The Queen's Jewels

Chapter 5: The Council of the Musketeers

November 17, 2004. Wednesday morning.

Peter was uneasy about what kind of reception he'd get when he rang the doorbell at June's mansion, Yesterday the FBI suspended Neal. Several agents searched his loft. How had Neal explained it to June?

June opened the door herself. "Come in, Peter." She was as gracious as always, but there was a new tone of wariness to her voice.

Peter decided to address the issue squarely. "I hope you don't think that I approved of the actions the Bureau took yesterday."

"I'm not holding you responsible," she said. "Neal explained what a difficult situation you'd been placed in. He's upstairs." As he turned toward the stairwell, she restrained him with a hand on his arm. "I'm counting on you to make things right."

"You can rest assured, I'll do my best. And not just me. Everyone on the team is determined to prove his innocence."

He found Neal working at his dinette table. Textbooks were scattered around him and his laptop was open in front of him.

"Taking my advice, I see, to hit the books. Good ..." God, this was awkward.

Neal appeared to understand. "It's okay," he replied to Peter's unspoken comment. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" He seemed much calmer than the previous day. On the surface that was a positive sign, but did it hide something more dangerous? Yesterday Neal had been easy to read. Hurt, anger, all his emotions were on display. Today he was smooth and distant. Too much in control. Peter's radar was pinging him a warning.

"Sure, thanks." While Neal poured the coffee, Peter glanced at the laptop. "Is this a paper for one of your courses?"

Neal nodded. "For my course on Egyptian art. Do you have any news?"

"Not much. Yesterday afternoon I supplied Hughes with details about the previous frame attempts. He is our liaison to OPR on this. I'm not to work directly with Fowler."

Neal nodded. "You need to keep your distance from my case."

"But that doesn't mean I can't confer with Hughes and offer advice. Others are helping too. Travis is working on the digital feed, trying to recover the lost footage. How do you think the fingerprints were planted?"

"The easiest way would have been to pocket a glass I'd used and lift the prints. A sophisticated thief like Tramonte would have made latex gloves that had the prints embossed on the surface. He then would have worn them during the heist. When he stole the earrings, the prints would have been properly placed. He probably only had prints for my right hand—that's why nothing was found for my left hand."

"You think it was Tramonte?"

Neal nodded. "There are so few who knew we had the earrings, he's the obvious suspect. Possibly Bolotnov could have used another of his mafia connections, but my bet is it was either Tramonte or someone at the FBI or both."

"Let's assume it was someone at the FBI. What's the motive?"

Neal shrugged. "Greed or to get rid of me. Maybe both." As Peter was about to reply, Neal's phone buzzed. Glancing at the display, he said, "Sorry, I need to get this." He strode over to the patio doors. "Hey, Fiona. Everything okay?" What followed was a short conversation with Fiona doing most of the talking. Afterward, he rejoined Peter at the table.

"No problems I hope?" Peter asked.

"She's fine. I'm a little jumpy these days. OPR bugged my loft when they searched it yesterday. Did you know about that?"

"No," said Peter, dismayed. Had Neal wondered whether to tell him? "But I'm not surprised."

"Mozzie found two bugs yesterday evening. Good thing June approved the new surveillance system. Mozzie will go ahead and install the equipment today. If they try to replace them, I'll know about it. I've borrowed one of his detectors to check my studio."