The Golden Hen

Chapter 2: Nesting Dolls

When the corpse of an elderly man was found near Columbia University, Neal's case was no longer a laughing matter. Peter headed to Hughes's office to inform him about the missing antique dealer.

"Even if the man is Trifonov, NYPD will want to handle the case," Hughes warned.

"But the link to a valuable antique brings it back to us," Peter pointed out. "Any chance of a joint operation?"

"I'll see what I can do, but no promises."

It didn't take long for a positive ID to be established, and by the time Neal arrived back at the Federal Building, Hughes had already been in touch with NYPD. As soon as Neal entered the bullpen, Peter called him into his office.

"Trifonov's body was found in a dumpster this morning," Peter explained, gesturing for Neal to take a seat. "The sanitation workers discovered it when they made their rounds. Since the location is not far from the Columbia subway station, it appears that Trifonov was attacked on his way to see your advisor."

"How was he killed?" Neal's normal cockiness had disappeared under the weight of his first murder investigation.

"His throat was cut," Peter replied. "Nothing of value was found on his body."

"Have they established a time of death?"

"According to the preliminary findings, sometime between two and eight in the evening on Saturday."

"So what happens now?" Neal asked. "Does Homicide take over the case?"

"Normally it would. But because of the art connection, we may be able to run it as a joint operation. Tell me what you learned."

"I spoke with the assistant, a woman by the name of Vera Bok. I mentioned that I was a colleague of Sherkov's and that he'd asked me to relay a message to Trifonov." Neal hesitated. "You should know that I didn't inform her of my connection to the Bureau."

Peter exhaled. "You know better than that. Properly identifying yourself to a witness is the first step in any questioning."

"I was going to," Neal protested, "but she looked like the type who wouldn't have given the time of day to a cop. To an art connoisseur, on the other hand"—Neal shrugged, a smile breaking out—"she was very accommodating. Vera said she was surprised when Trifonov didn't show up, but that's moot now. As for the egg, she searched for it, but it wasn't in the store. The receipt, dated August 21, was for a golden hen and stand."

"That doesn't sound like an egg to me. Were you able to get a description of the customer who brought it in?"

"No, Vera hadn't been present during the transaction, but I obtained the contact information. The receipt was made out to Sonya Pashkina." Neal wrote down the name on a slip of paper and passed it to Peter.

"What about Trifonov?" he asked, slipping the paper into his folder.

"He lived an apartment over the store. We'd just left it when you called."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Tell me you didn't pick the lock."

"Of course not," Neal said, glaring at him. "That would be illegal."

"So now you're going by the book?"

He relaxed into a grin."Vera had a key. She offered to verify he hadn't suffered an accident in his apartment. At her request, I accompanied her. You'll be happy to know I was careful not to touch anything."

Peter crossed his arms. "And just how did she get the idea that Trifonov might have had an accident?"

Neal gave him a wide-eyed look. "She may have picked up on something I said. Hard to tell for sure."