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Peter Burke knew that he had to ultimately wrap this thing up quickly with Neal Caffrey. Although the FBI Agent and thief had been playing cat and mouse games for several years, things were now progressing into a dangerous stratum. The young conman was becoming more bold and outrageous, his actions evolving into feats that were more foolhardy than slick. Recent foreign Intel had been passed along to the FBI indicating a sighting of Caffrey near Myanmar, once known as Burma. Whatever Neal was planning was definitely a risk to his life if he was caught, because surviving prison in that country would be a crapshoot. Neal had to know that he wasn’t invincible. This mindset of throwing caution to the wind scared the hell out of Peter.
In his gut, Peter knew that Neal’s behavior was predicated on his compulsive need to impress his lost girlfriend so that she would come back to him. Peter, using Bureau resources, had pulled Kate in for a sit-down several months ago. To say he was summarily unimpressed was an understatement. He found her to be vapid and narcissistic, but she intuitively knew the value of a siren’s allure and had no compulsion using it to her advantage. Peter concluded that she didn’t love or want Neal; she wanted what Neal could provide.
Even though Peter felt it was a personally deceitful and dishonorable ploy, he used Kate to ensnare the young man inside a storage locker in Manhattan rather than in the midst of some daring art theft. Ever perceptive, Neal had to suspect that he was walking into a trap, but he came willingly enough. He had simply smiled fondly at Peter, shook his hand and thanked him. It was on the tip of Peter’s tongue to utter, “Checkmate,” but he couldn’t bring himself to gloat. He must have been hanging around Caffrey too long with his love of film noir because the last line of the classic movie, “King Kong,” came to mind instead.
“It wasn’t the airplanes that killed the beast. It was Beauty that killed the Beast.”
The trial took place in due time, but the only solid evidence the Bureau had was one count of bond forgery. Neal got off with a marginally light sentence of four years that he would serve in a federal penitentiary in upstate New York. Peter kept his finger on the pulse of Neal’s beginning months there, talking frequently to the warden who claimed that there were no problems. Peter, however, voiced his fear that with Neal’s youthful good looks he would be the target for sexually depraved, sadistic inmates. Warden Haskley, a veteran of many years supervising the penal system, assured Peter that it appeared that protection money was in play, because it was well known that Neal was off-limits to one and all. Peter concluded from this tidbit of information that Neal’s mysterious little friend had considerable reach and resources.
Peter wasn’t sure of his own motivation, but he just couldn’t let this thing alone. Four years would fly by and then Neal would get out, team up with Kate, and their “Bonnie and Clyde” routine would begin again. Somehow, he had to reach the young man who had so very much potential and who, at his core, possessed a good heart. He needed to re-direct those magnificent talents before he was lost forever. To do that, he needed to understand what made Neal tick.
Like every inmate who came into the penal system, Neal was psychologically evaluated in the first few weeks of his incarceration. Peter used that avenue as an inroad into Neal’s psyche, but came up short on the journey. The first psychiatrist to interview Neal threw in the towel after three sessions. In the first, Neal had only spoken to him in German, in the second it was Japanese, and in the last the doctor thought he heard what may have been Swahili.
Threats of solitary confinement for noncompliance got the second psychiatrist a bit farther, but most likely Neal only gave him the answers that Neal wanted to give rather than real ones. In essence, the conman probably prevaricated and played with the shrink like a cat toys with a mouse. Nonetheless, the good doctor had come to his rapid conclusions after two sessions and written up a report that, in Peter’s opinion, wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.
Intelligence tests proved what Peter already knew. Neal’s IQ was off the charts. However, the psychiatrist was not going for the genius label but rather the “sociopathic” one. He made some dire predictions.
“This criminal is not capable of rehabilitation and will one day cross the line and become a psychopath when his desires are thwarted or the thrill of his crimes no longer satisfies him. He will become dangerous and not be averse to harming those who get in his way. He has no ties of trust, loyalty or compassion, and dealing with his mercurial impulsiveness will be like playing a game of Russian roulette.”
“Yada, yada, yadda psychobabble,” Peter mumbled. This crap was no help at all. However, Peter had an epiphany over dinner at his parents’ home the following Thanksgiving. His mother had graciously invited their long-time neighbor, Mary Paolini, a pleasant, matronly lady to join them. She had recently been widowed after 43 years of marriage and they didn’t want her to spend the day alone. Peter knew her, of course. He grew up knowing her as Dr. Paolini, a highly regarded psychiatrist who was now a semi-retired professor emeritus at nearby Syracuse University.
Over after-dinner cordials, Peter began to tell her the story of Neal Caffrey from beginning to end. Then Peter diffidently asked the doctor if she would consider evaluating Neal. It would be a personal favor for Peter and he would pay her fees out of his own pocket. Peter knew he could have asked El’s father, Alan Mitchell, who was also a psychiatrist to do the evaluation. However, Peter was not really comfortable around him. In fact, he usually terrorized Peter with his ominous stares, and Peter definitely didn’t want his father-in-law seeing “pathology” in his relationship with the criminal. So, Dr. Paolini seemed like the best option.
“Peter, it appears to me that you may be exhibiting signs of ‘savior complex,’” Dr. Paolini said as she eyed him speculatively.
Peter laughed self-consciously. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But those state docs have it all wrong. I know that you will have a more astute, impartial take on him. If you’ll agree to see him, just don’t tell him that I asked you or that I’m paying your fee.”
Dr. Paolini looked at Peter thoughtfully and asked, “What makes you think that this young man will agree to more probing by the medical profession?”
“I know him pretty well, and by now he’s most likely bored and will find it an interesting challenge to match wits with you,” Peter answered.
Again, the psychiatrist seemed to see beyond what her eyes took in. Finally she declared, “If Mr. Caffrey is willing, I will see him pro bono. I will inform the penitentiary that I wish to interview him for a possible educational treatise. Perhaps that may even happen one day,” she smiled shrewdly.
“However, if Mr. Caffrey is to become my patient, I will not lie or delude him. I will tell him the truth, that you requested my intervention. He will also be informed that I may choose to share information with you. In the end, it will be his decision to make.”
Peter couldn’t ask for anything more, and he thanked her profusely. If anyone could get to the real Neal Caffrey, it was Mary Paolini. Objectively, Peter knew he was in “fixer” mode, but he would take all the help he could get.
Surprisingly, Neal agreed to start meeting with Dr. Paolini.
“I’m really amazed by that,” Peter told her over the phone. “I didn’t think that he would after you told him that I asked you to do it as a favor.”
“I think that’s exactly why he said yes, Peter,” the psychiatrist said. “You have more influence over him than you think. Add to that the fact that I look like everybody’s gentle old granny, it was, as you might say, a done deal.”
Peter laughed and agreed to meet with her in person in several weeks to pick her brain regarding her conclusions. True to her word, Mary Paolini met with Peter over dinner one evening in Manhattan. After surface pleasantries about family and friends were put to bed, Peter fidgeted for a bit but he eventually got to the subject uppermost in his mind.
“Well, do you see Neal as a sociopath on his way to becoming a psychopath, Mary?” he asked.
“Peter,” the doctor began in gentle lecture mode. “I hate labels. I think they diminish a person, and unfortunately are too glib an answer for what is sometimes a myriad of complex issues.”
Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear more, but the psychiatrist continued on with her lecture.
“The word ‘psychopathy’ is a joining of the Greek words ‘psyche’ meaning soul and ‘pathos’ meaning suffering. Your young man’s soul is most definitely suffering, and I don’t refer only to the love sickness surrounding his girlfriend. We never discussed his childhood because he refused to do so, but because of the way he respects women and puts them on a pedestal, I am assuming that at one time in his childhood there was a positive female presence and he was loved and nurtured, at least for awhile. However, somewhere along the line, it seems that he became his own caretaker thus necessitating the honing of skills to adapt and survive.
I very much doubt that there was a dominant male in the picture, or at least not one who set standards and rules. Growing children need rules in their lives because these guidelines indicate someone is concerned with their safety. If there are no rules, then subconsciously children tend to reason that no one cares about them. For want of a better term, they feel adrift in a sometimes harsh world.
I do believe that the reason Neal glommed onto you, Peter, is that psychologically you are the missing male figure in his life. You represent rules and consequences, and stability of a kind. With you, he knows exactly what he is getting. There are no surprises. He sees your persistent interest in him as caring, and I think the young man’s perception is correct. You do care about him, Peter, or we wouldn’t be doing this,” Dr. Paolini concluded.
Peter was somewhat embarrassed. “I just think that he deserves to have the chance of a better life, Mary, not a fly-by-the seat-of-his-pants existence where he’s constantly putting himself in danger. It’s almost as if he’s on a path to self-destruction because he doesn’t do what he does for the money, but for the thrill and the attention.”
“And it certainly got your attention, didn’t it, Peter?” the psychiatrist asked gently.
Dr. Paolini got back to Peter’s initial question. “Over time, various members of my profession have written tomes on what constitutes a sociopath or psychopath. To winnow it down for you, let me hit the highlights attributed to this type of pathology. She began to tick each category on her fingers and elaborate in laymen’s terms:
1. Boldness: The person has almost no fear and great stress-tolerance. He can endure unfamiliarity and danger, and exhibits high self-confidence and social assertiveness. Our young friend fits neatly into this package.
2. Disinhibition: This simply means that the person has poor impulse control including problems with planning and foresight. He demands immediate gratification. He wants what he wants, and he wants it now and no behavioral restraints are going to stop him. From what you have told me, although Neal can be impulsive, he has always been meticulous and patient when he was planning a caper, and could adapt on the fly. That was why he was so successful at what he did. Now, let’s look at the final criteria.
3. Meanness: Psychotic people lack empathy and close attachments with others and have a disdain for them. They use cruelty to gain empowerment and have exploitive tendencies. In other words, they are cold-hearted bastards.”
The psychiatrist looked at Peter expectantly, like a professor waiting for the student to experience the “aha” moment.
“So, what you seem to be saying,” Peter started, “is that Neal fits into some of the criteria, but not all.”
“Peter,” Dr. Paolini said gently, “we all have a little bit of the abnormal within us. That’s what makes us unique. Believe me, some of my colleagues would find abnormal pathology in the way one takes their tea. But, no, in my opinion, Neal is far from a sociopath or psychopath.”
Peter felt comfort in having his perspective validated by the psychiatrist. Now he just needed a plan.
“What would you suggest I do?” he asked.
“That depends on Neal. But just be there for him, if he seeks you out. Don’t let him think that you have forgotten him,” she suggested.
“There’s not much chance of that. He makes sure to send me birthday and anniversary cards,” Peter answered with a smirk.
“Well, apparently he wants to foster the connection that the two of you have. Use that, and keep a close watch on him when he is released from prison. Be firm and try to keep him in check,” she answered.
The prison system made sure to keep Neal in check for a few years, but just three months shy of the end of Neal’s four year sentence, he took a runner. A scant few hours later, Peter took a forlorn young criminal back into custody. Even though it hadn’t been his intention, the incident provided Peter with a plan to re-center Neal’s moral compass. He now had the luxury of four more years to ride herd on the crazy kid himself, to keep him close and on a short tether, one that was exactly two miles in length. Peter knew the future would be a crusade of monumental proportions. There would be some immense hurdles and it would definitely be a daunting challenge. But he still felt Neal was worth it. “Who knows,” he mused, “it might even be fun!”