A Reason to Believe (17 page)

wasn’t alone.

Matt recognized Rawlins from Internal Affairs

and his mouth went dry.

Branson had been looking for a reason to fire

him for months, but Matt hadn’t thought he’d find

one. His superior had issues with his orientation,

but Matt was a good cop. His rate of solved cases

and convictions was one of the highest in the

squad. Branson would have to have cause in order

to fire him. The presence of the I.A. officer

indicated he thought he’d finally found it.

Rawlins strolled with his hands in his pockets,

studying Matt with mild interest. Branson’s

movements were brisk and jerky, and he ignored

him completely. He reached the office door and

unlocked it, allowing Rawlins to precede him

inside, before he finally turned and addressed

Matt.

“Bennett, inside.”

Matt bristled at his tone, but stood and strode

into the office behind his captain.

“Close the door,” Branson barked at him,

walking around his desk to drop into his chair.

Matt had to bite his lip to prevent himself from

saying something he would regret, and managed

not to slam the door. He shut it softly, carefully

controlling his growing anger, before he turned and

lifted his chin, waiting. Rawlins was standing in a

corner, and Matt could feel his eyes. He kept his

own focused on Branson, who still refused to look

at him.

“I’ve asked Officer Rawlins from Internal

Affairs to be present so that there can be no

allegations made about the way this was handled.”

Branson opened the file already in place on his

blotter. He clasped his hands together on top of

what Matt could see was his own employment

record and finally looked up. His gray eyes were

hard. “You have exactly one minute to explain to

me what you were doing at the Reynolds residence

yesterday, when you had been placed on

administrative leave and removed from the

investigation.” He arched his brows, waiting.

Matt met the steady gaze unflinchingly, fury

beginning to vibrate through him. “I don’t believe

there is any point, sir.”

“I beg your pardon?” Branson’s eyes were

glacial.

“I don’t believe there is any point in my

explaining, when you so clearly have already

decided on a course of action.”

“You don’t believe there is anything you can say

to salvage your career, Detective?” Branson’s

voice lowered dangerously.

“No,” Matt answered, his jaw tight. “It appears

to me that by having Officer Rawlins present,

you’ve already reached a decision about my

career.”

“It’s just procedure, Bennett,” Rawlins said

mildly.

“For termination,” Matt retorted, shooting him a

dark look. “I’ve been on the job for almost ten

years. I’m not a rookie. Don’t insult my

intelligence.”

“Bennett,” Branson growled. “You went to the

home of a murder victim while on forced leave, in

the company of some ghost chaser. For Christ’s

sakes.”

There was no chance for Matt to reply.

Rawlins straightened abruptly, his eyes going

past Matt’s shoulder to the door behind him.

“You’re about to have company, Captain,” he said

sharply.

Branson’s eyes widened as he looked toward

the bank of windows at Matt’s back. He pushed

back his chair and was rising when Matt turned.

He didn’t immediately recognize the tall,

distinguished older man walking through the squad

room, but he recognized the expensive cut of his

suit and his undeniable air of authority. He had his

graying head angled to one side, listening intently

to a fair-haired woman dressed in a stark black

suit. Matt wondered what Karen Reynolds was

doing in the squad room. Surprise filled him when

he spotted the dark-haired man not much taller than

she just behind her.

Branson came out from behind the desk,

brushing past Matt in his hurry to get to the office

door before those approaching from the other side

did.

“Commissioner

Mitchell,”

Branson

said,

opening the door in unspoken welcome.

Matt blinked. No wonder he looked familiar.

Matt had voted for Commissioner Patrick Mitchell

during the previous election.

The handsome man looked at Branson, the harsh

overhead lighting shining in his silver hair.

“Captain Branson,” he said, his expression polite.

“Just the man I’d hoped to see. You know Karen

Reynolds, I believe?”

A rust-colored stain crept up the back of

Branson’s neck above his stiff white collar. Matt

noted his discomfort with interest. Branson

acknowledged Karen Reynolds, who was eying

him coolly, with a quick nod.

“Mrs. Reynolds,” he said carefully.

“I know you haven’t met this rather

extraordinary young man,” the commissioner went

on. “Captain Branson, allow me to introduce

Kiernan Fitzpatrick.”

Kiernan took a step forward, hand extended,

eyes bright. He looked eager and rested, square

jaw now devoid of stubble. He was wearing fitted

jeans and an impeccably cut dark suit jacket. When

Kiernan offered Branson his hand, his jacket

swung open and Matt could see the front of the T-

shirt he was wearing beneath. A simple illustration

of a police car appeared above the words The

Police Never Think It’s as Funny as You Do.

Matt sputtered and belatedly reached up to

cover his mouth with his hand. Kiernan glanced at

him as he shook Branson’s hand, and his cheeky

wink was unrepentant.

“What can I do for you, Commissioner?”

Branson asked. Matt glanced over at Rawlins, who

appeared distinctly uncomfortable.

“Well, Captain,” Mitchell said in a friendly

voice. “I had a call from Mrs. Reynolds just a bit

ago. She seemed very concerned there might be

disciplinary action taken against one of your

detectives for something that was, in actuality, her

doing.” Mitchell looked at Matt and offered his

hand. Matt was startled, but returned the

handshake. “You would be Detective Bennett?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nice to meet you, young man,” the

commissioner said. “Mrs. Reynolds tells me you

are the officer who found Abigail.”

Matt glanced at Karen Reynolds, who was

watching him stoically. She looked pale but

composed. “Yes, sir,” Matt said carefully. “I

was.”

“I want you to know how much I appreciate the

compassionate and considerate way you dealt with

the family during this tragedy,” the man went on,

still holding Matt’s hand. “It’s good to know our

public servants are so caring in the midst of such

an awful situation. I wanted to thank you,

personally.”

“I was just doing my job, sir.”

“You’re too modest, Detective.” Mitchell

released his hand and patted Matt on the shoulder.

“We need more like you.”

Matt thanked him, sparing a glance at Branson.

If ever anyone looked as if they’d just been fed

ground glass, it was his boss. His face was red and

his jaw was tense. When the commissioner turned

to him, Matt saw him shift nervously.

“Now, Captain,” Mitchell went on, “is Mrs.

Reynolds correct? Were you in the process of

taking disciplinary action against this detective?”

Branson

cleared

his

throat

nervously.

“Commissioner

Mitchell,

however

compassionately Detective Bennett might have

behaved in regards to the family, he went to Mrs.

Reynolds’ house yesterday afternoon after he had

been put on administrative leave.”

“Administrative leave?” Mitchell said, looking

thoughtful. “Why is that?”

Branson glanced at Matt, who returned his look

impassively. He wasn’t going to help him.

“The detective suffered a personal tragedy last

year, and it was the opinion of the department

psychologist that he needed some time off.”

Matt felt his face fill with color as the

commissioner looked at him again. He didn’t want

to discuss Brad, not now. Not with Rawlins

standing there watching him.

“Whether he was on administrative leave or not

isn’t the point.” Karen Reynolds spoke softly, but

with determination. “He was not at my home in his

capacity as a police officer, but at my invitation as

a family friend.”

Matt looked at her, as startled as Branson was.

“Family friend?” Branson said, disbelief clear

on his face.

“Yes, Captain,” she retorted. “Difficult as it

may be for you to understand, when someone is as

kind to you as Detective Bennett was to my

husband and me in the face of our loss, they

become your friend. As he is no longer assigned to

my daughter’s case, I felt no hesitation in inviting

him to my home to thank him properly.”

“Be that as it may, Mrs. Reynolds,” Branson

said, clearly trying to remain polite and having

difficulty, “he should have declined. And he

certainly had no business bringing a…whatever

you are—” he glanced at Kiernan, “—no offense,

to your home.”

“None taken,” Kiernan said lightly, crossing his

arms.

“Even if he did so at my express request?”

Matt licked his lips, which were suddenly dry.

That wasn’t strictly true. And he wasn’t sure how

he felt about her lying for him.

“You asked him to bring Fitzpatrick to your

home?”

“I did. I knew Mr. Fitzpatrick was in town, and I

wanted…” She hesitated, her masterful calm

beginning to fray around the edges. She took a

shuddering breath. “You may not believe in what

he’s able to do, Captain. But I do. And I

wanted…” Tears filled her eyes and she fumbled

with the clasp on her bag. Commissioner Mitchell

withdrew a pristine white handkerchief from his

coat pocket and pressed it into her hand.

“Mrs. Reynolds, while I understand how you’re

feeling…”

She shot him an outraged look through her tears.

“Is that right, Captain Branson? You understand

how I feel? Some monster murdered your daughter

in your home while you slept through it upstairs?

And then, to add insult to injury, the local police

department seemed intent on blaming your spouse

instead of looking for the person who was actually

responsible?” Branson had the grace to look

uncomfortable.

“Unless

those

things

have

happened to you, I’d say you have absolutely no

idea how I’m feeling. And the only police officer

in my home who did not act as if the one and only

suspect is my husband was Detective Bennett, who

you’ve conveniently removed from the case. If you

would just take five minutes to listen to what Mr.

Fitzpatrick has to say…”

Branson’s jaw stiffened. “It is not the policy of

this department to use the testimony of a…

questionable source in its investigations.”

“Ouch,” Kiernan said mildly. “Okay, now I

believe I’ve been insulted.”

Branson’s color went from flushed to deep

russet in a heartbeat. Matt watched his discomfort

with satisfaction.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick,” Branson said, his voice

constricted, “as I’ve already stated, I mean no

offense or disrespect for what you do. However, it

can hardly be categorized as hard evidence. We

prefer to limit ourselves to what can be proved

beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“It’s all right, I understand,” Kiernan said, a

slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I

was teasing, Captain. You wouldn’t be the first

skeptic I’ve encountered, believe me. And my

credibility isn’t really the issue, is it? I’m merely

here to verify that Detective Bennett invited me

into Mrs. Reynolds’ home at her request, which

she’s already told you.”

Branson turned and pinned Matt with a hard

look. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

Matt looked pointedly at Rawlins before

swinging his gaze back to Branson’s rigid face.

“Your course of action seemed predetermined.”

The two men stared at one another as the

atmosphere in the room chilled.