They stood in the museum's security office, watching the tape. On the screen, Stacy stood on the dock, glancing around, holding down the button that opened the bay door to the dock. Two vans rolled in, and Stacy hit the "close" button on the door and followed the van in.

"This is the only camera he hadn't disabled," Brilhart said quietly. "He took down every camera in the wing from this office, but forgot this tape because it is perimeter security." He glanced at Peter. "This is damning. There were six guys in those vans, and this was time-stamped seven fifteen this morning. It times out just right for when he would have left. That left him enough time, as security director, to cordon off the exhibit and steal it with that manpower."

"The vans are gone?" Peter said.

"Yes," Brilhart said. "You happy now?"

"I'd like to rewind a half an hour," Peter said. Brilhart looked at him, his forehead creased with doubt.

"Please," Peter said firmly, still watching the tape. Brilhart grudgingly rewound it.

Stacy stepped out at seven precisely. He shuffled his feet for a minute, then fished out a cigarette and lit up in a practiced motion.

"There," Peter said, feeling excitement awaken. "There, you see that?"

"Yes," Brilhart said. "Stacy smokes. Nothing new."

"But he smokes pipes," Peter said, glancing at the detective. "I've never seen him smoke a cigarette before." Especially not one that expensive, he thought to himself, but the tape offered insufficient detail to add that to the official evidence.

The captain in the tape saw the vans coming, and fumbled with a key ring. He tried one, two, three keys before he opened the security box over the bay door controls.

"Odd that he wouldn't know which of his keys opens the console," Peter mused.

"Maybe it's the pressure of the crime he's about to commit," Brilhart said.

"Maybe," Peter agreed. "Look, I need to take a look around the crime scene. Please? I've been helpful," he said.

"You have, huh," Brilhart said. "Aside from commenting on the Captain's smoking habits, you've brought me nothing."

"Give me a chance," Peter said. "I might surprise you." And his eyes grew very deep.

The detective looked away. "Percy," he yelled. A cop poked his head through the door. "This is Peter Parker, Parker, this is Officer Percy. Officer, please escort Mr. Parker as he tours the museum."

"Yes sir," said Officer Percy.

"Thanks," said Peter. And he headed out.

Brilhart rewound the tape and paused it as Stacy took a drag on the thin cigarette…

xXx

Peter started in the parking lot, where he let his senses unreel as he looked all around. He sniffed, got on his hands and knees and crawled around, got into the trash can. Then he opened the dock door and ran inside and listened. He walked down the back hall to the auction lot storage room, then he searched the room briefly, and went outside and down to the maintenance room, where he scowled to himself. From there he went to the back hall, and he knelt to inspect several doorknobs. Officer Percy kept pace, giving up on small talk; he suspected Mr. Parker couldn't even hear him.

"Take me back to Brilhart," Peter said absently.

Brilhart was filling out some paperwork in the security office. He looked up briefly as they walked in. "Solved the case yet, Parker?" he asked.

"Not yet," Peter said, "but if I give you a third of the missing collection will you promise me full cooperation?"

Officer Percy and Detective Brilhart stared at him in a moment of unabashed wonder. Brilhart barked a laugh.

"Sure, kid, on the condition you tell me how you found out, whether it incriminates Stacy or not."

"Trust me to be fair," Peter said with a curt nod. "I have your word? Full cooperation?"

"You have my word," the detective said.

"Follow me," Peter said.

"If you're wrong, you're outa here," Brilhart muttered darkly.

"That's fine," Peter said. "Call a janitor. I need through… this door," he said as they rounded a corner and stood in front of an unmarked, innocuous door. Brilhart nodded, and the officer got on the radio. In a matter of moments a janitor approached, a ring of keys jangling on his belt.

The door opened and Peter led them down the narrow steps to the storage cages down below. He glanced around, unnaturally alert, then he walked down an aisle, turned left, watching the floor, and walked to the end of the alley. "Here," he said. "Give me a hand with this." He touched a huge, heavy bureau that was backed up to one of the cages. The three men put their backs into it and shifted the heavy furniture.

"Woulda thought that'd be heavier," puffed the officer. "Looks like it's made of solid oak."

But Peter and Brilhart were looking behind the bureau, to where the storage cage was. Peter jerked the cage once, and it opened. He stepped inside, took hold of the tarp, and whipped it off the pile like a magician completing the trick.

There were stacked canvases.

"The Schwinters collection," breathed Brilhart. "I'll be damned." He rounded on Peter, his eyes flashing with what could be anger. "Okay, now talk."

"They shut off too many security cameras," Peter said. "They needed to kill three, including the one on the dock. They knocked out fifteen, not including the one on the dock. That gives me two clues. One," he said, holding up a finger, "they want you to see Stacy on the dock. Two," he said, "they plan to do something somewhere else in the building. I checked the second clue first. Storage, the loading dock, and the exhibit are all connected by back corridors likely to be abandoned on a Saturday morning. If you check the door upstairs, you'll find a sticky residue on it by the knob. They used packing tape to keep the door from latching. This would only be necessary if they had no lock picking skills or no time for that on their timetable and they only had one or no master keys."

"But you didn't even come down here," the officer said. "How did you know it would be in this particular storage cage?"

Peter looked at him. "Once I got down here, I just looked for the most inconvenient place in storage. In this case, behind this bureau. That's where they'd put the artwork, so a casual search wouldn't turn it up." He looked back at the detective. "If they hide the art down here, it would be simple enough to return to collect it and anything else later, when the heat dies down."

"You haven't helped Stacy any," Brilhart said.

"I'm not here to help Stacy," Peter said. "I'm here to get to the bottom of this."

"Why the interest?" Brilhart asked, his eyes narrow.

"Because this stupid theft soured my date," Peter said, "and I hate that."

xXx

"Yes, a complete inventory of the storage area," Brilhart said to the officer, who nodded and left to coordinate. He turned back to Peter, who was comfortably seated in a chair in the security office of the museum. "Okay, you got your cooperation. See what you can make of this. They found one of the vans about ten minutes ago, abandoned at a Quik Trip. It was empty, no traces of any art. I figure they switched vehicles. Clever bastards."

Peter said nothing, his eyes narrowed, his mind racing along different threads, looking for connections. He stood.

"Thanks for your time and cooperation. Please give me a call at this number, we have an answering machine, if anything else comes up. I have some more questions for the captain," he said.

"Keep me posted," Brilhart said. "You wanted cooperation, it comes at the price of cooperation."

"You got it, sir," Peter said as he headed out.

xXx

Gwen met him at the door. "Peter! How did it go?" she said.

"I found some more out," he said. "Getting from the museum to here by bus is murder, though."

"We're more interested in theft, I believe," the retired police captain said dryly from the hallway inside. Peter stepped in.

"I hate to be a pest, but do we have any food?" he said. "I haven't eaten today."

"Of course," John said as Gwen stepped into the kitchen. "How's the investigation going?"

"They've found a third of the artwork, it never left the building. Also, one of the two vans that was in the theft has turned up empty and abandoned. I have the feeling time is slipping away from us, but I think I know where another third of the collection is."

"What are you going to do?" Stacy asked.

Peter looked him in the eye. "Wait until nightfall."

Stacy slowly nodded. "I've done some checking of my own," he said. "As for the artists, there's nothing unusual in that background. I also looked into the poet. If they are any kind of mysterious figures, it's very well concealed indeed. Also, their works aren't worth that much in any market, much less one that would warrant their theft. I suspect it's the Xavier collection that the perps were after. Not a fortune involved, unless I miss my guess; more likely some kind of information. He was involved in a shady institute that did research into mental powers, psionics, weapons grade research if I read between the lines correctly. That being the case, perhaps they want his notes to duplicate some specific process."

"We can't allow that," Peter said. "And we've got to clear your name in all this." Of course, it would be a weapon the thief would be after. His eyes narrowed. "Captain, I need your help."

"Just ask."

"Do you know of a place that the feds would keep under constant surveillance, somewhere across town from the station?" he asked.

"I know of at least four places."

"Tell me," Peter said.

"Well, the most famous one is Gorozani's Eatery, it's a mob hangout."

"Perfect," Peter said to himself.

"Let's get you something to eat," John said, putting his arm around Peter's shoulders.

Peter desperately hoped he was right and Captain Stacy was blameless in all this.