A Reason to Believe (31 page)

uncomfortable. And her bun looks so tight it must

have hurt.”

“Victorian era…” Matt looked again, but when

he still saw nothing, an unpleasant realization

dawned. He turned back to Kiernan and leaned

closer, lowering his voice. “Are you telling me

there’s a…” He tipped his head.

Kiernan laughed. “The word you’re looking for

i s
ghost.
It’s what I do, remember? See ghosts?

And yes, there’s a ghost over there returning books

to the shelves. Be glad you can’t see her. She looks

like one of the types who used to wield a mean

wooden ruler.”

Matt glanced again nervously, and Kiernan

chuckled.

“Relax,” he said. “She’s no more aware of you

than you would have been of her if I hadn’t been

here.”

Matt studied his face. “She’s not aware of us?”

“Nope. She’s just doing her thing, like she

probably did every day.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There are generally two recognized kinds of

hauntings. Residual and intelligent. Residual is

more like an imprinting on the space. The spirit

remains, doing what it always did, repeating

scenes from their lives over and over. They aren’t

aware of the passage of time, or the people who

are there now. Intelligent is like Abby. They have

a mission, a purpose, something they want to

accomplish. They want to make contact, for

whatever reason. Residual hauntings are much

more common, frankly.” Kiernan shrugged

negligently. “They’re especially common in places

like this. Old, with an established period of use.

She’s probably just comfortable here.”

“Glad she is,” Matt muttered.

Kiernan grinned, propping his chin on his hand.

“I suppose this would be a bad time to tell you

about the three ghosts in the coffee shop, then?”

Matt stared and Kiernan laughed. “They were mill

workers, still doing their job. Relax, Matthew. All

it means is they were happy in the space. Haven’t

you ever walked into a building or a house, and

immediately felt comfortable?”

“I always have here. Not sure I will so much,

now.”

“This shouldn’t change a thing. All it means is

she loved the place enough to linger. That’s a good

thing. I’d bet you move through the same spaces as

ghosts every day, you just aren’t aware of it.

Hospitals are notorious for lingering spirits.

Police departments probably are, too. Spirits tend

to remain where major moments in their lives

occurred.”

“And it doesn’t bother you, seeing things when

no one else can?”

“It’s my reality, remember? And it wouldn’t

bother you, either, if you’d been doing it your

entire life. Besides, I make a pretty good living at

it. I’m good as long as they aren’t poltergeists,

which are just an annoying pain in the ass, or

demonic—” he shuddered, “—which we’re going

to leave for the priests, thanks very much.

Otherwise no, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Demonic?” Matt murmured, feeling faintly

alarmed. “That’s real?”

“Most of what you’ve heard about is real, in one

way or another. Not the Hollywood version, no.

But nasty spirits? If they were nasty people, it sort

of follows they wouldn’t suddenly become angelic

in the afterlife, right?”

“Are they dangerous?” Matt prodded, his eyes

searching Kiernan’s face.

“I send up a prayer and make the sign of the

cross at the beginning of my sessions for a reason.”

He shrugged negligently. “As long as they don’t

come after me with a knife…” When Matt’s eyes

widened, Kiernan laughed. “Kidding, Matt. Just

kidding.”

Matt stared at him balefully. “You are not

funny.”

Kiernan’s grin was unrepentant. “Yeah, I am.

It’s one of my many charms.” He leaned closer and

lowered his voice. “Along with what I’m capable

of doing with my mouth. Or so I’ve been told.”

Matt knew color was climbing his neck even as

he turned back to his computer screen. His blush

was confirmed when Kiernan chuckled.

“Shut up and do something constructive, will

you?”

Kiernan subsided, but Matt could see his

lopsided grin in his peripheral vision.

“So, what am I doing?”

Matt glanced over to see he’d gone to the local

newspaper site, too. He pointed to the People in

the News link at the top. “That’s the local paper’s

euphemism for the society pages. Just look to see

how many times the names on the list turn up, and

how often they’re mentioned in conjunction with

the Reynolds.”

They worked in affable silence for nearly two

hours, making marks or notes in the margins next to

names. Matt could see Kiernan begin to yawn out

of the corner of his eye.

“Keeping you awake?”

Kiernan rubbed his hands over his face. “More

like putting me to sleep. How many people are in

this town?”

“Half a million, give or take.” Matt made

another note on the page.

“So, if there are half a million people here, how

come your society columnist only writes about

fifteen of them?”

“Those are the ones with money, including the

owners of the newspaper. The rest of us don’t

matter much.”

“Which could be why they’re all so full of

themselves.” Kiernan shook his head. “The same

people invite each other to every cocktail party,

every fundraiser, every meeting of the Ladies

Auxiliary Guild.”

“Hey, don’t knock the Auxiliary Guild. Without

them, there’d be no cocktail parties, and then what

would we read about?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know,” Kiernan drawled.

“Maybe the news?”

“Boring.” Matt shot him a grin.

“This is boring. How many different ways can

these people come up with to get hammered

together?”

Matt grinned as he continued to flip through the

back issues of the newspaper. One thing became

obvious as he read: the Reynolds were

contributors to almost every major charity

sponsored by the “top fifteen.” And the people

most often photographed with Karen and Marc

Reynolds were Police Commissioner Patrick

Mitchell and his wife, Samantha.

Before being elected to the governing body of

local law enforcement, Patrick Mitchell was a

defense attorney. Much like Marc Reynolds, he

amassed a fortune doing so. Matt found himself

wondering if it was how the Reynolds and the

Mitchells became so close. Had Mitchell been a

senior partner at the firm where Reynolds now

worked? He switched over to the business pages

and did a search for the names Mitchell and

Reynolds. He found his answer in an article dated

March of 2006.

Marc

Reynolds,

up

and

coming defense attorney and

junior partner at Porter

Mitchell, has bought out

senior partners Davis Porter

and Patrick Mitchell, taking

over the powerful local law

practice. When contacted for

a quote, Patrick Mitchell

spoke very highly of his

associate. “Marc Reynolds is

a bright and ambitious young

man,” Mitchell said. “I’m

quite sure the firm is in good

hands. I wish him the best of

luck, but I doubt he’ll need

it.” Davis Porter could not be

reached for comment.”

Matt read the item again. He pressed the print

button, then changed the search. Minutes later, on a

page listing political contributions for candidates

for police commissioner, he found Marc Reynolds’

name. He’d made a contribution of twenty-five

thousand dollars. Matt printed this document, too.

“Find something?” Kiernan asked, his eyes avid.

“Maybe. Not sure yet. You?”

Kiernan frowned thoughtfully. “Just that the

same four names seem to keep coming up in

connection with the Reynolds’. And they’re all on

this guest list.”

Matt walked over to the printer and picked up

his copies. “Which names?”

“Davis Porter the fourth, Connell Richardson,

Patrick Mitchell—” his frown deepened, “—and

Garrett Preston. That name sounds familiar…”

“He’s the ADA prosecuting the Reynolds case,

remember?” Matt sat beside him. “And I’m pretty

sure Connell Richardson is Karen Reynolds’

brother-in-law.”

“Then we should be able to take him off of the

list, yeah?” Kiernan asked.

“I don’t know. At this point, I don’t think we can

remove anyone. Here, look at what I found.” Matt

handed Kiernan the pages and leaned back in his

chair, watching him read them.

A frown furrowed Kiernan’s forehead. “So,

Marc Reynolds bought out Davis Porter and

Patrick Mitchell.” He chewed his lip. “Interesting

Mitchell was the only one who was available for

comment.”

“Interesting that Marc Reynolds then turned

around and donated twenty-five grand to

Mitchell’s campaign. I find myself wondering how

a junior partner in an established law firm has

pockets deep enough to both buy the firm and make

the contribution.”

“Do you think Porter somehow got the raw end

on this deal?”

“No idea. But I think it’s worth following up.”

“I suppose,” Kiernan frowned as he handed the

pages back to Matt. “I don’t believe you’re going

to find this was motivated by business.”

“What makes you say that?”

Kiernan’s eyes were pensive. “I felt it,

remember? I lived the memory with her. He was

furious and, for whatever reason, his anger was

aimed at Abby. He was angry enough to kill her. It

was personal. It doesn’t feel like something

motivated by a business deal gone sour to me.”

Matt knew Kiernan believed what he’d seen and

felt during the reading in the Reynolds house, and

watching him had been convincing. What Matt had

seen and felt with his own eyes was compelling,

too. But the part of him that had been a cop for

nearly ten years couldn’t help but look on all of it

with a remaining, albeit small, dose of skepticism.

Kiernan believed what he was saying, but it

didn’t make it true. Cases were solved by finding a

trail of evidence and following it to its natural

conclusion. So far the only things that looked like

solid evidence were the guest list from the

Reynolds’ house and Marc Reynolds’ ability to

somehow buy out the senior partners at a

successful law firm. Add in the hefty contribution

to a political campaign, and all Matt’s instincts

took notice. In his career he’d seen murders

motivated by a lot less than a business deal gone

sour.

He chose to keep the opinion to himself for the

time being.

Folding the papers and slipping them into his

jacket pocket, he felt a vibration under his fingers

and withdrew his cell phone. “Sheila,” he said,

lifting the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Sheila’s voice was brisk.

“Listen, I’ve only got a half hour before my shift

starts at the hospital, but I might have something

from Toni.”

Matt straightened. “Oh, yeah?”

“I’ll let you decide if it means something. I’ve

barely got time to shower and change, but if you

and Kiernan could meet me in the employee lot

near the ER in like, twenty minutes…”

“We’ll be there.” He slipped his phone into his

pocket and gathered the sheets of the guest list.

“Come on. Sheila thinks she might have

something.”

Kiernan pushed to his feet, and Matt tried to

ignore his uncharacteristic silence.

* * *

ordinarily took five minutes, took twice as long

due to the heavy snow on the roads, but they still

arrived with time to spare. Matt pulled into a

space near where he knew Sheila parked her car

and killed the engine.

Kiernan hadn’t said a word during the drive. He

sat with his head turned away, staring out through

the passenger window. He was so quiet and still,