"You two are like little kids," Jameson said accusingly at the two soaking wet men who stood dripping in the library – again.

Peter, whose white shirt was ripped and dirty with the wet grime of the roof ground into it, said nothing. Neal, also looking fairly ragged in his blue suit, gave Jameson as cheeky grin. Only their suit jackets, which they taken off for the climb, still looked in good condition.

"Well, they haven't found the diamond but they did at least turn up this one." Bettina, well into the day's alcohol intake, drawled idly from the couch. She wore a lacy black ensemble that was hard to determine if it were a cocktail dress or lingerie.

"Maybe you should have started on the roof!" JJJ said bitingly. He held out his hand. "I'll find out if it's real or not," he announced dismissively.

"Oh, it's real," Neal with quiet confidence.

"How would you know?" JJJ asked condescendingly.

"It's his business, darling," Bettina replied. "Such as it is."

Peter had been surprisingly quiet but he spoke up now. "Any idea who this belongs to?"

"Well, some family member, of course," Jameson replied evasively.

"Johnny, isn't that the necklace your father gave Belinda for her birthday? Remember that Easter she got so angry at you she said she threw it out of the car. Said you were the worst husband in the world, as I recall. Certainly looks like that one," Bettina chattered on, seemingly unaware or uncaring of Jameson's growing wrath.

"Oh, nonsense. How would you know? I thought you were drunk by that time of day anyway?" JJJ said coldly.

Bettina raised her glass. "It helps to pass the time."

JJJ gave her a cold look but addressed his words to Peter. "Well, thanks for finding this trinket. I'll take care of it." He held out his hand. "I have an engagement tonight so I do need to dash."

"Sorry; no return. FBI evidence," Peter declared with some satisfaction.

"What? What sort of a swindle is this?"

"We were attacked up there in the attic today, Jameson. Right now, everything that pertains to this case is being logged as evidence."

"We don't have random attacks in our attic!" JJJ roared.

"I'm not sure you would know if you did or didn't!" Peter snapped.

Bettina laughed; a harsh, brittle sound that reverberated with bitterness. "Oh, Johnny might notice that!"

JJJ gave her a look of pure venom. "Why don't you go upstairs? If I'm lucky, this phantom will get you too!"

Bettina's rage boiled over. Rising, she flung her glass into the fireplace, heedless of where the tiny bits of glass landed.

"Oh, Mrs. Wilde?" Peter called after her as she went for the door, "don't leave town."

Bettina attempted a smile but it was more like a look of rictus. "If I couldn't get out before, I probably can't now either, Agent Burke!" All three men watched her storm out.

JJJ turned on Peter. "I suggest you leave now, yourself, Agent Burke. And take your larcenous little chum with you!"

Peter affected his blandest look. "Are you sure you'll be safe? Perhaps the locals can give you some protection? I'd hate for another tragedy to occur here," he added, sarcasm intended.

Furious, Jameson took a step toward Peter; automatically Neal moved closer to his friend.

Peter's eyes glittered dangerously with a come on smile on his face.

With an effort, JJJ tried to calm down. Smiling unpleasantly, he said, "Surely you'll be finished by tomorrow. Then you can return the one thing you did manage to find and get the hell out!"

Peter smiled back with the same shark like look. "Mister Jameson, you don't hire or fire the FBI like a maid or a gardener. We'll be around." Peter shouldered past Jameson without opposition.

Neal, unable to resist, lingered. He smiled brightly and said, "We'll see you tomorrow, bright and early."

As the young man left, Jameson scowled. "Damn idiots."

WC WC WC

Neal didn't have to be a trained FBI agent to see his partner was hurting. During the long, twisting road driving back, Peter kept wincing every time he had to turn the wheel. The way he held his head told Neal his neck was killing him. Finally, Neal asked, "Do you want me to drive?"

"Yes," Peter said simply.

The younger man resisted the urge to make the customary comments as Peter pulled off to the side and they changed places during yet another downpour. When Neal took over, he quietly asked, "What do you think is going on out there?"

Peter shifted, vainly trying to find a comfortable position. His arm, shoulders and neck were locking into unforgiving stiffness and they hurt like hell. "I'm not sure. They're obviously hiding something and sheltering whoever this is that lurks in the shadows."

Neal nodded approvingly. "Very poetic. Use that in the report."

Peter started to give Neal a glare but gave it up as too much effort. "I've got Diana doing some digging. Maybe she'll find something.

"Who do you suspect?" Neal persisted.

Peter smirked. "No speculation without data, Watson."

Scowling, Neal turned back to the stormy road. "Ha, ha." He paused and then added, "I suspect everybody."

Peter slouched back wearily in the seat. "You could be right."

When they reached the hotel, Neal went inside with the agent and generally made a nuisance of himself until Peter went to take a hot shower, which Neal had strongly suggested in the first place, just to get away.

Once the water started, Neal wrote a quick note and took off in the Taurus in the dark evening during a steady rain. His first stop was the Italian café they'd eaten at earlier during their stay. Neal spun out a moderately embellished tale of the brave FBI agent and his even braver consultant fighting evil. (He figured he could not be held responsible if the owners weren't really sure what a consultant was and assumed it was a different kind of agent.) Papa and Mama Tagliano were properly horrified, appalled, and thrilled and Neal could not have asked for a better audience. More importantly they promised to have two dinners of today's special ready to go by the time he returned.

Next, Neal went to the drugstore and replenished their dwindling medical supplies, adding a heating pad for Peter to the list. Neal's own ankle was reminding him he'd done a lot this day as well so he got the big bottle of ibuprofen.

Then he went to the local liquor store and haggled with the owner for a six pack of a better beer than they prominently displayed. Neal would have loved a decent bottle of wine but a quick perusal of the shelves indicated this was a waste of time. How do some people exist? He thought mournfully.

After a stop to fill the car with gas, Neal returned to the Taglianos to find they had everything ready. Papa had even thrown in a bottle of wine (not Neal's usual standard but drinkable) and Mama added dessert. Neal was genuinely touched; some days it surprised him that people did nice things because they wanted to, not because there was an advantage to be gained. It was still a novel concept to him.

When he arrived back at the hotel, Neal found Peter, who made sure to glare at him although it lacked his usual fire, lying on top of his bed, pillows propped up behind him. Wearing a shirt and sweats, hair still damp from the shower, Peter was on the phone. Judging by the lack of 'hons' and 'sirs', Neal decided he must be talking to Diana. Instantly grouchy, he hoped this wouldn't take forever; the delicious smell of the food was making him so hungry. Or he would just start on his own. Neal shed his jacket and shook off the water and hung it up with care. The storm was picking up outside and it was a great night to be in.

"Okay. So I'll see you maybe tomorrow night then? What, you get to fly to New London? Er, no, that's great. Very happy for you and Jones. No, nope, really, I don't care. Loved the drive." Neal raised his eyebrows; Peter ignored him. Softening his tone, he added, "I just want to get through this and get home before Elizabeth throws me out. So, see you tomorrow, if all goes well with Radusky? All right. Oh, don't forget to double check with NYPD on that bond dealer. The detective on that case is touchy." Neal rolled his eyes and determinedly set the aluminum containers out. "Oh, he's all right. Moderately behaving himself," Peter added with a chuckle. "Just be careful with Radusky though, okay? I don't want to come back to any problems. Yeah, I will too. Goodnight, Di."

Peter hung up the phone and watched as Neal limped around with food containers and wine and a plastic sack from Steele's Drug where he located the item he was looking for. "Um, what'cha doin?" He asked.

Now on the floor, Neal fought his way through the tangle of electrical cords, disconnected one and plugged in the heating pad. Laboriously heaving himself back up, he placed it on Peter's shoulder. "There. This will help, until you can get some stuff on it."

His partner shifted, in a casual manner. "It's not that bad." Moving again, this time back to the headboard, he grimaced. Catching Neal's look, Peter added irritably, "Okay, it's sore. But what is that? It smells great."

"Mama Tagliano's homemade lasagna," Neal handed Peter a container with a plastic fork. "We're eating in tonight."

As Peter began to take a real interest in his food, Neal held up the beer and the wine. "The Taglianos donated the wine; I bought the beer. Your choice."

Peter looked a bit uncomfortable. "Uh, Neal, you know we're not supposed to accept gifts-"

"You didn't; I did. Come on, Peter. My food is getting cold," Neal complained.

Thinking, Peter said, "I'll join you with the wine tonight." Catching sight of the label on the beer, he added hurriedly, "But put the beer in the tiny thing we call a refrigerator."

Neal smirked and proceeded to do just that.

They enjoyed a delicious meal, talked and listened to the wind and rain howl outside. Peter cleared away after noticing Neal was limping badly again. Then Elizabeth called and Neal doled out ibuprofen for both of them. After Peter talked to his wife, he tested Neal's patience channel flipping between basketball and a top marksmen contest. But between the food, wine, painkillers and warm heat on his neck and shoulders, Peter finally fell asleep. Neal sighed in relief, carefully slipped the remote from his partner's hand and turned it off, having pretuned the radio to an easy listening station. He turned it on softly, for nothing woke Peter up faster than silence. Neal then settled in himself, perusing a book he'd brought along; stories of insider trading and corruption on Wall Street. One never knew when that might come in handy.

WC WC WC

The following morning Peter said he was okay but Neal noticed his partner didn't use his right arm for anything he didn't have to. Neal helped him put on the shoulder holster.

They were getting ready to leave when Peter's cell rang.

"Burke. Hey, Diana. No, I'm fine. Well, settle for all right then. Neal, of course, is fine." Neal gave him a wary look, uncertain if he was being teased. Peter listened for a bit, and then whistled. "Are you sure? This has been verified by our people? Wow. No, we'll still go today but tonight when you and Jones are here we'll do an all-out search. The locals here are a bit intimidated by the Jameson name, the older ones at any rate. And if they had any other incriminating evidence, they would have already moved it. Yeah. Good work on this. See you tonight." Peter clicked off the phone and said nothing, looking thoughtful.

Neal fidgeted. "This is no time to go mysterious on me, Peter. What's up?"

The agent turned with a serious expression. "It seems there's a good chance that Daniel Wilde was murdered by a dead man. DNA evidence indicates JJJ model V may have killed Wilde."

Neal blinked. "Is that possible? How is that possible?" Then he thought of Moz and his many IDs. And his own. Finding Peter looking at him strangely, he added hurriedly, "I mean somebody high profile has a lot more difficulty in disappearing successfully. Hearing about him, I can't see that guy knowing how to go off the grid."

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Peter inquired innocently.

"Hey, I never 'killed' myself. Just made up some different names along the way." Thinking, Neal added, "It must have taken some significant money along the way to shut a lot of people's mouths. Wonder why?"

"I've got Diana digging into it." Peter tried to put on his jacket but a pained expression crossed his face before he could complete the task. Neal stepped forward and helped.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" The younger man asked cautiously.

His partner gave him a flinty look. "How's your ankle?"

Neal smiled. "Let's go."

WC WC WC

"Tell me about your son, Mr. Jameson," Peter asked firmly, standing in the front parlor of the crumbling mansion. Neal stood next to him, hands in pocket, radiating nonchalance.

Jameson gave them a startled look over his steaming china cup. "What are you talking about? My son is dead."

Bettina sat nearby, with her own china cup. Still in an ornate robe (hair and makeup perfect however) she looked up and Neal saw an unguarded look of concern on her face.

Peter sighed. "You have accused me of wasting your time on numerous occasions, Jameson. Now I find you wasting mine – again."

Jameson stiffened. "When you come in here with these painful lies and outlandish theories, you are wasting my time, Agent Burke!"

"I'll have the paper trail here by tonight. You can tell me now or you can waste my time. Then we can have a little chat about lying to a federal agent and the penalties that entail."

"You won't enjoy prison," Neal advised.

Jameson threw Bettina an inscrutable glance and suddenly sat down, looking weary. "Look, there's no criminal intent here. My son is as good as dead. The car wreck has left him mentally incapacitated; he has the mind of a child. I wanted to spare him being a target for the paparazzi and the cruel. There's very little left of the bright boy I watched grow up. I didn't want him singled out for mockery and cruelty by an ignorant bunch of dirty people who love to feed on scandals and tragedies of the wealthy. Johnny Jr. will never be a productive adult. It's kinder to leave him where he is; presumed dead and left in peace."

"Just for the record, where is your son?" Peter asked quietly.

"Living quietly at a home near New Haven. I visit every week. He doesn't live here."

Turning to the woman, Peter asked Bettina, "Did you know about this?"

Startled, Bettina looked a bit like a deer in the headlights but, with an effort, recovered. "Yes, I did. I go see him fairly often. He was a delightful boy; it's such a sad experience visiting him now."

"You do realize that fraudulently reporting a death is illegal, don't you?"

Jameson shrugged. "So I'll pay a fine. Big deal."

Peter looked steely eyed. "It could be more than that."

Jameson stood up. "I'll do what I must to protect my son."

"Well, this wasn't my idea," Bettina said abruptly, standing as well.

"All the same, you did participate in the deception," Peter insisted.

Bettina paled, just a bit. "I'm getting dressed. Conversation is rather boring here today."

"Just don't leave the country," Peter advised. Turning to Jameson, he said, "Oh, almost forgot. You have any recent pictures of little John?"

Jameson stared at him, with a well, duh expression on his face. "No, Agent Burke. I do not. John is a hideous looking mess. Traumatic head injuries are gruesome. I don't need pictures of that"

Peter and Neal exchanged glances; JJJ went outside. "Don't plan any extended vacations, Jameson," the agent called after him. The tall man gave him an icy look, and moved on.

"You enjoyed that," Neal said with a smile.

Peter grinned. "I did." He pulled out his phone and headed outside. "Now I'll just make a quick call to confirm John model V is indeed home.

WC WC WC

The call to the New Haven care home finally did confirm that John Jameson V had been present under an assumed name for some time but now had left the facility, after some equivocating from the administrator and some tough FBI talk from Peter. Neal could tell that his partner was dissatisfied with the answers he received, as he called Diana right away. She promised to get back to them as soon as possible. Back in the house, both Jameson and Bettina seemed to have disappeared although a quick check revealed both expensive sports cars in the garage.

The customary late afternoon/early evening storm was rolling in as Peter and Neal returned to JJJ III's room. They had searched here twice before of course, but Peter decided to take one more look. They'd now been through the entire house and still no diamond. This will look great on the record, Peter privately groused. With a house this size and two people to search plus two very un-cooperative residents, a murder and a small object like a diamond hidden, it was little wonder they had failed.

But the very word – failed – did not sit well.

Neal was hobbling badly again but would not give up so Peter made him go downstairs and check the whereabouts of Jameson and Bettina. The young man was also going to phone Diana and get an estimated arrival time. It was more walking than Neal should be doing but Peter had planned on meeting him downstairs before he could return, despite whatever protests might be made. If left to his own devices, Neal would be up here all night. Peter decided to head off that kind of dedication, (he really didn't want to analyze any motive behind it too deeply) before Neal could no longer walk at all. Standing in the doorway, Peter chose to go one more time through this room and then back to the hotel to regroup and await reinforcements.

Peter rechecked some areas that Neal had searched, not because of his customary distrust of Neal and precious objects but this time, out of sheer frustration. His gut told him they had missed something and this room seemed the logical place to try again. He went through the chest of drawers, the closet and the nightstand; still nothing. The agent moved on, giving the nightstand drawer a gentle shove to close it. A picture with a silver frame lay on its side; a gray haired man with the Jameson features stood beside a gray haired lady, both dressed formally. JJJ III and his wife, no doubt. The glass was cracked in the frame; somebody had thrown it down or slammed it. Peter shook his head and moved on. Family love ran pretty shallow here.

Pausing at the ornate chest of drawers, massive and heavy, Peter grimaced when he saw the fresh scratches and gouges in the beautiful mahogany wood. Some people were too stupid to appreciate craftsmanship, he seethed. He and Neal were not responsible for this and he had to protect them from any sort of accusation that Jameson might come up with later. Running his hand over the wood and the little Ionic columns carved on each drawer and down the sides, Peter could not help but admire the ornate scrollwork at the base. A second glance revealed a join line in the wood where none was really needed. Frowning, Peter decided to take a closer look.

Getting gingerly down on his knees as his neck, shoulder and arm were really sore this morning, he ran his hands underneath and toward the back. Then, his fingertips felt a slight bump behind the rounded scrollwork on the foot of the side closest to the wall. Peter grinned. Probably a waste of time but a hell of a lot more entertaining than anything else had been lately. He had to work at it for nearly two minutes until a small chunk of wood popped off, already precut, in his hand. A paper fluttered to the dusty floor.

Paper. Naturally, no damn diamond.

The paper had been there for a while but there was no discernible yellowing. Plus, it was good, stiff, heavy paper; no cheap stuff. Unfolding it, Peter read.

You will never find the diamond. You ruined this family; now I ruin you.

Squatting on his heels, Peter whistled softly. Somehow he could understand the writer's feelings; especially if this was JJJ model IV he was referring to.

As he carefully refolded the note and slipped it into his pocket, it suddenly struck him Neal should have been back by now, despite Peter's good intentions of meeting him downstairs.