A Reason to Believe

by Diana Copland

  He paused briefly, holding his badge to the window. The uniformed officer looked at it and nodded to his companion, who waved him through before closing the gates behind him. Both the cops and the media were too interested in the expensive sports car to pay any attention to his ten-year-old SUV. His badge was enough. The two uniforms didn’t get close enough to the Bronco to see Kiernan, and they didn’t spare a glance for his sister sitting in the back.

  He followed the curved drive to the house, which was ostentatious even for the neighborhood of million-dollar homes. With its river rock fireplaces, Tudor beams and turret windows, it was obviously supposed to reflect old money but not necessarily good taste.

  The entirety of the neighborhood had been built in the late nineties during the real estate boom, the houses all designed to look as if they’d been there for decades. He and Brad had driven through when the area was under construction, with its artfully laid out green belts and its old-growth trees, and Brad had made a sound of amusement.

  “Why look,” he said with a grin. “It’s either Stratford-on-Avon or Disneyland. Not sure which.”

  Matt chuckled. “Looks like Fantasyland to me. All they need is a fairy flying through the air.”

  “Perish the thought,” Brad teased, winking at him. “Too many Republicans in this neck of the woods for any self-respecting fairy.”

  Matt had laughed. It seemed another lifetime now.

  “Well, this is pretentious,” Aidan said dryly. “Who owns it? A lawyer?”

  “Right in one.” Matt parked the car. Kiernan pushed himself up from the floor, and Matt’s eyes fixed involuntarily on a strip of taut, tawny skin between the waistband of his jeans and his T-shirt. Before Kiernan adjusted his jacket, Matt saw a slender trail of dark hair leading down to disappear into his pants. Matt cleared his throat self-consciously, turning, his arm lifting to rest across the back of the seat.

  “Um, listen,” he said, tentative. “I was wondering if you’d mind waiting here for a minute, just until I have a chance to speak with the Reynolds first.”

  Aidan looked surprised. “You didn’t tell them you were bringing us?”

  “No,” Matt admitted. “Officially, I’m not even on the case anymore.”

  Her pale blue eyes widened. “You’re not?”

  Matt started to answer, but stopped when Kiernan’s hand curled around his wrist. His palm felt warm on Matt’s skin.

  “Relax,” Kiernan said, flashing a grin. “You don’t owe us an explanation. Do what you need to do. We can wait.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kiernan winked at him as he released Matt’s arm, leaning back against the door, and for a startling moment Matt felt breathless. He turned and opened his door quickly, stepping out onto the snow.

  He jogged onto the porch and rang the bell, which echoed through the cavernous house. It was several moments before the door was unlocked from the inside and opened cautiously, halted at just a few inches by a sturdy chain.

  The face peering out at him was tired and careworn, the hazel eyes bloodshot and dark with grief. A swatch of fair hair spilled over the pale brow. Matt spoke cautiously when he recognized her.

  “Mrs. Reynolds?”

  “Oh, Detective Bennett!”

  She closed the door while she fumbled with the chain. When it was reopened, Karen Reynolds stood there, her slender frame dressed in dark slacks and a muted sweater. Once an unmistakably beautiful woman, she looked brittle and frail. She startled him by stepping out onto the porch and encircling him with her arms.

  “Detective, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you,” she said next to his ear, sounding tearful. “Please tell me they’ve reassigned you to Abby’s case.”

  He put his arms around her, awkwardly patting her slender back. He could feel her spine through the thin cashmere, smell the stale fragrance of her expensive perfume mingled with cigarette smoke.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reynolds.” He set her from him with gentle hands. “I wish I could. But the truth is I’m not here in an official capacity at all.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If we could step inside for a moment, I’d be happy to explain it to you and Mr. Reynolds.”

  “Oh, of course.” She opened the door at her back, allowing him to follow her. The large entryway was shadowy, the house oppressively silent around them. “Marc isn’t home, I’m afraid.” She led him into the living room. A dark Christmas tree stood in a far corner, the presents beneath it untouched. “He took the first two days off, but things started to back up and he felt he had to go in. In some places, life does go on, apparently.” She let her words trail off, her face taking on a lost expression. He wanted to comfort her, and reached out reflexively to touch her sleeve.

  “Mrs. Reynolds, if this is a bad time…”

  She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “There’s no such thing as a good time anymore,” she said starkly, her eyes desolate. “This is the same as any other. What did you want, Detective?”

  He hesitated, not wanting to take advantage of her fragility. “Should you be alone?”

  “My mother was here, but it was no help.” She sighed and linked her hands together so tightly her knuckles looked sharp and white. “She doesn’t mean to be judgmental, but she can’t seem to help herself. I honestly prefer my own company to hers.”

  “Perhaps I should go…”

  She caught his arm in a surprisingly firm grip. “Detective Bennett, you obviously stopped by for a reason. Please…tell me what it is.”

  He saw the pain in her eyes and remembered seeing a similar bleakness in the eyes looking back at him in his mirror. He couldn’t pretend to know what it was like to lose a child, but he did know how it felt to lose someone you loved more than you loved yourself. He covered her hand with his.

  “I’m not working your case anymore. And honestly, I probably shouldn’t even be here. What I’m going to suggest is completely unorthodox, and if you choose to tell Captain Branson about it, it will probably get me in even more trouble than I already am.”

  “You’re in trouble?” she cut in. “Why?”

  “It’s not important.” He paused. “Mrs. Reynolds, I’m going to ask something of you, and if you are in any way opposed to the idea, please feel free to tell me to get out of your house. I promise I won’t be offended.”

  She searched his face, hesitant. “All right.”

  “I’ve recently met someone. A man who has worked with police departments before. His name is Kiernan Fitzpatrick, and…”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “The medium?”

  It was Matt’s turn to be surprised. “You’ve heard of him?”

  “I’ve seen his program.” She stopped, her hand squeezing his arm. An almost feverish excitement animated her pale face. “You think he could communicate with Abby? Oh.” Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Detective. I would pay anything, anything…”

  “This isn’t about money,” he interrupted quickly. “I met Mr. Fitzpatrick and he…well, he offered to help, if he can, because he knows there’s no suspect.”

  She shook her head, her eyes hardening. “You and I both know that isn’t true. They have a suspect. They’re just wrong.” She dashed angrily at the dampness beneath her lashes. “As if this entire thing weren’t nightmare enough, someone has decided my husband hurt my baby. Well, it isn’t true.” She sounded fierce. “They don’t know Marc the way I do. He’s devastated. He didn’t do this.”

  “Then you aren’t opposed to the idea—”

  “How soon can he be here?”

  “Actually,” Matt said, gesturing sheepishly, “he’s outside in my car.”

  Mrs. Reynolds inhaled sharply. “Now?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Right now.”

  She looked more engaged than sh
e had since he’d met her. “Well, please. Invite him in.”

  * * *

  Kiernan smiled sweetly when he was introduced to Karen Reynolds, but kept his hands behind his back when she offered one of hers.

  “Please don’t be offended,” he said gently. “I’m afraid it might interfere with the reading if I touch you. I need to try to avoid distraction.”

  Karen pulled her hand back quickly. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet you. And so grateful you could come.”

  “Thank you for allowing me into your home.” He gave her a kind smile. “I was wondering if it might be possible for me to see your daughter’s bedroom.”

  “Yes, of course. If you could pick up anything, anything at all, that could help us…just to know my baby isn’t…really gone. And my husband…” Her voice caught in her throat and her eyes filled. She tried to choke back a sob, but was unable to.

  Aidan stepped gracefully into the awkward, painful silence, slipping her arm around Karen’s narrow shoulders. “Why don’t you and I sit down?” she said, her voice soothing. “Maybe in a few minutes I can make you a cup of tea.”

  “Oh,” Karen said weakly, making an obvious effort to pull herself together. “I was hoping I might…” She gestured toward the stairs.

  “It will be easier for him to get a feel for it without us,” Aidan said. “If there are too many emotions present, it can muddle what he receives. But he’ll tell you everything he sees, I promise.” She rubbed her hand up and down Karen’s upper arm as she steered her away, glancing back at Matt and Kiernan meaningfully. They went up the stairs to the second floor, Aidan’s quiet voice drifting behind them.

  Matt stood near the doorway as Kiernan broke the crime scene tape and walked carefully into the lavishly decorated bedroom. He glanced around with interest. He looked so young, almost like a college kid on Christmas break instead of a twenty-seven-year-old man.

  Abby Reynolds’ bedroom looked exactly as it had the last time Matt had seen it. The department photographer had catalogued it from every angle, his flash throwing harsh light over the scene. The bedding was in a bunch near the foot of the bed, the pink comforter spilling over the cherry footboard to pool on the beige carpet. The pale pink sheets were as they had been, the impression left by Abby’s head still visible in the pillow. Matt forced his eyes away.

  White shelves on one wall held an array of toys and trophies from dance competitions. The closet door was open, and Matt could see small dresses hung neatly and a perfect line of little shoes in an array of colors. She was a meticulous child, her mother had explained, a tissue clutched in her fist. A place for everything and everything in its place. So much so, if one thing was out of alignment, she’d have to straighten it before she could sleep.

  Matt’s throat thickened. There was so much personality left behind in her painfully neat bedroom. How she would hate the bedding tossed on the floor and the decorative pillows scattered across the carpet. He fought the urge to make the bed.

  Smudges of powder on the headboard and windowsill remained where the techs had unsuccessfully dusted for prints. The CSI team had been certain the child had been taken directly from her bed, but whoever had done it had been smart. The suspect hadn’t left a trace of evidence behind. Nothing was found in the room, in the hall or in the basement. All of which, Branson said, led to the belief that they were dealing with someone who knew how to circumvent the law.

  Someone like her defense attorney father.

  Matt didn’t share his conviction. He’d been standing next to Marc Reynolds when he’d seen his dead child. He’d been a cop long enough to know real grief when he saw it. Matt had literally felt the shudders of pain and horror as they moved through the attorney’s body. And, unlike Branson, Matt had a soul-deep understanding of how grief felt, trying to claw its way out of your chest.

  Kiernan moved slowly, his eyes roaming over the bed and the shelves. He walked toward a large toy box shaped like a fairy-tale castle, lifting his left hand, feeling for something in the air. He closed his eyes, his hand shifting restlessly over a line of stuffed animals on top of the toy chest. The long, pale fingers moved gracefully over the plush, touching a blue teddy bear, a pink pony and a white unicorn with a rainbow-striped horn.

  Matt couldn’t say exactly how he knew something had changed, but Kiernan’s hand paused on the unicorn’s head, and the air thickened and electrified at the same moment. Kiernan’s head turned sharply as his fingers tightened on the toy.

  “Hi, Abby,” he said softly, his lips lifting in a gentle smile. “You have a very nice bedroom.”

  Matt searched the room, the hair lifting on the back of his neck. He’d been so certain that, if Abby appeared, he’d see her, too.

  “Don’t be offended,” Kiernan said softly. Matt’s gaze jerked back to find the knowing eyes watching him. “It takes less energy for her to appear to me.” He spared Matt a quick wink and lifted the unicorn from the shelf, turning it in his hands. “This one? Yeah, I like him. What’s his name?” He angled his head, listening, and his smile widened. “It’s a perfect name for a unicorn with a candy-striped horn.”

  Kiernan replaced the toy and walked slowly toward an empty chair angled before a small dressing table. He stopped and sat easily on the floor. Had a small child been seated in the diminutive chair, he’d have been at their eye level. “Kiernan,” he said, his eyes beginning to dance. “I’m not surprised. It’s sort of unusual. It’s Irish.” He glanced in Matt’s direction. “Matthew, but his friends call him Matt.” His full lips curved. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all.”

  The heaviness in the air had intensified. Matt had been so absorbed watching the lithe figure sitting before the small white chair he hadn’t noticed until it surrounded him, almost like a weight lying against his chest. He crossed his arms, hunching his shoulders as his skin crawled.

  Kiernan didn’t seem to notice. There was no doubt in Matt’s mind he was having a conversation with the dead child. Or at least, the skeptic inside him argued, he thought he was.

  Kiernan chatted about the trophies on the shelves, and the dolls in the boxes, and the color of the walls. He sounded young, so young he might almost have been Abby’s contemporary. His voice drifted into a higher register, and suddenly Matt had very little difficulty imagining him as he must have been at six—wide-eyed, charming, dimples appearing near the corners of his mouth when he smiled. He was so fascinated by the animated one-sided conversation he was startled when Kiernan’s eyes shot toward him again.

  “I agree with you.” He looked back at the chair and nodded. “Yeah, he is.” He hesitated. His smile faded. “He does, Abby, but only if you’re comfortable talking about it.”

  Matt took a step forward, and Kiernan glanced up at him. “She knows why we’re here, what we want to talk to her about.”

  Matt looked at the chair, trying to visualize the child’s large eyes. “If it will upset you, Abby,” he forced himself to say, “we can wait.”

  Kiernan made a soft sound. Matt couldn’t say why it set his senses on cautious alert.

  “Yes,” Kiernan said, sounding hesitant, “if it will be easier for you, I can.”

  “What?” Matt asked.

  “She’s offering to let me see.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She’ll show me what she saw,” Kiernan answered. “Rather than tell me, she’ll let me see it from her point of view.”

  “Is it safe?”

  Kiernan paused, then nodded. “It takes a bit more energy on my part, that’s all.”

  He said it dismissively, but something in his tone made Matt uncomfortable.

  “Kiernan.” Matt was torn. He wanted to see how this would play out, but he was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t in over his head. What did he know about this? He wasn’t sure he believed in any of it. He wasn’t sur
e what he believed anymore, period. But he didn’t want anyone getting hurt, particularly Kiernan.

  Kiernan looked up at him. “You want to know what happened, right? This is the easiest for her.” A disarming smile pulled at his lips. “Relax, Matt. This is my area of expertise, remember?”

  Still, Matt wanted to caution him. There was something in Kiernan’s eyes, the stiffened way he was sitting. But he was right, it wasn’t Matt’s area.

  “Whatever works for you,” Matt said reluctantly.

  Kiernan settled himself more comfortably on the floor, legs crossed beneath him, hands on his knees. “Okay, Abby,” he murmured, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. “Show me.”

  The hair on the back of Matt’s neck twitched uncomfortably. The eerie heaviness in the room was a tangible thing, and the faint buzzing of what felt like an electrical current crawled along his arms.

  Kiernan’s long black lashes were lying against his pale cheeks, and his head lolled forward. He breathed deeply, steadily, for several minutes and the silence around them thickened. Matt wondered if he’d fallen asleep when Kiernan stiffened with an audible sound of surprise.

  “There’s someone,” he said, and his voice was completely different. He sounded…like a little girl, Matt realized with a start. “I can’t see their face. There’s something over my eyes.” Kiernan’s hand lifted to his face, feeling over his eyes. “They’re breathing really, really loud. I wake up, but I can’t see. There’s someone here, in my room. I’m scared.” Kiernan’s lower lip started to tremble. “They don’t belong here. I start to call for Mommy, but a hand is over my mouth. They’re wearing something on it, something slimy.”

  Matt swallowed. Rubber gloves. The investigators figured the murderer had been wearing protective gloves, but this was like having it confirmed. By the victim.

  “I don’t like the way it feels on my face. He tells me to be still. I can tell it’s a man. He smells funny. Sweet, like candy.” Kiernan whimpered. “He’s scaring me. Why is he in my room? I want my daddy. Where is Daddy?”

  Matt bit his lip when Kiernan moved his head, struggling to pull away from unseen hands. A single tear slipped from beneath his lashes, sliding down his pale cheek. It left a glistening silver streak on his skin.