I was supposed to tell Kate."
"You didn't tell her about it?" Peter prompts, wondering.
"I didn't think she could do anything - I didn't want her to do anything," Caffrey points out. "I acted like I always did when I visited... I wasn't going to waste my time with Kate talking about some creep." The anger in his voice is good. It'll give him the strength to help Peter figure this mess out. "The next day I went to work and my boss told me I was fired. Just like that. Some guy came around, told them I worked with an art thief."
"Were you still working for the same auction house?" Peter asks. Some guy isn't enough, he'll have Diana or Clinton go around and question everyone at the auction house and find out more.
"Yeah. Yeah. It's kind of soul-destroying, but there aren't that many jobs for art school drop-outs, you know?"
"Did you find out who sabotaged your job?" The shape of something is resolving in Peter's thoughts. He needs the rest of the story, though, before he can see it clearly.
"No." Caffrey swallows hard and fear flickers in his eyes as he meets Peter's gaze. "Not then."
"But you know now." Peter knows in his bones. Surveillance. Assault. Legal harassment used as a lever. A .40 S&W bullet. A kid scared to even call him at the Federal Building and say his name, contacting him instead through Peter's ex-wife. The picture looming out of the dark just gets uglier. It's just screaming someone inside the Bureau is involved.
"After I came back from Danbury." Caffrey draws into himself a little. They're getting close to the part of the story that frightens him and must have even before Kate's murder. "My landlord tells me he knows I lost my job and he wants me out. I could see he was freaked out."
"Someone put pressure on him."
"Probably." A shrug dismisses the landlord. "I go up to the apartment and the door is standing open. This guy is waiting inside."
"Did you get a name?"
Caffrey doesn't turn to Peter, he's staring at the wall a little to the side of Elizabeth's shoulder, but his gaze cuts to the side. "He had a gun."
Peter freezes, not even breathing. He's interviewed witnesses before and knows he needs to be patient with the apparently tangental answers anyway. There will be a point, once Caffrey circles round to it. The gun is important to Caffrey; it's important to Peter too. He doesn't let himself demand what make or caliber. Kate didn't do guns and Caffrey doesn't strike him as the kind of guy who likes them either.
Caffrey swallows hard. "And a badge." His gaze flicks to Peter and away again. "An FBI badge." Peter keeps his expression calm. That's what Peter's been afraid of since Diana handed over the ballistics report.
There's not much chance Caffrey got it, but Peter has to ask anyway. "Badge number?"
"I didn't - " Caffrey shakes his head in frustration. "He flashed it fast."
"I understand. But you got the name, didn't you?"
Caffrey cradles his good hand over the other. The protective curl of his fingers over the splint gives away what he's remembering as well as who. Peter remembers Teresa Buenavista's description. She was right: Caffrey's afraid. He nods confirmation though. He remembers the name.
"Fowler." Caffrey lifts his gaze to meet Peter's. "Special Agent Fowler."
~*~
Teasing the story of the last two months out of Neal is slow going. Sometime during the process, Peter slips and begins thinking of him the way Elizabeth is, as Neal. Elizabeth proves better at keeping Neal from drifting into a fog of grief than Peter. Peter just feels pained and helpless each time Neal's words stutter and his gaze loses focus. Elizabeth sits herself beside Neal on the sofa and rubs his shoulders and after a minute Neal gathers himself back together again and answers what Peter last asked.
Divorced or not, Peter can still share a boat load of thoughts with Elizabeth through just a look. She stays beside Neal when they get to the last time Neal saw Kate and Peter stays in his chair. Danbury sent him video from the visitor's booths, but it's hideously grainy and without sound. He can read Neal's lips in it only part of the time and the rest is just the back of Kate's head. He has no idea what she said.
Peter replays the video in his head, seeing what Neal never did: after he walked away, Kate stood with her hand still pressed to the Plexiglas for a long moment, then sank down into her chair again and dropped her face into her arms. She only moved when one of the C.O.s prompted her. He's not going to let Neal ever see that video, he realizes.
"I asked her what was going on," Neal says softly. He's worrying at the splint on his finger again; it's a nervous habit Peter suspects will stay long after the bone heals. "Kate said they were using me to get to her."
"Sounds right."
"I snapped at her. It was like - I got mad. I told her she could tell me or we were quits." Neal sounds lost. "I didn't mean it."
"I'm sure she knew," Elizabeth murmurs. She takes Neal's hand with the splint in both of hers, protecting him from himself. She gives Peter a look. The one that says do something. He grimaces back at her. Neal never sees, never lifts his head.
"I didn't mean it," he repeats. "But I didn't go back on Wednesday. I could have seen her, I could have stopped her, she kept saying she was trying to protect me, I thought..." Neal ducks his head again. Neal keeps switching back and forth in his narration and it takes Peter a beat to realize that he's back to the last visit, not the missed one. Voice raw with self-recrimination, Neal finishes, "I told her she was just taking care of herself, just like always, and that I knew she'd rather see me get killed than give up anything."
Peter bites his tongue, because he thinks that might be true. No matter how much Peter liked Kate and admired her brilliance, he isn't fooling himself that she was a good person. For a while, after El left him, he hated her, but he got past that. Kate wasn't bad, didn't have that malign streak that glories in paining others, but she was selfish. Neal might not admit it, but on some level he knows that too. Peter thinks that she might have changed given the time and another chance. He wishes she was alive to prove him right or even prove him wrong. The world is a little dimmer without her. He can hardly say any of that to Neal, though. Dead, Kate's quickly becoming enshrined in Neal's eyes. He won't accept Peter's estimate of her. Besides, it may not be true and what can it possibly help to disillusion Neal any further? If the love was a lie, let him go on believing in it. It's too late for Kate to disappoint him again.
"Tell me what the message for Kate was again."
"He wants it back," Neal recites immediately. "I don't know who, I don't know what."
"But Kate did?"
Neal shrugs and whispers, "She said she didn't." There's no confidence in his voice, just the opposite. Yeah, even Neal doesn't believe it.
Peter silently curses Kate Moreau. He spent enough time being three, then two, then one step behind her that he is quite familiar with the damage she left behind from her cons and heists. Violence wasn't Kate's thing, but that doesn't mean her victims weren't left feeling violated. She's dead and she's still hurting people, even the man she claimed to love.
Love can hurt, but it shouldn't wreck.
Whoever killed Kate is worse, though. He thinks of the single painting they left in Neal's apartment. Did they show it to her to prove they had Neal, to persuade her to talk by threatening him? Likely. Likely if Neal hadn't bolted when he did, the killer would have been holding a gun to Neal's head to leverage Kate into cooperating. Neal would have ended up dead and still on the floor next to Kate.
It makes Peter want to hit something.
What did Kate take that is worth murder? Not just murder, but harassment, beatings, threats, the systematic destruction of Neal's life just to prove to her that whoever she'd crossed is serious? Despite everything, Peter can't figure who it could be. Kate never conned the sort of mark who would strike back like this.
Eyes narrowed, he contemplates Neal.
Whoever is behind the murder knew Kate well. Knew about Neal and knew Kate would go to desperate lengths for him. Thought so, at least. Escaping Danbury... How close a watch needed to be kept to be waiting for Kate when she reached Neal's old apartment? They were faster than Peter and he caught up in thirteen hours. Peter scrubs at his face tiredly. He's making this person into an evil mastermind. It doesn't take a genius to check out the visitor's logs and find Neal. Screwing over his life probably took a couple hours and some well placed threats, plus a couple hundred bucks to hire the thugs to beat him up. Not hard at all and not much of a risk, if it didn't draw Kate out.
Damn it.
"Let's look at this another way," he says. "Why would they think Kate still had whatever it is?"
Neal frowns at him as he answers, "If she didn't fence it."
Peter nods. Simple enough. He can't let himself trust Neal is going to always tell the truth, though. No one tells all of the truth all of the time, especially not to the feds or the cops. Neal may look innocent as a lamb, but he's not. Peter needs to keep that at the forefront of his thoughts. He can't forget that Neal learned from the best.
He can't assume Neal's complicit, either. Innocent until proven guilty. Not that it matters in some ways; Neal could be neck-deep in whatever Kate got up to and it would still be part of Peter's job to protect him from whoever killed Kate. That's part of Peter's own code, the one he's never had to test against the Bureau's rules because he's been lucky.
"I know some of what Kate stole was on commission, but the rest: did she fence all of it?" It's a test. He watches to see how Neal reacts.
"I really don't know," Neal replies, still frowning, tension tightening him up visibly. "I didn't want to know."
"Okay," Peter says because El is glaring at him again. She's clearly decided to champion Neal in any Peter versus Neal situation. He's not trying to trick Neal into admitting to any crimes, though. Anything Neal did for Kate was minor and years ago now. "Do you know who her fence was?"
"I don't think she always dealt with the same one."
"No names come to mind?"
"Just Alex," Neal says slowly. Is that a tiny flicker of guilt? Dark lashes sweep down over his eyes and he looks at his hands.
No fences named Alex spring to Peter's mind. Of course, Kate operated in Europe as much as the US; Peter isn't conversant with every high-end fence operating even in New York. It frustrates him, though, to realize again that he doesn't know as much as he always thought he did.
"Anyway, Kate never did any business with Alex after Copenhagen."
"Why?
Neal visibly winces this time. Elizabeth catches it. "Neal?" she asks.
Neal blows out a long breath, but he answers candidly. "Kate thought I slept with her."
"Ouch," Peter says before he even thinks, while the name finally clicks and he remembers Alexandra Hunter, a sometime conwoman and thief herself, who does indeed confine most of her work to Europe. The Bureau has a file on her, but she's never been flashy enough to go after actively. Not when there are far more egregious criminals operating in the States to target. No one's tagged her as a fence before; that information might break some cold cases.
"She break up with you over that?"
Rueful, Neal asks, "What do you think?" He hangs his head again and Peter can see he's thinking he wasted those four months.
"But you got back together again."
Neal lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. "She needed something from Mo-- a friend and he wouldn't talk to her, so she had to get me to go to him. We just... fell back together." Very, very softly, he adds, "I told her I didn't cheat and she said she believed me. I don't know if she did, though."
"But you didn't," Elizabeth says.
"You believe me?" Neal's so hopeful even Peter believes him. Why El does baffles him, but her instincts about people have always been impeccable.
"Of course."
Neal drops his gaze to his hand clasped in El's two and sighs, taut shoulders relaxing, and his grip tightens in hers. His "Thank you," is utterly heartfelt.
Peter recreates the time line of Kate's activities in Europe in his head and several things make much more sense. Before, he thought Kate lit out from Copenhagen for the South of France and Neal bolted back to New York for four months because a heist had gone south. It was the longest separation during their relationship until Neal turned the tables and left Kate at the end.
"So there's no easy way to know what Kate stashed away to cool off," Peter says. He doesn't want to say that whoever killed Kate probably got the locations of her caches from her before firing the bullet that killed her. That's why whoever did it lured her out of Danbury with the threat to Neal: so they could question her.
Damn, he thinks, the killer may already have whatever Kate stole. If so, it just became that much harder to find him, since without needing to do anything more, the killer can lie low until Kate's murder ends up relegated to a cold case file. Maybe the killer doesn't need to do anything else anyway. If so, at least Neal is no longer in danger. He doesn't mention that either.
Time to try another tack. "This guy who relayed the threat, Fowler," Peter says. "Could you describe him - "
"I could draw him." Neal straightens, confidence returning with the prospect of some agency. "I could paint a damned portrait of him. I can't forget his face when I try."
"A recognizable sketch that could be scanned to run with our facial recognition software would be sufficient."
"I could do that."
"Good. That's on the agenda for tomorrow."
Neal nods wearily, then asks, "What next?"
Peter checks his watch. It's late, but not too late. The detectives that caught Kate's case are probably still working. If not, he can schedule something for the morning if he makes the call now.
"Talk to me, tell me where you were the day before yesterday."
Relief eases Peter's tense muscle before Neal even opens his mouth, because Neal relaxes. "Clothes. Fowler took everything except what I was wearing to visit Kate. I went to three different thrift stores. At the last one, I met June Ellington." Neal's pause telegraphs that he expects Peter and El to recognize the name. "June Ellington. Byron Ellington's wife."
El twigs before Peter does. "Of course, she's active in several children's charities, I've seen her name on the fundraiser invites."
"Byron Ellington's paintings sell for a minimum six figures," Peter says. The years he spent working for Phil Kramer on the Art Squad taught him more about art than he ever cared to know. He's even handled a couple of genuine Ellingtons. They were among the few modern art pieces he thought merited the values put on them.
Neal's nodding, his eyes bright with excitement. "She has a loft with a studio. She offered it to me."
"Unbelievable," Peter says with a shake of his head. He narrows his eyes. "You didn't con her - "
A small, nasty part of Peter does wonder. Another part considers Ellington's widow could be the one taking advantage of Neal because he's that desperate. Both options are old, old stories.
"Peter!" Elizabeth snaps.
"She wants an artist to use the studio," Neal replies tonelessly. "I still had paint on my hands - "
He doesn't know damn all about June Ellington, but he'll be running a background check on her as soon as he's back at the office. If she has a stock of Ellington's work, at the prices they command, she no doubt can afford to support an artist in residence, a boy toy, or whatever she wants to call Neal.
"I'm sorry," Peter apologizes, not needing Elizabeth's prompting, "that was uncalled for and unkind."
Neal just shrugs as if it meant nothing to him. Peter doubts that, but knows pushing the matter won't help it. Neal finishes, saying, "We left the thrift store and spent the rest of the afternoon at June's. She showed me the loft and then we talked about art. She misses Byron."
"But you were there from... ?"
"Around noon to eight."
"So Mrs. Ellington alibis you?"
"Yes. Her driver took us from the thrift shop and a couple of her staff were around. I ate dinner with her." Neal quietly finishes, "I was there while Kate was dying."
~*~
The news that Neal has a very good alibi loosens an ugly knot in Peter's gut. It doesn't erase the grief bruising Neal's eyes or still the tremor in his hands, but it means Peter can call Mike Shattuck and tell him to get the detectives to talk to June Ellington, as well as pulling the footage from the thrift store's security cameras. Time of death for Kate is locked into a very narrow window.
They stop at Mrs. Ellington's house - mansion - on Riverside and Neal ends up with a bag and a kiss to the cheek from her after Peter explains the situation. The way Neal soaks in even that bit of comfort and affection makes Peter wonder what kind of childhood he had. All his research on Kate and Neal never turned up anything before the kid was eighteen.
He shakes his head at himself. Assumptions and missed details have derailed more cases... He keeps tripping over his own. At least his gut hasn't betrayed him: Neal's innocent. Video from the thrift store will confirm Neal's alibi and June Ellington will too; she made that very clear. Neal's clear. Thank God.
Peter doesn't take any time to examine why he's so relieved.
He still takes Neal to the police station, despite the hour, and sits, silently sipping a coffee, while Neal gives a statement to the two detectives assigned to Kate's case. No one asks the questions Peter thinks are really important. Neal doesn't volunteer one extra word - Kate's training no doubt.
Who got Neal fired, who broke into his apartment, who beat him up, who stole his paintings? The detectives don't even ask if Neal knew Kate was going to make a break. Ryan and Esposito accept Neal's, "I told her I wasn't coming back and I left," as if it makes any sense. Peter has to swallow a snort of derision. No point in pissing off NYPD any more than he already has. He just made these two detectives' case harder since Neal was their only suspect.
It isn't even that Neal's lying. He's telling the truth, but he isn't cooperating, isn't helping. Peter knows when Kate was trying she could lie with the truth and he's sure Neal picked up enough from her to do it too. This isn't that. Neal just doesn't trust the NYPD enough to open up and they aren't interested enough to try prying him open.
"Freaks," Esposito mutters. "Some burglars get freaky, keep coming back to the same place, like they're stalking the vic."
Neal's brows draw together and he shudders.
"That why you moved out?" the other one, Ryan, asks Neal.
Peter scowls. They aren't as bad at this as he thought. They're double teaming Neal, trawling for any slip that might put him back at the top of the list.
"I got fired. No paycheck, no rent check," Neal replies tiredly. He's deadly pale and his eyes have gone dull while looking toward the bile green wall but probably not seeing it. "I - " His gaze falls to his hands on his lap and he picks at the tape on his finger splint. "If I'd stayed, I would've been there, I could have seen her - "
"And been shot too," Ryan states. "Probably."
Neal's tone is empty. "That would be better than this."
Peter squeezes his eyes shut. No way he's leaving Neal off at June Ellington's mansion. He never meant to anyway, not with a killer out there, but he's definitely not leaving the kid alone anywhere now. Someone needs to keep him on suicide watch. He reaches over and pulls Neal's good hand away from the splint. "Leave that alone."
Esposito raises an eyebrow at Peter. Peter stares back, daring him to make a remark.
Neal winces at his grip, pulling against it, before glancing away from Peter to Ryan, avoiding Esposito's eyes too. Peter wants to keep holding onto Neal's wrist - he can feel the pulse battering like a panicked bird beneath the thin skin - but shoves aside the impulse.
"Do you think that's what happened?" Neal asks Esposito. "Did Kate walk in on some creep who thought I'd be there?"
"Got a better idea?" Esposito asks.
"I don't know what would be better, except Kate still alive," Neal replies. It's a beautiful evasion. If Esposito or Ryan see through it, they still can't call Neal on it.
Of course, Neal has a different idea, but it isn't better. Neal thinks Fowler really is an FBI agent and had a hand in killing Kate, if he didn't in fact pull the trigger, and Peter isn't going to share that with these two detectives. If the Bureau has a dirty agent, the last thing they need is NYPD sniffing around and alerting him that Neal has talked to Peter. He's going to Reese and he's going to set Diana and Jones digging until he figures out what the bastard's connection is to Kate, but it's going to stay covert just as long as possible.
He's hoping that there is no one in the Bureau that matches the description and name Neal gave him. Kate moved in a world of fakes and imposters and cons. Maybe 'Fowler' is one of them.
Esposito and Ryan wind it up, taking about another twenty minutes, and presenting Neal with a printed version of his statement to read through before he signs it. Neal goes through the whole thing, brows drawn together, his gaze flicking across the papers intently, before scrawling his signature and handing it back.
"Where're you staying now?" Esposito asks as he files the papers.
"Riverside - "
"I'm stashing him at my apartment," Peter says.
Neal turns and gives him a completely bewildered look. "What?"
The two detectives both raise their eyebrows.
"Tomorrow you're coming with me to the Javits Building and giving me everything you know about Kate's caches," Peter tells Neal.
"I can tell you that now," Neal snaps. "Nothing. Nothing. I didn't want to know, she didn't trust anyone anyway."
"Thought you said she loved you?" Esposito offers with a sardonic smile.
Neal flinches and closes his eyes. Peter scowls at Esposito. He doesn't say love and trust aren't always handcuffed together. Or that Kate was a piece of work who used Neal as much as she loved him. If she loved him. Jury's still out. He dumps his coffee in a garbage can and pulls Neal to his feet with a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon. You can convince me tomorrow."
Maybe Neal would fight him over this if he wasn't exhausted with grief and ready to drop. Instead, he lets Peter lead him out of the police station, climbs in the passenger side of the Bureau vehicle Peter drives, and slumps silently. Peter has to prompt him to put on his seat belt. He falls asleep during the drive.
His face is wet when Peter parks and shakes him awake. Jesus. The kid was crying in his sleep. "We're here." Peter does him the favor of saying nothing as he scrubs his face dry like a small boy.
Neal glances around as they make their way up four flights to Peter's efficiency apartment. "This isn't exactly impressive."
"It isn't Riverside Drive," Peter admits readily, "but I don't give a damn." He just needs a place to sleep, shower, and keep his clothes since the divorce.
Neal's eyebrows go up as Peter unlocks the door and lets them in. "Yeah, I can see that."
Peter chuckles. "Get in here, Caffrey. Mi casa blah blah blah."
"An invitation like that, how can I say no?"
He gives Neal a little push to the back to get him moving when he stays in the hall and pretends he doesn't notice the shudders running through him. If Neal's crying again, Peter has no idea what could help, so he's going to default to what he'd want and let him grieve as privately as he can.
~*~
Part 4
A Day Later Than Yesterday
A single guilty finding out of dozens of charges leaves Peter with a bad taste in his mouth.
Kate bats her big blue eyes and speaks so softly the judge has to instruct her to speak up so she can be heard and the jury eats it up with a spoon. Once he's given his testimony, Peter makes a point of sitting in on the rest of the trial. Kate's attorney works for Pearson Hardman, so it's a weirdly Harvard crew versus Harvard alums trial, and Pearson's almost as good as she thinks she is, a tall, fierce, dark-eyed woman. She convinces the jury Kate's a victim in all of this, misled and straying from the path of righteousness, but how could a little girl like her do the things the big bad FBI accuses her of? It's ridiculous. He sees one juror nodding along.
The AUSA brings in Sterling Bosch's recovery agent to testify. Pearson makes Sara Ellis bite off every word of her answers and convinces everyone in the courtroom Ellis is an ice-cold, ball-breaking bitch with the ethics of a crocodile.
Ellis is supposed to be their secret weapon. Instead, everyone on the jury now believes she's is as big a law-breaker as Kate's accused of being.
Caffrey wears a good, but not too good, suit and sits behind Kate at the defendant's table every day. Pearson doesn't call him to the stand, but the AUSA does. It's a worse mistake than Ellis. Caffrey charms the jury and dances rings around the prosecutor. No one in the room has any doubt he's in love with Kate and everyone is a sucker for true love.
Peter thinks they're lucky the jury brought in a guilty verdict for the forged bonds. They only got that thanks to Kate's sloppy thumbprint. Every other charge comes back not guilty.
Pearson leans close and surely, certainly, tells Kate this is a better result than they had any right to expect, but Kate is stone-faced.
Behind her, Caffrey is pale and shocked, but rallies fast. He leans as far forward to speak with Kate as he can without ticking off the bailiffs. Peter can't guess what he says, but the words soften Kate's continence before she's led back to holding.
Caffrey's there for Kate's sentencing. Peter notes his presence, while focusing all his attention on Kate. He half-expects her to attempt an escape. The Bureau had surveillance on Caffrey all night, along with a tap on his phone, in case he meant to help her. Caffrey did nothing but get drunk, throw up, and cry, before spending the rest of the night painting. Now he's watching Kate like he'll never see her again and Kate's facing the judge, poised in a royal blue dress, the picture of a woman in control despite the circumstances. She won't make a scene, unless there's a purpose behind it. If she does, Peter's going to be ready to stop her. He has no faith the bailiffs or security guards could catch Kate in a physical chase, not that it would come to that, because Kate would outsmart them first.
He catches her gaze once with a silent admonishment that she won't outsmart or outrun him if she tries anything. Her mouth lifts in an exasperated, amused smile before she turns her attention back to the judge.
He doesn't have a damn thing better to do. The Moreau case is closed with Kate's conviction and his divorce papers are no longer lying on the dining room table at home, waiting for his delinquent signature. He gave in days ago.
"Four years."
Peter shakes his head in disbelief. Four years? It's barely a slap on the wrist for the charge, but the judge obviously fell for Kate's act too.
Four years is still a long time when you're as young as Kate and Caffrey are, though.
Kate doesn't say anything until the bailiffs urge her to her feet. Her voice is raised to carry, but still not loud. "Neal, I love you."
Caffrey bolts to his feet and cants forward to watch her until the last second as she disappears into the prison system.
Once Kate's gone, Caffrey crumples into a seat, drops his head into his hands and ignores whatever Pearson tells him before she leaves the courtroom.
Peter stays in his own seat as the courtroom empties until it's just him and Caffrey. He feels hollowed out. What the hell does he do now? Three years of work and what does he really have to show for it? Sure, his star is on the rise at the Bureau. It's likely he'll be put in charge of the New York office's White Collar unit. It doesn't mean much to him. He loves the job, not the titles.
Elizabeth is gone. He signed the papers and sent them back to the lawyers. By now, they've been filed. He's officially divorced. Another marriage falls victim to a law enforcement career; that's the cliché. He misses her so much it nauseates him some nights. He needs to find an apartment too; the house has to be sold, the proceeds split evenly between Elizabeth and himself.
The courtroom lacks windows, so it's lit with overhead fluorescent lights that leach all the normal color tones from everything. It has padded seats instead of plain benches and pressboard furniture rather than age-patinaed wood. It's supposed to be modern and more comfortable. Instead it is soulless and cheap, lacking in the dignity Peter thinks the law should display. Sometimes a door swings open and he can hear voices from the bailiffs' chamber or even the judge's.
The court recorder wanders in, fixes something at her desk, glances at Peter and over to Caffrey, who hasn't lifted his face from his hands, shrugs, and heads out again.
They're almost in the same situation, he and Caffrey, Peter reflects grimly. Only Caffrey didn't orchestrate the destruction of his relationship. Kate isn't leaving him voluntarily, after all, and if he still loves her in four years, they can be together again. The slate will be wiped clean; Kate will be a free woman. There's no reason Caffrey and Kate won't be able to start over and make something good with their lives. If Kate can have a chance at happily ever after, why shouldn't Elizabeth and he? Why not start over?
Peter sits forward, his elbows on his knees, and shapes those words to himself silently.
Start over.
Kate's case is done. When he leaves this courtroom, he's not going to have anything to do with it or her again. The main reason Elizabeth left him - he isn't fool enough to blame Kate entirely - will be gone.
He still loves Elizabeth. Maybe there's a chance he can woo her into loving him again?
They could start over.
The idea energizes him as nothing has since the handcuffs closed on Kate's wrists.
Peter pushes to his feet and starts out, only to pause, because Caffrey's still there, the very picture of desolation. The hope sprouting in Peter's heart makes him generous. He walks over and stands next to Caffrey until Caffrey looks up.
"Agent Burke."
"Caffrey."
"Happy?"
Peter ignores the bitterness. "What do you think?"
Caffrey shakes his head. "I don't know."
"They'll probably send her to Danbury. It's the closest Bureau of Prisons facility that handles women."
"Connecticut."
"Better than Carswell. That's in Texas," Peter tells him.
Caffrey slumps. "I'd move."
Peter thinks he's telling the truth. "Visit her. Write her. Make sure she's got money on the books. Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."
Soft laughter sparks from Caffrey at that last. "Kate? Kate's not stupid." He doesn't look at Peter as he says it.
"No, she's not, but she's done some damned stupid things, and I think you know it."
Another shrug.
"If you can't stick with her all the way, don't make her think you're going to," Peter adds.
That earns him a flame-hot glare. Caffrey's in it for the long haul. Peter respects that.
"She can do good time, walk out and do something worthwhile. Convince her. Keep her on the straight and narrow. It won't be easy." The things that are worth the effort always take a lot. He's taken Elizabeth for granted, instead of putting in the work their marriage needed. It will be ironic if the con and the artist are better at relationships than the cop and the event planner who live the straight life. "If you love her - "
"It'll be worth it?" Caffrey's voice is low but earnest. "Kate's everything."
"Then you'll make it through four years."
Caffrey nods. "We will."
Peter holds out his hand and Caffrey takes it, shaking hands without any self-consciousness
"That's a new one," Peter observes. "I did arrest your girlfriend. Most guys would want to punch me."
"Who says I don't?" Caffrey is almost smiling, though Peter can see that much of his mind is still caught up in Kate and figuring out what comes next and not on Peter or his part in bringing them to this point. His gaze sharpens and he turns serious in the next breath. "You brought her back to me. Thank you."
Peter shakes his head at that and laughs. "Okay, then. Good luck."
"To you too, Agent Burke," Caffrey says, "though I kind of hope I never see you again."
"Same here."
Peter leaves the courtroom and Caffrey, along with Kate Moreau, behind, feeling oddly good. In four years, Kate may step out of prison and go right back to her old ways, but it won't be his problem and it won't be him chasing her down.
Like Film Noir
Elizabeth likes getting into the office early, especially before the city stirs into real wakefulness, when the night shifts are ending. She likes the soft gray light before the sun rises, the early promise of a new day, the way she can hear the quiet streets fill up and come to vibrant life. She keeps a sharp eye on her surroundings though, because sometimes the predators are still hungry and lingering in the shadows, even in the best parts of town.
Of course, thanks to Peter, she knows sometimes the predators wear silk suits worth as much as a compact car and do their hunting in the board room.
It's both those things that make her look twice at the young man in the perfect gray suit waiting under the streetlamp closest to her doorway, hat tipped over his eyes, hands in the pockets of his pants. He really shouldn't do that, she reflects, it wrecks the exquisite lines of the classic tailoring. Then she thinks, he's waiting there, and he's waiting for me./p>
She watches him cautiously while she unlocks the door, prepared for him to rush at her or any number of things, her free hand buried in her bag and locked around the Mace can. He doesn't move, though, just slouches against the lamp pole like someone from a noir film, black and white in the predawn light.
Once inside, with the door locked again behind her, she shakes her head at herself with a laugh. Why would some man be waiting for her this early? She tries to schedule all her clients for the afternoon; it lets her get much more done and she hasn't anyone on her schedule for the day. It's all calligraphy and invitations along with backing up Yvonne when she deals with the caterers.
Being divorced from Peter means she doesn't need to worry so much about anyone coming at him through her either. A little bitterly, Elizabeth tells herself there's always a plus side.
The light, syncopated knock on the door behind her makes her jump.
"Mrs. Burke?" a male voice calls from the other side of the door. "My name's Neal Caffrey. May I speak with you?"
~*~
He really is one of the prettiest men Elizabeth has ever seen. She can't say exactly why she lets him in except curiosity. This is the man Kate Moreau wanted back so bad she went to jail. And Kate is the symbol of why Elizabeth's marriage ended. So she's curious.
From the instant she hears his voice and his name, she isn't in the least scared. The NYPD might think Neal Caffrey killed Kate, but Peter doesn't, and even if Elizabeth didn't still have faith in Peter's instincts, she has it in herself. She knows this man is no killer.
She takes him back to her office and sits him on her couch and only then really gets a look at him with his hat off and a sad smile on his lips. Oh dear, no wonder Kate fell for him. It isn't even those extraordinary eyes. It's something in his expression. If he wasn't a good ten years younger than her... But those eyes are bloodshot and puffy in a face that is too pale. She can see the healing split in his lip too. Of course, Peter mentioned it. Hard to imagine anyone willing to mar that face, but some people are vandals by nature, Elizabeth thinks; they'd rather destroy than create or caretake.
"Thank you for not screaming and calling the police," he says to her with a charming little smile.
"Oh, I would've just maced you."
The charm falters, but the smile becomes that much more real and Elizabeth, well, Elizabeth knows she's caught. The admiration in his gaze makes her preen a little inside. Nice to know she still holds up in comparison to other women. She's going to help him out, no doubt about it.
"Sit."
"Do I get to speak next?" He folds himself down onto her low couch, hat off and set on his knee, and she wonders where he found it. Most men don't bother with one, which is a shame, they look so nice. Then again, she never wants to mess with one herself. Neal Caffrey, though, seems immune to hat-head.
Swallowing a ridiculous giggle, she leans her hips against her desk and gives him an inquiring look. "Speak."
"Woof."
"Words this time, Mr. Caffrey."
"Neal."
"Why and how did you find me?"
He fingers the brim of the hat, glancing down at it, then up. "Kate had your husband checked out when she realized he was really after her. I read the file too."
"And remembered where I work."
"That you had your own business," he corrects.
Elizabeth folds her arms and considers him. He didn't lie. That's a plus. But there's more he hasn't said. "He's not my husband any more," she informs him.
Those blue eyes widen and then he's jerking to his feet, upset and apologetic, as he blurts, "I didn't know. You must think I'm an idiot, I just couldn't risk calling the FBI directly and I thought - I wasn't thinking, not after I found out Kate's - " He hides his face in one hand, gulping in a breath that's almost a sob. "Thank you again for not - for letting me waste your time."
"Stop," she tells him before he's taken two steps toward her office door.
He stops with his back to her and the tension in his shoulders shows right through the fine cloth of his coat.
"Peter and I have stayed in touch and I know he wants to find you very much," Elizabeth says gently. "He found... "
"Kate."
She's almost glad his back is still to her. Even one word gives away that he's devastated. Seeing his face just now might have her in tears.
"He found your Kate," she continues, "and he knows you could never have done that to her."
His shoulders lift twice and his voice is tight and thick. "Thank you."
"Go ahead, sit back down, and I'll call him."
"Don't tell him it's about me," he whispers. His voice shakes.
Elizabeth raises her eyebrows at that, but busies herself making the call to Peter, while Neal seats himself again, the hat on the cushion beside him.
"Peter," she says when she ends up shuffled into voice mail hell, "when you get this, please come to my office. It's important." Peter's quite smart enough to know if she didn't say 'call me' she doesn't want to talk about it over the phone. "Well," she says when she's ended the call, "now we have to wait for him. Would you like some coffee?"
Neal looks up at her gratefully. He's back in control of his emotions. "I would love some coffee."
"Good. I want some breakfast too, so I think I'll order in. We can eat together. And you can call me Elizabeth."
"It's a deal," he answers softly.
~*~
They both realize Peter Burke isn't going to drop everything and run to his ex-wife's side the minute he gets the voice mail. It surprises Neal when Burke doesn't call Elizabeth at lunch, though. She works steadily at her desk while Neal sits on the couch hoping he won't go insane from waiting and trying not to think until he can't stand it any longer.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asks.
Elizabeth lifts her head to look at him instead of the work on her desk. Such blue eyes and dark, long hair - not as dark as Kate's, but it still makes him ache with the memory of the silky slide of it in his hands - and she has an air of competence and compassion that makes him wonder if maybe Burke isn't an idiot after all. How many people let the boyfriend of a criminal, never mind a murder suspect, while the day away in their office? Not to mention feed him a take-out breakfast. (Neal picked at it until Elizabeth gave him a stern look and pointed out, "I paid for that, you know." He has to admit, eating did make him feel better.)
"Well, can you do calligraphy?" Elizabeth asks. Neal knows she expects him to demur. "Because I've got all of these - " she gestures to the box of invitations, " - to make out. By hand. By myself." She laughs softly. "Because Yvonne's calligraphy looks like a drunken doctor's scrawl."
"Actually, I can."
Up go her eyebrows. She immediately finds a piece of paper and extends the pen in her hand. "Show me."
Neal leaves the couch and bends over the desk. He takes a quick look at the wording of the invitation Elizabeth just made out and recreates it with sure, quick strokes on the piece of scratch paper. With a smug smile, he turns it and slides it to her.
Elizabeth exams it with bright eyes, while tapping her lips with one manicured finger. The next instant she nails Neal with those eyes. "All right, mister, you're hired."
"What's the wage?" he asks as she divides the blank invitations into two piles and hands him one.
"Oh, couch privileges and lunch."
"Sounds good to me." Neal helps himself to another pot of ink and her spare pen. He double checks it has the same size nib she's using.
The soft shuffle of heavy paper and pens on it fills the office for the next hour or two, interrupted only when one or the other of them pauses to stretch and flex their fingers. The delicate, repetitive work soothes Neal. He lets his mind and heart empty for a while, the flow of ink a meditation. He's intensely grateful for the sense of peace it gives him, though he knows it won't last much longer.
It doesn't. Eventually boredom replaces zen and his mind wanders. He's still surprised Burke divorced, though he doesn't know why. Probably because he idealized the marriage he read about in those reports Kate had on the man. He thought Peter Burke had the things he wanted to have with Kate. Not that he thinks Elizabeth is the reason for their divorce. Burke's the one who hasn't even called her back and Neal can't help thinking of how much time the man spent chasing after Kate. That must have burned.
He glances up at Elizabeth for a moment. It still doesn't compare to the way Kate sometimes dropped Neal for a con, insisting they act like strangers if they even saw each other, or the way he had to swallow back his anger when she hooked up with another man for a job. Everybody lies, Kate always said, everybody uses everyone else, and Neal accepts that, but it still hurts, even now.
Right now, Kate's voice is telling him to beware of whatever Elizabeth means to get from being nice to him. Sometimes Neal hates that little voice. He'd rather just trust her.
Elizabeth sets her pen aside and waits for the ink to dry on the invitation she just finished. She glances at the phone sitting beside the pretty lamp Neal admired earlier. Her lips press together for just a second. "So," she says, smiling the next moment, like nothing bothers her, "are you hungry? Who'd think something like this would be so exhausting?"
Neal's about to say he isn't hungry when his stomach gurgles. He winces while Elizabeth laughs.
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Sorry."
"Don't be ridiculous. I have a plan. There should be a sample platter and some other things from the new caterer in the refrigerator. We're going to taste test."
Neal sets his own pen aside. "Why am I suddenly afraid?"
"Hey, buster, this'll keep you off the streets."
"One poison-taster, at your service."
Elizabeth's gurgling laugh makes Neal want to laugh too.
"Let's hope nothing's that bad."
He exerts himself to be funny and entertaining over the meal. Elizabeth's bright and shares many of Neal's real interests; it isn't hard. They talk about art and culture and food and music, what they like and what works for various venues - Neal did a lot of the event work for the auction house that just fired him. Somehow, Elizabeth segues him into talking about Kate and he's telling her about Monaco - the legal parts anyway - and she's asking him questions that give away exactly how much Agent Burke knew about Kate and shared with his wife.
"But I loved her," he says finally, with a shrug, because he knows it doesn't make sense. Kate wasn't perfect, except in his heart. "Not just the idea of her. Her." He has to look down at the canapés on the plate before him, because Elizabeth's eyes are glittering with tears. "And I want whoever killed her to go away for the rest of his life."
"Do you know how baffled Peter was by you and her?" Elizabeth asks in a choked voice.
"No?"
"Well, he was. He couldn't figure out why Kate kept popping back to New York over and over. It made him crazy, because he thought he knew her."
No one knew Kate. Not all of her. Neal knows that. Kate was made of secrets and invisible scars. Neal frowns at the idea Burke could have known her better than he did.
"And then he figured out it was you," Elizabeth goes on, "that you left and she was trying to find you."
Hiding from Kate had been hard. Not just because she knew Neal and how he thought, but because it left him with an ache in his chest that never quite went away. He'd just... He couldn't take it after Barcelona and Matthew Keller. With Mozzie's help Neal had done his best to disappear, though he never told Mozzie why, only that he couldn't live with Kate if she kept partnering Keller. He still has nightmares.
"He spent weeks trying to find you and trying to figure out why you left Kate."
"He did, though," Neal states with some bitterness. If Burke hadn't... He shuts that line of thought down hard. Too many ifs and he'll never finish apportioning blame.
"He did feel a little bad about using you to get to her."
"He bugged my apartment," Neal tells her.
"Barely came home long enough to eat, shower, sleep and change clothes for months," Elizabeth continues and she sounds just a little bitter herself. "He leaked where you were and then he watched. Oh, and he talked about you too. He kept speculating over what Kate could have done that finally broke you two up." She looks at Neal and waits for him to fill that in, but he's never going to talk about what Kate and Keller did in Barcelona. He looks back silently until she nods her understanding that the unspoken question won't be answered. "Well. Since Peter is taking his own sweet time, do you want to get back to those invitations?"
"I think we can get them done by the end of the day," Neal agrees.
"I really should hire you. You're perfect."
"I should take you up on that. My last job tanked after someone told my boss about about Kate."
~*~
Maybe Elizabeth is right, Peter acknowledges to himself as he knocks on the rear door to Mitchell Premier Events. He's already so intent on finding Neal - Caffrey, he corrects himself, but somewhere in the last day, Caffrey's become Neal to him - that he blew off her phone message. He has no idea why she'd contact him so soon after saying they were done, but now he worries she's in trouble.
It certainly cements all her reasons for not getting back together.
Elizabeth opens the door with the strangest expression.
"I'm sorry I didn't call back or get here sooner," Peter tells her sincerely. "What's wrong?"
Elizabeth's rolls her eyes at him. "Nothing, but if there was, I'd have dealt with it by now." On occasion, Elizabeth can be a little bitchy, but Peter figures she's entitled. It's nine in the evening and he never even called her back. She gestures to him to come inside. "This is something of yours."
Peter starts to apologize again and stops himself. "So what is it?" he asks instead as he follows her inside and into her office. A single, Tiffany glass-shaded lamp and Elizabeth's laptop are all that lights it; it takes him a moment to realize someone else is in the office. "Who - ?"
His eyes adapt and he recognizes the figure curled on his side, asleep under a light blue blanket on Elizabeth's office sofa. Caffrey's too long for it and his knees are bent, forming his body into a question mark. What the hell is Neal Caffrey doing in Elizabeth's office?
His attention snaps back to Elizabeth as he tries to make sense of this collision of personal life and professional. "Why didn't you say it was about my case?"
"I wanted to see what you'd do if I didn't."
Oh. Damn it. What had he done? Ignored her call because she hadn't given him a reason she needed to speak to him, because it wasn't case-related. He couldn't take the time to make a single phone call. He doesn't need to wonder why he is divorced, does he? How can he be so utterly stupid when it comes to someone he loves?
He just counts on El being able to handle anything she needs to on her own. It's one of the things he loves about her. Having to always do so, though, that's likely one of the things she doesn't love about Peter. The cynical twist to her lips says it all. He's blown it again and he'll have to work hard for her to forgive him. Again.
El will forgive him in time, she doesn't hold grudges long. She doesn't forget, though, either.
He wants to protest, again, I love you. He doesn't. It's neither the time nor the place. Besides, Peter's finally starting to get the idea that loving her isn't enough, that he needs to do more than just say it.
Caffrey stirs, half asleep and half bewildered by the blanket over him as he sits up and squints at Peter and Elizabeth. "I asked her to keep my name out of it, just in case," he murmurs. A wave of disheveled dark hair falls over his forehead. He shoves it off impatiently and Peter sees his hand tremble.
Peter frowns at that. "Why?"
Caffrey glances at Elizabeth and asks her, "Do you want to hear this? Since you're not - "
"I feel like I'm involved now," Elizabeth tells him. Another thing Peter loves about her: she's fearless and utterly unimpressed by his job. She's going to champion Caffrey, even if Caffrey doesn't know it yet.
Or maybe he does.
The soft smile Caffrey gives Elizabeth burns Peter with jealousy. He doesn't want any man to give El a look like that. He doesn't want Caffrey looking at anyone like that either, which makes no sense, so he's not going to think about it.
"Okay."
"Sit down, you don't need to loom over everyone," Elizabeth orders. She takes her desk chair, a reminder that they are in her office. She's not to be an afterthought in this, she's involved herself. Peter smiles at her despite himself.
Caffrey folds the blanket neatly and sets it on the back of the sofa, fingers smoothing over the waffle weave absently, before straightening the satin edging. Peter takes the client's chair opposite Elizabeth's desk and turns it so he can see both of them. It's easier to make out details now and he can pick out the fading marks of the beating Buenavista mentioned. Caffrey makes bruised look good. It's almost annoying, except Caffrey's eyes are blood-shot and glassy with a pain that has nothing to do with anything physical. He's at the end of his rope.
He knows about Kate, that's clear.
"I'm sorry I didn't find her fast enough," Peter says.
Caffrey's head jerks up and his eyes widen. "You - you're the one who found her?"
"Not that hard," Peter tells him as gently as he can. "She ran straight to you, to where she thought you'd be."
Grief crumples Caffrey's face as he chokes out, "I wasn't there." He covers his face with his hands briefly, then shoves his long fingers through his hair. "I didn't know she was going to do that, I just... I ran. I didn't think anyone could get to Kate in Danbury and I was... "
"You were scared," Elizabeth murmurs. "It's okay."
He's shaking his head.
"Why'd you run?" Peter sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He's still got his overcoat on and it stretches tight over his shoulders, faintly uncomfortable thanks to his suit coat and the shoulder holster he's wearing under that. He doesn't want to intimidate Caffrey, so he keeps the coats on, hiding his service weapon, and tries not to frown or loom. It isn't necessary anyway; Caffrey's as helpless in the face of El's warm smile and kindness as Peter.
She really should have gone into interrogation.
"God. It started with a feeling, a couple of months ago. Someone was watching me." He angles a sardonic look up at Peter. "I am familiar with the sensation."
"Granted."
With a tiny flinch at the memory, Caffrey pushes forward. "I couldn't figure it out, why you or anyone else would be watching me again, so I tried to ignore it. A friend got me some things to do a bug sweep and there was nothing. It felt like I was going crazy, actually, so I didn't say anything to Kate."
Finding out the name of the 'friend' that could provide bug-sweeping equipment will have to wait, but Peter makes a mental note.
Caffrey explains the first break-in of his apartment and his choice not to report it, since nothing was taken. It's more that he's absorbed a bone deep distrust of law enforcement from Kate and the life they led, Peter knows, but doesn't call him on it.
"The second time, the whole place was tossed," Caffrey says quietly. A shudder runs through him. "Stuff just ruined. It felt... mean. There were phone calls too. Hang-ups."
"It must have been awful," Elizabeth sympathizes.
"Yeah, but it was still stuff. The calls were almost worse. I thought it was just a breather at first, but the threats started after the last break-in. Things he was going to do, stuff I was supposed to tell Kate."
"You didn't tell her about it?" Peter prompts, wondering.
"I didn't think she could do anything - I didn't want her to do anything," Caffrey points out. "I acted like I always did when I visited... I wasn't going to waste my time with Kate talking about some creep." The anger in his voice is good. It'll give him the strength to help Peter figure this mess out. "The next day I went to work and my boss told me I was fired. Just like that. Some guy came around, told them I worked with an art thief."
"Were you still working for the same auction house?" Peter asks. Some guy isn't enough, he'll have Diana or Clinton go around and question everyone at the auction house and find out more.
"Yeah. Yeah. It's kind of soul-destroying, but there aren't that many jobs for art school drop-outs, you know?"
"Did you find out who sabotaged your job?" The shape of something is resolving in Peter's thoughts. He needs the rest of the story, though, before he can see it clearly.
"No." Caffrey swallows hard and fear flickers in his eyes as he meets Peter's gaze. "Not then."
"But you know now." Peter knows in his bones. Surveillance. Assault. Legal harassment used as a lever. A .40 S&W bullet. A kid scared to even call him at the Federal Building and say his name, contacting him instead through Peter's ex-wife. The picture looming out of the dark just gets uglier. It's just screaming someone inside the Bureau is involved.
"After I came back from Danbury." Caffrey draws into himself a little. They're getting close to the part of the story that frightens him and must have even before Kate's murder. "My landlord tells me he knows I lost my job and he wants me out. I could see he was freaked out."
"Someone put pressure on him."
"Probably." A shrug dismisses the landlord. "I go up to the apartment and the door is standing open. This guy is waiting inside."
"Did you get a name?"
Caffrey doesn't turn to Peter, he's staring at the wall a little to the side of Elizabeth's shoulder, but his gaze cuts to the side. "He had a gun."
Peter freezes, not even breathing. He's interviewed witnesses before and knows he needs to be patient with the apparently tangental answers anyway. There will be a point, once Caffrey circles round to it. The gun is important to Caffrey; it's important to Peter too. He doesn't let himself demand what make or caliber. Kate didn't do guns and Caffrey doesn't strike him as the kind of guy who likes them either.
Caffrey swallows hard. "And a badge." His gaze flicks to Peter and away again. "An FBI badge." Peter keeps his expression calm. That's what Peter's been afraid of since Diana handed over the ballistics report.
There's not much chance Caffrey got it, but Peter has to ask anyway. "Badge number?"
"I didn't - " Caffrey shakes his head in frustration. "He flashed it fast."
"I understand. But you got the name, didn't you?"
Caffrey cradles his good hand over the other. The protective curl of his fingers over the splint gives away what he's remembering as well as who. Peter remembers Teresa Buenavista's description. She was right: Caffrey's afraid. He nods confirmation though. He remembers the name.
"Fowler." Caffrey lifts his gaze to meet Peter's. "Special Agent Fowler."
~*~
Teasing the story of the last two months out of Neal is slow going. Sometime during the process, Peter slips and begins thinking of him the way Elizabeth is, as Neal. Elizabeth proves better at keeping Neal from drifting into a fog of grief than Peter. Peter just feels pained and helpless each time Neal's words stutter and his gaze loses focus. Elizabeth sits herself beside Neal on the sofa and rubs his shoulders and after a minute Neal gathers himself back together again and answers what Peter last asked.
Divorced or not, Peter can still share a boat load of thoughts with Elizabeth through just a look. She stays beside Neal when they get to the last time Neal saw Kate and Peter stays in his chair. Danbury sent him video from the visitor's booths, but it's hideously grainy and without sound. He can read Neal's lips in it only part of the time and the rest is just the back of Kate's head. He has no idea what she said.
Peter replays the video in his head, seeing what Neal never did: after he walked away, Kate stood with her hand still pressed to the Plexiglas for a long moment, then sank down into her chair again and dropped her face into her arms. She only moved when one of the C.O.s prompted her. He's not going to let Neal ever see that video, he realizes.
"I asked her what was going on," Neal says softly. He's worrying at the splint on his finger again; it's a nervous habit Peter suspects will stay long after the bone heals. "Kate said they were using me to get to her."
"Sounds right."
"I snapped at her. It was like - I got mad. I told her she could tell me or we were quits." Neal sounds lost. "I didn't mean it."
"I'm sure she knew," Elizabeth murmurs. She takes Neal's hand with the splint in both of hers, protecting him from himself. She gives Peter a look. The one that says do something. He grimaces back at her. Neal never sees, never lifts his head.
"I didn't mean it," he repeats. "But I didn't go back on Wednesday. I could have seen her, I could have stopped her, she kept saying she was trying to protect me, I thought..." Neal ducks his head again. Neal keeps switching back and forth in his narration and it takes Peter a beat to realize that he's back to the last visit, not the missed one. Voice raw with self-recrimination, Neal finishes, "I told her she was just taking care of herself, just like always, and that I knew she'd rather see me get killed than give up anything."
Peter bites his tongue, because he thinks that might be true. No matter how much Peter liked Kate and admired her brilliance, he isn't fooling himself that she was a good person. For a while, after El left him, he hated her, but he got past that. Kate wasn't bad, didn't have that malign streak that glories in paining others, but she was selfish. Neal might not admit it, but on some level he knows that too. Peter thinks that she might have changed given the time and another chance. He wishes she was alive to prove him right or even prove him wrong. The world is a little dimmer without her. He can hardly say any of that to Neal, though. Dead, Kate's quickly becoming enshrined in Neal's eyes. He won't accept Peter's estimate of her. Besides, it may not be true and what can it possibly help to disillusion Neal any further? If the love was a lie, let him go on believing in it. It's too late for Kate to disappoint him again.
"Tell me what the message for Kate was again."
"He wants it back," Neal recites immediately. "I don't know who, I don't know what."
"But Kate did?"
Neal shrugs and whispers, "She said she didn't." There's no confidence in his voice, just the opposite. Yeah, even Neal doesn't believe it.
Peter silently curses Kate Moreau. He spent enough time being three, then two, then one step behind her that he is quite familiar with the damage she left behind from her cons and heists. Violence wasn't Kate's thing, but that doesn't mean her victims weren't left feeling violated. She's dead and she's still hurting people, even the man she claimed to love.
Love can hurt, but it shouldn't wreck.
Whoever killed Kate is worse, though. He thinks of the single painting they left in Neal's apartment. Did they show it to her to prove they had Neal, to persuade her to talk by threatening him? Likely. Likely if Neal hadn't bolted when he did, the killer would have been holding a gun to Neal's head to leverage Kate into cooperating. Neal would have ended up dead and still on the floor next to Kate.
It makes Peter want to hit something.
What did Kate take that is worth murder? Not just murder, but harassment, beatings, threats, the systematic destruction of Neal's life just to prove to her that whoever she'd crossed is serious? Despite everything, Peter can't figure who it could be. Kate never conned the sort of mark who would strike back like this.
Eyes narrowed, he contemplates Neal.
Whoever is behind the murder knew Kate well. Knew about Neal and knew Kate would go to desperate lengths for him. Thought so, at least. Escaping Danbury... How close a watch needed to be kept to be waiting for Kate when she reached Neal's old apartment? They were faster than Peter and he caught up in thirteen hours. Peter scrubs at his face tiredly. He's making this person into an evil mastermind. It doesn't take a genius to check out the visitor's logs and find Neal. Screwing over his life probably took a couple hours and some well placed threats, plus a couple hundred bucks to hire the thugs to beat him up. Not hard at all and not much of a risk, if it didn't draw Kate out.
Damn it.
"Let's look at this another way," he says. "Why would they think Kate still had whatever it is?"
Neal frowns at him as he answers, "If she didn't fence it."
Peter nods. Simple enough. He can't let himself trust Neal is going to always tell the truth, though. No one tells all of the truth all of the time, especially not to the feds or the cops. Neal may look innocent as a lamb, but he's not. Peter needs to keep that at the forefront of his thoughts. He can't forget that Neal learned from the best.
He can't assume Neal's complicit, either. Innocent until proven guilty. Not that it matters in some ways; Neal could be neck-deep in whatever Kate got up to and it would still be part of Peter's job to protect him from whoever killed Kate. That's part of Peter's own code, the one he's never had to test against the Bureau's rules because he's been lucky.
"I know some of what Kate stole was on commission, but the rest: did she fence all of it?" It's a test. He watches to see how Neal reacts.
"I really don't know," Neal replies, still frowning, tension tightening him up visibly. "I didn't want to know."
"Okay," Peter says because El is glaring at him again. She's clearly decided to champion Neal in any Peter versus Neal situation. He's not trying to trick Neal into admitting to any crimes, though. Anything Neal did for Kate was minor and years ago now. "Do you know who her fence was?"
"I don't think she always dealt with the same one."
"No names come to mind?"
"Just Alex," Neal says slowly. Is that a tiny flicker of guilt? Dark lashes sweep down over his eyes and he looks at his hands.
No fences named Alex spring to Peter's mind. Of course, Kate operated in Europe as much as the US; Peter isn't conversant with every high-end fence operating even in New York. It frustrates him, though, to realize again that he doesn't know as much as he always thought he did.
"Anyway, Kate never did any business with Alex after Copenhagen."
"Why?
Neal visibly winces this time. Elizabeth catches it. "Neal?" she asks.
Neal blows out a long breath, but he answers candidly. "Kate thought I slept with her."
"Ouch," Peter says before he even thinks, while the name finally clicks and he remembers Alexandra Hunter, a sometime conwoman and thief herself, who does indeed confine most of her work to Europe. The Bureau has a file on her, but she's never been flashy enough to go after actively. Not when there are far more egregious criminals operating in the States to target. No one's tagged her as a fence before; that information might break some cold cases.
"She break up with you over that?"
Rueful, Neal asks, "What do you think?" He hangs his head again and Peter can see he's thinking he wasted those four months.
"But you got back together again."
Neal lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. "She needed something from Mo-- a friend and he wouldn't talk to her, so she had to get me to go to him. We just... fell back together." Very, very softly, he adds, "I told her I didn't cheat and she said she believed me. I don't know if she did, though."
"But you didn't," Elizabeth says.
"You believe me?" Neal's so hopeful even Peter believes him. Why El does baffles him, but her instincts about people have always been impeccable.
"Of course."
Neal drops his gaze to his hand clasped in El's two and sighs, taut shoulders relaxing, and his grip tightens in hers. His "Thank you," is utterly heartfelt.
Peter recreates the time line of Kate's activities in Europe in his head and several things make much more sense. Before, he thought Kate lit out from Copenhagen for the South of France and Neal bolted back to New York for four months because a heist had gone south. It was the longest separation during their relationship until Neal turned the tables and left Kate at the end.
"So there's no easy way to know what Kate stashed away to cool off," Peter says. He doesn't want to say that whoever killed Kate probably got the locations of her caches from her before firing the bullet that killed her. That's why whoever did it lured her out of Danbury with the threat to Neal: so they could question her.
Damn, he thinks, the killer may already have whatever Kate stole. If so, it just became that much harder to find him, since without needing to do anything more, the killer can lie low until Kate's murder ends up relegated to a cold case file. Maybe the killer doesn't need to do anything else anyway. If so, at least Neal is no longer in danger. He doesn't mention that either.
Time to try another tack. "This guy who relayed the threat, Fowler," Peter says. "Could you describe him - "
"I could draw him." Neal straightens, confidence returning with the prospect of some agency. "I could paint a damned portrait of him. I can't forget his face when I try."
"A recognizable sketch that could be scanned to run with our facial recognition software would be sufficient."
"I could do that."
"Good. That's on the agenda for tomorrow."
Neal nods wearily, then asks, "What next?"
Peter checks his watch. It's late, but not too late. The detectives that caught Kate's case are probably still working. If not, he can schedule something for the morning if he makes the call now.
"Talk to me, tell me where you were the day before yesterday."
Relief eases Peter's tense muscle before Neal even opens his mouth, because Neal relaxes. "Clothes. Fowler took everything except what I was wearing to visit Kate. I went to three different thrift stores. At the last one, I met June Ellington." Neal's pause telegraphs that he expects Peter and El to recognize the name. "June Ellington. Byron Ellington's wife."
El twigs before Peter does. "Of course, she's active in several children's charities, I've seen her name on the fundraiser invites."
"Byron Ellington's paintings sell for a minimum six figures," Peter says. The years he spent working for Phil Kramer on the Art Squad taught him more about art than he ever cared to know. He's even handled a couple of genuine Ellingtons. They were among the few modern art pieces he thought merited the values put on them.
Neal's nodding, his eyes bright with excitement. "She has a loft with a studio. She offered it to me."
"Unbelievable," Peter says with a shake of his head. He narrows his eyes. "You didn't con her - "
A small, nasty part of Peter does wonder. Another part considers Ellington's widow could be the one taking advantage of Neal because he's that desperate. Both options are old, old stories.
"Peter!" Elizabeth snaps.
"She wants an artist to use the studio," Neal replies tonelessly. "I still had paint on my hands - "
He doesn't know damn all about June Ellington, but he'll be running a background check on her as soon as he's back at the office. If she has a stock of Ellington's work, at the prices they command, she no doubt can afford to support an artist in residence, a boy toy, or whatever she wants to call Neal.
"I'm sorry," Peter apologizes, not needing Elizabeth's prompting, "that was uncalled for and unkind."
Neal just shrugs as if it meant nothing to him. Peter doubts that, but knows pushing the matter won't help it. Neal finishes, saying, "We left the thrift store and spent the rest of the afternoon at June's. She showed me the loft and then we talked about art. She misses Byron."
"But you were there from... ?"
"Around noon to eight."
"So Mrs. Ellington alibis you?"
"Yes. Her driver took us from the thrift shop and a couple of her staff were around. I ate dinner with her." Neal quietly finishes, "I was there while Kate was dying."
~*~
The news that Neal has a very good alibi loosens an ugly knot in Peter's gut. It doesn't erase the grief bruising Neal's eyes or still the tremor in his hands, but it means Peter can call Mike Shattuck and tell him to get the detectives to talk to June Ellington, as well as pulling the footage from the thrift store's security cameras. Time of death for Kate is locked into a very narrow window.
They stop at Mrs. Ellington's house - mansion - on Riverside and Neal ends up with a bag and a kiss to the cheek from her after Peter explains the situation. The way Neal soaks in even that bit of comfort and affection makes Peter wonder what kind of childhood he had. All his research on Kate and Neal never turned up anything before the kid was eighteen.
He shakes his head at himself. Assumptions and missed details have derailed more cases... He keeps tripping over his own. At least his gut hasn't betrayed him: Neal's innocent. Video from the thrift store will confirm Neal's alibi and June Ellington will too; she made that very clear. Neal's clear. Thank God.
Peter doesn't take any time to examine why he's so relieved.
He still takes Neal to the police station, despite the hour, and sits, silently sipping a coffee, while Neal gives a statement to the two detectives assigned to Kate's case. No one asks the questions Peter thinks are really important. Neal doesn't volunteer one extra word - Kate's training no doubt.
Who got Neal fired, who broke into his apartment, who beat him up, who stole his paintings? The detectives don't even ask if Neal knew Kate was going to make a break. Ryan and Esposito accept Neal's, "I told her I wasn't coming back and I left," as if it makes any sense. Peter has to swallow a snort of derision. No point in pissing off NYPD any more than he already has. He just made these two detectives' case harder since Neal was their only suspect.
It isn't even that Neal's lying. He's telling the truth, but he isn't cooperating, isn't helping. Peter knows when Kate was trying she could lie with the truth and he's sure Neal picked up enough from her to do it too. This isn't that. Neal just doesn't trust the NYPD enough to open up and they aren't interested enough to try prying him open.
"Freaks," Esposito mutters. "Some burglars get freaky, keep coming back to the same place, like they're stalking the vic."
Neal's brows draw together and he shudders.
"That why you moved out?" the other one, Ryan, asks Neal.
Peter scowls. They aren't as bad at this as he thought. They're double teaming Neal, trawling for any slip that might put him back at the top of the list.
"I got fired. No paycheck, no rent check," Neal replies tiredly. He's deadly pale and his eyes have gone dull while looking toward the bile green wall but probably not seeing it. "I - " His gaze falls to his hands on his lap and he picks at the tape on his finger splint. "If I'd stayed, I would've been there, I could have seen her - "
"And been shot too," Ryan states. "Probably."
Neal's tone is empty. "That would be better than this."
Peter squeezes his eyes shut. No way he's leaving Neal off at June Ellington's mansion. He never meant to anyway, not with a killer out there, but he's definitely not leaving the kid alone anywhere now. Someone needs to keep him on suicide watch. He reaches over and pulls Neal's good hand away from the splint. "Leave that alone."
Esposito raises an eyebrow at Peter. Peter stares back, daring him to make a remark.
Neal winces at his grip, pulling against it, before glancing away from Peter to Ryan, avoiding Esposito's eyes too. Peter wants to keep holding onto Neal's wrist - he can feel the pulse battering like a panicked bird beneath the thin skin - but shoves aside the impulse.
"Do you think that's what happened?" Neal asks Esposito. "Did Kate walk in on some creep who thought I'd be there?"
"Got a better idea?" Esposito asks.
"I don't know what would be better, except Kate still alive," Neal replies. It's a beautiful evasion. If Esposito or Ryan see through it, they still can't call Neal on it.
Of course, Neal has a different idea, but it isn't better. Neal thinks Fowler really is an FBI agent and had a hand in killing Kate, if he didn't in fact pull the trigger, and Peter isn't going to share that with these two detectives. If the Bureau has a dirty agent, the last thing they need is NYPD sniffing around and alerting him that Neal has talked to Peter. He's going to Reese and he's going to set Diana and Jones digging until he figures out what the bastard's connection is to Kate, but it's going to stay covert just as long as possible.
He's hoping that there is no one in the Bureau that matches the description and name Neal gave him. Kate moved in a world of fakes and imposters and cons. Maybe 'Fowler' is one of them.
Esposito and Ryan wind it up, taking about another twenty minutes, and presenting Neal with a printed version of his statement to read through before he signs it. Neal goes through the whole thing, brows drawn together, his gaze flicking across the papers intently, before scrawling his signature and handing it back.
"Where're you staying now?" Esposito asks as he files the papers.
"Riverside - "
"I'm stashing him at my apartment," Peter says.
Neal turns and gives him a completely bewildered look. "What?"
The two detectives both raise their eyebrows.
"Tomorrow you're coming with me to the Javits Building and giving me everything you know about Kate's caches," Peter tells Neal.
"I can tell you that now," Neal snaps. "Nothing. Nothing. I didn't want to know, she didn't trust anyone anyway."
"Thought you said she loved you?" Esposito offers with a sardonic smile.
Neal flinches and closes his eyes. Peter scowls at Esposito. He doesn't say love and trust aren't always handcuffed together. Or that Kate was a piece of work who used Neal as much as she loved him. If she loved him. Jury's still out. He dumps his coffee in a garbage can and pulls Neal to his feet with a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon. You can convince me tomorrow."
Maybe Neal would fight him over this if he wasn't exhausted with grief and ready to drop. Instead, he lets Peter lead him out of the police station, climbs in the passenger side of the Bureau vehicle Peter drives, and slumps silently. Peter has to prompt him to put on his seat belt. He falls asleep during the drive.
His face is wet when Peter parks and shakes him awake. Jesus. The kid was crying in his sleep. "We're here." Peter does him the favor of saying nothing as he scrubs his face dry like a small boy.
Neal glances around as they make their way up four flights to Peter's efficiency apartment. "This isn't exactly impressive."
"It isn't Riverside Drive," Peter admits readily, "but I don't give a damn." He just needs a place to sleep, shower, and keep his clothes since the divorce.
Neal's eyebrows go up as Peter unlocks the door and lets them in. "Yeah, I can see that."
Peter chuckles. "Get in here, Caffrey. Mi casa blah blah blah."
"An invitation like that, how can I say no?"
He gives Neal a little push to the back to get him moving when he stays in the hall and pretends he doesn't notice the shudders running through him. If Neal's crying again, Peter has no idea what could help, so he's going to default to what he'd want and let him grieve as privately as he can.
~*~
Part 4