The Penitent One (Boston Crime Thriller Book 3), Brian Shea [best non fiction books of all time .TXT] 📗

uncollected. And for the first time since Kelly's arrival to Homicide, he’d slammed into an investigative brick wall. The internal pressure he placed on himself trumped any hounding by his supervisor or the media, who were still in a frenzied, ravenous quest for an update on a suspect identification. Kelly and his team were no closer to offering one than when they had first briefed the community Sunday evening.

Frustration had set in, etched clearly on the faces of the three men and one woman seated at the oval table staring blankly at the whiteboard. Hoping that by some miracle the answer would appear. While the BAU analysis had been beneficial in painting a clear picture of their potential suspect, it brought them no closer to identifying the actual person responsible. It only served to heighten Kelly's awareness that the likelihood of developing a suspect was diminishing rapidly, if not already completely gone. Sutherland was currently in a closed-door meeting with his immediate supervisors and Superintendent Acevedo, who rarely if ever frequented the actual investigative spaces of headquarters, sticking normally to the command staff level.

Acevedo’s presence here today told Kelly the heat was being turned up. He’d given his boss little to offer in the way of case progression, so the meeting was going to be wholly one-sided.

They'd gone over the case facts a million times. Even Kelly was feeling the tedium of it, although nobody in the room matched the disgusted frustration Jimmy Mainelli wore on his face. He'd complained as soon as he walked in this morning, saying they should have been given the day off seeing that it was Thanksgiving and his wife had a large group coming over.

Death didn’t care about holidays. Everybody in the room knew that, even Mainelli.

The meeting ended, and Sutherland trailed after Acevedo and his entourage as they left. A hushed silence fell over the detectives working in the common space as the Criminal Investigation’s commanding officer made his way across the bureau floor.

The superintendent stopped briefly at one cluster of desks where his son Tony was seated. A brief exchange between father and son, held out of Kelly and his crew’s earshot, could only be about one thing. As the younger Acevedo looked past his father and made eye contact with Kelly, the curl of his thin lips made it obvious that Kelly was the brunt of the joke.

Less than a minute later, the Homicide unit’s volume returned to its usual hum as the door closed behind the superintendent leaving with his minions in tow.

Sutherland made his way over to the team. Kelly noticed the sergeant's limp was more pronounced after meeting with the command staff. Dale Sutherland made a point of showing the lameness in his leg when in the presence of his supervisors, not in the hopes of gaining sympathy but in gaining traction with his disability claim.

Sutherland staggered into the opening and leaned against the door frame. The team stared back at him expectantly, the unspoken question, "And what was that all about?" hanging in the air.

"I gave them what we’ve got so far, which at this point isn't much more than we've had since the start. The case looks like it's stalling out and losing steam." Sutherland said this to the group but focused his stare on Kelly.

"The guy is a ghost, Sarge," Mainelli chirped up. "I don't know what else you want us to do. We've flipped every snitch we could find, pulled every possible surveillance camera in the area. Forensics hasn’t put anything useful in our hands. And, no offense to the FBI, but they’ve given us a fancy list that amounts to nothing more than telling us we're up against somebody who's eluded them for over fifteen years. I don't know what you expect."

"I expect results," Sutherland fired back. "That's what my unit does. We solve the unsolvable cases."

Kelly knew the man was right and was angry at himself for not having more to offer. He wanted nothing more than to counterbalance Mainelli's despondent attitude, but after plowing through all of the case files, comparing every fact and the limited usable evidence, it all circled back to a big fat goose egg.

"Doing the best we can, boss," Kelly muttered.

Sutherland paused at Kelly's comment, and maybe because of the holiday, his gruff exterior softened a bit. "Listen, we've been racking our brains for the past few days on this thing, putting forth extraordinary effort. I know each and every one of you—even you, Mainelli—have given your all. Sometimes an investigation just comes up short.”

Kelly slumped in his chair.

“Why don't you guys take the rest of the day, clear your heads, get some good old family time? You've been living in the office, and from the smell of this room, maybe some of you are long overdue for a shower." Sutherland laughed at his own joke. Levity replaced the initial moments since his tongue lashing, delivered by Acevedo.

Nobody moved.

"What’re you all still sitting around here for? This is an official order from me to you. Close your case files, lock down The Depot, and head home to your families for the day. We'll pick this thing back up tomorrow. Maybe we look at it with fresh eyes and find something we overlooked. I don't want you to take anything home with you. Leave it all here. Go enjoy your Turkey Day."

Mainelli was already out of his seat.

Kelly hesitated for a moment, hanging back with Barnes, who was the second to last to get out of her seat and move toward the door.

"See you tonight," he whispered out of the rest of the crew’s earshot.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," she said softly.

The excitement Kelly first had on Sunday, when he began his preparations for this Thanksgiving meal and the arrival of his guest of honor, filtered back. It momentarily washed away his defeat at not having moved the case forward. His mind quickly focused on the things he needed to do to prepare for tonight's meal, and