In the final analysis, it wasn’t Sheila’s nagging that changed his mind. It wasn’t even the thought of the spirit of a six-year-old hanging around his house. It was the six o’clock news broadcast.
He’d been home for a couple of hours, waving off a disgruntled Sheila by telling her he’d think about it. Making himself comfortable on his sofa with a beer, he turned on a football game when his television inexplicably switched to the channel five news. He reached for the remote even as the bleached-blonde anchor’s words caught his attention.
“Police say they are zeroing in on a person of interest in the case of the Christmas Eve murder of six-year-old Abigail Reynolds in her family home in North Park. Captain Peter Branson issued the following statement to reporters late this afternoon.”
The image on the screen changed, filling with Branson’s haggard features. He looked almost as tired as Matt felt.
“We are narrowing our investigation,” Branson said, his voice hoarse, “and should be able to make an arrest sometime in the next few days.”
“Captain,” a reporter shouted. “Sources inside the police department tell us Marcus Reynolds is your primary suspect. Is this true?”
Matt leaned forward, his spine stiff. Marcus Reynolds? The girl’s father? Matt didn’t buy it. He’d seen the utterly destroyed expression on the man’s face when he’d been confronted with his dead child in the refrigerator. Every instinct Matt possessed told him the lawyer hadn’t murdered his daughter.
“Well, I don’t know who your source is,” Branson replied with an angry glare. “Anyone proven to be leaking information about an ongoing investigation from within this department will be fired immediately.” He paused, his expression remaining grim. “However, in most cases of murdered children, the parents’ possible involvement has to be taken into consideration. That’s all I have for now.”
Branson turned away, but Matt knew him. He’d seen the look in the steely gray eyes. Branson was looking at the father, and Matt knew he was wrong.
His television switching itself to the news broadcast wasn’t lost on Matt. Until that moment, it had never done anything similar. He looked around the deserted room. “Okay, Abby,” he whispered. “I get it.”
When ten-fifteen rolled around, he picked up his keys and headed for his Bronco.
Suite 1411 was at the end of the fourteenth floor, taking up the entire end of the hall. Being a TV medium must pay pretty damned well. Matt pressed the suite’s round doorbell before taking a step back, his hands jammed into his jacket pockets. It took several moments, but finally the door swung open.
The dark-haired woman from earlier peeked around the edge of the door, her lips quirking when she saw Matt standing in the hall.
“Good evening, Detective.” She stepped back, holding the door open. “Won’t you come in?”
Matt entered and she closed the door softly at his back. “He’s right through there,” she said with a gesture, and waited expectantly. Matt hesitated, then moved down a short hall that opened into a large main room.
Kiernan Fitzpatrick was sitting on one of two sofas in front of a large fireplace, his sock-clad feet on a square ottoman. His elbow was on the arm of the sofa and his forehead was resting in his palm, his eyes closed. Matt’s first thought was he looked exhausted. Seeing him so still, when he’d been so full of suppressed energy earlier, was startling.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick?”
He spoke softly, but Fitzpatrick jerked as if he’d shouted. Lifting his head, he opened his eyes. They looked tired, but the color was no less brilliant.
“My name is Kiernan,” he said, full lips curving upwards. “Please don’t call me Mr. Fitzpatrick. I immediately think my father is in the room, which isn’t necessarily a pleasant prospect.”
Matt didn’t like being called Mr. Bennett either, and it sounded as if they had similar reasons. With those words, the man shifted seamlessly from Fitzpatrick to Kiernan in his mind.
“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling awkward. “If this is a bad time…”
The dark head shook slightly. “No, it’s fine. Please, have a seat.”
Matt settled onto the edge of the facing couch, studying Kiernan carefully.
The young woman came into the room behind him. “Food’s on the way up,” she said.
Kiernan’s dark brows arched upwards. “Did they have…?”
She gave him an indulgent smile. “Yes, but you have to eat your dinner first.” Kiernan wrinkled his nose, and she ruffled the hair on the back of his head as she walked by. “Beer?” she called over her shoulder.
“She’s talking to you,” Kiernan said. “I don’t get booze until I have food. Warden’s orders.” He grinned.
Matt shrugged. “Um, sure.”
She bent to what he assumed was a small refrigerator beneath the bar.
Kiernan yawned lavishly, and then seemed embarrassed when he found Matt watching him. “It’s been a long day. The public sessions take a lot of concentration. Then there was a panel at the college, and I just finished a private reading, so…I’m beat.”
“Which means he should eat and go to bed,” the woman said as she came back to them. She handed a beer to Matt and set a soda next to Kiernan. He gave her a grateful look as she sat on the couch beside him. “Not try to do yet another reading.”
“Lighten up, Mum.”
The corner of her mouth quirked. “Like I’d admit giving birth to you.”
Kiernan’s eyes danced. Matt found himself watching him with growing interest. He hated to admit it, but Sheila was right. He was damned attractive.
“So, seeing as you’ve been privy to one of our domestic disputes,” Kiernan said, a laugh in his voice, “I suppose formal introductions are in order. We’ve already established who I am. This charming creature—” he poked her thigh, “—is my sister, Aidan. And I’m sure you are occasionally called something other than detective.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Matt. Matthew Bennett.” He shifted his beer to his left hand and leaned forward, offering his right. Kiernan was smiling as he shook his hand.
“So, how long have you been a detective, Matthew Bennett?” Kiernan leaned back and popped open the can of soda.
“Um, about five years.” He rolled the beer bottle between his palms.
“Homicide?”
Matt grimaced. “We don’t have a homicide division, specifically. It’s called Major Crimes. We handle felony-level offenses.”
The man’s eyes were searching. “Get many murders of children?”
Matt swallowed. “Too many. Unfortunately.”
Kiernan sighed. “They suck.”
“You’ve dealt with them before?” Matt asked.
Kiernan nodded, his face as close to subdued as Matt had seen it. “Those sessions are always the worst. Because it’s almost always their parents who come for the readings, and I can never give them what they want.” Matt arched his brows in question. Kiernan sighed. “Their kids back. It’s the one thing I can’t do.”
“I feel that way, too. We can’t ever give them back. We can only try to figure out what happened.” They exchanged a long look, one filled with weary commiseration. “You said this afternoon you’d picked up on something, on this latest case…”
“Yeah.” He paused. “There wasn’t a lot, but I can tell you what I did get.” His face was candid and eager. “If it would help.”
Matt leaned forward. “I’d appreciate it.”
Kiernan set his drink aside and leaned forward as well, his hands linked between his knees. “She’s really young, maybe six or seven? Blonde, blue-eyed, very cute. And frankly, a bit confused. It isn’t uncommon with kids under ten. They don’t understand the difference between being alive and being dead. One minute they’re in one place, and then they’re in another. Like, they’d fallen aslee
p in the living room and woke up in their bed. She has some memories of what happened to her, but she doesn’t want to think about it. To her, it seems more like a bad dream than an actual event.”
Matt was fascinated in spite of himself. “I just wondered, with everyone in the house, why she…” He hesitated, unsure how to proceed.
“Why she chose you? Because she liked the way you looked,” he said, his lips quirking. “She thought you had ‘nice eyes.’ And you could hear her, she could tell.”
“I’ve never been able to see or hear…well, anyone before who was…I mean…you know what I mean?” This last bit was said in a rush, and his frustration with his inability to express himself seemed to amuse Aidan Fitzpatrick immensely.
“You mean someone dead?” she asked, her eyes bright with mischief.
“Behave,” Kiernan scolded, and she grinned. He turned back to Matt. “I know it was startling. Most people go their entire lives never seeing someone in spirit. It challenges something very fundamental in the belief system. And it certainly wasn’t something we were taught in catechism.” This was said with a healthy dose of wry sarcasm.
“You know, I wondered.” Matt made an abbreviated sign of the cross over his chest.
“Ah. Catholic?” Kiernan asked.
“Enough of one to recognize ease with a gesture when I see it. Somehow, I didn’t think what you do and Catholicism would necessarily be compatible.”
Kiernan laughed merrily. “Just because my church doesn’t want anything to do with me doesn’t mean I’m done with God. I need Him on my side. Some of what I occasionally pick up on is definitely playing for the other team.”
Matt’s brows shot up. “Meaning?”
“Not all haunts are happy haunts. I choose to believe that if God made it so I can see these spirits, then He’s got my back if they turn nasty.” His irrepressible grin widened. “And honestly? I think my church has less trouble with the whole seeing-dead-people thing than it does with the gay thing.”
Matt was startled, remembering he’d said something very similar to Sheila just the day before.
“Kiernan.” Aidan gave Matt a meaningful glance. “Perhaps that was more information than the detective needed.”
“Detective Bennett doesn’t have an issue with my sexual orientation, Aidan,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes lively.
She leaned back and looked at him sharply, then over at Matt even as Kiernan continued to study him. Matt felt a creeping discomfort, but he saw recognition and amusement in Kiernan’s vivid eyes.
“Oh,” she murmured. “Well.” She stood. “On that note, I believe I’ll leave you two gentlemen to your discussion.” She didn’t look annoyed, but there was something suddenly guarded in her voice and expression.
Matt straightened. “I’m sorry. If I should go…”
She shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.” She turned to her brother. “When the food gets here, please eat.”
He smiled faintly. “Yes, Mum.”
She sighed, but as she passed, she touched his shoulder fondly. “Good night, Detective,” she said softly, then left the room, closing the door behind her. The silence in her wake felt heavy.
“I’m not altogether sure what just happened. Did I just…” Matt paused, unsure how to continue.
“Get outed?” Kiernan offered with a grin. “Only to my sister.”
Heat climbed his neck and filled his face. “Was I…”
Kiernan took pity on him. “No. You aren’t obvious at all.” His cheek dimpled. “But it’s rare when a straight man checks out my package.” Matt was mortified, but Kiernan laughed. “Relax, Detective,” he said. “I was the only one who noticed, and I was flattered. You’re hot.”
Matt stared, not sure how to respond, grateful when a soft knock sounded on the suite door. Kiernan bounced up and Matt exhaled, relieved to be out from under the knowing gaze.
“Over here.” Kiernan came back, gesturing between the two sofas. A young man wheeled the linen-covered table into place, and Kiernan passed him a twenty-dollar bill. The waiter smiled, pocketing the money as he left.
“Nice tip.” Matt leaned back, a firm grip reestablished on his composure.
“I figure anyone having to deliver a BLT at nearly midnight has earned it.”
Kiernan leaned forward and lifted the cover off of a plate, and the fragrance of bacon filled the room. He glanced at the sandwich and fries but immediately zeroed in on a small dish with its own cover. He lifted the lid and sighed in obvious pleasure. The dish contained chocolate ice cream with what looked like large chunks of dark chocolate in it.
Kiernan noticed Matt watching.
“Dreyer’s Thin Mint,” he provided, dipping a spoon in and bringing a taste to his mouth. His eyes rolled closed in appreciation. It was as close to an expression of sexual pleasure as Matt had ever seen while someone was eating. It made him feel voyeuristic, and faintly aroused.
“Weren’t you supposed to eat your dinner first?” he asked casually, trying to ignore his body’s response.
Kiernan shot him a wry look. “The role of Kiernan Fitzpatrick’s keeper has already been filled by his sister.”
His teasing eased some of Matt’s tension, and he smiled. Once Kiernan finished the ice cream and had done everything but lick the bowl, Matt couldn’t resist commenting. “You sure do love ice cream.”
“More than you’ll ever know.” Kiernan wiped his mouth with a napkin. “This one in particular. When I was a kid, Aidan used to buy two cases of the Girl Scout cookies every year and put them in the freezer, then smash them up and put them in my ice cream. But this is so much better.”
“Has she always indulged you?” Matt teased.
Kiernan shifted, looking self-conscious. “There were certainly people who thought so.” Picking up a French fry, he glanced at Matt. “Scarfing ice cream was pretty rude of me. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
Kiernan popped the fry in his mouth. “There’s more than enough here for two, if you’re hungry. I’ll never eat all of this.”
“I ate earlier.”
“Suit yourself.” Kiernan picked up his sandwich without a trace of lingering self-consciousness. He polished off half and a few fries before he wiped his mouth with his napkin, sighing in satisfaction as he leaned back into the sofa.
“Better?” Matt asked.
“Much. It’s the first thing I’ve eaten since breakfast.”
“Makes for a long day.”
“Yeah.”
They sat looking at each other, and then Kiernan sat forward. “Okay, back to your little friend,” he said, suddenly all business. “Without a formal reading I can only give you my impressions, but they’re usually fairly accurate. She wasn’t a forceful presence this morning, but she stood out to me. Her aura was bright…”
“Her aura.”
Kiernan smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “All of us have auras, Matt. Most people just don’t see them.”
“But you do?”
He inclined his head. “It’s all part of the deal.”
Matt narrowed his eyes. “O…kay,” he managed at length.
Kiernan chuckled. “It looked like there was a light shining all around her. Usually it indicates strong emotion. I was surprised to see it with an entity so young. She didn’t want to step forward, and she remained in the background. I think there were too many others there at the mass reading, and she was intimidated. But even as others were talking, I could sense her. Watching. Waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“I don’t know. I just know she feels attached to you, and she has something to say she thinks is important.”
“How do we find out what it is? If she isn’t comfortable talking…”
“I didn’t say she isn’t comfortable talking,” Kiernan interrupted with a laugh. “She’s the one who told me you’re a cop. She followed me backstage immediately after the group reading. And clearly she was comfortable showing herself to you. I think today wasn’t the ideal situation for her. It’s often that way with kids. They might turn up in a mass reading, but unless they are a confident character, they’re not likely to interrupt adults.”
Matt sighed. “But you said you think she has something important to say. Why didn’t she tell you what it was backstage?”
“No idea. She obviously wanted me to notice her. She was very persistent. She kept moving into my line of sight, even when I was talking to someone else. She hovered, at the periphery, for the entire three hours.” He paused. “You know, ordinarily the spirits of children, if they’re grounded, are more communicative in an environment where they’re most comfortable.”
“Grounded,” Matt said. “I’ve no idea what that means.”
Kiernan leaned his elbows on his knees. “When we die, there are usually two options available to us, because believe it or not, it is about choice. We either cross over, as in the whole go-into-the-light thing, or we choose not to.”
“Unfinished business.” Matt tried to keep the skepticism out of his voice. Kiernan smirked, making him think he hadn’t done very well.
“It’s one way of describing it, yes. There’s usually a reason.”
“Okay, so assuming Abby Reynolds chose to remain behind, and she’s ‘grounded,’ which frankly sounds like something my mother did to me when I was in trouble, does it mean she’s grounded…to me?” As much as he tried for it not to, the fact he was unnerved by the thought must have come through in his voice.
Kiernan laughed.
“You know,” Matt said, “I don’t find the idea particularly amusing.”
A Reason to Believe Page 5
