Reese was tired. He and Finch had, just a few short hours before, wrapped up a case that had the both of them up for thirty hours straight, the time mostly spent trying to discern perpetrator from victim. And this case was looking as if it would be the same.

It almost made him wish for a straight-forward gang hit.

As usual, Reese both did and did not blend into the crowd. 'Did' because many of the men there were also dressed in black suits. 'Did not' because few of them were his height. Also, from what he'd observed so far, many of them knew or at least recognized each other. Several people nodded to the man who was the focus of Reese's attention since that afternoon. Nodded, but did not approach or even say more than 'hello'. Peter Foy was not unattractive, mid-forties, slightly taller than some of the men, his dark hair and beard neatly trimmed. He was supposed to have blue eyes, but Reese hadn't gotten close enough to confirm that. Age and ethnicity-wise, Foy seemed very similar to most of the attendees. His suit, however, wasn't quite the same quality as that of the other men's which made him seem just a little out of place, as well.

Reese absorbed the various conversations around him as he worked his way around the small clusters of people, his mind filtering them for relevance. Those two were talking politics. That group of four discussed the game that had taken place that afternoon. But, mostly, the subject was someone's latest acquisition and what was still on their list and whispered speculations about the items on the table that night.

"Why do most of these auctions attract mostly men?" Reese said as he worked to keep just near enough to Foy to be able to get to him quickly, if needed.

"I'm sure I don't know," Finch's voice said in his ear. "Maybe women find other types of investments more to their liking."

Foy, having already acquired a bidding paddle, appeared to have found the spot in which he wanted to sit. He settled into one of the padded folding chairs about five rows back from the small stage and directly in line with the podium, placing the brief case he was carrying on the floor by his feet. Reese took the seat in the row behind him and to one side, setting his own paddle on his lap.

"So, all these people are investors?"

"No, probably not. It's more likely that most of them are collectors. Meaning they would not be looking to re-sell their coins."

Reese looked around the brightly lit room, taking note of the strategically placed security guards and looking for anything suspicious. The limited seating for this auction meant that Foy had to RSVP some weeks ago. The list of attendees was available on the auction house's web site, so anyone who wanted to keep track of him would have been able to find out where he was that evening. So far, though, no one there seemed to taking a particular interest in him. "Any idea yet who might want to kill him?"

"No, nor whom he might want to kill, for that matter. He doesn't seem to have much of a life outside his job and his coin collecting."

Reese shifted in his chair a little, using the movement to get another look at the back of the room. "Maybe someone at the company he works for? A rival?"

"You usually have to be a threat to someone to be considered a rival," Finch said dryly. "The job of an Estate Appraiser doesn't usually attract Type A personalities, but even in that group Foy seems particularly un-stellar. His expertise extends only a somewhat beyond coins and he's shown little interest in expanding his knowledge since he hasn't done so in all the years he's been doing this job."

There was a stir at the front of the room as an energetic middle aged man, a maverick in a light grey suit, sprung up the step to the dais and tapped a gavel lightly several times on the podium to get the small crowd's attention. The attendees moved to find chairs and the myriad conversations quieted. Reese ostensibly turned his attention to the front of the room, but his eyes darted here and there while the auctioneer gave the preliminary admonitions concerning cell phones. As half the audience pulled out their phones to check their settings, Foy did as well. Reese, too, pulled his out and, under cover of the general rustle of activity and otherwise directed attention, forced paired Foy's phone.

The auction went at a decent speed, the auctioneer keeping the bidding lively and the audience entertained. Foy made offers on a number of coins and was quickly out-bid for all but one of them. Then he set his paddle aside on the empty chair next to him and crossed his arms, apparently done for the evening.

"I'm surprised that he even tried for those other items," Finch murmured, having kept track of the proceedings. "He couldn't possibly have expected to get them for the amounts he was bidding. Looking at his accounts, he's barley able to afford the coin he did get."

Reese watched Foy check the time on his phone and then settle back in his chair.

"Looks like he may have an appointment after this. I think now he's just killing time."

"Well, I don't have anything to tell me where he might be going."

"You weren't able to hack his employer's computers?"

"Of course I was. They just don't keep their appointments in them."

Reese smiled at Finch's obvious frustration. "I guess we'll have to do this the old fashioned way."

Foy got up to leave before the last item came up for bid and headed to the cashier to pick up his coin. Reese followed at a discrete distance, but was able to overhear the conversation with the young woman at the table.

"So, Mr. Foy, looks like you picked up something this time." She used his name without having to ask for his ID. He signed a ledger and handed her his credit card. Waiting for the transaction to process, the cashier, her tone bright and lively, asked, "Does this finish up your collection?"

Foy snorted at the question as he bent over to sign the receipt. "Hardly," he said as he straightened. "But, it is another step closer."

Before Foy could exchange the receipt for the small manila envelope the cashier was holding, Reese took the opportunity to return his paddle. He leaned over, briefly blocking Foy's access to the coin, smiling warmly at the young lady as he handed her the paddle with one hand and dropped a button-sized listening device into Foy's pocket with the other, his body hiding his actions. Stepping back, he ignored Foy's scowl and headed for the exit.

Reese lounged against his car, to all appearances enjoying the mild spring evening as were most of the other people milling around outside. Foy had come to the auction house by taxi and, emerging from the double doors, headed for the line of cabs waiting for fares. Reese and Finch listened as Foy gave the cab driver an address. Reese got in his car and eased it away from the curb to follow. "Any idea who's at that address?"

There was silence for a few moments. "Well, it used to be the residence of a Jean Gray. She passed away a week ago."

"So, this appointment is business."

"It would appear so. But, since we have no idea who he's supposed to be meeting, it might be prudent to stay close."

It was fully dark when Foy's cab dropped him off in front of a modest one-story clapboard house with a large picture window and a small front yard. He took the three steps that lead up to the front porch in one leap to knock on the door.

"He looks somewhat eager. I wonder if it really is business." Reese had parked across the street and waited until Foy had gone up the steps before he headed towards the house himself. Whoever Foy was there to meet took their time answering the door, giving Reese a chance to get close enough to find a place to secrete himself but still watch his quarry. The door was opened by a middle aged woman who Foy called 'Ms. Davis'. His words of condolence about her recent loss seemed perfunctory.

Ms. Davis took Foy around the rooms. Since the house was not large, this didn't take long. As he listened to the conversation, Reese got the feeling that Foy wasn't really interested in the things Ms. Davis was telling him about the various pieces of furniture and artwork. After a few minutes, he cut her narrative short. "I was told that your late aunt was a collector, Ms. Davis. What exactly did she collect? Coins?"

"Yes, she did collect, Mr. Foy." Davis sounded surprised. Reese could hear her heels click across the uncarpeted floor. "She collected these."

There was a brief pause. "Porcelain figurines?" Foy didn't even try to mask his disappointment.

"Yes. Porcelain figurines." Davis sounded irritated. "Is there a problem?"

"No, of course not," Foy said, belatedly realizing his mishandling of the situation. "It's just that I'm not really an authority on figurines. I'll have to get one of the other appraisers to come out to look at them." If Foy thought he could smooth things over, he was mistaken.

"You mean that I'll have to take more time off from work?" Davis' tone was icy. "It takes me two hours to drive out here. Your office assured me that this could be taken care of tonight, Mr. Foy. I don't appreciate the fact that you've wasted my time."

"I'm sure we can have someone out here within the hour, Ms. Davis," Foy said. "Just give me a few minutes."

While Foy called his co-worker and basically begged and cajoled her to help him salvage the account, Reese began to wonder about this man as a P.O.I.

"Finch, given the way it's been acting lately, are you sure the machine hasn't made a mistake?"

"In what way?"

"Foy hardly seems the type of person any one would plan to kill, though it might happen out of pure frustration. And as far as him being the perp? I can't imagine he'd be that ruthless."

"He does seem to be rather ineffectual. But, there may be someone in his life who would want him dead."

"A relative, maybe?"

"His only sister, Diane Wilson, passed away three years ago. Her husband preceded her by five years. They have a son, Steve, Foy's nephew. He's a student at a local community college. There are no other relatives."

Reese rubbed his eyes. He was feeling the lack of sleep. He could only imagine how Finch was doing. "Could the nephew be the perp?" he asked. "Maybe there's an inheritance."

"I suppose it's possible that Foy's coin collection could be worth something. If it is, though, it's not reflected in the amount of property insurance he has."

"Okay. Maybe the nephew's the victim?"

"To what end? A twenty year old college student is unlikely to have anything Foy would want."

"Trust fund?" Reese was grasping at straws.

Finch sighed. "I've looked, Reese. No trust fund, no life insurance policy, no property. No offshore accounts." Now Finch was straw-grasping as well. "Maybe you're correct. Maybe the machine is wrong." He paused. "In which case…," he stopped, Foy having ended his call.

"There, Ms. Davis. My coworker, Carrie, will be over in thirty minutes. She's just finishing up another appraisal. Not far from here, in fact. In the meantime, I'll work up an appraisal on the rest of the items." Foy was almost obsequious. "Would that be okay?"

Since it was apparent that Foy was in no immediate danger from Davis, pissed though she was, Reese went back to his car. Foy walked through the rooms again, asking the questions he should have the first time around. Reese could see him through the picture window, clipboard in hand, pausing occasionally to peer more closely at certain items.

"Foy seems capable of taking his job seriously, after all," Reese commented.

"Yes, as long as he keeps a tight reign on his collection obsession."

There was a pause. Reese straightened as a thought occurred.

"Finch, what about…"

"Right. Another collector. I'll check. Maybe he has a feud with one of them. Maybe someone who out-bid him this afternoon."

"Well," Reese said, now having doubts, "there didn't seem to be anyone at the auction who paid him any attention."

"Still, it is another possibility."

While they were talking, a car pulled up to the curb, parking under the street light in front of the house. The woman who exited from the driver's side was well dressed, her dark blue business suit accented nicely by the gold earrings that glinted against her dark skin. Overall, she had a far more competent air than Foy. He met her at the door, greeting her and promising, sotto voce, to 'make it up' to her.

Inside, Foy introduced the two women and then promised to have his appraisal ready in the next couple of days. Before he left the room, Reese could hear Carrie give Ms. Davis her condolences, sounding far more sincere than Foy had.

Foy had just come back down the steps, briefcase in hand, when his phone rang. He stopped under the streetlight, pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the display. There was a distinct change in his expression.

"Steve. How's my favorite nephew?" The friendly words belied his scowl.

The voice on the other end was young and a little nasal. "Funny, Uncle Peter." Steve's tone was that of strained tolerance rather than affection. "I'm your only nephew."

Foy's chuckle sounded forced. "So, what's up?"

"I'm still waiting for you to get back to me on that collection of Grandpa's. You said you'd get an appraisal done in a week. It's been two."

"Yes, well, I've been busy, Steve."

"You're always 'busy'." Foy's nephew sounded exasperated. "You know, I could just do this on my own. I could take a picture of it and put it out there on the internet. Someone's likely to …"

"No, Steve," Foy cut the young man off. "You don't want to do that. The internet's full of scammers." For the first time Reese heard a genuine emotion in Foy's voice – worry. "I can't, in good conscience, let you do that."

Steve sighed. "Then, get that expert you promised me. He should have been available by now. Besides, I thought you knew something about these things. You even told me, when you saw them, that they should be worth a few hundred. And I really need that money."

Reese watched Foy intently, wondering what game he was playing. The other man had started walking back and forth, obviously agitated, his breathing a little heavy.

"Okay. Tell you what. I'll bring him by tonight, after he gets off work. You left the case at your Grandfather's, right?"

"Yeah. It's got better security than my apartment. It's got a special key and everything."

"Right. You showed me." Foy was a little calmer. "So, what time do you want to meet?"

"Well, I'm headed to my 8pm class, so, say 9:30?"

Foy ended the call, then immediately dialed up another number. After a couple of rings Foy started pacing again. Finally, someone answered.

"Klenk." The voice was male and annoyed.

"Howard. It's Peter."

"What do you want?"

"We have to do it tonight." Foy stopped pacing.

"No. You said tomorrow. Tonight's no good."

"He's getting impatient and I can't risk the little bastard finding out or letting someone else know."

"Okay. Fine. But, I want a bigger cut."

Foy started pacing again. "What? You…" Foy didn't finish that thought. "Okay. Five more."

"Seven or I won't show."

"Fine! Okay," Foy took a breath. "Seven."

Howard still sounded a little put out, as if he was being inconvenienced. "Where?"

At this, Foy hesitated. After a brief pause, he went on. "I'll meet you in the usual spot. 9pm. I'll tell you then. We'll take your car."

Foy made another call, but this time it was for a cab to pick him up.

"Finch?" Reese asked quietly. "Who is 'Howard Klenk'?"

"I don't know who he is, Reese." Finch's voice was heavy with suspicion. "I can tell you that there is no one by that name at Foy's office. I can also tell you that, whoever he is, he uses a burner phone."

A cab pulled up next to Foy. Getting in, he gave the cab driver an address they recognized as Foy's apartment.

"Since we don't have an address for 'the usual place' and we've got," Reese checked the time, "almost two hours before Foy meets up with Klenk, I guess I'll be tailing him 'til then. If I stay close enough, I might hear something we can use." Reese started to turn the ignition key.

"Actually, Reese, I have another idea. I've been able to identify the 'Grandfather' Steve mentioned. He's the young man's paternal grandfather, Zachary Wilson, who died a month ago. Steve is the sole heir." Finch was speaking rapidly. "Since the nephew is safe for the moment, I propose you go to the Grandfather's place." He took a breath. "It's not far from the library."

"Why?" Reese was intrigued by Finch's apparent enthusiasm for this idea. "To look for this 'collection'?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese. I want to confirm a motive for murder."

"Okay, Finch. Now what?" Reese was standing at the door of an apartment on the ground floor of a brownstone in an old, established neighborhood. Gaining entry to the building had posed no problems. But, he was not going to be able to get in to the apartment so easily. "The lock on this door is not the kind I can pick. It requires an electronic key and a pin number." Reese glanced down the hallway at the other door of the back apartment. "I checked the windows – they're alarmed. The door's fairly heavy, too. I won't be able to break it down without attracting attention."

"Yes, I'm familiar with this type of lock. The company that put it in also monitors the security system. If the correct key and pin combination are not used, the alarm is triggered." Reese could hear the faint tell-tale sound of Finch tapping on his computer keyboard. "If the homeowner looses the key or forgets the combination, they can contact the company and, after correctly answering some questions, the door can be unlocked remotely." Finch's voice was full of admiration. "It really is a beautifully designed system." Just then Reese heard a soft click. "There."

The smaller items that had been in the living room had been removed, if the marks on the carpet were any indication. The remaining pieces were large, heavy and mostly dark wood with slightly lighter upholstery. The partially drawn curtains on the front window allowed only a little light from the street, so Reese used his small flashlight to make a quick check of the living room, looking for any signs of a wall or floor safe. He ignored the kitchen, betting that what he was looking for would be in the bedroom, the favorite hiding place for most people.

That room, too, had only a few pieces of furniture, also large and heavy. Even the mattress had been removed and the open closet doors showed that the former occupant's clothes had been removed as well. Since the bedroom was at the back of the apartment and away from the street, Reese tuned on the lamp on the dresser to aid his search. It took him all of one minute to find young Wilson's prize. "It was behind the dresser mirror in the bedroom," he told Finch as he placed a wooden case on the dresser. "Apparently, Wilson has a lot of faith in that security system."

"And well he should. It's a very good one."

Reese raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting. The case was elegant in its simplicity: a rich mahogany with a framed glass top revealing coins, nine in all. They were nestled in a royal blue tray, each in its own place.

"I'm not sure these would be worth killing someone for, Finch." Reese gazed down on the coins. "The case looks more valuable than most of these coins."

"A coin's condition can be secondary to its rarity in determining its value." Finch sounded amused. "I take it you've never been a collector."

"Not of coins, no." Reese said absently as he picked up the case to get a better look. "I usually collect things that fire projectiles." He angled the case a little under the light. "These all seem to be from the same year."

"Which?"

"1929. Different denominations. Most of them aren't in very good shape." Reese looked closer. "I guess the two gold ones might be worth something." He set the case back down. "Does that give you enough information to find out anything on them?" There was a long pause. "Finch?"

"Reese, I'm coming over."

Reese was astonished. "Why? If you need to see them, I could send you pictures."

"The photos won't show the details I need and it would take time for you to describe each of them." Finch must have been moving to the exit, his breathing was slightly labored. "You're not far. I'll be there in five minutes."

Finch had set the opened case under the lamp on top of the dresser and now stood holding one of the gold coins in a white gloved hand, looking at it through a jewelers' loop. Reese watched him, trying not to show his impatience. "Well? Is this collection valuable?"

Finch placed the coin back in its spot in the case and closed the lid. "Yes." He removed the glove and put it and the loop in his suit coat pocket, then he turned to look up at Reese. "These coins are worth considerably more than the 'few hundred' Foy told his nephew."

"I take it that Foy wouldn't be able to afford their actual price."

"Not in this lifetime. And, as we heard him say, he couldn't risk Wilson finding out their real value."

Reese studied his employer for a minute. "Just how much are they worth?"

Finch looked down at the case. "I'm no expert, but I would say most of them are worth several hundred each. But, this one," Finch indicated the coin he had examined. "This is a St. Gaudin's twenty dollar double eagle. It's quite rare." He looked up at Reese. "Not long ago, a St. Gaudin's minted in 1933 was sold at auction for over seven million dollars." Reese looked at him in stunned silence as Finch continued. "Now, this 1929 coin wouldn't fetch nearly that much, but, in the right auction, it could well set the young man up for life."

Reese took a moment before he spoke. "So, now we know Foy is definitely the perp and why. And, this 'Howard Klenk' is probably the guy he's hired to kill Wilson."

"For a 'cut'." Finch looked back down at the coin case. "Do you think Klenk knows what these coins are worth?"

"No. Foy didn't even trust him enough to give him the address."

"I wonder that he would take the risk that his hired killer wouldn't later discover the value of the coins." Finch looked back up at Reese. "Klenk could blackmail Foy for more money, knowing he had it."

"We have to decide what we're going to do." Reese checked the time and put the coins back in their hiding place. The two men started to move towards the bedroom door. "Wilson's class will be over in a half hour. We can't afford…" He stopped. There were voices at the front door which got louder when the door opened.

Reese and Finch stared at each other for a millisecond. Then Reese, a blur of decisive movement, stepped over to hit the light switch, grabbed Finch rather roughly by the arm and pulled him into the closet, sliding the slatted bi-fold doors closed. He had Finch move to the back of the closet and as he did, he dislodged a cane that had been forgotten in the corner. Finch caught it before it hit something. The two men listened as the voices moved into the living room and the door closed.

"Thanks for coming tonight, Mr. Klenk," Wilson's young and nasally voice said, becoming more clear as he moved towards the hall. "I know you're busy. And I appreciate that you could change your schedule."

After a pause, Foy's voice piped in. "Well, if you thought this was important enough to skip your class, it's the least we could do." Reese wondered if Foy was genetically incapable of sounding sincere. "Right, Howard?"

There was a pause, then another voice said, "Yeah. Right. The least we could do." He still sounded annoyed.

"Well, let's go get the coins," Wilson said. "They're back here."

The bedroom light came back on and Reese, peering through the door slats, could see the three men as they entered. Wilson, a bushy headed youth in jeans and a t-shirt was first, followed by Foy. The third man, presumably Klenk, was a study in inelegance; everything about him seemed mismatched. His gruff voice should have come from a more intimidating frame. The dark suit that hung on his thin shoulders was a style years out of date and he looked decidedly out of place in it. His thin and pale face was marked by acne and his stringy blonde hair needed washed. But, the detail that Reese was most interested in was the bulge in one of his suit coat pockets. As he watched the three men, his mind ran through all the options. If it was just him and the conspirators, he wouldn't hesitate to tackle the two of them. But, with Wilson and Finch there, he had to consider the risk that one or both of could be taken hostage or shot.

Wilson went to the mirror to retrieve the coins. Klenk started to pick at one of his acne sores, stopping when Foy glared at him. Wilson turned back to the two older men, case in hand. "Here it is." His voice was eager. "What do you think?"

Reese knew he had to act or Wilson would be dead. He looked over at Finch and gestured for him to stay where he was. The light through the slats cast horizontal bars across the older man's face. Clutching the cane and looking resigned, he nodded. Reese pulled his gun from its holster and slowly slid the closet door open and stepped into the room.