Suspect Chapter 3

Despite long, draining days pouring over old files and interviewing suspects, the next 48 hours produced no clues as to Peter's whereabouts. He had disappeared as thoroughly, with as little trace, as if he had indeed been washed out to sea by the flowing waters of the Hudson. In his darkest moments of frustration, Hughes couldn't help but wonder if he'd fallen for a con in presuming differently, but ultimately he couldn't bring himself to believe that. Neal's grief had been too real, too visceral.

He rubbed his forehead viciously with the heel of his hand, hoping to erase the headache that had taken up residence there. When the phone rang, he picked it up with a curt, "Hughes."

For a second, there was silence at the other end, then a voice he immediately recognised spoke firmly. "This is Caffrey. I want to turn myself in."

Hughes hadn't been expecting that. "Okay," he said cautiously. "Where are you?"

He was anticipating prevarication, but the reply was immediate. "I'm at the internet cafe on Brant. Do you know it?"

"Yes."

"I'm not armed, and I'm not going to run. Just...please...come yourself. I'm not asking you to come alone. Just, please come. Ten minutes, I need ten minutes of your time."

"You have something?" Hughes immediately picked up on the implications of that request.

"Yes, I know who took him, I know why, and I think I know where they took him. I'd go in by myself, but if he's hurt there's no way I can get him out safely."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Hughes hesitated, then continued. "Neal, you know I have to arrest you. They'll put you straight back in prison, and I can't prevent that. I can't protect you." He didn't know why he was offering the warning, whether he was testing the conman's resolve or merely trying to prepare him for the inevitable.

"I understand." Neal's voice was soft, but there was no faltering in his tone.

Hughes gathered up Cruz and Jones with a curt, "Come with me," and led them out of the building. At the internet cafe, he left Lauren at the door with instructions to not allow anyone else to pass, then he entered. His eyes swept the room automatically for potential threats or ambushes. He wasn't expecting an attack from Caffrey, but he hadn't survived this long without being cautious.

He didn't locate Neal in that first glance, so he moved toward the back, finally spotting him in a booth against the far wall. He was dressed simply in a black turtleneck and looked even worse than the last time him the Bureau Chief had seen him. The swelling around his eye and temple might have subsided, but that left lurid bruising. Even more noticeable were the dark circles staining the skin beneath Neal's eyes. Hughes would be willing to bet he'd had no sleep at all in the last two days. Neal's trademark grin was entirely absent, his body language telegraphing exhaustion rather than his usual exuberance, but he nodded hopefully as Hughes slid onto the seat opposite him, in a strange parody of their last encounter. Jones remaining standing, watching the room, although undoubtedly listening intently to their exchange.

"I'm here and I'm breaking half a dozen rules by not taking you in right away, so this better be good," Hughes stated gruffly.

"It is." Neal leaned forward, and Hughes attempted to retain a modicum of skepticism, knowing that Caffrey had convinced many people of things that weren't true with that open, earnest look.

"You know Peter was going to testify in the Giordano trial next week?"

"Of course I do." Hughes sat back, disappointed. "That's a dead end. Don't you think we looked into that? He wasn't even lead agent in that case. His testimony isn't necessary for conviction, so there's no reason to prevent him testifying."

"No, listen, listen," Neal insisted desperately. His hands had been lying open, flat on some papers lying on the table, probably as a visual demonstration of his harmlessness, but now they drew up into fists, white knuckles matching his ashen face. "It's not about Giordano, not about convicting him. That's not it at all."

His body was taut as a strung bow, practically vibrating with the force of his emotions. At some point, Hughes thought, that tension would snap, with disastrous results.

He took a deep breath before advising Neal to do the same. "Okay, slow down and start from the top."

Neal might have initially attempted a deliberate pace of delivery, but the words were soon tumbling out rapidly. "You're right, Peter wasn't lead agent. It was mostly an organised crime case. Peter was helping out by following the money trail - and brilliantly, too. He not only untangled the knot of dummy corporations and laundering scams, he also realised what the Giordano family itself didn't - that they were missing about 150 million dollars. Their accountant had set up an elaborate shell game with their assets and had built himself quite a nest egg.

"Peter pulled in the accountant, Morris, and worked on him. It was the information gathered from Morris that really built the case against Giordano. They placed him in protective custody, but he died several months later in a car crash that was probably a genuine accident. However, the money he squirreled away was never recovered. With Giordano Senior under arrest, there's been a power struggle for control of the family. Meanwhile the Conti family has been horning in on their territory, so they are extremely short of liquid funds."

"They think Peter knows where the missing money is." Hughes figured out where the story was going.

Neal nodded, an abrupt, jerky movement. "That's why they didn't kill him immediately. They want to question him, to pump him for information one way or another."

His voice cracked and he had to clench his jaw for control. "And they've had him for more than 48 hours."

Hughes' pursed lips acknowledged the gravity of that statement. "You said you know where he is," he prompted.

"I got a list of their property holdings in the New York area, and at this residence..." Neal pulled a photo out of the pile of papers and turned it around for Hughes to see, "...there's been some unusual activity, including the arrival of Jimmy Giordano, the heir apparent. There's also been some interesting deliveries of medical supplies: IV's and units of blood."

It was excellent detective work, and if Neal had been one of his men, Hughes would have certainly told him so, but as it was, he could only say, "I have to verify this independently before I can get a warrant, but I promise you I will follow up on it."

Neal slumped slightly, caught between defeat and hope. "Just hurry. I don't think Peter has much time."

Hughes had a sudden insight into how difficult it was for the young man to merely hand over this information, how desperately he wanted to act on it himself. Only very real concern for his friend enabled him to operate against his own instincts. This made it harder than Hughes had anticipated, but many years of experience helped him to keep his voice impassive as he stated, "I have to take you in now, Neal."

Neal's face was pale and bleached of all emotion except a guarded pain and worry etched around his eyes and mouth. He didn't argue or attempt any delay, merely pushed his papers to Hughes before easing his way out of the booth, the awkward movement removing all remaining color from his face. He wobbled perilously on gaining his feet, knees buckling under his own weight. Jones caught him before he could hit the floor, holding him steady until the conman pulled away, his lips white with strain.

As Jones reluctantly produced his handcuffs, Neal turned around and attempted painfully to put his hands behind his back. The young agent stopped him. "Hey, let's do this Peter Burke style," he joked, as he restrained Neal's hands in front of him, a far more comfortable position.

"Sit down before you fall down," Hughes ordered gruffly. "I'm going to call for a car to take you to processing."

Neal nodded wearily, the passivity of his actions at odds with the tension that still quivered through every muscle. It was the resignation and fear in his expressive eyes that extracted one more question from Hughes.

"You could have mailed this information to me and remained a free man. Why didn't you?"

"Would you have taken me seriously?" For a moment Neal's expression was naked, blazing with a wrenching sorrow and a contradictory resolve.

It was a good point. The fact that Neal was willing to go to jail for this, a prospect that clearly terrified him, gave it an authenticity that was hard to deny.

"Besides," this time, Neal's smile held a wry twist. "I made Peter a promise."

When Jones reported somberly that Neal had been successfully processed and returned to jail without any attempt at escape, Hughes found he wasn't surprised. He was beginning to understand what Peter Burke saw in the young conman, the potential that he was willing to go to such lengths to nurture. Hughes just hoped he'd have the opportunity to inform his favourite agent of this revelation, that Peter was still alive to hear it.