Disclaimer: White Collar and the characters borrowed for this story are the creative property of Jeff Eastin. This story was written and shared solely for the enjoyment of other White Collar fans. No copyright infringement is intended.

Forged Friendships

Chapter 4 – Friends and Suspects

Earlier that same morning.

The black surveillance van rocked as Jones pulled up to the curb in front of the Burke's home, crunching through the crusted snow. It hadn't been a pleasant ride with heavy morning traffic, icy streets and Cruz regularly interjecting comments about his driving skills. Jones sighed with relief when she finally got a call from Hughes that distracted her attention away from the route in front of them. He turned off the ignition switch and snapped the keys into the palm of his hands. Out of his periphery, he could see Cruz nodding her head and gesturing with her hand as she spoke on the phone.

"We just pulled in at Peter's place. Yes, the tape is still up. Certainly, we will try to salvage any evidence that might still be here. OK, I'll keep you posted." She turned to look at Jones as she slid her phone into her jacket pocket and pulled her gloves on.

"Man, you might as well have parked on the sidewalk", she scoffed as Jones tilted his head back shifting his gaze to the ceiling of the van. "Give me strength not to use the duct tape," he mumbled hoping his comment wasn't audible.

Cruz opened the door of the van, "That was Hughes; the crime scene is ours, what's left of it!" She shook her head with disbelief scanning across the trampled street frontage, as she smoothed her hair back and pulled on her cap. "There might as well have been a herd of buffalo dispatched to this scene. Hughes just told me that NYPD passed jurisdiction over to us. They weren't about to fight for what they are calling a random assault case."

The steam from her breath floated upward as she smacked her hands together and reached down zipping her jacket up to her chin. Jones exited the other side of the van, meeting up with her at the rear of the vehicle. He reached up and grabbed the freezing cold handle opening the door with a loud screech. "I guess it doesn't like the cold either", he joked as he stepped up in and retrieved a shovel and a broom. "Your pick."

Cruz tilted her head and rolled her eyes as she grabbed the broom and headed for the front porch. "Unbelievable! They even shoveled a pathway! I surely hope that they took some photos before they plowed up all the evidence. This is exactly why I prefer to work to work alone."

"Ah … Lauren, I think Peter and El were most concerned about getting Neal into the ambulance." He raised his hand and gestured at the partially snow-covered path leading from the bottom porch step to the curb.

Cruz shook off a chill as she started up the porch steps, examining the railing, snapping photographs and collecting samples. "Have you gotten any recent updates on Caffrey's condition? There's a whole lot of blood smeared all over this handrail."

She turned and started to sweep back the fresh snow from the stairs. With the second brush across the step, the slush rapidly turned to red. She closed her eyes and held tightly onto the railing trying to maintain her balance. This wasn't some unknown victim's blood. She gulped and brought the back of her gloved hand up to her mouth, swallowing hard, stunned at her response. The sounds of the city street went silent in her mind as if someone had turned on the mute button and she was only conscious of her own breathing, of her own vulnerability.

Jones glanced up from his shoveling around the bushes to see Cruz. Her stance was stiff, frozen to the railing. "Lauren, are you okay?"

Lauren opened her eyes, "Oh god," she gasped, "these top two steps are saturated … with Neal's blood." She dropped to her knees sliding her hand down the paling to steady herself. Pausing again, she raised a halting hand, "I'm OK; I just wasn't expecting him to have lost so much blood." Tears brimmed against her lower eyelids.

All she could see was Neal, his always-hopeful grin beaming at her as he flipped that stupid hat on top his head and pointed a finger in her direction.

She removed her glove and quickly wiped any tears from her bleary eyes. "There isn't any more I can do with the porch. Hazmat will have to come and decontaminate it. I'll put some red bio-hazard tape across the steps to block access."

She turned to start back to the van, when a neighbor yelled for her attention. "Hey Jones, I am going next door. The neighbor just motioned for me to come see something."

Lauren approached the red brick two-story and trudged across the snow-covered front walk and up the porch stairs. "And of course they didn't shovel, "she grumbled.

An older lady stepped back out onto the porch carrying a charcoal gray bundle. "We were away yesterday when all the commotion took place at the Burke's." She pointed next door. "Are they okay? They are such a sweet couple. Mr. Burke always shovels for us and his wife even brings us soup sometimes. Sam and I always felt so much safer having an FBI agent living next door. But now"

Lauren quickly interjected, "Mrs?"

"Leidecker, Harriet Leidecker"

"Mrs. Leidecker, I am FBI Special Agent, Lauren Cruz." She pulled her badge out from under her jacket and displayed it. "The Burke's are fine but I can't give you any details about the incident. It is still under investigation. Did you or your husband see anything unusual the last few days?"

The older woman placed the bundle down on the porch floor and wrapped her arms around her body. "Oh no, as I said we were away visiting our daughter. However, my husband did find this bundle in our trashcan. Someone was nice enough to place the trashcan back under our porch roof, while we were gone. When Sam carried the can around to the backyard, he thought it felt too heavy. He found this man's dress coat rolled up in the bottom of the can. Some of the items wrapped in the coat seemed valuable so we didn't dispose of them. We were going to tell Mr. Burke about it but they haven't been home. When I saw you in your FBI jacket, I thought that you might need to know about it."

Lauren bent down to examine the bundle. "Did you and your husband handle the items?"

Harriet opened her eyes wide, "Oh my, we did open it to see what was wrapped in the coat but we put it all back. Did we do anything wrong?"

Lauren sat back on her heels and looked up at the older woman, "No, I just needed to know if you touched any of the items. It is fine; you did a good thing by providing us these things. They could be vital to solving our case. Now, you should get in out of the cold. I will let the Burke's know that you asked about them."

Lauren carried the bundle back to van and motioned for Jones. Clinton unfolded a large evidence bag and spread it open on the floor of the van. Lauren placed the bundled up coat on top of the evidence bag. "The neighbor found this in their trash. They did open it but at least it looks like we have some physical evidence." She folded the collar of the coat back and gently fingered the fabric with her gloved hand. "This is Neal's over-coat, I'd recognize that red plaid lined collar anywhere."

Jones and Cruz pulled on rubber gloves and unfolded the coat. Inside they found a permanently crushed Fedora; a blood stained cashmere scarf; a gold pocket watch with a fob; a wallet and a leather-bound sketchbook. Jones thumbed through the book as Lauren picked up the wallet.

She inhaled deeply, raising her eyebrows and drawing her mouth back into a smirk as she attempting to break the tension. "Oooh, too bad about the hat. I'll let you break that too him."

Jones snapped his head up, "Not me, I'm thinking the humane thing is to just say it was never found. He might want to have a funeral for that thing."

She nodded in agreement and held the wallet over for Jones. "Look the wallet is completely intact; driver's license, credit cards, photo of Kate. This is no random assault case."

Jones opened the cover of the book and turned it for Lauren to examine, "This book is signed and dated; Happy Birthday Neal. Here's to the good life and forged friendships. – Violet. 12-08-2010."

"Who is Violet?"

Jones smiled, first with the realization that he knew something that Cruz didn't and secondly knowing that his background work on the technical sales rep was no longer just a stab in the dark. "She is top forensic art analyst and her full name is Dr. Violet Forsyth-Nesbit. She installed the new micro FTIR at the FBI crime lab. It's that new test instrument used to analyze the chemical composition of minuet bits of paper, canvas and paint, among other things. Didn't you go to one of her training seminars at the beginning of the week on how micro FTIR can be used to help detect forgeries?"

Jones flipped to the first page and passed the book back to Lauren. "Recognize the woman in this sketch? Think nerdy glasses and boring lecture. That's Violet and she's an old friend of Neal's. And now it looks like she is somehow involved in his attack. Peter had me run a profile on her." He paused, "Neal had taken her to lunch on Friday afternoon before his attack."

Lauren thought back to the beginning of the week. It seemed like a month ago when she attended that training. "Did you say Nesbit?"

"Yes, it is her married name but she is a widow. She came to town to install the equipment and apparently took the opportunity catch up with Neal."

Lauren tightened her face into a perplexed frown. "If I remember correctly, Nesbit was Neal's first partner and there was some controversy about his death. I think we need to talk with Dr. Nesbit."

The conversation was quickly interrupted by a cell phone ring; Clinton pulled his phone from his pocket and answered.

"Jones here."

"Fall down a rabbit hole, Alice? Want to come to the tea party? In case you've forgotten, I've been waiting at the hospital for over an hour to review where we are with Neal's case. Believe me the cafeteria coffee an ambience aren't keeping me entertained!"

Jones looked over at Lauren and mouthed "It's Peter. " "Sorry, on my way."

Lauren quickly wrapped the items back into the coat, sliding it into the evidence bag. Jones pulled out a pen and started to label it, as Cruz closed the van door and crawled between the console and into the driver's seat.

"Hey wait."

"Oh no, you are not driving in lunch time traffic, my last nerve won't take that." She held out her hand waving her fingers to beckon for the keys. "Give!"

Jones reluctantly pulled the keys from his pocket and dropped them into Cruz's awaiting hand as he settled into the passenger seat.

A sigh of relief escaped Jones' lips as they swerved into the pull-through at St. Vincent's Trauma Center. "Thanks for the ride. I'll catch a cab back to the office later."

Jones arrived on the 12 floor and scanned the cafeteria for Peter. His boss was seated in the far back corner, head down tucked into his folded arms. Jones quickly maneuvered through the maze of chairs and tables and found himself standing looking down at his sleeping boss. Reaching across the table, he lightly tapped Peter's shoulder. The exhausted man jerked his head up and rubbed his eyes, dragging his hands' down over his weary face. "Bout time!" Peter picked up the coffee cup in front of him and swished the dregs around in the bottom of the cup as he muttered, "Gotta get another one, what about you?"

Jones cleared his throat, "Let me get this round. What would you like?"

"Why, I'll take a double decaf latte, light foam," he lilted. Jones stepped back from the table to go. Peter looked up supporting his head with his hand, "No, Jones! Black, strong, black and scalding hot."

"Sure thing." Jones dug in his briefcase for the Nesbit folder and slid it across the table in front of Peter. "Here is the information on Neal's friend from the instrument company."

Peter lifted his eyebrows and look up at Jones as he flipped the manila folder open. "Coffee, Jones, go!"

Agent Burke was deeply engrossed in the file when Jones returned with the fresh coffee. He picked up the cup and sipped.

"So let me see if I get this right. Dr. Nesbit is a leader in her field of Forensic Art History and Restoration. She has a Masters in Art History and a Doctorate in Materials Science. She heads the research lab at Materials Analysis Testing Technologies. Now here is the kicker, she miraculously finds the time in her busy schedule to install a basic test instrument in our crime lab along with offering free lectures and training to our staff. Something just doesn't add up."

Peter swallowed more coffee, "She appears to be an extremely rich old friend of Neal's. And while, I can more than understand his interest in a woman with these means and skills, I can't for the life of me understand what would bring her from her posh home in Connecticut a few weeks before Christmas to do a job that any member of her staff could do."

Jones leaned forward, "If I can interrupt, Cruz talked with your neighbors, the Leideckers, and they provided us with some physical evidence. They found Neal's coat rolled up in their trashcan. Inside the coat we found a number of Neal's personal items including a fancy leather bound sketchbook, monogrammed with his initials, dated and inscribed from Dr. Nesbit to Neal as a birthday gift."

"What was the date?"

"It was dated today but Neal must have gotten it as an early gift. It contained one sketch drawn by Neal. It was a portrait of Dr. Nesbit playing the piano, wearing a formal dress and no heavy glasses." Jones paused, "Also Cruz remembered that Neal's first partner was a Nesbit and that his death was surrounded by controversy. Our profile lists Dr. Nesbit as a widow."

Peter perked up, "This could be the break we needed. Where is Dr. Nesbit staying?"

"The Mansfield."

"Looks like you and Cruz are off to the Mansfield to meet with our doctor."