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

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