Everything got a lot simpler after that.
They went upstairs to an office, where Peter was given a cup of steaming hot coffee. Morningstar found a tape recorder, and made Peter recount his story again, which was then typed up by a police secretary, and given to Peter for his signature. The process took an hour, but seemed longer. By now, Morningstar had stopped treating him like a criminal. The crisis had passed, and Peter could not remember having ever felt more relieved in his life.
When they were done, Morningstar walked Peter to the front entrance of the precinct. He could not wait to set foot on the sidewalk, a free man again.
“Sorry for the mix-up,” Morningstar said.
“You were just doing your job,” Peter replied.
“No hard feelings?”
“Not at all.”
Morningstar pumped his hand.
“Let me be the first to congratulate you,” the CIA agent said.
“What for?” Peter asked.
“For bringing a dangerous man to justice. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Wolfe posed a serious threat to the entire city. By killing him, you saved a lot of lives.”
“I’m glad to help,” Peter said.
Peter walked down the front steps of the precinct. The weather was still miserable. Turning up his collar, he headed west on 35th Street toward Ninth Avenue on a sidewalk filled with people holding umbrellas. He waited until he was a safe distance away from the precinct before pulling out his cell phone. He checked for messages, but found none on voice mail, nor any texts. That was troubling, and he hoped Milly was all right.
He walked another block to Dyer Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen before calling Holly. Voice mail picked up, and he left a message. As he ended the call, a black Lincoln pulled onto Dyer from 35th Street, and flashed its brights at him. His instincts told him it was Garrison, and he was proven right as the Lincoln’s tires rubbed the curb, and the passenger window lowered.
“Need a lift?” Garrison called to him.
Peter hopped in. Garrison did a U-turn, and got on 34th, this time heading east.
“Thanks for the save,” Peter said. “How are my friends doing?”
“The older lady took a whack to the head,” Garrison said. “They rushed her to the hospital, and are treating her right now. I’m assuming that’s where you want to go.”
“You assumed right. Which hospital?”
“Roosevelt.”
Peter felt himself shudder. They had taken Milly to the same hospital where Reggie had died. It was as bad an omen as he could ask for.
“How did it go with Morningstar?” Garrison asked.
“I survived,” Peter replied. “I didn’t realize the CIA was so intent on finding me.”
“I told the CIA enough about you for them to get excited,” Garrison said. “In hindsight, that was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“Morningstar would have taken me away to some secret location, wouldn’t he?”
“Probably.”
“And I never would have seen my friends again.”
“Yeah,” Garrison said under his breath.
“Do you mind my asking you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why did you lie to him? You’re going to get in trouble if it comes out who I really am.”
“Yes, I will. Might even lose my job.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Garrison glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as he sped north on Eighth Avenue. Peter’s life had turned into a cloak-and-dagger novel, and he needed to know who his friends were. Finally, Garrison replied.
“Like I told you the other day, you’re my secret weapon.”
“You’re not going to share me with other government agencies?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“What do you want in return?”
“Help. Not all the time, just when I’m stumped.”
“That’s it?”
“There’s one other thing.”
Peter braced himself for the worst. “What’s that?”
“You and your friends have been sending notes to the FBI whenever you see something bad during your seances,” Garrison said. “From now on, I want you to contact me directly. It will be quicker, and you can save yourself the postage.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s it.”
Peter felt the air trapped in his lungs escape. He’d be more than happy to help Garrison if his life would return to normal and his friends were spared.
“You’ve got a deal,” he said.
“Beautiful,” the FBI agent replied.
A few blocks from the hospital, Peter’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Caller ID said HOLLY. He felt his heart leap into his throat as he answered her call.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At the hospital with my aunt.”
“Is she all right?”
“No.”
“Where’s Max?”
“He’s here with me. We’re so scared.”
Peter placed the cell phone against his chest. “Can you go any faster?”
Garrison hit the gas, and the car’s wheels momentarily left the ground.
“I’m on my way,” he said into the phone.
43
Holly was standing in the ICU as Peter came out of the elevator. Her cheeks were red and puffy from crying. Seeing him, she put her brave face on.
“Hi,” she said.
Peter hugged her. “I got here as fast as I could. How’s your aunt doing?”
“Oh, God, Peter, I’m so worried. She keeps slipping in and out of consciousness. One minute she’s here, the next she’s not. When she’s awake, she babbles and doesn’t make much sense. The doctor said she took a bad blow, and might have some permanent memory loss, and maybe some other side effects as well. He said the next few hours were critical.”
“How are
“I’m okay.”
Holly didn’t sound okay. Peter put his hands on her shoulders, and studied her eyes. Her anger was bubbling just below the surface, ready to erupt. An angry witch was a force to be reckoned with, as Holly had demonstrated at her aunt’s apartment.
“Why don’t you go back to the apartment, and get some rest,” he suggested. “You’ve had a hard day, and need to take it easy.”
