Sorry for the delay in posting this new chapter, real life intervening.

Thanks, once again to everyone who is following this story or made it a favourite. Special thanks as always to those who have taken the time to review, I am always grateful for feedback. So, a special mention to BalrogsBreath, Rude2, Evenmoor, Afalstein, quoththeraven5, ShySilentWriter and Touch of the Wind (well you got part of your wish!).

I am sorry if people find this slower and more dialogue driven than the previous chapter, it's basically setting up for the next one.

Art of Interest

Chapter 4

FBI Headquarters, White Collar Crimes Division.

Annette Fauberg sat quietly in the office staring out of the window busy with her own thoughts. She had not slept well, despite the N.Y.P.D. presence outside her apartment. What had seemed like something out of a caper movie staring David Niven or George Clooney yesterday had turned into something much darker. The cops had told her how close she had come to dying. What she could not figure out is why someone wanted to kill her. If that dog had not attacked her…normally she disapproved of dog owners who could not control their pets, but this time she was prepared to make an exception!

She started as the door behind her opened. One of the hot F.B.I. agents she had met before strode forward with a friendly smile on his face.

"Ms Fauberg. I'm Agent Burke. We met before. This is my colleague, Agent Berrigan. Can we get you a coffee or something?"

Annette shook her head. "No, thanks."

Peter took his seat behind the desk and Diana pulled up a chair at right angles, smiling reassuringly at their witness. "I know this is difficult for you but if you can go through what happened again, it could really help us." She said.

"I already told the police everything." Annette protested.

Peter smiled more broadly. "The police were, naturally, interested in who attacked you. We are interested in seeing if there's a connection between it and the theft of the van Gogh." He paused. "Something you remember might help us recover it."

Annette set her shoulders and nodded in agreement.

"Thanks. Now, if you could tell us what happened in your own words…" As he spoke Peter saw Wren, in the company of Neal and Jones, being steered towards the break room, Caffrey chatting to him amiably.


Derelict Land near Pier 42

Night before

Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey ducked under the police tape and studied the burnt out vehicle which was crawling with NYPD Crime Scene Examiners under the supervision of a black female detective. Seeing them, she muttered something to the pudgy, middle aged male detective with her and both made their way over to them.

"Joss Carter, Homicide Task Force. My partner, Lionel Fusco." She introduced them both.

Peter nodded to acknowledge the introduction. "Peter Burke, FBI. Neal Caffrey. So, what's the Homicide Task Force's interest in this? I was told Ms. Fauberg was unhurt."

"Yeah, didn't even get a scratch from the dog. Same can't be said for the driver of the vehicle used in the attempted hit. And even douches like him got rights." Fusco growled.

"So, have you been able to I.D him yet?" Neal asked.

Carter gave him a look that could freeze a considerable part of the Sun's surface area and responded to Peter. "No. The body was put in the trunk and doused with gas. It's burnt to a charred husk. If he was carrying I.D. it was either taken off him or burnt along with the body." She shrugged. "I guess we'll have to wait for dental records or see if the M.E. can lift fingerprints from the corpse. Whoever the guy was, he's bound to be in the system."

"What about the passenger?" Peter asked.

Fusco responded. "Looks like he fired the car to cover his tracks and hightailed outa here. CSU are still working the wreck and we'll let you know if they come up with anything."

"What's Ms Fauberg's story?" Neal asked.

This time Carter did not even look at him, responding to Peter. "She says she had just left the house of a friend when she was attacked by a dog. She thinks she heard shots but she was too busy trying to get the animal off her to pay any attention. It was only after the dog disappeared that she realised she'd been in the middle of a fire fight. The dog attack probably saved her life. We dug a shell outa the wall directly behind her."

"Anything on the second gunman?" Peter asked. "The guy who killed your vic?"

"We got nothing, not even a description. Gotta say though, whoever he was, he did as much to save her life as the mutt." Fusco replied.

"Yeah, the question is; what was his motive? Did he set out to save Ms Fauberg or was he after the occupants of the car and her survival simply a collateral outcome?" Peter mused.

"Don't know. If we find him, we'll ask him." Carter said. "I take it you think this is related to the theft of the van Gogh?"

Peter nodded. "Seems too much of a coincidence not to be. I'd like to interview Ms Fauberg if that's OK?"

"Sure. We couldn't stop you even if we wanted to. We got her statement and sent her home under police guard." Carter replied.

Peter nodded. "I'll ask her to come round to the Bureau in the morning." He decided.

The two NYPD detectives nodded and moved away, resuming their management of the crime scene, leaving Peter staring contemplatively after them.

"Detective Carter doesn't like you, Neal." He said.

Neal grinned and shrugged. "To know me is to love me. She just doesn't know me." He gave his companion a sideways glance. "What are you thinking Peter?"

"I'm thinking of the curious incident of the dog in the night-time." Peter replied.

"The dog attacked Ms Fauberg in the night-time." Neal deadpanned.

"And ran away without leaving a scratch on her. That was the curious incident!"


The Library

Night before

"Good dog, Bear. Brave dog!" Harold bent down clumsily and petted the Malinois liberally before slipping his hand into the desk draw and extracting a handful of doggie treats, which were quickly wolfed down by the canine, who stood proudly, accepting all the attention as nothing more than his due.

John's phone rang and he quickly answered it. "Hello, Lionel."

Harold gave Bear a final pat and slowly pulled himself upright as he listened to the conversation, while Bear settled himself in his basket.

Detective Fusco's voice came over their earwigs. "Carter's finished interviewing the Fauberg dame and we've sent her home with a police guard so she's safe enough for the moment. She didn't see you and can't give much of a description of the dog except than it was medium sized, short-haired and she thinks it was light coloured. Even so, I'd tell the Professor not to walk Bear anywhere near Washington Square for a while."

"I'll take that under advisement." Harold replied, coolly.

"And of course you're listening in, why am I not surprised?" Fusco grumbled.

"What about the car used in the attempted hit, Lionel?" John asked.

"It was found abandoned and burned out near Pier 42. The body of the guy you shot was in the trunk. No sign of the accomplice."

Harold limped quickly towards the bank of monitors. He stopped and stared at the one on the far left for a long moment, hesitated and then appeared to force his attention back to the conversation. "License plate, VIN number, Detective?" He asked urgently, his fingers poised over the keyboard.

"Alright, alright, Finch. We already checked. The car was reported stolen by its owner two weeks ago. He's the pastor to a small church in Harlem, highly respected in the community and no priors. Best guess is that it was boosted by some of his less socially responsible parishioners for a joy-ride, then abandoned or sold on. Either way; no leads. We gotta wait to see if CSU can pull up something."

"What about the F.B.I.?" John asked.

"They've been sniffing round. Agent called Peter Burke with an ex-con named Neal Caffrey in tow. Odd thing, bringing a C.I. to a crime scene."

"The relationship between Agent Burke and Mr Caffrey is much closer than is usual between a Confidential Informant and their F.B.I. handler, Detective." Harold told the man.

"It must be. Anyway, you guys need to be careful. Burke's gonna re-interview Ms Fauberg tomorrow at the N.Y. Field Office."

"Thank you, Lionel. We'll be in touch." John terminated the connection and turned towards his partner.

"What's wrong, Finch?" He asked.

"Why should there be anything wrong, Mr Reese?" the billionaire temporised.

John pointed towards the screen Harold had been so interested in earlier. "You seemed concerned by what was on that."

Harold squared his shoulders. "I monitor the internet for searches seeking background information on any of my cover identities. There have been searches into Harold Wren's past emanating from two separate IP addresses in the last twelve hours." His fingers began flying over the keyboard.

"F.B.I.?"

"I've traced the second attempt back to an F.B.I. server." The computer genius confirmed. "The first used a spoofed IP address and has attempted to further confuse the trail by routing the requests through a series of servers, including one in Azerbaijan. I am tracking them to source as we speak...Ah!" Harold sat back with a look of satisfaction on his face which was rapidly replaced with one of frustration. "Whoever it is, they're a competent hacker. They've noticed my attempt to access their computer and turned it off. I'm afraid I've lost them. They know that machine has been compromised and won't use it again."

John was alert. "Root?" He asked.

Harold made the small movement of his head that indicated a negative. "No. I'd recognise her signature."

John leaned down and ruffled Bear's ears. The dog rolled over with pleasure, allowing him to begin scratching his belly. "You can't go to the F.B.I. tomorrow." He said, glancing up. "We know the F.B.I. is looking into Wren and you might run into Ms Fauberg."

"It will look even more suspicious if I don't go." Harold replied. "Let's see what information they were trying to access." His fingers began playing over the keyboard again before glancing back to the former C.I.A. man. "It looks, Mr Reese, like we are going to be pulling an all-nighter."


FBI Headquarters, White Collar Crimes Division.

Earlier

The team was meeting in the Conference Room.

Peter glanced at his watch. "O.K. we don't have a lot of time so I'll summarise. The jet crew and security guards check out. According to the Dutch authorities, so do the Director of the Van Gogh Museum and his P.A. so we're down to the five suspects on this side of the Pond. Ms Fauberg is here and Mr Wren is expected momentarily. Jones, you've been looking into Wren's background. What you got?"

"Neal's, err…informant was correct. There's no record of Wren prior to 1976 when he applied to M.I.T. and neither the Census Bureau nor the Ohio Land Registry have any record of any family with that name residing in Hanover, Ohio during the relevant period. The name's an alias."

Peter nodded. "O.K. That kicks him up to the top of the suspect list. Diana, what about the financials?"

Diana Berrigan shrugged. "Pretty standard on all five. None of their bank accounts show any irregular transactions."

"Right." Peter decided. "Diana, you and I will interview Ms Fauberg. I'll meet and greet Wren when he arrives but Jones, I want you and Neal to work him. Push him for information but be discreet. We don't want to make him suspicious." He frowned and glanced at his watch. "He's late." The phone rang and Peter picked it up. "O.K. He's expected. Let him up." He turned and told the room, "That was Reception. Wren's just arrived."

As Diana and Jones were distracted with picking up their files and notes, Neal sidled closer to his handler and spoke in a low voice. "Peter, I need to speak to you, privately."

"Can it wait, Neal? We got guests."

Neal nodded. "Later then."


Harold pushed open the doors, his face displaying none of the anxiety he was feeling. He and Mr Reese had been extremely busy during the night but not everything could be prepared for. He knew he was still potentially putting his head in the noose. He watched as four people decanted from what the building plans indicated as a conference room and came down the stairs towards him. He recognised Agent Burke and Neal Caffrey from their previous meeting and identified the two others from his research as Agents Clinton Jones and Diana Berrigan.

"I've got eyes and ears, Harold." Mr Reese's reassuring voice came over the earwig.

Agent Burke approached him with a friendly smile and shook hands. "Mr Wren. Thank you for coming. We're very grateful for you taking an interest in this case. Usually we'd deal with your insurance investigator."

"The potential loss of a $100 million buys a lot of personal attention from the partners, Agent Burke." Harold replied dryly.

Agent Burke completed the introductions and Harold murmured the appropriate social responses.

"There have been developments since we last spoke. There was an attempt on Annette Fauberg's life last night." Burke added.

Harold felt four pairs of eyes searching his face for a reaction. "What happened? Is she alright?" He asked, pitching his voice to the right level of concern.

Apparently he passed the test because Burke replied. "She's fine, just a little shook up but we're working on the assumption there may be a connection between the attempt and the theft."

"That seems a reasonable supposition." Harold agreed. "Any leads?"

"We're going to interview her now. In the meantime, Agent Jones and Mr Caffrey can fill you in on the investigation."

Harold felt himself being steered away from the main office towards the break-room, grateful that the F.B.I. were unaware of his nocturnal expedition to the building and the adjustments he had made to its P.A. system allowing Mr Reese to monitor conversations from a van across the street. He tuned in to Caffrey, who was chatting away to him in a friendly fashion and knew that they were attempting to lull him into a false sense of security before the real interrogation began.

T.B.C.