At least there were two people buried in the largest mausoleum in North America. While Washington D.C. had many memorials of the presidents of his country, few were actual graves. General Grant National Memorial was. Neal waited for Moz in the shadow on the top of the stairs. He must have been lost in thought because he realized that his friend was waiting for him. He walked down to him
"How goes the construction of our treasure map?"
"Oh. The antenna?" Mozzie asked and handed him a file and started walking, never interested in lingering in one place long. "Slow and steady. I'm trying to build everything as close to the original 1940s designs as possible. Do you know how hard it is to find vacuum tubes these days?"
"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Neal mumbled as he checked the photos of the parts. It was impressive. "Good work, Moz."
His friend's nose crumbled as if he has smelled something bad.
"I don't like that expression."
"'Good work'?"
"Well, 'work' implies I have a job."
"Apologies." Neal closed the file. Had he changed, or had Mozzie just become more sensitive?
"A careless word may kindle strife."
Neal handed the file back and grinned. He could not believe they would ever fight. Not due to a choice of words at least.
"See you later."
He walked back home.
When he opened the front door and walked inside he heard someone moving inside the living room.
"June?" he called, continuing inside. Sounds were not right. A man in June's dignified age sat at the table, spinning a coin.
He rose when he saw him.
"Oh, you must be Neal."
Neal frowned and walked closer. Anybody could know who he was, renting the apartment in the building. It was something overly charming about the man, like himself but much older. And he did not trust him.
"You know my name, but I don't know yours."
"Ah," he heard June's voice and she appeared, "I see that you have met Ford."
"Hi. It's a pleasure." The man stretched out his hand and Neal shook it.
"Ford is an old friend, and he's just moved back to Manhattan," June continued, smiling, happy. Neal watched her. She was not suspicious.
"I missed the old neighborhood, to say the least," Ford said.
"I think you'll find that you two have quite a bit in common."
"Is that so?" So his first hunch was right, Neal thought. "So you'll be around for a while?"
"June has been kind enough to make a few donations to my new apartment. We both know how generous she is."
"Thank you," June beamed.
"That looks like one of Byron's suits," Ford said unable to take his eyes from Neal's appearance.
"That reminds me..." June said, "I have some more jackets in the back room. Come."
He waved for Ford to come along.
"How'd you know June's husband?" Neal asked as the man passed him. Ford stopped and looked at him.
"Byron and I worked together."
"Mm. Partners in crime?"
"Something like that." Ford smiled and flipped him the coin he had been spinning. Neal caught it. He watched the man follow June. He held the coin along its edges and walked into the kitchen where he find a zip-bag to put it in.
An old friend of her husband appeared out of nowhere making June pay for an apartment. Or had it been money? The word he had used was 'donations'. Maybe it had been items. His landlady had a good heart. He liked to think of himself as a con-man with a heart, never wanting to hurt other people. Not all con-men were like that. If Ford was not, June could be standing without her home in no time.
And he must have been asking about Byron's suits. Had they looked at those he had up in his walk-in closet? He could not believe that. June respected his privacy and those suits he got were a gift.
It was something wrong with Ford's visit. And he needed Peter and the assets of the FBI to find out what.
The next morning he carried the coin with him to the office.
He saw Peter's room was empty. Too bad. He had a feeling that he needed answers fast.
"Hey. Is Peter around?" he asked Diana working at her desk.
"No."
"I need a favor."
"Neal, what did I say last time you asked me for a favor?" she asked in return without moving her eyes from her work.
"I should think long and hard before trying to pull anything over on you."
"And?"
"And that if I ever did try, you'd break one or both of my arms."
"You know I hate to repeat myself."
"I'm willing to risk it." That got her attention alright. He held out the bag with the coin and put it on her desk. "Can you run a print? It's not for me. It's for June."
"Your landlady needs a print analysis?"
"A friend of hers dropped by the house. I think he's up to something."
"You catch a name?"
"Ford. It's probably a nickname."
"What did this 'Ford' do?"
"He took some of June's things."
"Does she know?"
That was a problem and Neal observed himself making an awkward shrug.
"Actually, she gave them to him."
"Out of the kindness of her heart?"
"Yeah." Neal felt that he was losing it.
"But he may be a criminal. Sound like anyone we know?" Diana grinned all over her face.
"This is different," Neal insisted.
"Afraid you'll lose that nice roof of yours?" Why could not Diana of all people understand that he was genuinely concerned about June?
"There's something off about this guy. Will you run it for me?" Neal knew that if he pushed too far, even when honest, he would pass a point where she would only see pleading big puppy eyes and not go for it. "Please."
She looked at him and sighed.
"I will. But I'll tell Peter about it."
Neal relaxed and nodded.
"If he was here I would ask him myself. I don't have secrets towards Peter." Diana raised an eyebrow. "When it comes to the job and FBI resources," he added. "Where is he by the way?"
"Taking his dog to the vet."
El pushed the door to their home open and they walked inside with Satchmo.
"You know he doesn't like the vet," she said.
"I think he feels guilty," Peter said, looking at a pathetically whiny version of his dog. "Yeah. He wouldn't have been there if he didn't swallow one of my handcuff keys."
"Honey, he's a dog. Dogs like shiny things. You need to be more careful what you leave around!"
"Oh, so I should feel guilty?
"I think an apology is in order."
Peter chuckled. At first. Then he saw that El seemed deadly serious. His eyes went between his wife and Satchmo. The dog would not understand and it would make El happy. He sighed, and looked at the dog, waiting by her feet.
"I'm sorry."
Satchmo answered by lying down.
"Aw, good boy," El smiled at him.
"Thank you. All right. Come on. We have some time. You want to have lunch?"
"I'd...love to…
"But what?" Peter's cellphone rang. By El's face that was exactly what she was expecting. He looked at the display. It was Diana.
El rose and gave him a kiss.
"I'll take a rain check."
She left and Peter answered the call.
"This is Burke."
"Caffrey asked me to run a print," Diana said. He frowned.
"He knows better."
"Peter, you should see this."
"All right." He ended the call. Of course, it would be Neal. Always Neal.
He got down to the office and up to the 21st floor. He walked to Diana's desk and she handed him a file. He glanced at it and then at Neal's desk, which was empty.
"Where is Neal?"
"In the conference room. He had been edgy and unfocused since I started with the print."
"Does he know you called me?"
"I said I would."
"And?"
"He said he would have asked you to run the print if you had been here."
"Uh-uh." He looked at the file again. If that kid did not start anything, he sure was a trouble magnet. He walked into the conference room.
"Everything okay?" the kid asked.
"It was until you told Diana to red-flag a murder suspect."
"Murder suspect?"
"Jonas Ganz... Person of interest in the Sturdivant heist a few years back. Charged with armed robbery and homicide. The only thing the prosecution could stick was GTA for the getaway vehicle. June knows him?" It did not exactly sound like a friend of a low-profiled thief and con-man as her late husband.
"Yeah," the kid said, seemingly stunned by the news. "She said he was a friend."
"Yeah, well, this 'friend' has been in and out of correctional facilities for the last decade or so."
"He had a lifer quality about him," his pet convict said with a kind of distaste.
"His first stint was for burglary in Lompoc, back in 2000," Peter read from the file.
"Can I see that?" Neal asked.
"Yeah."
The kid took the file and opened it. He looked at the basics spread on the two sides.
"I think Diana pulled the wrong print."
"There was only one print on the coin, and she ran it. Why?"
"'Cause this isn't the guy I met."
Peter blinked trying to make sense of the puzzle.
"Are you sure?" he asked and felt stupid.
"The man I met was in his seventies and an older version of Lando Calrissian in Star Wars."
"Huh?"
"He was African American," Neal translated.
The photo of Ganz showed a man, young and white.
"What is this?" Peter asked baffled, staring at the photo of Ganz.
"I don't know."
"Diana," he called out to her. "Get the info on Ganz on the screen in here and start digging. I want to know everything about this guy. Call Jones.
"Sure thing, Boss."
The info appeared on the TV screen.
"That pulled seven points of reference from the print on that coin," Peter pointed. "It belongs to Ganz."
"This can't be identity theft."
"No, I don't think anybody would want to pass himself off as this guy."
He stared at the screen. A friend of June's late husband gave Neal a coin with the prints of a killer. How?
"Peter," Jones said, entering with a file in his hand. "I dug up the intel you requested on Ganz. I may have found our connection to the guy you met at June's."
Peter yanked the file from his hand and opened it.
"That's him," the kid beside him said at once, pointing at the mugshot of a grinning African American.
"Looks like Ganz has a former cellmate. Bradford Tullman, aka 'Ford.'" One of the prisons' biggest dilemmas: you had your convicts making friends with other convicts, instead of forming bonds with the law-abiding citizens the society considered role models.
"Locked up for real-estate fraud two years ago," Jones said. "Sold nonexistent land to a half a dozen major corporations."
"Another smooth talker," Peter sighed. Well, it could be worse. "If he shared a cell with Ganz, that could explain the print."
"Yeah, but not why Ford doesn't have one," Neal said. Peter glanced at him. "I saw him touch the coin."
"Superglue on the fingertips? Invisible tape?"
"No, I shook his hand. I would've noticed." And Neal would know to look for it just out of old habit, Peter guessed.
Nobody said anything, puzzling over the missing prints.
"Oh, look at this," Peter said, browsing the file. "Says here he's a known associate of June's late husband."
"They were booked 20 years ago," Jones smiled. "For running a rooftop casino."
Peter soon saw why he smiled. He pointed out the photo to Neal.
"Oh. Out of your place. Look at that." He even had an idea where in the house they had held it. Neal must have thought the same.
"Always did feel like home," he mumbled.
"All right, Jones, get ahold of Ganz's probation officer, find out where he's staying. Have Diana sit on him."
"On it." He left. Peter looked at his pet convict who somehow got this mess at their doorstep.
"If Ganz and Ford are working our backyard, I want to know about it."
