Chapter 10: Your Move
"I'm sorry, Mozzie, but I can't stay here right now. I couldn't tell you before because I didn't want you to have to lie to Elizabeth and Peter. They're good friends to have, even for people like us. But I do need one last favor."
"What is that exactly?"
"Peter's going to look for me and I think you're the only person who might be able to find me."
"You don't think he'll be able to find you?"
"It depends on how long this lasts. If I'm gone for more than a few days, he won't. I'll have gone too far, mentally and physically. It'll have to be you; you have to come after me."
"Neal…you're scaring me. The way you acted in the hospital, and now…you're jumpy. You've checked your watch nine times."
"I'm…scared, Moz." Neal laughed weakly and shook his head. "No, I'm terrified. This guy I'm going to try and draw out…what he'll do to me if he catches me…and the guy who's got my back in this…I don't trust him."
"Then bow out. There's no shame in saving your own life."
Neal shook his head. "Catching this guy…if he can be caught…that's enough of a reason for me to risk it."
Mozzie sighed. "What do you need me to do?"
"Something's going to happen after I leave. You'll know it when you see it. And then, and only then, you'll have to get into contact with me and get me to come back."
"If you know you have to come back, it should be easy for me to convince you."
"It depends…"
"…on how long you've been gone."
Neal nodded then down at the board. "One last game?"
Mozzie had been sitting on a bench in Central Park after his and Neal's conversation, going over and over it in his head. He was sure that Neal was on his way out of the country by this point and he found himself wondering what it was that he should be looking for.
Four hours in and they didn't have much to show for the effort.
"Come on, Jones, where are we?"
"Caffrey was really good at covering his tracks, boss. There are no official records that George Richards even existed in Lakeshire, Missouri."
Peter sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Diana?"
"I've got a few yearbook photos and a newspaper article, that's it. Apparently, Neal was good at well, everything; enough for them to write an article about it."
"Nothing to link Neal to George?"
"Nothing."
Peter frowned, looking at the meager amount of material that he himself had dug up and it was little more than hearsay about George's disappearance.
"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way." He murmured. "Jones, start looking through the old records. Hard copies, documents…call the local library. Diana, check our records. Something like this is bound to have wound up in the FBI case files."
"I'm on it, boss,"
He picked up the printout of the newspaper article Diana had found, reading the first line that sprung to his attention. 'To top it off, George came in first during this past weekend's swim meet..." Peter found himself drawn to the photo of a 15-year old Neal with his arm around Matt's shoulders, holding a blue ribbon up between them. Both sported matching broad grins.
"What happened to you, Neal?" Peter whispered.
The light reflected off the gun barrel and he took it with shaking hands. He could see his own blood, caked in between his fingers. It made his fingertip slide against the trigger and he had to hold the gun with both hands to keep it steady.
"There you go, Georgie-boy. It's not that hard, see? Just squeeze the trigger and all the pain goes away."
He adjusted his grip, trying to see where he was aiming. He swallowed, his mouth was dry and tasted foul.
"Go ahead then, Georgie,"
"Mr. Crowley?"
Neal jerked, sitting up and looking up at the stewardess. She smiled apologetically.
"Sorry to wake you but you appeared to be having a bad dream. Is everything okay?"
Neal looked around then nodded. "Yes, thank you, I'm fine."
"Would you like some water?"
"That'd be great, thank you,"
As she disappeared down the aisle, he took out a small silver vial and tipped a single white pill into his palm. The vial was gone by the time she returned and he waited until she had left once again before swallowing it, chasing it with the water. It had been a long time since he had to rely on anti-anxiety pills just to function. The stress of the plan was starting to get to him.
"Oh, Peter," he whispered. "I miss you so much right now."
Peter had always made him feel safe. Sitting in the Bureau, so many friendly faces around him, he was safe. Every time he'd been in trouble, whether it was a case or his own foolishness, they had come for him. They had always come for him.
Neal blinked back the tears and looked out the window at the clouds. He was doing this for them, after all. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the missed calls of which at least eight of were Peter. He lingered over Peter's number, his thumb resting on the 'send' button. He hesitated and his hands started to shake. After a moment, he pulled the phone to him and scrolled through the menu to 'Send Text Message.'
Their leads on George Richards had run dry and they were no closer to finding Neal with three hours to go until the plane touched down in Cairo. Peter packed up what little they'd found and picked up Regina's leash. After all, Neal had already gotten her a tag so he might as well adopt her. He was sure Satchmo would enjoy having a new friend.
Driving home, he rolled down the window and Regina eagerly stuck her head out, wagging her tail furiously. Peter couldn't help but smile as Regina left the window to flop down in the seat, nudging her head under his hand. He rubbed her ears automatically and her tail thumbed against the door.
"You're a good girl, aren't you? You need a bath, though."
He pulled into the driveway and wondered just how he was going to explain this to Elizabeth. She didn't even know that Neal was gone yet.
"Hey honey!" Elizabeth greeted him happily when he came in, pecking his lips. "Aw, I thought I said bring Neal home for dinner. Unless Neal grew a lot of fur in the past few hours…"
Still she knelt, welcoming the newcomer. Satchmo trotted towards them then stopped at the sight of the new dog in his domain. His ears perked curiously, his tail standing straight up. Elizabeth bit her lip as Regina wagged her tail, the two touching noses and Satchmo twitched his tail a couple times. Satchmo took a quick step forward, as if playing, and Regina rolled onto her back, exposing her belly, her tail wagging slightly. Satchmo gave a breathy 'woof' then went to lie down in the kitchen once more.
"I think he's telling me to finish cooking. Why don't you call Neal and find out what's keeping him then give Miss…Regina a bath?" El offered as she headed back to the kitchen.
Peter sighed. "Neal's not coming, El,"
"Oh? Did he have plans?"
"Sort of."
El stopped and stepped back out, her eyes wide and fearful. "What's wrong, Peter?"
"He ran, El. He's on a plane to Cairo as we speak. I've been trying to track him all day…Oh, El…"
He half-ran to her side as she was suddenly blinking back tears and he held her tightly against his chest as she cried. Satchmo was instantly at their feet, whining. Regina sat quietly in the foyer.
"Why, Peter? Why would he run? He had us, he only had five months before he got off his anklet…why?"
Peter shook his head, rocking her gently. "I don't know, El. I've been trying to figure that out all day."
His phone ran loudly from his pocket and El sighed, stepping back as he apologized. "It's fine. Maybe it's Diana with something about Neal."
She turned the stove down before walking around him to Regina. "Come on, girl, let's get you cleaned up."
As Elizabeth took Regina upstairs, Satchmo was on his feet and bounded after them, no doubt to keep an eye on the new dog.
Peter sighed then answered his phone. "Burke."
"Peter, there's been a break-in…" Diana answered.
"That's NYPD, why did they call us?"
"They didn't. It was at June's house."
"I'll be right there."
Peter ran upstairs to the bathroom where Elizabeth had just gotten Regina into the bathtub. Satchmo sat next to Elle and wagged his tail when Peter came in.
"El, there's been a break-in over at June's house. I'm going over to make sure she's okay."
"Yeah," El nodded, running her hands over her face. "You go ahead, I've got this."
Peter sighed before kissing her cheek, heading back downstairs. Elizabeth heard the door shut and lock and then the car start. It was only then that she sat back on the bathroom floor with both dogs next to her and pulled out her phone, dialing a number she knew by heart.
"Neal?" She whispered softly.
"Hello, Elizabeth,"
"Why, Neal?" Her voice wavered as she fought back tears. He hesitated to answer on the other side of the line.
"If I tell you something, can you promise not to tell anyone else? Not even Peter?"
Elizabeth bit her lip, looking from one dog to the next. "I promise."
Peter had to park a block away from June's house and flashed his badge to the police manning the perimeter. Diana was waiting for him at the door.
"This is a lot for a break in."
"Update that to murder."
"Murder!"
"It's…horrible, boss. Detective Manning of the NYPD is upstairs in Neal's room. It's a bloodbath."
"…Neal?" Peter choked out and Diana's eyes widened and she shook her head quickly.
"It was June's maid; she was the only one home when the man came in."
"Do they have anything?"
"Not much. The driver says he saw a blond-haired man watching the house before June and her granddaughter left for the day but June didn't have security cameras and no one saw anyone leaving."
A man stepped out of the house, dipping under the crime scene tape across the door.
"Agent Barrigan, you expressed interest in my findings?"
Diana nodded. "Detective Manning, this is my boss, Agent Peter Burke. Peter, this is Detecting Mitchell Manning,"
The man offered Peter his hand. "A pleasure, Agent Burke, though I wish we'd met under better circumstances."
"Likewise. Can you tell what happened?"
"So far as we can tell, a man, approximately six feet tall according to the angle of the blood splatter, entered through the front where he stabbed Ms. Barlow in the front foyer then dragged her upstairs. I believe a consultant for your division was staying here?"
"Yes, Neal Caffrey,"
"And he stayed in the upstairs loft?"
"Yes."
"Then I believe the message is meant for him, Agent Burke."
"What message?"
"Come see for yourself. "
Detective Manning led the way through the front room and up the stairs carefully weaving among crime scene investigators as they photographed blood droplets on the staircase carpet. As they reached the top landing, a CSI shoved his way past them, pale as a ghost and covering his mouth as if he might vomit at any moment.
Diana gasped when they entered Neal's room and turned away for a moment. Peter had to swallow hard. He hardly recognized the room. The table was smashed and the floor was blood-soaked; new red splatters decorated the wall. He watched as two men zipped up a black bodybag and looked around at the yellow markers next to what appeared to be chunks of flesh.
"Is that…"
"Ms. Barlow." Manning said softly. Peter tried to decide whether he wanted to breathe through his nose or his mouth. "Whoever this man was, he was calm and fearless. He took his time and he was brutal."
He stopped, pointing up to the wall where June had hung her favorite painting of Neal's, an old broken-down bridge. Words were drawn across the wall and painting alike, written in blood.
COME OUT COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE
Peter felt empty and cold. This is why Neal was running. This is why.
"Could you…could you get fingerprints?" Peter asked softly and the detective shook his head.
"Every print we found was either the victim, Ms. Ellington, or your consultant. He even made the victim write that message before he killed her."
Peter sighed, looking around. Last night, he and Neal had been in this exact room. He thought of all the memories they'd shared here. The night Neal helped him sketch the black widow killer, the night Neal told him about Adler, and, of course, the more recent memories…he'd never be able to look at it the same way again.
"Agent Burke,"
Peter turned back to the detective.
"Do you know where your consultant is? Because he may be in extreme danger."
Peter was heading downstairs when he heard his name called. June was in the living room and looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He was at her side in an instant, wrapping his arms around her.
"Oh, Peter, tell me Neal's okay." She gripped him tightly. "Tell me he's okay."
"Neal's on a plane halfway to Cairo. He's fine."
June nodded. "Something bad was coming, he said. Someone was coming for him. But I never imagined anything like this. Amelia was…she was family, Peter. She'd never harmed anyone in her life."
"We're going to catch this bastard, June. I promise you that."
In the darkened FBI Bureau, a single man carried a file upstairs. He had no need to turn on the lights; he'd walked these halls far too many times to need assistance. He entered the White Collar Crime Unit silently and slid over to the cart of requested files from the day before. He slid the file he carried into the stack and looked around, thinking of the crew working this case.
"If anyone can catch you, Marcus, we will."
A.N.
NEXT UPDATE: TUESDAY, MAY 1, 2012