Evidence Room

Neal stood at the end of the hallway and swallowed down the lump in his throat. How had betrayal and loyalty ever become the same? Protecting an innocent man by freeing a murderer? He pushed play on his music, went inside its rhythm for a few moments, then stepped precisely into the hallway. Side to side, sliding, lowering, pressing to the wall, all in fluid motions working his way down the hall. Once at the end he stepped into the room and bowed respectfully to the cameras he had defeated. "Impressive," the steady, familiar voice said. "I trust you have a good reason for coming here with whatever is in that kit you have," continued Neal's handler of 3 months. Near turned slowly toward Agent Siegel's voice, holding his hands in front of him, palms open. The case dangled from his left wrist uncomfortably by its handle. He was a little shaken to see him sitting there in that chair in the darkness of the evidence room, but almost not surprised. Neal met Siegel's gaze and waited for his handler to approach with handcuffs. "Relax Caffery. I don't think understood me when I said 'I trust you have a good reason.' Still, I can't just allow you to do whatever it is you have planned to do in here, good reason or not. Come over to this table and show me what you have in there." Neal walked the few steps, placed the case on the table, and opened it. Agent Siegel studied the contents in silence. After a few minutes, he said, "Very well, close it up, start your music, dance back down the hallway like you came, the go immediately to my office. Bring the case and all of its contents with you. We will have much to discuss I'll let you get past the agent out there, then I will follow you." Surprised, Neal closed the case and walked toward the hallway, readying himself for the trip back down. "Neal," Siegel said before he had a chance to push play. Neal turned to his handler who continued speaking once their eyes met, "For both our sakes, don't get caught." Neal gave him a slow nod, pushed play, went back the way he came.

Once he past the agent at the end of the hallway, Neal quickly turned to the elevator. He was glad he did not have to wait for it. He stepped on quickly, without turning to see if Siegel was coming. After all, how could anyone blame him for wanting a few moments alone before his upcoming conversation. At the 21st floor, Neal stepped off and walked up to Siegel's office door. Finding it locked, Neal walked back into the empty bullpen and sat at his own desk and waited. A few minutes later, the elevator dinged and out stepped Agent Siegel with square shoulders and a frown on his face. He strode toward Neal's desk while gesturing for him to rise. The two men walked quickly with an even rhythm up the stairs to Siegel's office door. The agent unlocked it, gestured Neal inside and to be seated, closed the door, and sat himself. After a few moments he said, "Well, Mr. Caffery?" Neal looked at his handler and willed himself to speak, to be the suave conman, but he couldn't and he wasn't. He stared at Siegel for nearly 3 minutes, opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat. He kept eye contact with his handler, but it was different than the eye contact he usually gave. It was not to try to give credibility to what he was saying, not to inspire confidence in his words, but to beg Siegel to wait a little longer, pleading him to understand that he had a story to tell, that he wanted to tell it, but was somehow locked away. "Okay, Caffery, this looks like it's going to take a while. I'll make us some coffee. You go to your desk and grab your sketch pad and pencils. I'll meet you there.

Once at his desk, Neal sat and took out his sketch pad, opened it took a blank sheet, picked up his charcoal pencil, and started tapping it on the desk. Siegel returned with two steaming mugs of coffee, obviously brewed from his personal stash because it smelled amazing. He handed one to Neal who held it in both his hands but didn't sip. As the agent sat down beside him, Neal finally spoke, "Why bother with this charade? You are obviously going to send me to prison for attempting to tamper with evidence. You don't need a confession from me. Our partnership is over. So, there is no need for any of this. You don't have to pretend to care, just call the marshals and get me out of here."

"I am not going to decide what happens to us next until I know what happened and why," Siegel said in a firm tone. "Are you in danger?" he continued.

"No."

"If you are not in danger, what was so important that you risked prison for it?"

"If you call the marshals now, you can back home and having a nice quiet evening within the hour. You know this conversation is pointless. There is nothing I could possible say that would convince you to keep me out on contract after I accessed the evidence room without authorization while carrying that stuff with me. Why don't you quit wasting both our time?"

"I will make an informed decision of how to best proceed; you will not be able to badger me into discarding you like a used tissue. If you are not ready to tell me what has gone so seriously wrong that you became desperate enough to go to the evidence room apparently to destroy evidence, then just be quiet and drink your coffee." Siegel pulled the empty top sheet off of Neal's sketchpad and picked up of his charcoal pencils. He sipped his own coffee, placed the mug down on Neal's desk, and drew a line on the page. Neal sipped his coffee, grimaced slightly at its bitterness, but smiled at the spiciness.

"Cardamon, ginger, black pepper, I think. Then, something else I don't recognize."

"Cardamon and ginger, yes. White pepper, not black. Also, marjoram and mustard. Of course, I added some chocolate powder too."

"It's good. Weird, but good." Neal watched quietly as Siegel slowly drew a coffee mug which had been on Neal's desk from earlier in the day. He wasn't particularly good, but it was a tolerably recognizable form and at least the man had the good sense not to draw one of the coffee mugs that would be picked up, sipped from, and placed down again in a different spot. The hot, bitter drink soothed, and kept his heart from hammering quite as hard even as he unsuccessfully tried to think of a way to save Peter. If Siegel wanted to have this delay before sending him to prison, why not go with it? Clearly, they were going to be here for a while. So, Neal pulled the top sheet off, drew the same mug as Siegel, only his looked much better. So, they spent the better part of an hour quietly drawing coffee mugs together. After a while, Siegel got a message on his phone.

"Our dinner is here. Come on, help me bring it up." It smelled delicious. They sat back at Neal's desk, pushed the sketch pad and pencils out of the way and pulled out two servings each of cucumber and peppermint salad, tomato basil soup, trout, and lemon ginger tea. Neal pulled out a sugar packet from his desk. To his surprise, Siegel took it out of his hand. "No sugar, Neal. It's inflammatory. Do you want to lock your throat up more? I can actually see how tight it is. It must hurt."

"I guess it does." The fish was soft, the cucumbers were sliced paper-thin. In spite of the heavy lump in his throat, Neal was able to eat fairly well. By the time they finished, Neal still had not thought of a way to keep Hagen from revealing the confession that had freed Peter was a forgery. It would be one thing for Neal to go to prison for actually stealing gold coins, but for Peter to die in prison for a murder he didn't commit was just so wrong. And Hagan had indicated the prosecutor would push as hard as possible. There really wasn't any option left but hope that Siegel could somehow put all the pieces together in a way that could be proved, or at least provide enough "reasonable doubt" that Peter could go home to Elizabeth after the new trial. Neal could live with that. They would have to cut down on their lifestyle to make it on El's income, but they would be alive and together. Neal could endure a long sentence just by knowing the two of them were happy together. He looked at his handler and said, "ga hak." Neal rolled his eyes and said, "Ridiculous. Now why can I say ridiculous?"

"It isn't threatening to say 'ridiculous.' I'd like to help solve whatever problem led you to the evidence room in the first place, but opening that problem up to me is going to be painful and frightening. If you aren't in danger, as you have said, then I assume you believe one or more of your friends will get hurt when you talk. Since you have already tried and failed twice to speak, I assume you have been considering the question of whether they will be hurt more by your silence or by your speech now that I have blocked you from going through with whatever you were going to do in the evidence room."

"I could probably have lied my way out earlier, then ran before everything came crashing down. But leaving them…" Neal shook his head and fell silent again.

"I'm sure you could have, Neal. You are a talented, skilled, and dare I say expertly trained con artist. But you stayed with me because you have a problem that if you ignore someone you care about will get hurt. To get that help, you have to speak truth at its most painful. Otherwise, I won't know what to do." He pulled another piece of paper off the sketch pad and started drawing a takeout container. "Who do you want to save, Neal?" he asked. Neal tried to speak again, but when he opened his mouth, the sound died in his throat and the lump throbbed painfully. He rolled his eyes again and grabbed another piece of paper.

"I've told Peter 'threatening' things before, as you call them. I kept my composure and definitely my ability to actually speak. I don't understand what the problem is now." Siegel did not reply, but simply drew quietly. Neal grinned, bopped Siegel on the shoulder, and said, "Got any sodium pentothal?"

"No," replied Siegel sounding a mixture of amused and irritated. "We are not doing that or anything like it." Neal sighed when his joke fell flat and began sketching a lady's hand. He let himself immerse into the drawing, all the while, worrying about Peter and Elizabeth.

David watched with interest as Caffery drew. The foreground first. A lady's hands grasping firmly to a handrail. Her knuckles were white and her nails were pinked from holding on tightly. A diamond sparkled on the ring finger of her left hand. His interested grew into a horror as the picture continued to take its shape. A window in front of the handrail. A concrete room beyond. A table. A man wearing orange strapped to the table. A tourniquet around the man's upper arm. Three men in prison guard uniforms. A person in scrubs, wearing a face shield, inserting an IV line into the man's forearm. The man's eyes and face grew more detailed. It was Agent Burke's face, full of sadness, confusion, and anger. So, this was the nightmare Caffery couldn't bring himself to talk about. Peter Burke's execution through Elizabeth Burke's eyes. He looked at Caffery's face as he worked; he was fully entrenched in his work, but was he even aware anymore of where he was or what he was drawing? It was a place to start. "Neal, is there something wrong with the confession your father sent that got the charges dropped against Burke?" Caffery jumped at his voice, looked around the room and at him with a startled expression. Then, he looked down at his paper and froze with a look of horror. Then he began reaching for the page. Fearing he was going to tear it, David took it and pushed Caffery's hands away. "I'm going to keep this for now. I won't show it to Agent Burke. I'll just keep it for now. So, he had dissociated while he was drawing. David wasn't especially surprised; he'd seen such things before.

"I drew that," Neal said shakily.

"Yes, you drew that," said David, placing the sickening masterpiece in a folder. "Why is this fear still real for you after your father's confession?"

"Peter didn't do it, Agent Siegel. One of the last things my father said to me was that someone always takes the fall."

"I believe you. Why were you in the evidence room? Was it to protect Peter? I will not allow you to destroy evidence. If you want to help them, tell me what I need to know. What I need to investigate."

"Let me see the picture, please." Siegel opened the file, revealing the horrifying, vividly detailed drawing. "Peter's eyes are more like Peter's eyes in my drawing than in Hagen's." Siegel didn't comment at Caffery's odd remark, letting him continue on his own time. "Peter had been in prison several weeks when I got a message from an unknown number telling me to be at…" Caffery spoke quickly, pushing through the story of meeting Hagen at the library, forging the confession tape, stealing the coins, how Hagen said the coins would be used to pay off Andrew Dawson. David let him speak without asking for clarification and taking very few notes. He just let the jumble come out. Caffery was confiding in him out of desperation, not trust. David knew if he flinched wrong, he could shut Caffery down instantly.

Once Caffery stropped talking on his own, David clarified, "While Agent Burke was in prison, Curtis Hagen contacted you for a meeting. You discovered it was Hagen when you arrived. He told you the he was the reason Burke's prosecutor was pushing so hard. He told you he could make the prosecutor drop the charges if you created a confession tape. The tape would not be able to hold up to intense scrutiny, but didn't have to as the prosecutor was paid off with the Dutch coins. Hagen then ordered you to destroy the evidence that is keeping him in prison or he will show a video of you stealing the coins and a video of Dawson receiving them from a middle man. This would lead to the reexamination of Dawson's recent cases, including Burke's. The forged confession would be discovered. Hagen hinted at the death penalty for Burke both times you met with him. Is that a reasonable summary?"

"Yes."

"Anything else you want or need to add?"

"No."

"Well, the obvious next step for me is to investigate Andrew Dawson as well as the evidence against Burke. The confession was faked. Perhaps it is not the only evidence in the case that is less than real. While I am at it, perhaps I will find evidence suggesting Burke's innocence. Meanwhile, I cannot allow Hagen to have access to you, or for that matter, let you have access to the evidence room. However, sending you back to prison would be suicide for this investigation, as Hagen would realize his mark was no longer viable. Also, I detest the idea of you spending who knows how long in protective isolation." Caffery eyed him nervously as he spoke.

"What do you propose, Agent Siegel?" he asked with a steady voice.

"We can adjust your contract to be for intermittent work release. You can move into lock-up here at the Bureau. Unfortunately, as he is a person on interest in the investigation, Agent Burke cannot know the real reason for the transition. However, the formal reason for the transition can be Little Star." David picked up the folder with Neal's art, went upstairs, locked it in his desk drawer, and returned with a file containing the two bald, bespectacled pictures. He tapped Caffery's shoulder with the open file revealing both pictures. "You're compromised on the Little Star case Caffery. I'm not sending you to prison because I admire loyalty and I don't wanna punish anything driven by loyalty any more than I absolutely have to. But I can't allow you to be out where you could disrupt my case. So, you can keep your job, work on other cases, but until I get Little Star, you are going to be spending your nights and any hours not with an agent in lockup here."

Returning David's performance-style energy with his classic conman smile, Caffery said, "I think we have a plan of action, Agent Siegel."