"Great, great. Overnight it," Peter told them over the phone and hung up. He swung down in his chair and saw Neal had come back. "I found the painting." He grinned, pleased to found it before the kid for once.

"How did you find it?" Neal seemed baffled. "I found it."

"Where?"

"It was fenced to a textile magnate in Dubai."

"A hotel heiress in Budapest just turned hers in," Peter said.

Two paintings?

"Good news," Jones said as he and Diana came in.

"You found the painting overseas," his pet convict said so sure of himself that Peter knew that he was involved. And that Neal knew that too.

"Scotland yard has it," Diana confirmed, confused by the comment.

"It's also in Dubai and Budapest," Peter said.

"What?" Jones frowned.

"They're forgeries," Neal told them.

"All of them? How do you know?" Diana wanted to know.

"Because customs clamps down when a theft occurs," Peter explained. "The risks of getting the original out are too high."

"But if you make forgeries ahead of time and take them out of the country before the heist, you're in the clear," Neal continued. "Steal the Thayer, leak the theft to the press, then sell the forgeries."

"And the original never leaves the country."

"You've seen this scam before," Diana concluded, sharp as always.

Peter nodded.

"I know someone who—"

"Allegedly," the kid reminded him, and both Jones and Diana smiled.

"—Allegedly pulled it off before. We have a copycat on our hands."

"Who are they copycatting?" Diana asked with a sweet innocent smile.

His pet convict looked like he was about to burst with pride.

"Me."

Peter sighed. The vain Neal was unbearable. Why they had never been able to pin Neal to that scam he had never understood, but it would not work twice.

A few days later all the three paintings were placed on a row in their conference room. Peter had called the curator of the Lamson Gallery over. She gasped when she saw three of the same painting and Peter asked her to deny or confirm for each of them if it was the original or not.

Neal was certain they were all fake. The scam was a perfect copy of one he pulled off himself and when Peter put all the pieces together the traces to him had gone stone cold. He studied the canvases beside miss Jeffries, each for their own point and purpose. Neal had painted his forgeries himself and it was a good chance that the one painting these had arranged for the rest as well.

He held a large photo of the original. Forgeries could never be exact copies. There were always little details that could tell.

"So you've confirmed these are all forgeries?" Peter asked her.

"Yes," she sighed. "All of them."

Neal leaned closer. The color did not match. But why. Someone had done an impressive work making three copies and not making the shades right? Up close the image was a matrix of colored dots that on a distance made an even surface, like an old television.

He flipped the curtains closed.

"Neal?"

Neal took a look at the painting again in the new light.

"Neal?"

"I don't think our forger went off a photograph. I think they stood in front of the original when they painted these."

"How do you know that?"

"Thayer used the 'Ben-Day dots' method to show shading. He spread paint across a paper stencil and pushed it against the canvas with a brush. The shadowing in these paintings is more deliberate." Neal took a closer look at the bottom left corner. "It's minute, but these dots grow starker at the bottom. The forger probably started these in afternoon light," he told the curator, "when the color was slightly more red. They also didn't realize they caught the painting when the light was pouring directly down on it, causing a deeper contrast at the bottom."

"There's no lighting overhead," Peter noted on the photo from the gallery. "Was this painting ever hanging below that skylight?" he pointed and showed Jeffries.

"Yes. In late April. We had a pop-art show. We wanted to display the Thayer prominently."

"Then we should check the registration log for April." Peter grabbed the gallery's thick logbook.

"Probably looking for a student," Neal said. "Talented but still experimenting with technique."

"Someone like Justin Magary from East Side University?" Peter pointed at the entry in the log. "He stopped by on the 21st of April at one-forty-five."

"That would be afternoon light."

They walked into the East Side University campus. Peter smiled. He had some fantastic memories from his own time in college. A world of studies and few other worries than occasional exams. Sometimes he wished he had stayed there forever.

Then he happened to see Neal.

"What's that on your face?" he asked, "I haven't seen you this happy in a while." How long was it since Kate died now? Six months Peter calculated quickly.

"You know, it's a beautiful day."

"You're excited someone's copycatting you."

"Imitation, flattery..." the kid smiled, "you know what they say."

Peter noted that Neal had not even tried to deny that he was right.

"You ever been on a campus?" he asked the brightest conman he had ever met.

"Not as a student."

"And yet you have three MBAs and two doctorates," Peter pointed out.

"Clearly something wrong with the system."

"Too bad you faked it," Peter said. "They could have made copies of you and filled up a frat house." With such talent, why, oh why, had he ended up a criminal or all things.

"Oh, are we bitter we weren't invited to the party?"

"Oh, it's just with my father's construction salary, I had to stick to the grindstone. Four years of advanced math on scholarship, then two years of accounting." His only real talent had been the physics, like baseball. Never something he had had a chance to utilize to something notable. There had not been margins enough to try anything but the safe bets.

"I still can't imagine you hunched over a desk with a little visor, doing my taxes," the kid said. "You're lucky the FBI hires mathletes."

"I was not a mathlete. I was an athlete who was good at math."

"Yeah... We fraternity guys call you 'nerds.'"

Neal told him he had never finished high-school or been to college. That meant that he could have left the school system in his early teens. Maybe even younger. The Bureau had done thorough research on Neal Caffrey once they knew his name, but there was nothing to be found before he was eighteen. Even though they had the authority to open sealed files.

"So, why'd you forgo school and go to New York?" Peter asked and he could hear his own curiosity shine through as bright as daylight.

"Sorry, but we're here to interrogate someone else."

Did the kid say that to tease him? Or did he really not want to tell? Had curiosity ever killed a cat?

Peter returned from the office with the location of Justin Magary. Or at least which art class he was supposed to be at. They found their way through the building and Peter opened a door, just a freeze momentarily. When Neal got a chance to get inside as well he saw why his handler was so uncomfortable.

The class was using a live model. Female. Nude. Neal had done some croquis years ago. Nude bodies were supposed to be art and not sexy.

He got eye contact with the model. Both smiled when Peter stood with his back turned.

"See what you missed out on?" his handler mumbled.

"I'm reconsidering my position on college."

"Focus."

He shared a smile with the model again and then he took a look at the works of the young artists. One had drawn circles with charcoal, roughly assembling to the shape of the woman in front of him. Another one had done about the same but with straight lines.

Then he saw what he was looking for and he slid over. Precise drawing. Like Rubens.

"Peter..." He waved him over.

"Justin Magary?" Peter asked the blond young man.

"Yes?"

"We need to talk to you." Peter made a minimal gesture for them to move further away from the others.

"Why?"

Peter held up his id as answer and Justin gave in and moved with them to an empty part of the room.

"What do you know about Lewis Thayer's 'untitled #2'?" Peter asked.

"Uh...Nothing. I-I mean, I know it, of course."

So nervous, Neal noted, not trying to say something incriminating and still sound innocent, failing badly.

"You ever painted one?" he asked, going straight to the point.

"It's a good question," Peter said.

"I probably shouldn't say anything."

"We've got you on a camera sketching it at the Lamson gallery in April," Peter informed him.

"That's legal, right?"

"Not when three of your copies are fenced as the real thing. That turns them into forgeries... Which is illegal."

"I can vouch for that," Neal said in a way to telling the kid that they were not the enemies, but that what he had done had caught the attention of the FBI which was serious.

"It's looking pretty bad for you, kid," Peter continued. "If you talk to me, I can help you."

The kid's eyes darted to the door.

"So, you'll arrest me?"

"I will. If you don't cause a scene, neither will we."

The kid chewed on his lip. Neal watched him with sympathy. Running seemed so easy, but it was not.

"Come, Justin," he said. "Let's get your things."

Once again the young man gave in and followed Neal's advice. He put the drawing he was working on in his portfolio and followed Peter out from the classroom with Neal close behind. He walked without a word between them through the campus, head hanging.

When they got to the car they were out of sight from any fellow students. Peter showed the kid the cuffs he just brought out.

"Leave your portfolio to Neal, Justin. He'll take good care of it." Neal got it put the huge file in the back of the trunk while Peter restrained the kid. While Peter read him his rights Neal made sure the file was secure. He had no wish to take part in what happened beside the car.

He shut the trunk when he heard he passenger door close. Justin was in the backseat. Peter joined him behind the car.

"Remember when you were arrested for the first time," Peter asked. Neal frowned. Hard to forget, but why ask now? Peter nodded towards Justin.

"You want me to do a Peter Burke?"

"Or a Neal Caffrey."

Neal was not keen on the task but he remembered when he was arrested alright and the difference Peter had made. And this guy was probably not even prepared to get arrested as he had been. He nodded and took the seat beside Justin. Peter had cuffed the kid front. It was a nice touch. Even though Justin probably did not know that.

As the car closed in on the FBI headquarters Justin's hands fidgeted.

"In what way can you help me?" he asked.

"You're aware of your rights?" Peter asked from the front seat.

"How do I know you don't trick me? Maybe I should ask for my lawyer."

"You're entitled to," Peter answered.

"Get one if it makes you more comfortable," Neal said. "What matters to us is if you talk to us or not. Right now it looks pretty bad, right?" Justin nodded to this. "If it's not as bad as it looks, and you help us, Peter can make a deal with the prosecutor. And trust me when I say he is the best there is."

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