Chapter Text
Chapter 1
“Okay, fill me in. What do we have so far?” Peter wanted to know as he walked into the conference room, looking at his team.
Jones immediately started speaking. “Four masterpieces were stolen from the Met’s European collection last night. A Rembrandt, a Rubens, a van Dyck and a Monet. Total estimated worth is around 300 million dollars. No alarm was triggered and the theft was only discovered this morning. Nothing on the security tapes either.”
“300 million dollars?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Not a bad haul.”
“Not at all,” Jones agreed, handing Peter a couple of files. “A first list of potential suspects that could have pulled a job this big.” He then handed Peter a second stack of files. “And fences that we should keep an eye on over the next few weeks. They all have a history of dealing in European masters or handling something this big and hot.”
Peter started flipping through the first stack of files, seeing some familiar names. “Okay. Diana, get a team to bang on everyone’s door in this stack. Find out where they were last night, double and triple check their alibis if they claim to have one,” he instructed. He then looked at the one file Jones had kept by his side and hadn’t handed over. “Another suspect?”
“Nah, it turned out to be a dead end. Has a watertight alibi.”
“Let me see it anyway,” Peter demanded, waiting for Jones to hand over the file. When he opened it, he gasped. “Caffrey? You bet he has a watertight alibi. He’s up at Sing Sing, isn’t he?”
Jones looked at Peter with a frown. “Uh, not any longer, boss. Caffrey was released on parole four weeks ago.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Caffrey is out on parole? What?”
“Yeah, he got an early release for good behavior. He’s serving the last remaining year of his sentence here in New York. Apparently they have him on a tracking anklet - hence the watertight alibi - and some pretty strict parole conditions,” Jones informed his boss.
“Why wasn’t I informed that Caffrey was released on parole?” Peter demanded, looking at every single agent in the room as if they had all betrayed him personally by not telling him. “Why was I not informed about this?”
“Uhm boss, it’s not really our business, is it?” Diana said carefully. “We don’t oversee parolees.”
Knowing that she had a point, Peter sighed. “Yeah, of course.” He then flipped through Caffrey’s file once more. “I wouldn’t put it past him to manipulate the tracking anklet somehow. I want to talk to him in person,” Peter announced.
“Boss, it’s not just the tracking anklet that confirms that he hasn’t been anywhere close to the Met once since his release. He was at work during the hours the heist must have taken place and the NYPD has already confirmed with his superior and three colleagues that he was there all ten hours of his shift and didn’t leave once. His alibi is watertight. It wasn’t Caffrey.”
Peter saw the look that passed between Jones and Diana and knew exactly what it meant. He knew that people thought that he had an unhealthy obsession with Caffrey, but who could blame him? He had spent three years of his life chasing after him before he had caught him. Only to then chase after him again - if only for a few hours that second time - to catch him again. It was a good thing that they didn’t know all the details of what had happened after that second arrest or their look would have been even more worrisome.
Jones and Diana didn’t know - no one on his team except for Hughes really - that back then Neal Caffrey had offered him a deal to help them catch the Dutchman and that Peter had been tempted to take it. If it hadn’t been for Hughes’ hard no, who knew what could have happened? Caffrey might have ended up working cases with them if Hughes hadn’t been so adamant about not even thinking about accepting that deal. Peter could still remember the look Hughes had given him when he had seen that Peter had at least been open to considering Neal’s deal.
“Have you lost it completely now, Peter? That man is a slippery criminal. He’s using you to get out of this new sentence he’s earned himself. Let him rot where he is. He got himself into that position and is no longer your problem. And for everyone's sake, stop obsessing over him and move on! We have more important concerns. The Dutchman is still out there and toying with us. Obsess over him, for Christ’s sake!”
And so Peter had done. Albeit reluctantly. Thankfully the Dutchman had proven to be a worthy opponent and had taken up so much of Peter’s time in the following years that he hadn’t had much time to think about Neal Caffrey going forward.
Until now. Apparently Caffrey was back in New York. And that changed things. Peter had no doubt that if anyone could manage to fool a GPS tracking monitor and colleagues at work, it would be Neal Caffrey. But it would be better to investigate that angle on his own and to not let his team know. They would only think he was obsessing over Caffrey again if that look that had passed between Jones and Diana was any indication.
“All right,” Peter relented, then looked at the files with possible fences. “I want our CIs to listen around and I want agents to keep an eye on all of these fences 24/7 going forward from now.” Everyone nodded. “Okay, let’s get our thief and let’s get those paintings back.”
Fifteen hours later after a long, tiring day that hadn’t really brought many new leads, Peter found himself heading to a run-down, greasy burger joint in Mott Haven in the Bronx.
According to the file that Jones had given him earlier this was where Neal Caffrey worked the night shift. As he made his way through the streets, following his car’s navigation system to his destination, he found it less and less likely that this was actually right.
This had to be some kind of con Caffrey was running. Some sort of scheme he was pulling. The neighborhood the burger joint was in had one of the highest crime rates in the city and was anything but a good neighborhood. Neal Caffrey loved his creature comforts and had lived the high life even when he had been on the run. He had stayed in five star hotels all around the globe and this was about as far from where Neal Caffrey would ever end up as any place Peter could think of. Not even taking into consideration that there was just no way that someone like Caffrey would work the graveyard shift in a shitty burger joint. As if.
Peter felt decidedly uncomfortable about leaving his car unattended in the car park of the restaurant - which was a very generous description for this run-down place - but got out anyway. If he wanted answers, he would have to get out and get them. He made his way into the place and saw a couple of what were most likely junkies that were half passed out sitting at some of the tables. Ignoring the tables, he headed straight for the counter where a pimple-faced teenager asked him in a bored voice what he wanted to order. Peter was tempted to say nothing, but knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere, so ordered a cup of coffee, knowing that he needed the caffeine.
When he saw the kid move away to prepare the coffee at an old, rusty coffee machine that looked even worse than the one they had at the Bureau, Peter decided quickly that he wouldn’t drink a single drop. He paid for the coffee then moved over to a table that allowed him to keep an eye on the whole place.
After half an hour he grew tired and bored of waiting, still not having seen even a hint of Neal Caffrey. He had seen some employees behind the counter - most likely the ones who had to prepare the food in the kitchen - talking to the pimple-faced kid at times, but much like he had suspected the man he was looking for was a no show at this sleazy place. He was probably sitting in a five star hotel somewhere in Manhattan, having a good laugh about what an idiot Peter was to actually have driven out here. With a sigh Peter got up and ready to leave. Before he headed back to his car, he reluctantly decided to stop at the restroom. It would be a long drive back home to Brooklyn and his mother had raised him better than to just empty his bladder at the side of the road when there was a restroom around. Even one that was probably as dirty as could be.
Entering the single restroom at the back, Peter frowned when he saw that it actually looked cleaner than he would have expected from the look of the rest of the place. In fact there was an employee inside cleaning the place right now.
“Oh sorry, I’ll be done in a moment,” a voice that made Peter freeze said quietly the moment he had opened the door to enter the restroom.
“Caffrey?” Peter frowned, having recognized the voice right away.
And indeed, the man that looked up with a start and looked back at him in shock was none other than the man he had been looking for for over half an hour. Neal Caffrey as he lived and breathed, wearing some dirty coverall and scrubbing the restroom of a sleazy burger joint in Mott Haven.
“Uh, Peter…,” the man replied when he had seemingly gathered his wits again, looking clearly embarrassed that it was him of all people that had found him scrubbing this restroom.
“It’s Agent Burke to you,” Peter replied sternly, not able to help himself.
Caffrey gave him a look that seemed to be a mixture between hurt and resignation and just seemed to say ‘Really?’ and then sighed. “Of course, Agent Burke.”
“What are you doing here?” Peter asked, eying him in barely concealed shock.
“Uhm, working,” Caffrey said quietly. “May I ask what you’re doing here? This isn’t exactly your neighborhood, is it?”
Peter knew that there was no point denying that. Neal had sent him enough cards to his place to know where he lived. “I was actually looking for you,” he just replied.
“For someone who found the person he was looking for, you look really surprised,” Caffrey pointed out with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“You actually work here?” Peter frowned. And when Caffrey lowered his eyes and just nodded, Peter could literally feel the embarrassment that he exuded in droves.
After a few moments Caffrey lifted his head and looked at Peter in what could only be described as defiance. “Is that a problem?”
“We need to talk,” Peter just told the other man, ignoring his question. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“This is probably the most private place you’re going to find here,” Caffrey told him and Peter wondered if he was pulling his leg or not.
“Is there no office?”
Caffrey scoffed. “If you think they’re letting the felon into their precious office, think again. Quite frankly, I don’t really think we have anything to talk about, Agent Burke.”
“Oh, we have a lot to talk about,” Peter said seriously. “Maybe I should bring you in and question you at the FBI offices. We have nice interview rooms.”
Caffrey’s eyes widened. “Question me? What about? I didn’t do anything, I swear.”
Peter was surprised to see what looked like real fear on Caffrey’s face. The man had been a better actor in the past, that was for sure. Be that as it was, Peter sighed. “Where were you last night?”
Peter watched Caffrey’s expression cloud over and get angry. “Your friends in blue from the NYPD already checked that. Didn’t they tell you? You really need to work on your inter-agency communication, Agent Burke.” The Agent Burke had been all but hissed and Peter heard real anger in the other man’s voice. He couldn’t remember a single time Caffrey had ever gotten angry before, so that was definitely new. “Well, let me tell you then: I was here. Working from 9pm to 7am like I do every night. And as your friends in blue already found out after marching in here and interrogating me and everyone else who works here, I didn’t leave once. I was here the whole ten hours I was supposed to be here and there are witnesses who can confirm that. There’s even a video camera in this place that will confirm so.”
“Like you couldn’t avoid cameras,” Peter muttered.
“What would be the point, Agent Burke? If I tried, there’d be at least three other people that work here watching my every move. Despite what you might think of this place, no one here seems to trust the felon cleaning it for them. They’re watching me more closely than any CO at Sing Sing ever did,” Caffrey spat. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to get back to work.”
“Caffrey,” Peter said sternly, when the man made to move past him and out of the restroom. “We’re not done here.”
“I think we are,” he just replied. “My parole officer gave me a two hour lecture - right after working here for ten hours and then talking to the NYPD for another three hours about my whereabouts last night - telling me how much of an inconvenience it was for him to get my tracking data from the Marshals and have it sent to the NYPD to prove that I wasn’t at the Met last night. Which I wasn’t! I didn’t steal those paintings. You’re looking at the wrong man and this man here is tired of you keeping me from my work and risking my job after several people have already confirmed to you and your friends that it couldn’t have been me.”
For the first time Peter noticed the rougher edges that Caffrey seemed to have now. After his first four years at Sing Sing he had seemed pretty much the same when Peter had arrested him the second time, but now there was something colder, something harsher about the man. He was also thinner than he had been and his eyes looked duller, less full of life and mischief than they had in the past.
“I can have you brought in. Is that what you want, Caffrey?” Peter demanded.
“Do what you have to do, Peter,” he spat the agent’s name coldly. “It wasn’t me. You have been given enough proof to know that it wasn’t me. If that’s not good enough for you, that’s on you. If you think you can get a warrant like this, be my guest. Now excuse me, I have work to do.” And without another word Caffrey pushed past him and left the room, leaving Peter to stare after him disbelievingly.
Of course Peter didn’t have enough to bring in Caffrey, quite on the contrary. Caffrey had what everyone else considered a watertight alibi and Hughes forced his team to concentrate on other leads instead.
A week later they finally caught a break when a fence they had been watching tried to sell one of the stolen paintings. They arrested the fence and within hours he cut a deal and turned on the seller who turned out to be their thief. A day later they arrested the man and recovered the other stolen paintings as well. The case was closed and Peter all but forgot about his little visit to the run-down burger joint in Mott Haven.