James Swain - Shadow People

“All right, Mr. Magic, tell me where you got the antique watch,” Velasco said.

“I found it,” Peter replied.

“Be a little more specific.”

“Do you know who the owner is? I’ve been trying to locate her.”

“I’m the one asking the questions, pal. Now tell me about the watch.”

“It fell out of the sky,” Peter replied truthfully.

“Oh, boy, a regular comedian. How do you think it’s going to look if I run you and your girlfriend in? Think that kind of publicity is going to help ticket sales?”

“Are you going to arrest us?”

“I will if you don’t come clean with me. That watch doesn’t belong to you.”

“That doesn’t mean we stole it. You don’t have a case, Detective. Let us go, and I’ll be happy to explain to you how the watch came into our possession.”

Velasco didn’t like being told how to run his investigation, and wagged a finger in his suspect’s face. “Keep up the banter, and I’ll throw your skinny ass in jail.”

“Which jail?” Peter wanted to know.

“MCC. Ever been there?”

MCC was the Metropolitan Correctional Center on Park Row behind the U.S. Federal Courthouse. Peter knew the facility like the back of his hand, and said, “Matter of fact, I have. I was locked up in a cellblock in the basement that the warden claimed was inescapable. I managed to escape in four minutes flat, and beat Houdini’s record by thirty seconds. There’s a video on my Web site if you don’t believe me.”

“I remember that stunt,” the detective guarding the door said. “You moved all the other inmates in the block into different cells. That took a lot of nerve.”

“Thanks,” Peter said.

“Shut up,” Velasco told both of them. Looking his suspect in the eye, he said, “I think you’re hiding something. I’m hauling you in.”

“On what charges?”

“I’ll think of something. Get up.”

Peter gazed into Velasco’s eyes and read his mind. The detective was having a bad day. He’d started his morning by having a knock-down, drag-out argument with his teenage daughter. Then the battery on his car had been dead when he’d tried to start it. Now this wiseass magician was giving him a hard time. Peter and his girlfriend were going to spend the rest of the day in jail if Peter didn’t think of something quick.

Velasco pulled open his sports jacket and removed a pair of nickel-plated handcuffs from his belt. Peter wanted to tell Velasco that he could escape from those, too, but didn’t think the detective would appreciate the humor.

“I’ll tell you about the watch, but first you need to call a friend of mine,” Peter said.

Velasco eyed him suspiciously. “Who’s that?”

“His card’s in my wallet. You’ll understand when I show it to you.”

“All right, show it to me.”

Peter pulled Special Agent Garrison’s business card from his billfold and handed it to the detective. Velasco stared at the embossed lettering on the white card.

“The FBI? What do they have to do with this?”

“Just call him,” Peter said.

Garrison barged into the watch shop with his badge pinned to the lapel of his sports jacket and a disgruntled look on his face. Peter wondered what pressing matter he’d pulled the FBI agent away from. New York was the greatest city on earth, but there were plenty of bad people here as well, and the life of a law enforcement agent was nothing but a challenge.

“Thanks for getting here so fast,” Peter told him.

“Who are these guys?” Garrison asked.

“This is Detective Velasco. He wants to arrest me.”

“What for? You tell him one of your jokes?”

“Possession of stolen property,” Velasco said. “You know this smart-ass?”

“He does consulting work for me. Now, tell me what he did,” Garrison said.

“He was caught with a stolen wristwatch whose owner has been missing for over a year,” Velasco replied. “When I tried to question him, he started talking in riddles.”

“Peter’s a psychic, he does that sometimes,” Garrison said.

Velasco’s jaw dropped open. “Cut it out.”

“I’m dead serious. Don’t tell me you’ve never worked with psychics before.”

“Tried to. They were worthless.”

“They were probably fakes. Peter’s the real deal.”

“I’m having a hard time believing this.” Velasco spoke to Peter, “So read my mind.”

Peter was boxed into a corner. He tried to avoid public displays of mind reading whenever possible. When mind reading was performed onstage, all sorts of explanations were possible; when done in person, there was only one explanation-the person doing the mind reading was a psychic. He lowered his voice so the other detectives would not hear. “At breakfast this morning, you had words with your daughter over her choice of boyfriends. Then your car’s battery died, and you had to carpool with a cop you can’t stand. When you got to work, the coffeepot was empty. That good enough for you?”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Velasco said.

“I told you he was real,” Garrison said smugly.

The antique Cartier that had brought them together lay on the counter. The watch was a mystery, along with most of the events of the past several days. If Peter could plumb the watch’s secrets, then perhaps the rest of the puzzles would solve themselves.

“What can you tell me about the watch’s owner?” Peter asked.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Her name is Barbara Metcalf,” Velasco replied. “Single woman, early fifties, lived alone, got a couple of PhDs, is one of the top brass at the CDC. Went missing about a year ago and hasn’t been heard from. We suspect foul play, but don’t have a suspect or a motive. Metcalf had a nice collection of antique jewelry. This watch was one of her favorite pieces, which she often wore. When she went missing, so did several pieces of her jewelry, including this watch. We asked every jewelry store in town to be on the lookout for it.

“Yesterday, your girlfriend e-mailed the manager of this store a photo of Metcalf’s watch, asking if he could repair it. Walter immediately recognized the watch, and contacted the police. We laid a trap for you, and you walked into it. That’s it in a nutshell.”

Peter felt numb. The story wasn’t what he’d expected to hear at all. He’d assumed the shadow person he’d confronted in Grand Central Station was a thoroughly evil spirit whose human life had been filled with crimes against society, as well as humanity. A person wicked through and through, and in league with the Devil.

“What’s does CDC stand for?” Peter asked.

“Centers for Disease Control,” Velasco explained. “Metcalf ran their research department. She was responsible for finding cures for things like bubonic plague and anthrax.”

“So she was a good person,” the young magician said.

“That’s what Walter told us,” Velasco said.

“The shop manager knew her personally?”

“Yes. They were friends.”

“I need to speak with him.”

Walter was led into the front of the store. There was nothing more powerful than the truth, and Peter’s head was still spinning from the things Velasco had told him. If Barbara Metcalf had been a good person on this earth, then it was not possible that she’d turned into an evil spirit in the afterlife. That was not how things worked. Which meant that there had been a black mark in her background which Velasco didn’t know about. It was the only explanation he could think of, and now he needed to hear the shop manager confirm it.

“What can you tell me about the owner of this watch?” Peter asked.

Walter’s face softened as he was overcome with memories. Peter took a look inside Walter’s head, and saw the woman he had known. Short and rather petite, her clothing suggested a person who appreciated the finer things in life, while the way she carried herself indicated she was used to getting her way. The description strong willed came to mind.