Work Text:
I was sitting on the terrace of the Ellington Mansion, sketching the Chrysler Building, when my phone rang.
At first I ignored it, and after a while it went away. But whoever it was, was quite insistent. But the time my phone started ringing for the third time, I realized I'll have to do something about it.
I put down my pencil and wiped my hands on a small rag as I made my way inside. The phone was on the kitchen table, now deep in its fourth attempt.
"Yeah," I answered.
Mozzie's voice greeted me. "Did I wake you?"
"It's 10AM in the morning, Moz!!"
"I know."
"What did you call for?"
"Did you hear that Lewis Thayer's "untitled #2" was stolen from the Lamson Gallery last night?"
Despite myself, I was impressed. "Nice."
"Slash and grab. Was it-"
I didn't wait for him to finish the question. "Nope."
"Pity," Mozzie announced. Though I knew that he would have been miffed if I'd have pulled such a job without letting him know.
As the silence on the line lengthened, I ventured my own question. "Is that why you called?"
"Well," Mozzie warmed up to his topic. "I was wondering if you'd like to meet up later. I might have a job lined up."
"I might be otherwise engaged today," I replied. I usually was, after a big theft in town. NYPD and the FBI labeled me a 'person of interest' and dragged me down for questioning. I sometimes wondered if they really believed that I was responsible for every art-theft in this fair town of ours, or if they just enjoyed harassing me. "How about tomorrow?"
"You know where to find me," Mozzie said as he hung up.
I tried getting back to my sketch, but the mood was already sufficiently ruined. Instead, I went out for a big breakfast. Police questioning could go on for hours, and they weren't that great on the food department. I wanted to be ready just in case.
But the day dragged on, and nobody showed up. The NYPD didn't call, the Feds didn't come knocking at my door. I brushed up on the details of the crime as reported by the news. It was a rather simple job, simple but elegant. The talking heads spent a lot of time talking about pop culture and Thayer's life and work. It was probably working wonders for the thief's asking price.
If I'd have stolen it, I'd have made it sure it would have hit the news.
Finally, I called up Burke. The man always suspected me of stealing something.
"Hey, Peter," I said.
"Neal," he answered. He didn't sound happy to hear from me.
"About that theft at the Lamson Gallery-"
"Yes?"
"I understand you already found your man."
I could practically hear the gears shifting in Peter's brain. "Why do you say that?"
"Is that a yes?"
Peter's sigh wafted over the line. "You can't answer a simple question, can you?"
I could say the same. "I haven't heard from you today."
"That's because I know it wasn't you. It happens sometimes."
"Really?"
"It's not your MO to copy your MO."
It took me a while to process that information. "You mean that the Lamson Gallery case-"
"Is a copy of one of your previous crimes."
"Alleged crimes."
"Whatever." He paused. "Neal, I'm rather busy at the moment, so unless you have something concrete to tell me..."
"Not really," I admitted.
"Bye, Neal."
I grinned as I put the phone down on the table. I had a copycat.
****
I admit I might have been insufferable for a day or two or three. Mozzie kept on groaning and rolling his eyes as I talked about this new copycat of mine.
I figured it must be somebody who's new on the scene. Probably somebody young, still new to the field, maybe new to the city. I could probably teach him a lot. I wondered whether I'd be able to find him before the Feds did.
Mozzie was meanwhile trying to interest me in this new job he had on the horizon, when my phone beeped. I might have set Google to notify me of any updates on the Thayer case.
"Neal, are you listening?" Mozzie tried again.
"Yeah," I answered automatically as I scrolled through the news on my phone. "Listen to this," I continued, "the Feds arrested six students at East Side University for running a forging and theft ring. The six were studying "one of the interesting criminals of the 21st century" in their criminology class." I looked up at Moz. "That's me!"
"I figured."
I continued scrolling. "Wait a second... 'Their teacher, professor George Oswald says his students had no idea his students would take it this far.' Can you believe that?"
I'm not sure I really expected a response. I pulled out my phone and dialed Peter's number.
"What are you doing?" Mozzie asked, but I wasn't listening.
"You've got the wrong guy!" I announced, when Peter finally answered his phone.
"Excuse me?"
There was a lot of noise on his end, and I could hear an announcer in the background. "Are you out?"
"I'm watching a game," Peter answered. He probably lowered the volume because I could now hear him rather clearly. "Was watching a game."
"This Professor Oswald is obviously the guy behind this crime. He probably pushed his students to-"
"I know," Peter interrupted me.
"So why don't you arrest him?"
"Because 'obviously' is not good enough, Neal. As you know only too well, we need evidence that will stand up in court, and in this case, we've got nothing. Oswald claims he was just teaching a class."
"And you believe him?"
"It doesn't matter whether I believe him. No DA would be willing to risk suing this guy."
"But-"
"Look, all criminals make mistakes. At some point, he's going to make a mistake, and we'll be waiting for him."
Well, maybe the FBI was willing to wait that long, but meanwhile, Oswald's students were paying the price.
****
The next day, I made my way down to East Side University, and slipped into Oswald's class. He spoke a bit about the events of the past week, and how shocked he was by the fact that his students had stolen a painting.
When the lesson ended, I stayed back. I approached Oswald after the rest of the students filed out. He was putting his papers away.
He looked at me as I approached, and then did a double take. "Neal Caffrey?"
"The original," I replied with a grin. My copycat turned out to be a rather staid professor. Not a shiny-eyed youngster, but rather a middle-aged criminal wannabe. "Your class was on the news."
"Not for good things, sadly."
I shrugged. "You've still got the Thayer piece?"
"I think you got things mixed up, Mr. Caffrey," he hurriedly corrected me. "I didn't steal that piece. I'm a Professor who teaches crime. I don't go out there and commit them."
"Huh. Well, my mistake." I started walking away, but then stopped. "I wish I did have that piece, though. I had a few people contact me about it. They were willing to pay above market value."
"Above market value?" he asked. I knew I'd hooked him.
I turned around. "Five, six million."
"But it's hot now. The Feds are looking for it."
"Not if we do it right."
Oswald considered that. "How about we meet up after I finish teaching? There's a bar around the corner."
"Sure."
****
A few days later, I was sitting by a sidewalk cafe, head buried in the paper, when somebody sat down next to me.
I looked up to see it was Agent Burke.
"Seat's free," I said, as I folded up my paper.
"I think the FBI owes you a big thank you," he said.
"What do you mean?" I played dumb.
Peter pointed to the front page photo, showing the arrest of Professor Oswald.
I glanced down at the picture. "You did say some criminals make mistakes."
"Yes, but I didn't expect them to make every mistake in the book."
"Hm."
"Especially not professors who spend all of their time studying the exploits of criminals. Oswald claims you put him up to it."
"Really?" I responded, sounding as surprised as possible. "And what do you think?"
"I think we don't have any evidence to prove you had anything to do with it," Peter said evenly. He smiled as he got up. "Next time you feel like helping the FBI, how about you call me first?"
I distinctly remembered making that call.
He clapped my shoulder as he left. "Looks like I've got a copycat."