Read A Reason to Believe Online
Authors: Diana Copland
mind and he flinched. “As if I could.”
Kiernan studied him, the smile fading. “You
found her, didn’t you?”
Matt’s eyes lifted. After a hesitation, he nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Kiernan murmured. “No one should
have to carry that image around in their head.”
For some reason, the softly spoken words made
Matt’s throat feel tight. “It’s my job.” His voice
sounded gruff.
Kiernan’s gaze remained steady. “In the same
way talking to them, after, is mine.” He looked
thoughtful. “You know, I’ve worked with police
departments before on missing person cases.”
“I’d heard.”
“It’s really helpful if I can visit the scene of the
crime. I can pick up a lot of information. Residual
emotion, lingering attachment. I’d be willing to bet
she would come through more clearly in her own
home.”
Matt studied the earnest face. “What makes you
think so?”
“Children almost always remain where they feel
the safest. Even though the murder took place in the
basement, Abby is going to linger close to home,
near her parents, and her bedroom, her toys. It’s an
environment
where
she
feels
the
most
comfortable.”
Matt chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “I
don’t know if I can swing it. How long are you
going to be in town?”
Kiernan sat back, his arms spreading along the
back of the sofa. “We have tickets to leave for
L.A. on Friday morning.”
It was Wednesday night. He’d have to work fast.
“If I’m able to find a way to get you inside of the
Reynolds’ house, is there a time that would be
better for you?”
“Evening,” Kiernan answered promptly. “I’m
done by three tomorrow, and I don’t have any more
private sessions scheduled.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.” Matt stood and
Kiernan did as well. Once again, the difference in
their statures made Matt feel large and clumsy. He
thrust his hand toward the other man in an abrupt
gesture. Kiernan took it with an amused lift of one
brow.
“Well, it’s been…interesting,” Matt offered
awkwardly.
Kiernan’s grin was irrepressible. “I’ll just bet.”
“I’ll, um…be in touch.” Matt started to move
toward the door, stopped and looked back. “How?
Can I get in touch, I mean?” He felt himself blush,
but Kiernan merely crossed to a desk and opened a
drawer. He scribbled something quickly on a pad,
tore the page off and came back, his hand
extended.
“Here. The number to my cell. I don’t put that
one on my business card, but it’s the fastest way to
get ahold of me.”
“Thanks.” Matt folded the paper and slipped it
into his back pocket. “I’ll call you, either way.”
Kiernan’s eyes warmed. “I hope you will.”
Matt stared into the wide blue eyes, fairly
certain they were no longer talking about whether
or not they could get into Abby Reynolds’ house.
Unsure how that made him feel, he nodded and
turned toward the door.
“Oh, and Matt…”
Matt glanced back. Kiernan was watching him
with a half smile. “If you don’t want Abby hanging
around your bedroom, tell her.”
Matt frowned. “Tell her.”
“Yes. Tell her she doesn’t belong in your
bedroom, and she should go home. She’ll leave.”
His smile widened, eyes shining. “Trust me.”
Matt shook his head and left the suite. He had no
intention of having a conversation with a ghost in
his bedroom or anywhere else.
But when he came out of the bathroom an hour
later in his boxers, and the air in the room felt so
thick and charged that gooseflesh immediately rose
on his arms and chest, he changed his mind.
“Abby?” he whispered.
Silence answered him, but the drapes at the
window moved slightly and he knew the window
was closed. His heart rate increased.
“Abby, I want you to know I haven’t forgotten
about you, and I’m going to do everything I can to
help you.” He paused, listening. There was nothing
but silence, but he had never been more convinced
he wasn’t alone. “But you need to go home now,”
he went on carefully. “I need to sleep and, frankly,
knowing you’re watching me freaks me out a little
bit. So, I’d appreciate it if you would just…go on
home. I’ll see you soon. I promise.”
Almost instantly, the oppressive feeling in the
air disappeared.
Chapter Five
It was snowing heavily when Matt entered the
precinct the following morning, and he paused to
stomp the clinging sludge from his boots. Shaking
the damp flakes from his jacket, he ran a gloved
hand over his tightly curling hair, and it clung
wetly to the leather. He hated his hair. Brad had
always smiled, telling him he looked like a profile
on a Roman coin. Matt hadn’t particularly
appreciated the comparison.
He also wasn’t sure what his welcome would
be like at the station. He didn’t know what
Branson had told the other detectives, but thought it
might be something along the lines of “Bennett’s
lost his goddamned mind.”
The usual buzz of activity greeted him as he
opened the door, and the desk sergeant nodded at
him as he passed. Doorways were still draped
with tinsel garlands and walls were adorned with
cardboard cutout poinsettias.
One or two of the men present in the second
floor squad room glanced up and acknowledged
him, but there wasn’t any general show of
welcome. He didn’t expect it. Those sorts of
displays of camaraderie had ended after Brad’s
funeral. The only person who actually made and
held eye contact with him, and who lifted a hand in
greeting, was Ed Partridge. A veteran of twenty-
five years, he’d befriended Matt when he’d first
made detective.
“Hey, Matt,” he said warmly, leaning back in
his chair.
“Hey, Eddie.” Matt removed his gloves and
shoved them into his pocket. “How’s it going?”
The older man shrugged. “It’s going.” He sighed
heavily and tossed a pencil onto his desk blotter.
“Not much happening, really. Half the squad is out
on personal time, and the rest of us are still tied up
with the Reynolds case.”
Matt leaned his hip on Ed’s desk, trying to keep
the keen interest out of his expression. “Anything
new?”
Ed grimaced. “Not really. Just ADA Preston
foaming at the mouth for an indictment. He’s in
there reaming Branson right now.” He jerked his
head toward the back of the room.
The blinds on the wall of windows separating
Branson’s office from the squad room were half-
closed, but Matt could see a man in a dark suit
stalking back and forth, gesturing with his hands.
Branson was seated behind his desk, his face
impassive but his jaw hard.
“Why’s he after Branson?” Matt asked.
“Thinks we aren’t moving fast enough.
Apparently the media is all over the mayor, which
means the mayor is all over the DA. You know
how it is, shit runs downhill.”
“Yeah.” Matt picked up Ed’s abandoned pencil
and twirled it between his thumb and index finger.
“So,” he said at length, intentionally pitching his
voice lower, “got anything concrete yet?”
Ed glanced around the room casually. When he
answered, his voice was lower, too. “Autopsy is
back on the kid. It was—” he hesitated, chewing
his lower lip, “—surprising.”
“Surprising in what way?”
“No sexual assault.”
Their eyes met. “Really.” In most murders of
children, especially ones presented like Abby
Reynolds’, evidence of sexual abuse was almost
always present. For it not to be meant the murder
was about something else. Matt narrowed his eyes.
“She was virtually untouched in that respect,”
Ed went on quietly. “The blood on the nightgown
was from a scrape on her knee, which apparently
happened when she was dragged down the stairs.”
He paused. “There was something else. There was
Ketamine in her system.”
Matt stiffened. “Someone drugged her first?
Christ, do you suppose the perp planned to assault
her and got interrupted?”
“No idea. He might have just wanted to make
the whole thing easier. Slip the kid Ketamine, and
there’d be no struggle at all.”
“Do they know how it got into her system?”
“Powder, delivered orally.”
“He fed it to her?”
Ed’s lips formed a tight line. “Apparently.”
“Doesn’t that indicate a level of trust?” Matt
muttered. “So, someone she knows, then?”
“Not necessarily. You threaten a six-year-old
kid and tell them to eat or drink something, they’re
going to do it. There were remnants of cookies in
her stomach. Coroner thinks it was on the
frosting.”
Matt sighed. “I saw Branson on the tube last
night. He looks exhausted.”
“Media’s crawling all over him. I don’t like the
bastard, but I wouldn’t want to be him this week.”
“He did everything but say they’re looking at
Marc Reynolds.”
“You know the protocol. Eliminate the most
obvious suspects first.”
“Yeah, but are they eliminating him?”
Ed rolled his eyes toward Branson’s office.
“Some people,” he said, very softly, “seem more
convinced of his involvement than others.”
“Meaning Preston.” Matt looked back toward
the enclosed office. The ADA was still pacing,
and a raised voice could now be heard, even if
what was actually being said could not. Ed
shrugged, but his eyes spoke volumes. “Is there
anything concrete linking the father?”
“Not as far as I’m concerned. But you know
how much weight that carries around here.”
“Listen, Ed, I know I’m not officially on the
case anymore. I’ve been put on administrative
leave…”
“Really?” Ed’s expression was carefully bland.
“I thought you were on vacation.”
Matt huffed. “Yeah, right. Vacation. Anyway. If
I wanted to get into the house, is there a way I
might be able to do it?”
“You mean, the Reynolds house?” Ed leaned
forward then, pulling a report over in front of him
and pretending to read it. “Well, officially, since
you’re no longer on the case, I’d have to say you
couldn’t enter the premises under the auspices of
being part of this office.” He glanced over his
shoulder. “However, since the scene has been
cleared and returned to the family, it’s up to them
to decide who’s allowed admittance to their
home.”
“I should just knock on the door and ask them to
let me in?”
Ed’s lips pursed. “Well…I have it on pretty
good authority Mrs. Reynolds was very unhappy
you’d been removed from the case.”
“It’s news to me.”
“You didn’t think Branson was going to call and
tell you? Morales told me the missus was
extremely put out you were no longer involved.”
He gave Matt a pointed look. “She told Branson it
seemed to her you were the only one who actually
cared her child had been murdered. I think if you
knock on the door, she might invite you in for
coffee.”
Matt tossed Ed’s pencil onto the desk and
reached into his pocket for his gloves. “Thanks,
Ed. I owe you one.”
“Yeah, so next time we’re out, buy me a beer.”
“Will do.” Matt turned to walk away when he
felt Ed’s hand touch his arm.
“The evidence does not support the kid’s father
having done this,” Ed muttered. “But the DA’s
office is hot for an indictment, and he’s caught in
the crosshairs. I don’t like defense attorneys either,
but this isn’t right.”
Matt pulled his gloves on briskly. “I’ll see what
I can find out.”
“Good man.”
Just as Matt was nodding, the door to Branson’s
office burst open and Assistant District Attorney
Garrett Preston strode into the squad room, his
face flushed and his jaw hard.
Matt didn’t like Preston, he never had. With his
movie-star-handsome face and his thousand-dollar
suits, he seemed too much like someone from
central casting starring on a TV show. He also
wasn’t subtle in his inferences that cops weren’t
terribly bright, so there weren’t many on the force