Everything Old is new Again
By Ldynwaitin
Chapter Ten
Who's grasping at straws?
Sitting in the meeting room reading a file, Kramer heard someone stepping into the room. Looking up, he saw Peter standing in the doorway. He recognized the look on his face, he'd seen it many times before.
"What's up, Pete?" Kramer asked him. He knew it had to be something concerning Caffrey. He needed to show Peter how wrong he was, and to stop putting his career on the line for his CI. Capturing Caffrey would do that.
Closing the door to the meeting room, Peter said, "Phillip, we need to talk."
"Let me guess." He showed Peter the file that he was looking at, on it was a photo of Neal. "You want to talk about Caffrey."
Peter rushed to the table. He sat on a chair opposite of Kramer. "Phillip, I wanted to wait for more evidence to tell you this, but something happened that forced me to show my hand early. Please, just hear me out."
"Go ahead." He'd wait to hear what he had to say first and judge it from there.
"I had my suspicions yesterday when we found this outside of the tent." He gave Kramer Neal's hat.
Kramer frowned as he rolled the hat in his hands. "Must be an old hat." He pushed his finger through the hole and wiggled it. "It's got a big hole in it."
"It didn't yesterday morning. This is Neal's hat. It was found outside the tent. My Probie Agent Barrigan was looking at it when Sullivan arrived at the tent. That's when we saw that he had a bloody nose."
"Yes, he said he was trying to break up a domestic dispute."
"Agent Barrigan thought otherwise," Peter informed him. "When Sullivan left, she showed me the back of the hat. On it was something we're all familiar with, blood."
Kramer shook his head, "I don't like where you're going with this, Peter. Are you telling me that you believe Sullivan's blood was on the back of Caffrey's hat?"
"Yes, I do, sir. And the only way his blood could be on Neal's hat is if he was holding him from behind. I believe that Neal hit Sullivan with the back of his head. Before he was taken, Neal somehow managed to throw the hat outside the tent. That's where we found it, sir. Agent Jones sent the hat to a DNA lab. We'll be getting the results tomorrow."
Kramer violently slapped his file on the table. "Again, with Caffrey being kidnapped. Peter there was no solid evidence found in that tent to verify that he was taken. Is this all you have to show me?" Kramer threw the hat on the table. "A hat found outside the tent with the possibility of Sullivan's DNA on it? For all we know Rory may have sneezed on it."
"There's more, while I was out for lunch one of my agents was getting a cup of coffee when he saw Sullivan standing next to the sealed box that held Neal's hat. When he returned, he saw the box open with the hat inside and Sullivan gone. Where is Sullivan? When did you last talk to him?"
Kramer started looking around, "He's around here somewhere."
"Call him, please," Peter asked him.
Kramer knew that Peter would not let it go until he called Sullivan. He pulled out his phone. "I'll humor you." Calling Sullivan, he waited for an answer, after several long seconds Kramer said, "He's not answering."
"No, sir. And I don't believe he will. He saw that the box came from a DNA lab. With a piece missing on the hat, he knows it was taken for testing. He's gone sir, I'm sure of it and I think I know why." Clearing his throat, he handed him the printed pages that Mozzie gave him.
"A friend of Neal was sent this email this morning." He pointed to the photo. "As you can see, that's a photo of the Degas that was stolen from Washington headquarters. The one that Neal painted. They used Le Peintre's name to state that they are resuming his business of selling forged old master paintings."
"Other than a picture of his painting, what's this got to do with Caffrey?"
"When you started as an agent, you said one of your first cases was searching for Le Peintre."
"You know I was obsessed with him, Peter. Everyone wanted to be the guy that busted Le Peintre. But he was a ghost, he was never caught."
Peter was desperate to get Kramer off the I-hate-Caffrey train. "The email states that the painting is a sample of the new artist. Here's some information that I bet you never knew, Phillip. A while back Le Peintre took in a young man on the street as an apprentice. His skills grew to be as good, if not better than Le Peintre. That young man left him after two years and became one of the best forgers in the country."
Kramer's mouth practically fell open. "Peter, are you telling me that Neal Caffrey was an apprentice of Le Peintre?"
"Yes, but I'm not done yet." Peter took in a deep breath. He had to tell him everything. "About a year ago Peintre died. It was three months after his death that the art store robberies began. It was at that same time that Agent Rory Sullivan, after never taking a vacation day off in his career, started using his vacation days. In those nine months seven robberies and four deaths occurred. Shortly after the deaths we receive a tip that someone is selling master paintings. We were asked to set up a sting using our resident art expert, Neal. Phillip, who told you about the selling?"
Kramer's brows began to knit in anger, "Sullivan, he said he got word from an informant."
"I think he may have had a part in the robberies, the theft of the Degas, and Neal's kidnapping. I have no idea who he's working with, could be a family member, or a partner of Peintre, but I feel in my gut that Rory's in deep. We'll know for sure when we get the DNA results."
Kramer stared at the photo of the Degas. "Peter, I think you're really grasping at straws here to shift the attention away from Caffrey. I can't believe that Sullivan would change so drastically. We've worked together for years. He's no angel, I admit that, but he's one of the best Agent's I've ever worked with."
"As one of my agents told me, money will do that to a person. Look, tomorrow we'll know for sure once his DNA is found on Neal's hat."
Kramer sadly shook his head. "Le Peintre dead, I never gave up hope finding him. You know, no one ever knew what he looked like." He nervously tapped his fingers on the table. "I'm still not totally convinced. If Peintre is dead maybe Caffrey wanted to take over his business? He may have coerced Sullivan into helping him, knowing that he was forced into retirement. He could have used him to steal his painting from the bureau. To try and take the attention away from him long enough to set up the sting and make his getaway. The whole thing could have been set-up by him."
Peter had to stifle a disbelieving laugh, "Now you're the one grasping at straws. You know Sullivan better than anyone. You know how he felt about criminals. Do you really believe that Neal could have talked him into doing anything?"
"As you said, Peter, money will do that to a person. Caffrey's a conman, one of the best in the business. He might have talked him into it if he offered him enough money." Kramer shook his head, he couldn't believe that Sullivan would do something like this. Sure, he was upset with being forced to retire, but to actually become a part of something that he spent his entire career fighting?
For now, Kramer was going to let Peter think he agreed with him. If Sullivan did change sides finding him would also help them find Caffrey. "Until we can get in touch with him, we need to broaden our manhunt into finding Sullivan as well as Caffrey. I'll get in touch with my office, have them send everything that I have on Le Peintre. Forced or by choice, Caffrey may be resuming Peintre's business where he lived. I was close to finding him about ten years ago, until he just seemed to give up painting."
Peter sadly smiled, "That's about the time Caffrey left him."
"Go, Peter. You keep your people working on finding Caffrey. I'll have mine working on Sullivan."
"Thank you, Phillip. If his DNA is found on Neal's hat, I'm sorry about Sullivan."
Grimly smiling he said, "Thank you, Peter."
Peter was confused, "For what?"
"For not rubbing it in that I may be wrong about Caffrey." Pointing at him he added, "But I'm still not totally convinced, I'll know for sure once we have him back in custody."
"You're welcome?" Peter said, in a questioning voice.
As Peter left the room, Kramer stared at Neal's picture. "I knew you were good, kid. Now I know why, you were trained by the best."
Neal woke up Friday morning to the sound of the Robin singing. It seemed he now had a living alarm clock. He quickly dressed and waited for Nolano. Fortunately, Albert and Lilith was not around to bother him that day. Nolano told him that Lilith decided to finish what was left of their stock of brandy last night and would be sleeping most of the day. Albert was out shopping for brandy and a new car.
Neal spent the entire day on the painting with no interruptions. It was late at night when he finished. Stepping back, he proudly looked at his work. Even under duress, he managed to create a perfect copy of Renoir's 'Two Sisters'."
"Le Peintre would be very proud of you, Mr. Caffery," Nolano said. "I would say it is even better than his."
"A teacher will know they've done their job right when their student surpasses their expectations," Neal softly said. "He told me that the first day I spent here."
Nolano patted him on the back. "Then he did his job well."
Neal heard clapping coming from behind. Albert was slowly walking into the room. "I knew you could do it. I told Lilith once Sullivan lost control that you'd be able to take over father's business. And look at this." Albert stood in front of the finished painting. He found it hard to contain his smile. "Beautiful, Neal, just magnificent. You're as good as father always said you were."
Using a rag, Neal cleaned the paint on his hands. "It needs to dry before it's aged."
"Nolano can take it from here. For now, rest Neal. You deserve it. I'll take a photo and send it to the client." Albert held up his phone and took a picture of the painting. "We have two buyers battling for your other painting as well. The bids have gotten quite high." Albert fisted his hand in triumph. "God, this is going to work. We are back in business."
Neal angrily threw his rag on the table. He quickly walked away. He couldn't stand seeing Albert gloat. Entering his bedroom, he heard Nolano lock his door. Now that he finished his first painting, he had no idea what was going to happen next.
He saw the plate of cookies sitting on his dresser. Picking them up he slowly ate them as he looked out his window. It had been over two days since he was taken. He hoped to see Peter and the FBI coming up the driveway, but it never happened. As he fought to keep his eyes open, he saw the time was Eleven twenty-two. He stumbled to his bed and fell into a restless sleep.
Neal lay in bed and listened to the robin singing. It was Saturday morning, glancing at his watch he saw that it was seven thirty. In his hands he held the paint brush that he took during the sibling's argument. He spun it in his fingers, he tried to think of the different ways that he could use it, pick a lock, or perhaps loosen the bars that blocked his exit?
As he rolled the brush in his fingers, he saw dried paint on the handle. He stared at the different colors on the wooden handle. He wondered how many paintings this brush produced. He thought of the pigments it would take to create the many colors. He recalled the meeting where he described Vermeer's painting.
As he stared at the colors on the brushes handle, an idea suddenly began to form. Albert sent out an email to potential buyers. What if that email fell into the right hands? An informant of the FBI or even Mozzie. Peter was smart, maybe as smart as him. If he saw the email, he would be able to figure out that the only way they could start up the business was to have Neal do the paintings. He bolted up in his bed and rushed to his bathroom.
He had an idea, a crazy idea of how Peter would be able to find him. It was a long shot, but if everything fell into place it could work, he had to believe that it would work. He quickly showered and got dressed. He waited by his window for Nolano to bring him breakfast. He had new hope of Peter finding him now. He was anxious to start the day, he was actually hungry.
He listened to his alarm clock singing in the large oak tree that grew in front of the house. Hearing the door open, he turned and expected to see Nolano. What he saw was someone that had him frantically search the room for something, anything to protect himself as Sullivan charged into the room. His face was a mask of rage.
He reached Neal in seconds. Grabbing him by the arm, he slammed Neal hard into the wall. "You son of a bitch!" Sullivan roared. He punched him hard in the face. He then jammed his arm into Neal's neck. Neal gasped as Sullivan punched him in his side.
"You screwed me royal. I had the whole damn thing planned. No one suspected that I was a part of this." He punched Neal in the side again at the same spot. "But you had to ruin it, fuck it all up. I'd forgotten about your God damned hat until I saw it on Jones' desk. They sent it to a fucking DNA lab. You knew my DNA was on it, didn't you?"
Neal saw a white bandage on Sullivan's nose. Butting him in the face must have left his DNA on the back of his hat. He forced a grin, as he rasped, "I had hoped someone would see it. The DNA is a bonus." Seeing Neal smile, Neal gasped as Sullivan pressed his arm harder into his neck.
"I'm going to wipe that smart ass smile off your face." He landed a blow in his side. "You fucked up my life."
"You…did that…on your own," Neal gasped.
"It's because of you that I'll be placed inside that tent. All those years I gave the government my life and for what, half of what I made? I wasn't going to let that happen. The money I was going to make from this dysfunctional family would have set me up for life. But now," Neal gasped as Sullivan dug his arm into his neck. "You've taken it all away. You, a good for nothing, two-bit, punk."
Once he saw the box on Jones desk that had the address of a DNA testing site, Sullivan had a bad feeling. Opening it, he was surprised to see Neal's hat inside, with a small piece cut out from the back. He touched the bandage on his nose. Neal hit him with the back of his head in the tent. A head that was wearing a hat, this hat. That was when he realized that it was over.
If his DNA was found on Neal's hat, it connected him to the tent and Neal Caffrey's disappearance. He was the one that set the sting up. It wouldn't take them long to tie him into the robberies and the killings. He couldn't get out of the building fast enough. As he drove his car down the streets, his mind began to race. He knew he could never go home. An FBI agent that turned was bad enough, but one that killed was the worst.
They wouldn't stop searching until they found him. If caught he would spend the rest of his life in prison. Along with the rest of the low life's that he put in there. His days and nights would be spent staying alive. All because of a conman's hat.
He was a fugitive now, wanted for robbery and murder. He'll never be able to walk the streets again. He would be running his entire life. As he drove to Peintre's home, he couldn't wait to get his hands on Caffrey.
"Albert says he's got two of your paintings ready to sell." He tightly gripped Neal's neck with both hands. Neal's nails dug into Sullivan's hands.
Sullivan leaned close to Caffrey. As Neal struggled to breathe, Sullivan softly said in a deadly voice, "I still want my cut of what they're getting for the paintings, you owe me. I'm not going to kill you, but I want you to suffer for what you did to me. I'm going to make you feel the pain that I'm going through."
Neal began seeing stars. He dropped his arm. The brush fell out of his sleeve. Tightly gripping it, he stabbed Sullivan's hand with the sharp end.
Sullivan roared in pain, releasing his hold he pulled the brush out of Neal's hand. "Really? A fucking paint brush, that's all you got?" Sullivan broke the paint brush in half and threw the pieces away.
With Sullivan's hold released Neal held his neck, he started coughing. He struggled to breathe as he faintly saw Sullivan pull something out of his jacket.
Sullivan flexed the hand where Neal stuck him with the paint brush. Grinning wickedly, he tightly gripped a thin stiletto knife in his other hand. "Let me show you how it's really done." Sullivan covered his mouth with his hand and held him against the wall.
"You got to know exactly where to place it, to cause just the right amount of pain." He placed the tip of the blade over Neal's left shoulder. Neal's eyes grew wide with alarm, he struggled to pull out of Sullivan's grip.
"Can't be hurting your hands, you need them to paint," Sullivan rasped as he thrust the thin blade into him. Neal's muffled cries of pain filled the room as he felt Sullivan plunge his knife deep into his shoulder.
"Now this is how you hurt a man." Neal moaned as he felt Sullivan wriggle the blade. The sharp pain was excruciating. His arms fell to the side as darkness began to cloud his vision. Sullivan slowly dragged the blade out. Neal slid down to the floor.
Sullivan wiped his blade clean on Neal's pants. "This ain't over, Caffrey. Not by a longshot."
Nolano carefully carried a tray of breakfast for Neal as he walked up the stairs. He hoped that Neal would eat something this morning. It seemed all that he was eating was the cookies he left for him at night. As he came to the top of the stairs, he saw someone leaving Neal's room. He immediately recognized him. It was Sullivan. He arrived late last night. As he wondered what he was doing in Neal's room, he saw him wrapping a handkerchief around his hand. His heart skipped a beat when he saw red on the handkerchief.
As Sullivan briskly walked away, Nolano dropped the tray. He sprinted down the hallway. Rushing into Neal's room, he searched for him. At first, he didn't see him. Rushing to the other side of his bed, he saw Neal crumpled on the floor. He was unconscious, a red spot on his left shoulder was slowly spreading on his shirt.
"NEAL!" Nolano shouted. "What did that bastard do to you?"
