A Reason to Believe

by Diana Copland

“No, it’s okay. It’s not unexpected, actually, given your background. But do me a favor, all right? If the idea I’m a crackpot who’s one brick shy of a load starts to enter your mind, you’ll tell me. I can leave and let you finish this on your own if you begin to feel like I can’t contribute anything.”

  Matt was stunned. “I’m not going to feel that way.”

  “You’re sure? You didn’t, just for a moment, think I might not know what the hell I was talking about when I said this wasn’t motivated by business?”

  Matt searched his eyes. “I never for one moment thought you didn’t believe what you were saying.”

  Kiernan’s eyes were shrewder than Matt had ever seen them. “Planning to run for police commissioner at some point, Matthew? Because that answer was certainly politically correct.”

  Matt huffed and ran his fingers through his hair. “God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

  Kiernan’s answering smile was subdued but genuine.

  “I believe, unequivocally,” Matt went on, “that you’re convinced Abby was killed by someone who had some sort of personal ax to grind with her. In my experience, the murders of children are usually motivated by lots of things but personal hatred by an adult for a child isn’t one of them. But it doesn’t mean I don’t believe what I saw you do, or what I saw with my own eyes. It’s just hard to go from a life rooted firmly in the tangible to—” he gestured between them awkwardly, “—whatever it is we’ve been doing for the last few days.”

  The sparkle reappeared in Kiernan’s eyes. “You mean, besides the sex.”

  Matt gave him a sardonic look, and Kiernan laughed. Matt was relieved to hear it. “Look, how about this? How about you allow that I’m a cop and I allow that you talk to dead people. Between the two of us, we’ll find a way to work together to figure this thing out.”

  Kiernan studied him, and then nodded. “You just have to promise to tell me if it gets too weird for you.”

  Matt recalled, with a sinking feeling, what Kiernan had said about one of his former boyfriends, and the last half hour made sense. He reached across the center console and, with slow, intentional deliberation, took one of Kiernan’s hands and linked their fingers. “I won’t lie to you. It’s weird. But I’m learning to deal, okay?”

  Kiernan squeezed his hand, smiling faintly. “Okay.”

  “And just as I’m learning to deal with what you do, you have to accept what I do, and how I do it. Who knows? Between the two of us, we might make a good team.”

  “I kind of like the sound of the whole team thing.” Kiernan looked at him slyly.

  “I meant the case, Kier,” Matt said gruffly, but his chest, which had begun to feel heavy, lightened.

  “Oh, that too,” Kiernan quipped. He leaned forward, giving Matt no time to react. Cupping his jaw, he kissed him.

  Matt was ordinarily very circumspect in public. But for just a moment he allowed himself to forget they were sitting in the busy parking lot of a hospital, and kissed him back.

  A sharp rapping on his window made Matt jump. Sheila was looking at him through the glass, her fur collar pulled up around her face. A delighted grin lifted her lips.

  “Christ,” he muttered. “I’ll never live this down.”

  Kiernan laughed as Matt lowered the window.

  “Hello, boys,” she said wryly. “Decide to give the parking lot a show today? Honestly, Detective. Such a display!”

  “Stow it, you obnoxious pain in my ass,” Matt said. “What have you got?”

  She looked past his shoulder to Kiernan. “He’s so rude. Can’t you fix that?”

  Kiernan chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Matt shot a quelling look over his shoulder, but Kiernan just smiled. He turned back to Sheila. “Come on, already, before you’re late for work.”

  “Okay,” she said, suddenly all business. “Toni and I were going over the guest list when I mentioned to her something about the Rolex, and she got all excited. Tells me she has a client who’s been coming there for years who bitches every single Christmas because her husband always expects her to buy him a new model Rolex. The woman goes on and on about how expensive it is, but the payoff is she gets a new car at the same time, so she guesses she shouldn’t really complain. She has to special-order the watch because the shops in town don’t carry the full line. Toni specifically remembers the one you told me about. Daytona Oyster made her think of NASCAR and seafood.”

  Matt’s pulse quickened. “So? Who’s the client?”

  Sheila’s eyes were bright with barely restrained excitement. “Samantha Mitchell,” she whispered. “Commissioner Patrick Mitchell’s wife.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Okay, so that’s pretty damning,” Kiernan said, chewing on his thumbnail as Matt navigated the Bronco through the snowy streets. “But I was with him just a couple of days after the murder. He seemed sincerely broken up about Abby’s death.”

  “The one thing I do know,” Matt said, carefully turning a corner piled two feet deep with snow, “is that sociopaths compartmentalize well. They’re good actors. If he is one, he could have murdered her and still appeared to be sincerely grieving.”

  Kiernan’s expression was troubled. “I’ve always believed I was good at reading people. If I’m wrong about this, I’m going to have to reevaluate.”

  Matt reached across to squeeze his leg. “We don’t know anything for certain yet. We’re still building a case. Yeah, you’re right. It’s damning, but there might be another explanation for the watch. I’ll admit I jumped there, too, but there’s something about fixing on Mitchell as a suspect that’s begun to bother me.”

  “What?”

  “He was so damned fast. Whoever was eavesdropping outside of Abby’s bedroom door got down the stairs and out the door before I could. Whoever it was, he was really, really agile. How old would you say Mitchell is?”

  “I don’t know. Fifty-five, maybe sixty?”

  “I’m thirty-two. And I’m a cop. Could a man at least twenty years my senior actually beat me down the stairs and be fast enough to disappear?”

  Kiernan frowned. “Not unless he’s in excellent shape, no.”

  “We’ve got to find a way to get more information about Mitchell and those watches.”

  “What if we go and talk to Sheila’s friend, the hairdresser. Toni, right? I was just thinking we know more about all of the pieces than Sheila does, and we might know questions to ask Sheila wouldn’t. Maybe Mitchell’s wife revealed something Toni didn’t think to repeat.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Thanks.”

  Matt glanced over to see Kiernan grinning.

  * * *

  Henri’s on Fourth was one of the pricier salons in town, sitting in the middle of a block populated by upscale boutiques and restaurants. Matt had never been there. Its reputation was a little too posh and trendy for his comfort level. He’d never dropped more than twenty bucks on a haircut in his life. But he’d met Toni at a barbecue at his brother’s house the summer before, so he hoped she would at least recognize him as Sheila’s brother-in-law.

  Driving was incredibly slow-going. It had stopped snowing but the temperature had dipped dramatically and the roads and sidewalks had turned to solid sheets of ice. In the downtown area, streets were reduced to one lane in each direction and there were snow berms as high as Matt’s head where curbside lanes should be. He was finally able to find a parking place off the main street about a block from Henri’s.

  “Jesus,” Kiernan said as he stepped from the Bronco and a gust of frigid wind lifted his hair. “I think my testicles just climbed up into my abdominal cavity in fear.”

  Matt chuckled. “Lovely visual.” He cautiously joined him on the icy sidewalk. “They’ll come back out of hiding as soon as you warm up.”r />
  “So you say. The poor things aren’t used to this kind of weather. It’s traumatizing. I’m going to expect you to check later to make sure they’re still where they belong.”

  “I can certainly make an inspection of the general area. I’m a detective. It’s all about gathering evidence.”

  Kiernan’s laugh rang on the frosty air. “That’s another joke, Matthew. I hope you know you’re blowing your whole stoic-cop image every time you smirk like that.”

  “I’m not smirking,” Matt countered, but he was pretty sure he was.

  The air inside of Henri’s was warm and carried the scents of cinnamon and hot tea mixed with some sort of hair-processing solution. The sleek chrome and black lacquer lobby was deserted, but the sound of voices came from farther back in the shop. He stepped around a divider.

  Three women and one man were seated in the back, but they clearly weren’t clients. The chairs were turned toward the center aisle, and two of the women were holding mugs in their hands.

  “Hello,” he said tentatively. The group of people turned.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes.” An older woman with sleek, highlighted blond hair set her mug aside and stood. Matt recognized her immediately. “I’m sorry! We were so busy gossiping we didn’t even hear the bell. Almost all of our clients for the afternoon have canceled, so…” She was coming toward him, and he saw the moment recognition crossed her attractive face. “Oh, wait. We’ve met, haven’t we?”

  Matt offered his hand. “Matt Bennett. Sheila’s brother-in-law.”

  “Oh, of course!” She took his hand. “Matt! I remember. How are you?”

  “Good.” He gestured toward Kiernan, who’d stopped at his side. “Toni, this is Kiernan Fitzpatrick.” Kiernan shook her hand with a friendly smile.

  “So,” Toni said, lowering her voice, “I’m assuming your visit has something to do with my conversation with Sheila?”

  “It does,” Matt acknowledged. “I’d appreciate being able to ask you a few questions.”

  “Let’s take this to the lobby, shall we?” They followed her out back into the area facing the street. Toni gracefully took a seat in a chair and Matt and Kiernan sat side by side on a small black leather loveseat.

  “I don’t mind you asking your questions,” she began easily. “I’ll decide once I’ve heard them if I’m going to answer them or not. I will not divulge anything I’ve specifically been asked not to discuss. You’d be surprised what people tell their hairdresser. We’re right up there with priests and bartenders. If I start revealing things I’ve been asked not to, I lose more than clients. I lose friendships, and I won’t risk it. Unless you’re here in an official capacity, and then I doubt I’d have any choice.”

  “I’m not here in an official capacity. Something I guess you already knew, considering Sheila came to you first, and I haven’t flashed my shield.”

  “I figured as much, yes. That, and the presence of your charming companion instead of another detective.”

  Kiernan grinned. “How do you know I’m not a cop?”

  Her cheeks dimpled. “Totally aside from the fact that you’re entirely too cute to be one, I’ve seen your show on cable. You’re very good, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  She patted his hand, then turned her attention to Matt. “So.” She lifted her chin, her eyes piercing with both intelligence and challenge. “Within the parameters I already mentioned, how can I help you?”

  Matt couldn’t help but grudgingly admire her loyalty. “Okay, you told Sheila about a client of yours, a woman who buys her husband a top-of-the-line Rolex every Christmas…”

  “Samantha Mitchell, yes. It’s not a secret. Marcel at Klein’s orders in a selection for her each October, and she chooses which one she likes. It’s usually the gaudiest one available. Sam’s taste is impeccable, but Patrick’s isn’t. For such a self-possessed man, he certainly does like his bling.”

  Matt felt a low thrum of excitement. “Perhaps it’s a countermeasure against all of those black suits he wears,” he said, attempting to keep the tone light.

  “Possibly,” she agreed. “I always think jewelry is a far more telling indication of personality than wardrobe.”

  “You may be right about that,” Matt said. “So, every November, Samantha Mitchell picks out a new Rolex for her husband. Do you have any idea how long she’s been doing this?”

  “Well, they’ve been married for at least fifteen years.”

  “So, he’s got maybe fifteen watches, the least of which is worth in the neighborhood of twelve grand? I hope they have a safe deposit box.”

  “Oh, I’m quite certain they do. But I don’t believe Patrick has kept all of the watches.”

  Matt’s stomach churned. “So, he’s sold them, then?” It would make the most sense, but it would also make the job of tracking them down that much more difficult. He had a sudden urge to curse. If Mitchell was no longer in possession of the watch…

  “No, I believe when he gets a new one, he gives the old model to his stepson. Samantha says it’s a bit of a family tradition. Patrick wraps them up each year, but the son knows what at least one of his gifts contains.”

  Matt straightened. “Would you happen to know about the one called the—”

  “Daytona Oyster?” Toni interrupted, her expression sly. “Unusual name, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  “I believe the Oyster was the last watch Patrick Mitchell gave to his stepson. Apparently, there was some sort of falling out within the family after that, and Sam doesn’t talk about him much anymore.”

  Matt licked his suddenly dry lips. “You have no idea what sort of falling out?”

  “None whatsoever. I could assume, however, it was something to do with the family business.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  She shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

  “Okay.” Matt took a deep breath, trying to moderate the sudden rapid beating of his heart. “Do you know what Samantha Mitchell’s son’s name is?”

  Toni frowned. “You know, ever since Sheila asked me about the watches this morning, I’ve been trying to remember if Samantha has ever mentioned his name. I’ve been doing her hair for years, but she’s never told me. I think it’s extremely odd she hasn’t, don’t you?”

  “Extremely. Any idea why that might be?”

  “Not a one. All I can tell you about him is he was the recipient of a very expensive hand-me-down watch for several years, and he seems to be addicted to a certain candy his mother orders for him each year from Lawton’s. She buys him a case. I made a joke once about how he could not possibly have any teeth left in his head, and she just smiled.”

  Matt forced himself to remain still and outwardly calm as he asked the next question. Kiernan’s knee began to jiggle. “You don’t have any idea what sort of candy, do you?”

  “Old-fashioned hard candies. Butterscotch.”

  Matt heard Kiernan’s sharp inhalation. “Thank you, Toni. This has been very helpful.” He stood, waiting for her to do the same. Kiernan scrambled to his feet beside him.

  “That’s important, isn’t it?” she said. “The candy.”

  “More than I can ever tell you.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything about our visit…”

  “Oh, I’d already figured that was a given, Matt,” she said. “Can I venture a guess as to what you’re working on?”

  Matt looked at her solemnly. “I wish you wouldn’t. I can neither confirm or deny.”

  She nodded. “I understand. Just, allow me to tell you how very much I hope it helps.” She squeezed his hand between both of hers. “Karen Reynolds is my client as well, and I was very fond of Abby.”

  Matt nodded, but his mind was already racing
ahead.

  * * *

  “Her son has the watch.” Kiernan was all but bouncing in the passenger seat.

  “Her son has a watch like the one our witness saw on the wrist of a man who ran through the kitchen the day of the memorial service,” Matt replied, trying to remain pragmatic.

  “Oh, come on! We found out how rare that watch is!”

  “It’s rare, but there’s more than one on the planet. We can’t get ahead of ourselves, here.”

  “Okay,” Kiernan pressed, “then what about the candy? You have to admit that’s pretty wild to be coincidental.”

  “I agree. But we have no concrete evidence in regards to the candy. Nothing like a wrapper found at the scene…”

  “Only my word,” Kiernan said, sighing.

  “Hey, it’s more than we had.” Matt turned on his headlights. It got dark early during the winter, and even though it was only three-forty-five in the afternoon, the lavender shadows of dusk were spreading across the snow. “The problem is, we can’t put Abby on the witness stand to testify to what she smelled. It’s circumstantial at best, but it is something. It certainly got my attention.”

  “Don’t you think it’s weird Mrs. Mitchell never mentioned her son by name?” Kiernan chewed his lip as he stared out through the windshield.

  “Very.”

  “So, how do we find out his name?”

  “I need to get to a computer. We should be able to find any official documents—births, deaths, marriage certificates—online. There’s a departmental website where I can log into public records, but it keeps a history of all IP addresses that sign on. The library closes at four—” he glanced at the clock on his dashboard and grimaced, “—but we don’t have time to get back there to use their computers. Shit! Why won’t this traffic move!”

  “Relax. We’re getting there, yeah?” Kiernan’s eyes were brimming with exhilaration, and Matt felt a quickening of excitement in his own chest.

  “Yeah, I think we might be.” His cell phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. “Hey, Sheila.” He could hear cutlery clinking, muted conversation, and the sound of the hospital paging system in the background. “You at dinner?”