The Penitent One (Boston Crime Thriller Book 3)

by Brian Shea

  "Well, I, for one, am glad to have you back, and like I said when we talked yesterday, I haven't moved forward much in the way of the Tomlin case. So this new body just means more work. I would say based on the way he was found, where he was found, the fact that he was submerged in the Charles River for an unspecified time period, and knowing how clean our perp is, the likelihood of this being much of an adrenaline boost to that dead case isn’t hopeful."

  "Hey," Gray said, leveling his eyes at Kelly. "Every time a body drops it gives us a window in, small as it may be. Although we've been unsuccessful so far, you never know what this case will give us that the others haven't. Maybe it connects in some way that will help make order out of the chaos. You've got a dead priest and a dead mobster. That to me is a strange pairing if I've ever seen one, and from my experience and study of The Penitent One, he typically does not kill so close together, and to do so in the same area is also a red flag.”

  “Maybe he's slipping,” Kelly said wishfully.

  Gray cocked his head. “Not likely. But every case gives us new potential to find him.”

  “Let me grab a cup from the back and I can get you up to speed on the O’Toole case before everybody gets in.” Kelly tossed his coat on the back of the chair and made his way to the break room. He topped off his travel mug and returned to Gray.

  “Before we get into the O'Toole case, I wanted to show you something that has really been nagging at me with the Tomlin case."

  Gray's interest was piqued. "Sure. What do you got?"

  Kelly opened the drawer and pulled out the thick Tomlin case file, the same one he’d mulled over every day since it landed on his desk the Sunday before Thanksgiving of last year.

  He rifled through the file and removed a small stack of papers. It was the dead priest’s work history or, more accurately stated, lack thereof. He’d called the church where O'Brien thought he'd heard him mention he worked, which turned out to be a dead end. Then, when reaching out to the archdiocese, he'd continually been met with red tape. Nobody seemed willing to share, or was able to find, any record of Father Tomlin's work history.

  "What am I looking at?" Gray asked as Kelly slid over the stack of papers with notes scribbled in the margins.

  "That's it. You're not really looking at anything. This right here is Father Benjamin Tomlin's work history, what little I could gather."

  Gray looked down at it, thumbing through the few pages in the stack, most of which were in Kelly's handwriting.

  "Nothing there. That’s my point. The only proof we had that he was ever a priest was the collar he wore at Saint Peter's. Prior to that, he was like a ghost. Everything I've checked doesn't seem to match. I can’t find anything on a Father Tomlin anywhere."

  Gray stopped shuffling through the papers, reorganized them, and handed them back to Kelly, looking pensive.

  "Something you want to say?" Kelly asked. "I mean, because I'm all ears. I've been staring at this case file, losing my mind, losing sleep, and letting everything else in the world fall down around me trying to put this one to bed. I’m grasping at air. And now, with another body on my desk related to this, I’m not sure what I’m missing. But something’s off. I've got four red cards on my murder board, and the doer is the same for each. I'm at a loss.”

  “When I came here in November, I was under strict oversight. Any information I was to disseminate needed the approval of my supervisors, who are extremely tightlipped about what information can be released. Even with an ongoing active investigation into a homicide.”

  “You’ve been holding back?” Kelly set his mug down and focused his attention on Gray.

  “This case has been at the forefront of the FBI's list for years. The fact that they can't put a wanted poster with a person's face on it has not gone unnoticed. And at the higher levels, it's become this administration’s personal bout with the Jackal," Gray said.

  Kelly understood Gray’s reference to Ilich Ramírez Sánchez, better known as Carlos the Jackal, the elusive, legendary terrorist of ’70s fame fictionalized to stardom by the author Robert Ludlum’s Jason Bourne series. The Jackal had managed to elude capture for nearly twenty years after numerous international manhunts failed. The fact the FBI’s upper management were making comparisons didn’t bode well for his case closure.

  "Okay," Kelly said. "So he's public enemy number one to the FBI, and they're super guarded with what they release, but I thought last time you were here, you were given the green light to share everything with our squad."

  "I was—to a degree,” Gray said.

  Kelly didn’t like that answer.

  “And everything I was able to share with you at that time, I did."

  "But," Kelly said, knowing there was more.

  "But there was a piece of Tomlin's death that I couldn't share, and it was one of the reasons why I was first assigned."

  "I hope I'm not going to have to wait a few more months to hear the answer to this."

  Gray offered a sheepish smile. "Like I said, I was following orders, and since they came from the top, I didn't have much wiggle room to break them."

  Kelly also knew the dynamic Gray spoke of. He'd been privy to knowledge about a rogue cop, and he had been threatened from on high of the danger in exposing that. Not only to the PD, but to Kelly and his family.

  He understood when weighing the balances of justice and your own personal survival, sometimes the latter won out. So yes, Kelly understood the politics at play in any case, especially a high-profile one. Apparently the Bureau played by the same rules. Guys like Kelly and Gray were just pawns in a much bigger game. Although even a pawn can kill a king if the timing and position are right.

  "That work history file, or lack thereof that you've been searching for regarding Tomlin, there's a reason it didn't exist."

  Kelly felt himself leaning forward, literally on the edge of his seat.

  "The reason it didn't exist, the reason you couldn't find anything on him, is because he wasn't a priest."

  Kelly shook his head, his subconscious coming to the forefront and battling with his conscious mind. It didn't make sense. He was a priest at Saint Peter's Church. Donny had served with him. "What do you mean, not a priest?"

  "He was an undercover FBI agent. He was set up at Saint Peter's Church to eavesdrop and monitor Connor Walsh. It was a major play by the FBI's Organized Crime Task Force. They seized a window of opportunity. One of many that have been deployed in an effort to gather usable information capable of putting Connor Walsh away forever."

  Kelly let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

  21

  Inside The Depot, Kelly watched his squad’s faces as Gray laid out the truth about Father Benjamin Tomlin: that he was an agent with the FBI, assigned to Organized Crime, and was working undercover in an attempt to gather intelligence and information to dismantle Walsh's criminal organization. He followed his briefing with an apology for holding back the information.

  Mainelli, who seemed the most hurt by it, had his arms folded and was wearing a pouty face. "So, how are we supposed to expect that you'll be on the up-and-up with us now? I mean, maybe that information would have been pretty important back at the time. Maybe we'd have leaned on some of Walsh's guys, put the heat on them, maybe some of our snitches could’ve worked their magic."

  Halstead interrupted Mainelli's angry rant. "I understand your frustration, Detective Mainelli, but Agent Gray was operating on orders and following them explicitly. He told you what he could at the time.” He looked to Gray. “And he's here assisting us again, and from my understanding we are privy to all pertinent information regarding Tomlin’s death. No more red tape. Hopefully his partnership will shed light on O'Toole."

  There was a finality in his tone, unlike his predecessor, Sutherland, who would engage Mainelli in a back-and-forth repartee. It had served as comic relief for Kelly on a frequent basis, but he saw that Halstead would not be engaging the members of his squad in that manner.


  "Nothing saying we can't take that approach now," Kelly said. "Jimmy's got a good point. We know now that there’s a tie-in to the mob and that Tomlin was there to eavesdrop. Now we've got one of Walsh's top crewmembers dead. I think we can definitely say there is some correlation that needs further scrutiny. Let’s rattle some cages and see what falls out."

  "I couldn't agree more," Halstead concurred. "Make sure you let me know your plan of action. And keep me posted on your progress with this investigation. I'll be stopping in from time to time. I don't know what you’ve heard about me from your friends in the department, those who have worked under me or with me. But I think you'll soon come to find that I support the men and women I serve with, as long as I know what's going on. I don't want to be caught out in left field where somebody above me or beneath me knows more than I do. I want to be the one who holds all the cards. That way I can protect you and, at the same time, protect this unit. Are we clear?"

  "Crystal clear," Kelly said.

  "All right then, I'll leave you to it."

  With nothing else said, Halstead left The Depot and closed the door behind him.

  "Crystal clear, sir." Mainelli gave a mock rendition of Kelly’s response.

  "He makes a good point. If he's privy to everything we know while we're working a case, he can best protect us against people trying to one-up us. He just wants to be in the loop. I don't see a problem with that."

  "Yeah, well, Sutherland just let us do our thing. He didn't hassle us along the way. We gave him results. He trusted us. We kept working. He knew we were handling our caseload. Life went on."

  "Well, obviously we're under different management now. To continue making comparisons to how things used to be seems a complete waste of time. You either adapt and overcome or you get run over. I don't have a problem with keeping the boss informed. I mean, he's going to be the one running interference,” Kelly retorted.

  “I personally don't want to have to face the lieutenant, or worse, Acevedo, if he decides to pop in. I like that he wants to run a good, clean defensive block for us, should the need arise," Barnes offered, throwing in her support.

  "Of course you'd agree with him," Mainelli said, rolling his eyes.

  Kelly was grateful Mainelli didn't finish his thought and make an overt comment about their dating relationship, especially in front of Sterling Gray. He didn't want Gray to think the unit had gone all amateur hour in the few months since he had been with them.

  "Ideas on how we attack this now that everything's on the table?" Gray asked, redirecting the conversation back to the subject, which Kelly appreciated.

  "I can reach out to a couple of my girls,” Barnes said. “A few of them are regulars, go-to girls, for Walsh’s guys. I can see if they've heard anything. Maybe there's some talk on the street."

  "I'll make some calls, check with Organized Crime and see if they've got anything on Tomlin. Maybe somebody got wind there was a plant in the church. Maybe they put a hit out on him, hired this killer. Who knows?" Mainelli offered.

  Kelly thought of McDonough and the conversation they'd had the night before, and the lack of information and cooperation he offered. Now with everybody grabbing intel from multiple sources, Kelly realized he needed to push his friend a little harder.

  "I've got something I can look into. It's more of a long shot, but I've had results in the past," Kelly said, intentionally vague.

  Barnes shot a glance at him. "I can come with you, Mike."

  "It sounds like you're heading out to see some of those prostitutes,” Gray said, “so maybe I could take a ride with him. We divide our resources up, maybe we get more done, and when we reconvene, we'll have something to push forward with."

  "It’s settled. Let’s go," Kelly said.

  Kelly and Gray sat in his unmarked Caprice about a block and a half from JW's Pub, Connor Walsh's hangout. For lack of a better term, it was the mobster’s clubhouse. But Kelly wasn't there for Walsh.

  Bobby McDonough's beige Ford Taurus had pulled up, parked in the back lot, and remained unmoved for the last ten minutes. Kelly waited. The lot was about half full, but nobody had come or gone in since McDonough’s arrival. Kelly figured his window of time was running out, but he wanted to give enough time from when his friend went in to make sure he didn't pop back out. Ten minutes seemed reasonable.

  "So, this guy's a friend of yours?" Gray asked.

  Kelly gave him a reader's digest version of his and McDonough's long-time friendship, leaving out many unique aspects that had made things more complicated in recent years.

  "Why don't we just talk to him?" Gray said.

  "I tried that last night. He's holding out. I can tell. And to be honest, I don't want to wait until another body or two drops before he decides to talk to me. He's as stubborn as they come. I’ve known him the better part of my life, and there’s a good chance he may never speak to me about it."

  Kelly fiddled with the magnetized device in his hand. It was the size of a pack of gum and weighed about the same. He pressed a small rubber button, activating it, then checked on his phone to ensure the tracking device was synced to the mobile app. He'd used them in Narcotics. He’d ordered a couple online and kept them in his drawer at the office. Until now he hadn’t used them since coming to Homicide. "Now's as good a time as ever," Kelly said, mostly to himself, as he opened the door.

  Kelly made quick work of his approach to the bar's alleyway, which led to the lot where McDonough had parked.

  He hustled around the corner, ducking as a nasty gust of wind lashed at his back. Kelly wasn't dressed in his normal BPD windbreaker or jacket, trading them in for a more subdued look of jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and a puffy overcoat. He had a baseball cap pulled down just in case anybody looked outside. The hood was up, and his face was as obscured as his wardrobe would allow.

  He walked along the row of cars, stopping near McDonough’s as he pulled out a cigarette, another throwback to his Narcotics days. A cigarette went a long way in adding to his subterfuge. He always kept the pack with him should the need arise for Kelly to hide in plain sight. Cigarettes gave a reason for a person to be standing about, but also aided him in the next step of his plan.

  Kelly put the cigarette in his mouth but didn't light it, instead intentionally dropping the red dime-store lighter on the ground. It bounced once and landed near the right rear tire of McDonough’s Ford. Kelly then bent down to pick it up. In one deft move, he slapped the magnetic backing of the transponder to the dirty undercarriage of the Taurus. He gave a quick tug, making sure it adhered to the metallic surface. It held.

  He stood with the cigarette still in his mouth. Completing the ruse, Kelly lit it with the cheap red lighter. He took a quick puff for anybody who might be watching, either with plain eyes or on the security cameras undoubtedly covering the lot. He then walked out of the alleyway and back toward Gray.

  Kelly paused momentarily before getting in to scan the street. It was desolate. Flicking the cigarette out onto the sidewalk, he climbed inside, then checked the mobile app one more time before driving down the block, passing JW's Pub.

  He drove in a doglegged pattern, pulling into the back lot of a McDonald's a couple blocks away to begin the waiting game.

  "It's pretty accurate. Should be able to keep tabs without having to be in visual range."

  "And what do you hope to accomplish by following your friend around all day?"

  "To be honest, I have no idea. I just thought it might be a good idea. He's definitely shaken by this, and I’d imagine so is his boss. Knowing McDonough the way I do, and his role in Walsh’s crew, I'd imagine if somebody is killing their people, then my friend will be assigned to eliminate that threat."

  "I don't want to get tied into some murder conspiracy," Gray said. "As nice as it would be if the mob could kill off the TPO and save us a whole heap of paperwork, it's still not how we're doing business. Agreed?"

  "Never crossed my mind. My hope is Bobby can draw him out of hiding. Right now,
I don't see any other option. I mean, unless Barnes gets some intel, I have little to no hope that whatever Mainelli's doing is going to result in much."

  "Let's see how this idea of yours plays out. Can’t hurt. Besides, it's been a while since I've had a good stakeout. Bureau life has had me tucked inside an office for the last couple of years. It's nice to be out amongst the people. Even if those people happen to be mobsters and killers." Gray laughed at his own joke.

  They idled in the back lot for a little over an hour as the smell of the deep fryer wafted out and penetrated the inside of Kelly’s Caprice. None of the patrons paid any attention to the two investigators as they sat in uninterrupted relative silence while they waited for McDonough's next move.

  The app on his phone chirped an alert followed by the message: MOVEMENT DETECTED. Kelly tapped on the notification and a map filled the small digital screen similar to a Google Maps display.

  McDonough’s vehicle was indicated by a small red blip. When in motion, it pulsed. Kelly's position was indicated by a blue arrow. Simple enough.

  He waited, knowing the GPS had fairly excellent accuracy. When he’d used it in the past, the transponder had been accurate to within ten feet of the target. Knowing this, Kelly allowed McDonough to get some distance between them before giving a very loose tail. It wasn’t long before McDonough’s blip showed he’d gotten on the Mass Pike and was heading out of the city.

  He had known Bobby McDonough for the better part of his life, and if he knew one thing about his friend, it was that he rarely, if ever, left the city. Bobby said he never felt comfortable outside of the neighborhood and sought to avoid leaving it at all costs. He didn't take vacations and only traveled when directed by his employer. Seeing him leave now, after whatever meeting took place at Walsh's clubhouse, caused Kelly concern.

  "Well, this should be interesting," Kelly said.