The Penitent One (Boston Crime Thriller Book 3)

by Brian Shea

  "You sure you don't want me to lock up, Pops?" Kelly called back, knowing the answer.

  "If I'm here, it's open."

  "Happy Thanksgiving, Pops."

  "You too, Mikey," Pops said as the door closed behind him and Kelly stepped back out into the night's cold air.

  JoJo's Diner, located not too far from Saint Peter's Church, seemed a good place for Kelly to meet with Sterling Gray.

  Gray had contacted him via text just before Kelly had gone to bed Thanksgiving night. When he got home, he’d had to read Embry a second round of stories to settle her back in for the evening. The FBI agent asked to meet with him and him alone. The two had bounced brainstorming ideas back and forth in the days following the murder of Father Benjamin Tomlin. Gray proved himself to be an intelligent, thoughtful investigator, and although they weren't any closer to solving the crime, his insight and wisdom were top-notch. Kelly didn't mind taking an opportunity to bend the man's ear.

  He'd picked JoJo's to give Gray a taste of the local neighborhood. The diner offered breakfast and lunch only, closing sharply at 2:00 p.m. Typically, the kitchen ran out of its lunch menu about half an hour prior to that, and on most days, the breakfast line outside the small storefront stretched at least a block long, even in the colder months. The minimum wait was an hour, but people endured, the line seeming to grow with each passing weekend.

  They'd chosen to meet at 7:00 a.m., ensuring they would make it to the office on time. Kelly beat Gray, but only by a couple of minutes. The agent was proving to be just as tenacious as Kelly and Barnes. Each day since he'd been assigned to their small task force, he'd arrived early and stayed late, showing his dedication and focus.

  Gray approached and pleasantries were exchanged. Moments later, a heavyset waitress guided them to a corner booth, where they slid onto the worn brown vinyl seat.

  The waitress brought a carafe of coffee and two porcelain mugs. "You boys look like coffee drinkers. I can get you something else if you want, too."

  "Coffee’s fine by me," Kelly said.

  "Same here," Sterling added.

  The waitress retreated to tend to the sea of other patrons.

  "What gives?" Kelly asked, not wanting to dance around with idle small talk.

  "I wanted to meet with you first before I spoke with the group. I got a call from headquarters. They feel that the case is at a stalemate, that we've hit an impassable point. Even with everything the BAU has forwarded, plus the information I've given them on our progress so far, it appears that they cannot extend my time with the team any further."

  "What?" Kelly asked, his annoyance conveyed both in his voice and the constrained look in his eyes. "They're calling you back? It hasn't even been a full week."

  "It's been five days. And you know better than most, the first day or two of a homicide yields the highest percentile of solution. After that, it drops off dramatically, with the solvability dropping further with each passing day, a negative gradient curve. So, five days is a lifetime in terms of this case." Gray added a spoonful of sugar to his coffee. "I pushed to stay a little longer, just so you know, but they weren't hearing it. There are other cases and other things that I'm needed for."

  "I’ll bring it up with Sutherland. Maybe he can run it up the flagpole. I'm not letting this go," Kelly said.

  "I didn't expect you would. I just wanted you to know that it's been a pleasure. Your team is fantastic, but you, in particular, have shown great ability. Hey, and if you're ever looking maybe to switch sides and come play at the federal level, I'm a phone call away. I can grease the wheels if that's something you're interested in."

  Kelly shrugged. "I appreciate it, but Boston is my home, and this is where I'm staying."

  "I know. I just figured I’d offer," Gray said. "If something does break in the case, something that points you in a new direction, you'll give me a call. Right?"

  "Absolutely. We’ve valued your expertise on this matter. If we do catch a break, you’ll be the first to know."

  "We've been hunting him for a long time, Mike. This guy is a ghost and he's a dangerous one. When you're digging around, I want you to be extremely careful and watch your six. He's managed to elude federal and local law enforcement efforts for nearly a decade and a half. It's a testament to his skill and possibly his connections. Not sure which worries me more."

  It worried Kelly too.

  Ex-military/police was still listed at the top of the board.

  Kelly couldn't help thinking that maybe somewhere, somehow, The Penitent One had a law enforcement connection or background. It wasn't too long ago that he'd seen the depth an undercover had gone to in order to cover his tracks when crossing over to the wrong side of the law.

  The two ate and engaged in small talk, with the formality and their reason for meeting over.

  As they got up to leave, Kelly saw a familiar but unwelcome face in the doorway.

  "Great," he said under his breath.

  "Problem?" Gray asked.

  Connor Walsh stood at the hostess table, but not because he was waiting for a seat. No, that would be taken care of immediately for the crime lord and Dorchester native. He was busy flirting with the hostess, a girl who looked to be no more than twenty, more likely to be his granddaughter than of dating age for the older mob boss.

  He caught Kelly approaching out of the corner of his eye and turned, giving his stained, yellow-toothed smile. A Tootsie Pop was tucked in the pocket of his cheek.

  "You boys smell that? They must be cooking up some extra bacon in the back."

  The overhanded and overused derogatory cop reference went unanswered by Kelly. But the two meatheads standing beside Walsh, his personal security detail, laughed loudly at the joke.

  Kelly considered saying nothing to Walsh, but as he got closer to him, he turned and said, "You know, for somebody who prides himself on taking care of his town, looks like your protection isn't what it's cracked up to be."

  The smile immediately evaporated from Walsh's face. A low rumble formed in his throat, like the growl of a dog protecting his food bowl. "What did you say to me?"

  "I didn’t stutter.” Kelly stood inches from Walsh’s face. He smelled the cherry of the lollipop. “A priest gets killed in your church, and I haven't seen you lift a finger to help."

  "I'm sorry. I thought solving crime was your job, sonny boy."

  Kelly knew the reason he added the last part but didn't acknowledge it, knowing the others around him probably knew nothing of his biological connection to the mob boss. "It is, and don't worry, your day's coming too."

  Kelly pushed through the two men who tried to edge their way in, cutting off his pathway to the door, a subtle gesture at intimidation that failed miserably. Kelly used enough force to knock them aside without making a scene.

  "Funny company you're keeping. Can't solve it on your own? You've got to bring in the feds." Walsh spat the words as the door closed behind them.

  Gray said nothing and followed Kelly out.

  "How'd he know you’re a fed?" Kelly asked, looking at Gray.

  He shrugged. "Wish I knew."

  The statement bothered Kelly, but he couldn't quite place his finger on why.

  Kelly and Gray got in their separate vehicles and headed to One Schroeder Plaza so Gray could clear out his space and officially pull back the FBI's support.

  13

  February 18

  The rattle continued. In the fog of sleep, Kelly thought it was the radiator and fought to ignore it. The nighttime temperatures had consistently dipped below twenty degrees for the past week, and the house’s oil-based heating system was working overtime. The boiler pumped steam into the cold pipes, and the metal cried out as it expanded in the form of a banging clatter. This was a constant, but over the past ten days the incessant rattle had intensified to unbearable levels. Even so, Kelly normally slept through it, but for some reason, tonight his brain was unable to disregard the noise.

  Kelly rubbed at his eyes, his vision b
lurring as he tried to look at the clock. It wasn’t so much the volume of the noise as much as the rhythm. The pulsing beat, drumming him to a semi-conscious state.

  As the digital clock on his nightstand came into view, the glowing red numbers taunted him. 3:53 a.m. His world was coming into focus as the haze of the dream gave way to reality. He realized the rattle wasn't the radiator, but his cell phone’s ringtone set to vibrate.

  Dazed, he wondered how long it had been ringing. Normally a light sleeper, Kelly was shocked when he looked down to see he had three missed calls. Two from Detective Sergeant Dale Sutherland and one from Kristen Barnes.

  Not a good sign, when his unit was ringing him before daybreak. Their squad was up on rotation again, and he could only surmise, from the repeated attempts, that the reason for waking him was not good.

  Kelly reached down, swiping open his phone’s home screen and preparing to call his supervisor back, when it vibrated in his hand. The fourth incoming call was from Sutherland. Kelly answered it immediately.

  He put on his best attempt at alertness, though his voice was still groggy.

  "Top of the morning to you, Sarge."

  "Never thought I'd have to place this many calls to reach Michael Kelly," Sutherland said.

  "I know. I don't know what happened to me. I guess these cold nights put me in hibernation."

  "Well, sorry to wake you from your beauty sleep, but we got a fresh one for you. And our team's up at bat."

  "Where do you need me?"

  "Downtown Crossing. Washington and Milk Street. Across from The Old South Meeting House."

  That was the thing about a city like Boston. Modern-day crime didn’t care much about historic landmarks. And this part of the country had plenty of both.

  "Any details?" Kelly asked.

  "Male vic. Multiple stab wounds. Patrol's got the scene locked down with a potential witness. Still trying to reach Mainelli. Spoke with Barnes. Start making your way there. She'll meet you, unless you two want to carpool," Sutherland chided.

  Kelly took the comment in stride, partly because he was still shaking the cobwebs free from his brain after being pulled from sleep. But then, more importantly, Kelly was aware his supervisor had picked up on the fact he was dating Barnes. Although neither had openly admitted to it, Sutherland was a cop with a keen eye. With his awareness came the personal jabs, which were becoming more overt and increasing in frequency.

  Mainelli had caught wind too. He’d been relentless over the last couple of weeks, especially a few days ago on Valentine's Day. The crusty Italian detective had taken it upon himself to leave a dozen roses on Kelly’s desk, along with a giant card. He had signed it with a fat red marker and addressed it to Kelly from Barnes. If the rest of the office hadn't suspected anything was up at that point, they were definitely keyed in now.

  When Kelly and Barnes had first considered pursuing a dating relationship, they decided to keep it under wraps. The department had plenty of relationships among their two thousand members. Impossible for it not to happen. But Kelly was concerned by the fact that they both were members of Homicide and part of the same squad in the relatively small specialized unit. They were worried that one of them might get rotated out to another division if somebody raised a red flag, claiming an intimate relationship could be detrimental to the integrity of the unit. Kelly knew the most likely proponent of such a sentiment would stem from the corner of Tony Acevedo and his sidekick, McGarrity.

  Acevedo had been gunning for him at every possible turn since Kelly had scooped the Tomlin case out from under him. Since then, he had seen fit to point out any shortcomings in Kelly's ability as an investigator.

  The fact that Kelly wasn’t a step closer to finding the killer added credence to Acevedo crying foul. Kelly needed a home run on this case to get himself on level footing again.

  He threw on some clothes, a heavy overcoat, and a skullcap, then grabbed his badge and gun and headed out the door as quietly as he could. His mother had returned to her uninterrupted sleep since the issue with the red Jetta had been resolved, but no credit could be given to Kelly on that front.

  Brayden had taken it upon himself to bring about a solution to the recurring problem, putting some of his old skills to use and disabling the vehicle's car alarm. "Tricks of the trade," he had said when Kelly asked. Kelly pushed no further. One thing was for certain: their mother was extremely pleased. And Brayden was happy to receive her accolades. It had been a long time since he’d done something she was proud of. Kelly let his brother bask in the light of her praise but was angry at himself for not getting to it sooner.

  He started the Chevy, which groaned weakly as the cold engine came to life. He put it in drive and took his foot off the brake, letting it roll down the driveway to the street before giving it any gas.

  The city was coated in a layer of white, the darkness brightened by the streetlights bouncing their glow off the fresh snow that had fallen in the hours since Kelly had gone to sleep.

  It wasn't a heavy snow, just a dusting, maybe an inch or two. Certainly enough to cause a nightmare for the morning commute, but not Kelly's, as only a few cars were on the road at this hour.

  Kelly pulled out his cell and called Barnes as the heater worked to thaw the ice box that was his Caprice.

  "Morning, sunshine," Barnes answered.

  "You already there?"

  "Just pulling up now."

  "Bad?"

  "Nah. Not too many onlookers. I’m sure the snow and cold helped. Plus, it’s the middle of the night. Easy scene to contain right now. We'll see what we got when we get inside the boundaries."

  "Sullivan said we might have a witness."

  "Yeah, he told me the same thing. Said patrol detained somebody."

  "All right. I should be there in a few minutes. Any word from Mainelli?" Kelly asked.

  "No. Not surprising, though. I'm sure he'll drag his ass in at some point." Her voice conveyed a hint of annoyance. "He always does."

  "Not sure who we'll get today, but hopefully it will be Charles or Dawes." The two crime scene techs had become his unit's go-to team when it came to processing a scene. As Kelly had learned in the year since becoming a member of Homicide, some technicians worked better with certain detectives. Charles, as the most senior, had his say in the cases he picked, and lately he'd been stepping up for all of Kelly's. His protege, Dawes—or Freckles, as he was more commonly referred to—had proven to be a quick learner, picking up a lot of the good habits the senior technician had gathered over his thirty plus years of experience working among the dead in the busy city.

  As if the senior tech had read his thoughts, Kelly's phone vibrated. Looking down, he saw a text message from Charles. "On my way in, see you soon."

  Kelly slowed but didn't stop at a red light, proceeding through back roads into the downtown section. The victim wasn’t going anywhere. He was dead. But Kelly felt a sense of urgency. He always did.

  The heater of Kelly's Caprice finally began winning the battle against the cold just as he pulled to a stop outside the yellow police tape blocking the intersection of Washington and Milk Street.

  He sat for a minute, allowing the heat billowing out of the vent to warm him before he stepped back out into the frigid tundra of Boston in February. He learned long ago as a rookie patrolman to always dress in layers. Easier to take something off than try to put something else on.

  As Kelly stepped from the vehicle, a gust of wind carrying a squall of snow pushed against the door, forcing it back against him. It was as if nature itself didn't want him to get out. Nature interfered in the processing of a crime scene in many ways, especially rain. Snow was not an optimal condition for processing a murder scene, but the frozen ground usually aided them in following tracks or any blood trail that might be left. Rain was like God's eraser, washing away critical evidence.

  Tarps and canopies were set up over bodies whenever the situation dictated, and this was one of those cases. A large pop tent was set up on
the sidewalk near a bank, and officers were posted at various places around the tape, ensuring nobody would cross through.

  Kelly was always surprised by how many people would just walk right into or duck under the tape, oblivious to a crime scene, as if they had a right of way through whatever investigation was underway. The inconvenience of detouring was too much for some.

  Cell phones exacerbated the situation, making for some of the worst offenders. People walking without looking, staring down at their handheld computer screens. A few years back, as a patrolman, Kelly witnessed a heavyset man plow through the crime scene tape as if he were a runner crossing the finish line after the hundred-meter dash, taking with him the yellow tape strapped across his chest. The large man hadn't even noticed before he was halfway into the scene when another officer standing nearby rushed up to physically stop him.

  Kelly remembered the look on the man's face as he glanced up from his cell phone to see where he was. His disconnection from his virtual world to the real one was comical and almost cost him a trip to the slammer for interfering.

  The scene he looked at now was well contained. Probably wouldn’t be much foot traffic to worry about for the next couple hours. Apparently the media hadn't mobilized yet, since there were no news vans in view. Kelly hated getting to a scene after the media circus had begun. He preferred that their arrival coincided with his departure.

  The snow crunched underfoot as he approached Barnes, who was talking to a patrol sergeant. Kelly squinted as the flurries struck his eyelashes, recognizing the uniformed patrol supervisor as Jeremy Parker. A solid cop, he grew up in Dorchester, not far from Kelly. He was a few years older, but the two knew each other. Parker had opted to work the downtown beat, saying he didn't want to arrest his friends and neighbors. Kelly understood, but had taken an entirely different approach, deciding, at least in the early stages of his patrol time, to navigate and protect the citizens he knew best.