A/N: In my efforts to be concise, I accidentally misstated something: While Dali did create a painting entitled simply, "The Lacemaker", the painting I was referring to in Chapter 1 is "The Paranoiac-Critical Study of Vermeer's 'Lacemaker' "
Also, thanks everyone for the feedback (including my one anonymous reviewer—you make a good point; I'll keep it in mind)!
Chapter 2: Monday afternoon at the Channing Museum
The drive to the Channing was quiet, until they ran into road construction within sight of their goal. Then Peter groaned, "I thought this car was supposed to be able to find a way around the traffic."
"Awww, don't blame the Taurus, Peter," teased Neal. "With Central Park on one side, and all the one-way streets in the area, this really is the only way to approach the museum."
When they reached the Channing, Peter pulled the car up beside the NYPD barricades blocking the alley next to the museum. "Jones, Diana, head down to the crime scene. We're working jointly with the NYPD on this one. Find out who's in charge and what's going on." Peter nodded towards the alley, while heading towards the front entrance.
"Sure thing, boss," replied Diana. "But, aren't you coming with us?"
"I need to talk to the curator first."
At this, Neal froze. "I'll just go with them, then," and he turned to follow Jones and Diana.
"You're with me, Neal."
"Is that really such a good idea, Peter?"
Much as Peter enjoyed watching Neal squirm, he took pity on his partner and explained, "Walter retired six months ago. We're meeting with the new curator of the Channing," and with that he started up the wide steps leading to the Greek-columned façade of the Channing Museum.
"Oh. Well, why didn't you say so?" As Neal followed, he automatically scanned the surrounding scene. Across the street was the edge of Central Park. Benches lined the path along the street, and on this beautiful spring day, almost every seat was taken. Mothers sat while their children played, businessmen read newspapers, and tourists gawked at the steady stream of walkers, skateboarders, and bicyclists taking advantage of the smooth paths. As Neal climbed the stairs, old habit drew his eyes to the hidden security cameras, easily calculating their angles and coverage.
At the top of the steps, they found the museum doors locked tight, but Peter's knocking brought a quick response from inside, as a security guard unlocked and opened the door for them.
The ceiling in the main foyer stretched two stories above them, and several arched openings led off in different directions. A woman wearing a suit, her dark graying hair pulled back in a bun, greeted them. "Agent Burke? I'm sorry about that; we closed the museum down as soon as the theft occurred."
Peter had nodded in response to his name. "Dr. Rodriguez? Don't worry about it."
"Please, call me Helen." The curator turned to Neal. "And Agent…?"
"Not an Agent," Peter short-circuited Neal's sure-to-be-charming greeting. "This is my art consultant, Neal Caffrey. Dr. Rodriguez, what can you tell us about the heist?"
"I can't believe it happened." Dr. Rodriguez shook her head, then squared her shoulders and ushered them towards one of the arched doorways and a long hallway lined with Greek and Roman statues.
"I hired extra security for the duration of the exhibit. But the show ended on Sunday, and we immediately began packing up. It can take several weeks to fully dismantle an exhibit and return all the paintings to their home museums, but I wanted to start quickly."
The curator led the way briskly down the hallway, past doorways opening onto rooms filled with paintings. Neal's steps lagged, as he tried to take in as much art as possible, while still listening to Peter and Dr. Rodriguez.
"The first paintings we packed up were the Eastin's own paintings," explained Dr. Rodriguez.
"The Lacemakers," Peter confirmed.
"Yes. To be followed later this week by the other paintings they'd lent us, and then by two of the Channing's own Vermeers, for the Eastin to put on a similar exhibit. It was the first in a series of mutual exchanges I had arranged with the Eastin. Next, they were going to send us La Pastorale, for our exhibit on Matisse's influences."
Upon hearing 'Matisse', Neal quickly caught up. "Oooh, I've been wanting to see La Pastorale." In response to Peter's questioning look, Neal shrugged, eyebrows raised, "It wasn't on display the last time I was at the Eastin."
"It may not happen now. I can't imagine my counterpart at the Eastin will be eager to send more art to a museum with security issues." Dr. Rodriguez frowned. "This whole project could be over before it begins."
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" said Neal with a reassuring smile.
"These paintings should be on display for the world to see," said the curator, passionately, "not buried in some criminal's stash."
Neal paused just a beat, before saying, with conviction, "Absolutely."
Peter stifled a grin and asked, "Dr. Rodriguez, is there anything else you can tell us about your security procedures?"
Dr. Rodriguez stopped in front of a door labeled 'Employees Only' and pulled out a jingling key ring. "The paintings were being held through here while they awaited transportation to the airport. They were packed into small custom-built wooden crates, with no markings on the outside to indicate which crate held which painting. And of course we had GPS tracking devices attached to the crates and to the frames. But nothing on the paintings themselves." And with that, she unlocked the door and waved Peter and Neal through.
They found themselves in a short hallway, at the end of which, a door stood propped open to the alley. In the wedge of light coming in through the doorway lay an open wooden crate. The lid, bristling with staples and bent nails, lay next to the base; an empty frame lay a short distance away. A man in an NYPD uniform knelt next to the broken crate, carefully swabbing each bit of protruding metal.
"Hoping the thieves left some skin or blood behind?" asked Peter.
"Yes. Haven't found anything yet, though."
Dr. Rodriguez led Peter and Neal past the empty crate and out the door. Compared to the hallway, the alley was bright and seemed to be swarming with police officers, dusting and swabbing for fingerprints and any other evidence the thieves may have left behind. Peter saw Diana across the alley talking to the ranking NYPD officer on the scene, and spotted Jones near her with a small group of museum employees.
On the ground just outside the door lay two more wooden crates. One of them gaped open and empty, just like the one inside. But the lid of the final box was loose and splintered down the middle, but otherwise remained attached.
"So they tried for the all three paintings, but couldn't get the third crate open," Peter surmised.
"The Dali is still in there?" Neal's eyebrows raised.
"Yes. And Yes," answered Dr. Rodriguez. "I'd really like to move it indoors as soon as possible."
"Just as soon as the NYPD finishes collecting evidence," promised Peter. "But first, I'd like to talk to the witnesses."
"There were three." Jones appeared at Peter's side. "Witnesses, that is. I've got them right over here." Jones explained as he led them across the alley, "We've got one guy who was watching the video camera feeds in the museum security room, and the two guards who were with the paintings. The NYPD has already taken their initial statements, but I knew you'd want to talk to them yourself."
"Thanks, Jones."
"Hello. I'm Agent Burke, FBI." As Peter awkwardly introduced himself to the witnesses, Diana walked over with the NYPD officer she'd been speaking with, and Peter realized that it was Captain Shattuck. The two men exchanged a short nod of long familiarity, and Peter continued, "Why don't you talk me through what happened this afternoon."
A stocky man with rusty red hair stepped forward and started, "I'm Ron Stevens. I was on duty in the security room, watchin' the video feeds from all the security cameras. I was keepin' an eye on Marty and Timmy and the paintings in the back hallway, but we've got more security cameras 'round the museum than monitors in the security room, so I was flippin' through the feeds like we always do. Everything was pretty quiet this afternoon, 'cept the van was running late." Ron shrugged and looked to the two museum guards to take up the story.
The younger guard was blond, tall and lanky, and introduced himself as Timothy Harris-Young. "We'd been waiting for the van for, like, forever, and it was supposed to be our lunch break. When Ron called Marty on the walkie-talkie to say that the van was getting pretty close, I just, uh," The young man paused briefly and shot a nervous glance at Ron, then at Dr. Rodriguez, then continued, more carefully, "I just opened the back door to see if I could see it yet. I'm sorry. I didn't think…" He shot a nervous help-me glance at his fellow guard as his voice trailed off.
"I can't believe you opened the door," replied Martin, shaking his head. The second guard was older, shorter, and slightly balding. "I should've just closed it and locked you out there." To Peter, he explained, "Door's supposed to stay closed and locked until the van actually arrives…I'm Martin Delbright." Then he shifted back a bit and let his younger co-worker continue.
"I was gonna come right back in," Timmy insisted to Martin. And then to the rest of the crowd, "But these three guys on bicycles were coming down the alley. Looked like bike messengers."
"How so? Can you describe them?" asked Peter.
"They were all carrying messenger bags," Timmy declared. "And wearing some sorta uniform. Dark blue, with some logo on it?" He sounded less sure of this, and again glanced at Martin for help.
"They were wearing baseball caps and sunglasses, too. We never really saw their faces," admitted Martin reluctantly.
"The first and last guys were about normal size, but the middle guy was big!" Timmy held his skinny arms out slightly and flexed to illustrate his point. "Anyways, I just walked out a few steps to try and wave them off 'cause it's a dead-end. But they kept coming."
"The guy in the lead rolled right up to me at the back door," explained Martin. "Said they'd got lost and needed directions. And then he pulled out a gun." Martin stopped, and took a deep breath as Timmy said, "All three of 'em did. It was-" he paused. "It wasn't…" he floundered.
"They grabbed Timmy and duct-taped over his mouth. I tried to…" Martin shook his head, "but the lead guy told me don't move or yell or he'd shoot Tim." Martin's voice rose in remembered protest. "And then the big guy just tossed Timmy into the garbage dumpster." He pointed back across the alley, to where the dumpster's contents were now being carefully catalogued by the NYPD. "It all happened so fast."
"I should've done something," added Timmy plaintively.
"No!" exclaimed Dr. Rodriguez. "You did the right thing. They had guns. As valuable as the art is, it's not worth risking a life."
Peter turned to Ron Stevens and asked, pointedly, "And you were watching all of this on the security monitors?"
"No!" answered Ron. "I mean, I was goin' through the other video feeds. I can't have looked away for even a minute,"
Neal muttered quietly, "Hey, if you're good, a minute's all you need," and Peter shot him a quelling look.
"But when I flipped back to the alley cam, I saw Marty flying into the dumpster. So I called the nearest guards on the Walkie to run help," continued Ron. "And then I saw this guy come out the door of the museum with the two wooden crates, and I realized they were robbin' the place! I called the cops on my cell, and more guards on the Walkie. And I ran for the back door. I got there just as the other guards did, but we couldn't get the door open. It was jammed, somehow."
"So nobody was watching the security monitors?" Peter asked incredulously. "What actually happened to the art?"
"As soon as we got here and got the crime scene secured, I went and took a look at the video feeds from the hallway and the alley," volunteered Captain Shattuck. "Looks like the lead guy ducked into the museum while the other two were still dealing with the guards. He had a crowbar and some other tools in his bag, and he made short work of the first crate he grabbed. That was the Vermeer, and he wrapped it up, slid it into his messenger bag, and grabbed the other two crates."
"So he found the most valuable painting on his first guess?" Diana shook her head.
"Yes," replied Capt. Shattuck. "Then, out in the alley, while the lead guy and the big guy worked on opening those two crates, the third guy went and hammered these little wedges around the doorframe."
"That's why we couldn't get the door open," defended Ron.
"There's no audio," Capt. Shattuck pointed out, "but up to that point it didn't even look like they were talking to each other. It's like they had the whole thing choreographed. But while the lead guy broke the second painting-"
"The Netscher," added Dr. Rodriguez.
"-out of its crate, the big guy had trouble with his." Capt. Shattuck continued, "And then I could see the third guy yell, and wave for them to come. The Netscher got slid into the third guy's messenger bag, the big guy finally abandoned his efforts, and they all grabbed their bikes and tore up the alley and out of view of the camera. And just then, the van finally pulled into view."
"So they knew the van was about to arrive," said Neal half-to-himself just as Peter asked, "Did the men in the van notice which way the thieves went?"
"No," said Capt. Shattuck regretfully. "The cyclists sped right past them, but they didn't think anything of it until they got a little further into the alley and realized what had happened."
"We finally got the back door open just about when they drove up," said Ron, "and we got some bolt cutters for the lock on the dumpster. And by then the police were arriving."
"All right," Peter vented a short breath, "is there anything else you can think of that we should know?"
"They were Russian! The accent, y'know," blurted out Timmy. "So, um, can we go now?"
Peter exchanged a look with Captain Shattuck and said, "Yes. But don't leave town; we may have more questions for you later."
"Thank you," added Dr. Rodriguez to the departing men, "I'll see you all at work tomorrow."
"So, we're looking for a three-man team," said Capt. Shattuck.
"Or maybe more than three…" added Peter, glancing significantly after the departing men.
"Are you thinking it may have been an inside job, boss?" asked Diana
"I would hate to think that any of my people had anything to do with this," worried Dr. Rodriguez.
"How many people knew the details of your plan for returning the Lacemakers today?" asked Peter.
"Oh, the whole security team, most of the staff at both the Channing and the Eastin, the transport company… It was no secret that I wanted things done more efficiently," explained the curator.
"I'm going to need you to put together a list of names."
"Anything I can do to help."
As Dr. Rodriguez walked away, Jones ventured to Peter, "You think Dr. Rodriguez could be our inside man…ahem…woman?"
"Mmmm, my gut says no."
Neal agreed, adding, "This is her first big project as curator of the Channing. She's got too much invested in these exchanges to have any motive to jeopardize them.
"Still," continued Peter, "We'll look into everyone on the list. Starting with our three witnesses."
"They all broke museum protocol in ways that contributed to the crime," Diana pointed out. "The question is—were any of them actually complicit?"
"Not necessarily," said Neal. "Too many people knew about the curator's plan. If our thieves did their homework, they should have been able to plan this heist without needing an inside man.
"Yeah, but what about the door?" Jones countered. "If the younger guard hadn't opened it…"
"The Russians had a plan to keep the door shut when they needed to." Neal shrugged. "They may well have had a plan for opening the door, too. And just ended up not needing it. No job ever goes entirely according to plan…" Neal added ruefully.
"All right, Neal," Peter started, "You're our expert. How would you-" Peter stopped, then turned to Capt. Shattuck. "Would you excuse us for a minute?" They walked a short ways towards the street, out of earshot of the various NYPD officers, and Peter finished his question, "How would you have pulled this off?"
"This was a professional job." Neal sounded impressed. "Nobody saw their faces, they moved fast, and they knew when it was time to go. I know, I know, they only got away with two of the paintings. But the important point is—they got away. On bicycles!" Neal was grinning now. "You gotta admit, that's pretty good."
"No, I don't gotta admit-" retorted Peter.
"Anyways," continued Neal, "Their whole plan relied on perfect timing. A team of amateurs would have kept trying for the Dali. And then gotten caught when the armed guards arrived with the van. No, for them to leave when they did, they had to know the van was coming. Before they could see it."
"You think they had a lookout?" The way Peter said it, it wasn't really a question.
"I would have." Neal looked up the alley towards the park. "And there's the perfect place to sit. Nobody thinks twice about a person, sitting in the park, enjoying the sun…"
"…Watching for the van to get past the road construction," Peter nodded. "This is good."
"But unless we can ID the lookout, this isn't getting us any closer to catching our thieves," protested Diana. "And the security cameras by the back door don't even cover the entrance to the alley, let alone the park across the street."
"But the cameras at the front of the museum do," Neal pointed out proudly. "Although there's this one blind spot, but if you don't mind doing a little climbing-" Neal stopped as Peter's eyes narrowed, then he shrugged unrepentantly and said, "What? I notice these things."
Peter took a deep breath, and possibly counted to ten under his breath before saying, "All right. Jones, I want you to focus on the Museum staff; let me know if any of them looks like a good candidate for an inside man. Diana, I want you to keep liaising with Captain Shattuck—make sure we know about everything the NYPD finds in this alley."
"What about us, Peter?" Neal asked brightly.
"I am going to confiscate all the security tapes; we'll see if the FBI tech department can turn up any more evidence. Or any discrepancies in our witnesses story…or the lookout." Neal grinned at Peter's roundabout compliment.
"And I want you," said Peter, "to talk to your contacts. See if the little guy knows anything about who pulled this off, and if they're shopping the art. I want to know where these guys went after they left this alley."
"You know," Neal shoved his hands in his pockets, "The cameras out front might help with that, too."
And so they all trooped back into the museum and down the long hallway to the security room. They cued up the tapes from the front entrance, and together they watched the three thieves fly out of the alley and dodge across traffic to the park….where they immediately blended in with all the other cyclists taking advantage of the beautiful weather, and the many paths that criss-crossed Central Park.