A Reason to Believe (11 page)

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 she had since

he’d met her. “Well, please. Invite him in.”

* * *

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 sure 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