“Does she have something to do with the Hagen guy?” Malcolm asks. “I guess he’d been seen threatening Neal’s landlady, before he saw him in the park, headed over and saw the guy get shot right in front of him.”
Murdoch pauses. Something about the unsolicited information strikes him as... he's not sure.
"Vice-versa," Murdoch says, and dips into the tidy leather shoulder bag he set down when he sat. Out comes a tidy file, this one personally assembled. He offers it to Malcolm. "I'm pursuing Hagen's activities with the hope of it leading to her."
Page one of the file is just a full-color, somewhat fuzzy picture of Rebecca. No glasses, shorter hair, her eyes frost cold and dispassionate as she examples a burned corpse on the ground.
"I very much doubt that. Rachel Turner isn't the type to form that kind of attachment to anyone."
He pulls out another file, this one on Hagen, and offers it to Malcolm. It's equally sparse, clearly just material he's comfortable sharing with a stranger. The basics about Hagen's crimes, his career as the Dutchman, Neal and Peter catching him. His release. "But I have some reason to believe she's been in contact with him. Perhaps working with him on a project that she decided he no longer needed to be a part of."
“There was nothing interesting about his murder,” Malcolm tells him. “It was perfunctory. That fits with your theory. What sort of ‘project’ does she specialize in?”
“Anything that brings in money or earns her favors,” he says bluntly, with slight distaste. “She enjoys violence, deception, manipulation, and circumstances in which she can use all three to her financial advantage. I’m not sure why she contacted Hagen specifically. Not yet. But I believe she’s targeting a significant artistic and historical payday.”
Murdoch sighs, drawing out another file. This one is just one sheet—a glossy letter-sized surveillance photo of Neal and Malcolm talking to Rebecca Lowe aka Rachel Turner at the farmer’s market nearly two weeks ago.
“Me and Neal and Rebecca from the museum.” He tilts his head slightly. “We ran into her when we went shopping. Or are the cucumbers the salient detail?” he asks.
This is very clearly not the reaction Murdoch expected. He pauses, startled, and then frowns, the itching assumption that Malcolm is being deliberately obtuse creating an edge of irritation in his voice.
"You're not joking," he surmises. He looks at the picture again, then looks at Murdoch. "Are you sure? I met her during my first case with Neal. He met her at the museum. That encounter was kind of awkward," he admits, gesturing to the photo. "Because they were kind of almost dating when he met me." He takes a breath and presses his lips together. "What would Rachel Turner be doing working at a museum? Scoping it out?" He holds up a finger. "She got fired shortly before I met her. She got fired for a security breach of some kind. ...Do you think she did that on purpose?"
The frown becomes a scowl. He flips the file on Rachel Turner back open, placing the image of her next to the one of Neal, Malcolm, and 'Rebecca.'
"I'm quite sure." His tone says what his words don't. I thought you were observant enough to notice. He pauses, then shakes his head. "I don't know. I know that she's promised several potential buyers an item with a quarter-billion dollar price tag. The item itself is unknown to me at this time."
Murdoch studies Malcolm carefully. “I would first like to ask what Mr Caffrey’s association with Mrs Turner is based on. If you could elaborate on that.”
“I thought it was based on his general sexual allure and his weakness for a decent brain, but now you’re making me wonder,” Malcolm tells him. “Do you think she was getting around to attempting to recruit him if she’d gotten her hooks in him?”
Murdoch’s frown is becoming perennial, though it’s not totally directed at Malcolm.
“Neal Caffrey provides an excellent target for emotional manipulation. Trouble background, criminal father, tenuous social connections that—by all accounts—don’t have a great deal of regard for him or his well-being. An associate informed me that behind closed doors the FBI’s brass refers to him as ‘their number one asset.’” A pause. “Someone lonely with that kind of value to law enforcement is a very promising potential target.”
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“I’ve been outed for worse reasons than professional curiosity.”
Like professional jealousy.
“What do you want to know?”
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"Vice-versa," Murdoch says, and dips into the tidy leather shoulder bag he set down when he sat. Out comes a tidy file, this one personally assembled. He offers it to Malcolm. "I'm pursuing Hagen's activities with the hope of it leading to her."
Page one of the file is just a full-color, somewhat fuzzy picture of Rebecca. No glasses, shorter hair, her eyes frost cold and dispassionate as she examples a burned corpse on the ground.
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“What kind of relationship do you think she had with Hagen?” he asks. “Was she his girlfriend?”
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He pulls out another file, this one on Hagen, and offers it to Malcolm. It's equally sparse, clearly just material he's comfortable sharing with a stranger. The basics about Hagen's crimes, his career as the Dutchman, Neal and Peter catching him. His release. "But I have some reason to believe she's been in contact with him. Perhaps working with him on a project that she decided he no longer needed to be a part of."
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"A consideration," he echoes, leaving it there as a prompt.
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There’s a long pause as he scrutinizes Malcolm. “Is there anything you wish to tell me before we continue, Mr Bright?”
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“I’m just curious as to what the other considerations might be,” he says evenly.
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“Me and Neal and Rebecca from the museum.” He tilts his head slightly. “We ran into her when we went shopping. Or are the cucumbers the salient detail?” he asks.
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“That is Rachel Turner.”
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"You're not joking," he surmises. He looks at the picture again, then looks at Murdoch. "Are you sure? I met her during my first case with Neal. He met her at the museum. That encounter was kind of awkward," he admits, gesturing to the photo. "Because they were kind of almost dating when he met me." He takes a breath and presses his lips together. "What would Rachel Turner be doing working at a museum? Scoping it out?" He holds up a finger. "She got fired shortly before I met her. She got fired for a security breach of some kind. ...Do you think she did that on purpose?"
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"I'm quite sure." His tone says what his words don't. I thought you were observant enough to notice. He pauses, then shakes his head. "I don't know. I know that she's promised several potential buyers an item with a quarter-billion dollar price tag. The item itself is unknown to me at this time."
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"What are the buyers usually into?" he asks.
Maybe he can learn something useful to them.
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“Neal Caffrey provides an excellent target for emotional manipulation. Trouble background, criminal father, tenuous social connections that—by all accounts—don’t have a great deal of regard for him or his well-being. An associate informed me that behind closed doors the FBI’s brass refers to him as ‘their number one asset.’” A pause. “Someone lonely with that kind of value to law enforcement is a very promising potential target.”
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