Head slumped against the metal, pale fingers splayed so very still in the stagnant pool of blood. The familiar eyes opened in a mocking shade of life. Blood soaking into the otherwise pristine breast of the suit. The tracking anklet beeping. A message- I'm free.

"Neal didn't kill himself."

Peter started violently, spilling coffee over his pants. He had been quietly enjoying his lunch break in the park. He shouldn't have been surprised. "Mozzie."

Mozzie was standing behind the bench, holding a camera up to obscure his face, looking for all the world like an awed tourist. "He faked his death," he said.

Peter sighed. "I know it's hard to accept-"

Dropping the camera back around his neck, Mozzie sat down on the park bench behind Peter and slipped a map of the subway system out of his back pack. "Listen to me suit," Mozzie seemed a little more nervous than usual, which was hard to do in the first place, "I don't know what he got himself into, but the letter he left me? It was a code."

"A code?" Peter asked, unwrapping his sandwich. He had been the one to call Mozzie and tell him that Neal was dead. He should have known that Neal's best friend wouldn't mourn like the rest of them. Peter had had to stop himself from obsessing over each morbid detail, but it seemed Mozzie had gotten stuck in denial.

He pulled a sheaf of paper out of his bag, letters and numbers and a series of lines crisscrossing mathematical equations. "It's an old one of Neal's. It's complicated enough to have taken me nearly two weeks to work through."

"So what does it say?" Peter started picking the pickles out of his sandwich. El always put pickles on his sandwiches, and she knew he hated them.

"Just a name, but it's enough for me: Martin Campbell." Mozzie glanced around again as if catch someone listening in.

"Who?"

"The big bad wolf. He's possibly the most dangerous man in the confidence business, just the fact that you've never heard his name is proof of how good he is."

"So why would Neal leave you his name?"

"I don't know, maybe Neal was in deep with him for some reason, maybe I was just supposed to pass it along to you. But this is a sign right? Are you sure that it was Neal in there?"

"It was him. He is dead. There's no doubt."

"He might have skipped town, found a way to fool you. Maybe he was running from Campbell, maybe he's faked his death and run for the hills. Or maybe it's the suits, hiding him in some kind of witness protection-"

"No." Peter shook his head, but saw that Mozzie wasn't going to let his new theories go. He hated to do this, but Mozzie didn't deserve to be forced to decode Neal's suicide note for the rest of his life. "I found him... There was a hole straight through his head and the lab confirmed with prints and DNA. It was him."

Mozzie shivered, now looking miserable. "But he wouldn't do that, suit. Even if he is dead, the letter was definitely a message meant for me. Maybe he was trying to tell us who killed him."

"We ran every test known to man. If it was murder, something would have shown up in the autopsy. If there was something wrong, it would have shown up in the lab. We are professionals, you know." Peter sighed and pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders, "I think you're finding what you want to find. The bureau went through the letters for three days and our best cryptography programs couldn't turn up anything."

Mozzie gave a him a look. "It was a personal cypher, it was meant for me. It's just another reason to suspect foul play. It means Neal wasn't alone when he wrote it, that someone was checking the letters for code."

Hope began to blossom a little in his chest. Maybe Mozzie had something here, maybe there was some other reason. Peter wasn't sure exactly how murder was better than suicide- after all, Neal would still be dead, but now there was something to chase, something to make pay for the death. "Why would this Martin Campbell want to Neal dead?" he asked.

"They ran a con in France about twelve years ago, when Neal was ripe for a cocky mistake." Mozzie sprinkled some more food for the pigeons, "You know Neal doesn't like to discuss his past, but I know that it ended badly. He turned up pretty black and blue with his backside not a little singed."

"Running from Campbell?"

"I have no idea, but if he was holding a grudge, Neal would have been dead a long time ago."

The familiar thrum of adrenaline was starting to pump through him. Neal had left a clue, maybe this wasn't his fault. He was already planning in his head, where to look, how to find the next part of the puzzle.

It won't bring him back.

But he could damn well do some justice. "What was the cypher? Do you think my letter has the same message?"

"The message was meant for me. I think there's probably a more suit-specific code for you but if you let me take a look at your letter and June's, maybe I can find more."

Peter looked out to the park, all the people walking dogs, eating, laughing. Could there be someone watching them? "Okay, let me look through the letter. How can I contact you?"

"Mrs. Suit has one of my emails."

"El?"

"We swap recipes." He started to get up.

Peter stood as well, stepping quickly to intercept Mozzie, "Wait!"

"What?" The little man glanced around the park nervously.

Peter dug into his pocket for the little paper bird. He unfolded the wings and held it out for Mozzie's inspection, "I've been meaning to ask you something, but I didn't know how to get hold of you. What does this mean? Neal left it when he..."

Mozzie took it gingerly and inspected the rough folds.

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully, "but I'll see what I can turn up. If I were you I'd start looking into your lab. If they didn't find anything strange, then Campbell is even better than they say, or one of your suits has sprung a leak."

Neal was set up in style. Campbell at least seemed to be making an effort, but despite the silk sheets and new suits Neal wasn't allowed out of the building. He still hadn't been told much about the score, though by the amount of money being spent on keeping him happy, whatever was at the end of the rainbow was a lot shinier than gold.

He felt off balance without the anklet. It felt like nothing was keeping him grounded anymore. Campbell had promised that once this score was over, he could get him a new identity, citizenship to any country he could name, and a first class ticket to the paradise of his choice. A new face was offered as well, but Neal, seeing the pain pills that Campbell seemed to chug for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, couldn't bring himself to agree.

The rest would have been a tantalizing offer if Neal believed he would live one second past whatever role Campbell had cooked up for him. Once this was over, Campbell would kill him without hesitation. Loose ends were something the man could live with, but a loose end with ties to the FBI?

No, Neal had to get out, and get out fast. He tread a thin line already, trying to keep Martin from realizing Neal knew his fate. He could only imagine what was happening in the bureau.

They would know by now that the body in the apartment wasn't his. They would have figured out the codes and they were out looking for him, following the leads. He had to believe it, but he couldn't count on it. He had always worked his escapes on the basis that no one else was coming to bail him out.

He had to get out as quickly as possible, but his exits were limited if existent at all. Bribery wouldn't work, the impassive guard that stayed with him all day didn't speak to him past the occasional grunt when he asked for food. At least the view told him where he was in the city. They were keeping him surprisingly close to the FBI headquarters, which was perhaps why they were so paranoid about letting him out of the apartment. He wondered whether he was in his two mile radius.

So he had no choice but to wait: to plan and re-plan, gather information through observation and wait for the mistake that could get him his freedom. He just wished he could get a message to Peter.

He leaned against the window, letting the dizzying height take him through the familiar streets. He felt more trapped than he had when he had been in prison.

Maybe because prison had more relaxed security.

I've had a lot of people guessing as to what is going on/how the clues I've left are going to come together. I'd rather you sent me a PM with your guesses than reviewing with spoilers. I appreciate the excitement this has caused, but I will have to insist on deleting reviews that might detract from further chapters.

Otherwise please leave me a review and tell me how I'm doing... because I live for reviews.