When he and Neal walked into the conference room where Diana was working, she held up one of Scott's many photos.
"Nice bustier," the kid said. "For you or Christie?"
It was a corset filled with diamonds.
"This is one of three items Robin Hoodie stole while wearing that wig."
"Are we really gonna keep calling him that?" the kid asked.
"Sure," Peter replied. "It's no 'James Bonds.'"
"No, it's not." It would be nice if Neal could just accept the name. It would be the name they would use either way.
"And these diamonds are from a heist our lady kill was a suspect in," Diana said, bringing out a photo from another file.
"So, Scott thought he stole an expensive piece of jewelry…"
"Instead, he stole evidence of a crime," Peter finished the sentence and looked at the photo of the bustier.
"Kill Scott, and they eliminate any evidence that leads back to them," the kid said.
"The office in this picture has an unobstructed view of midtown from an upper floor," Peter noted. There were always interesting things to see in a photo that the one taken int had not thought of. "Let's see if we can figure out elevation and angles to see where it is."
"Done," Diana said, opening a file.
"Look at you," Peter grinned. She was fantastic.
"The office belongs to Thomas Carlisle. He was suspected of masterminding the heist."
"What an incredible coincidence."
Peter looked at the photo of Carlisle.
"I've heard of Mr. Carlisle," he said. Not in White Collar cases, so he had no personal references. "He has been a person of interest more than a few times. Let's go talk to him." He looked at the kid. "Neal, see if you can get any leads on Scott."
Neal left the office and called Moz. Ten minutes later, they met by 'Triumph of the Human Spirit' in Foley Square. It was out of his radius, but when Peter sent him out on working business, he these days just kept an eye on his tracking data. Neal preferred to have it that way as well, so he avoided any suspicious moves.
"Peter wants me to find a guy named Scott Rivers," he said. "Ever heard of him?"
"Scott Rivers? No."
"A kid, maybe just in his twenties, steals pricey, shiny objects for fun. Makes donations in the owners' names."
"Sounds like—"
"Don't say it!"
"Though you never made any donations…"
"It was tricking people and systems that were the fun, not the object in it shelf. This guy steals apples from an unguarded box just because he can."
Mozzie grinned from ear to ear.
"Oh, you're gonna love this," his partner in crime said. "The street is abuzz. Someone is looking for you. No name. He's a kid. Word is he talks the talk, so to speak the speak."
"Did you enjoy that sentence?"
"Yes, I did," he smiled.
"So he's trying to find me." Had the kid realized who he was at the party at last?
"Makes your job easier."
"I want you to get in touch with him."
"I will. But first, we have a little identity crisis." They continued into the little park area. Mozzie walked up to a bench where a sturdy man in a cardigan and cap was sitting. They greeted each other in Russian. Moz gestured to Neal.
"This is my associate—"
"You are about to be reborn. Names are not necessary."
"Mozzie says you can create permanent identities without the baby birth certificates."
"Identity farming," Mozzie smiled.
"I've heard of it, but only as a theory. How'd you pull that off?"
"Years ago, I began filing for a number of birth certificates. Back then, it was much easier. The world was more trusting."
"We live in cynical times, Alec."
"Oh, yeah, this is true. I treated these identities as if they were real. As they grew up, I gave them bank accounts, library cards, tax returns…"
Neal was impressed. The man had used an option that would pay off decades later.
"You created paper trails."
"I created lives, one of which you will now step into as if you had lived it all along." Alec rose and handed him an envelope. "You will be Victor."
Even though he had thought this a good idea, he got cold feet. It was not a dead baby, sure, but it was someone else's life, even if this person never existed.
"I don't know if I'm a Victor. I —"
"Yes, you are. Strong-willed, so stubborn growing up. And he's your age."
Neal looked at the paper in the envelope.
"Victor Moreau," he read and got a chill along his spine. "Did you plan this?" he asked Mozzie.
"No. Destiny?"
"Goodbye, Victor." Alec grabbed Neal's head and gave him a firm kiss on each cheek. "Now you. You are now Bob. I never liked you."
Mozzie's smile disappeared as Alec walked away without any farewell kisses.
"I like you, Bob."
Peter held up the photo of the bustier towards Carlisle's office window, and it could very well be taken from that very spot where he stood. It would not be enough for a court, but certainly enough as a lead.
Diana took in the rest of the office as they were waiting for its owner.
"A Japanese sculpture, an Italian harp, and framed Spanish doubloons. Can't really settle on a theme, can he?"
The silent man from Carlisle's staff that stayed with them did not respond.
"I think the point is that everything is really expensive," Peter said. "No matter what it looks like." And an expensive safe too.
"Agents!" A man with a smile looking like he was about to bite marched into the room. "I hope this isn't about that diamond heist a year ago because you guys have hassled me plenty already, and you haven't found anything."
"It isn't. This is a friendly visit."
"Great. Let's have a drink. What's your pleasure, um..."
"FBI Agents Burke and Berrigan."
"And, no, thanks," Diana added. Carlisle shrugged and poured himself a drink.
"The 7x3000 reinforced titanium," Peter said, nodding towards the safe's door. "It's a beauty... And brand-new." It didn't have a scratch, as if they just pulled off the cling film.
"It is. It's the most expensive model they got."
"Any reason you need a new safe?" Diana wanted to know.
Carlisle sat down in his bulky chair behind his equally grand desk.
"A man in my position, people try to steal from me all the time."
"These attempts get reported?" Peter asked.
"You know what I mean."
"I do?"
"Yeah. Instead of working their way up like I did, they try to take shortcuts. Want to take what isn't theirs."
"Anyone stolen from you recently?" Diana asked.
"If they had, they'd regret it." Eyes like ice.
"How's that?" Peter pushed the issue. Carlisle broke up in a smile.
"'Cause you guys would arrest them, of course."
"Of course," Peter smiled back. "That's why we're here."
"Do you recognize this kid?" Diana put the photo of Scott from the security camera that he missed. The one the assassin had had in her purse.
"I don't. What did he do?"
"He took a shortcut," Peter said. "Took some things that weren't his."
"He's been robbing wealthy people in the area who collect..." Diana made a gesture to the room. "Items of extravagance."
"You certainly fit the bill," Peter said.
The silent guy from the staff walked up to Carlisle and talked in a low voice into his ear. Peter was pretty certain he heard him say 'One of your guys called. They know where he's at.' Was it Robin Hoodie he talked about?
"I gotta go," Carlisle said, rising and placing his drink on the desk. "Is there anything else you need?"
Peter brought out a business card.
"Call me if you see him or hear anything, will you?"
"Of course."
"Lovely guy," Diana said when they were alone.
"He's a peach. The kind of man who'd be stupid enough to put stolen diamonds on a bustier."