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

"Well, maybe I'm due." Kelly clicked off, then turned to the senior crime scene technician. "I think that does it. Ray, it goes without saying, but the wallet and shoe print are going to be top priority."

"Mike, you know I always make your cases my number one."

Kelly was glad the senior technician had taken him under his wing and worked so hard for him when they handled a case together. No sitting around on potential evidence. You'd think after thirty years of working homicides, the jaded nature of the beast would take hold and he would slide. But if anything, Raymond Charles got sharper and more dedicated as the time passed, as if he could see the end of his career coming and wanted to make sure that justice was found for every victim.

"ME is sending somebody to retrieve the body,” Kelly said. “Not sure where he's going to fall on their priority list, but I don't think it’ll matter too much. Nothing earth-shattering here in terms of complications."

"Hope you're right. It does look promising," Charles replied, walking away.

Barnes and Kelly broke the scene down, leaving Sergeant Parker and his men in charge until the ME removed the body.

As Kelly and Barnes made their way under the tape, they saw Jimmy Mainelli approaching with two large cups of Dunkin' Donuts coffee and an apologetic smile.

Had it not been for the warm cup of coffee, Kelly might've offered a more scathing remark. But after taking the Styrofoam cup and feeling its warmth penetrate his icy hands, he instead said, "Better late than never."

"Well, this looks promising," Barnes said, hanging up the phone. "Check this out."

Kelly and Mainelli got up from their desks and bookended her.

A couple of keystrokes later, an image populated her screen. "The bank got back to me, sent me this link and gave me an access code to pull up the video from the ATM camera."

"My fingers are crossed," Kelly said, leaning in closer and catching her clean-linen scent. It was pleasant until Mainelli’s musk overpowered it.

On the screen, a blurred image of a man came into view. Kelly immediately recognized Jason Palmer’s pudgy jowls. He had become close with the dead man after spending the last two hours with his frozen corpse.

Seeing him alive was strange, a stark comparison to the lifeless form he’d etched into his mind. Palmer came into focus on the black-and-white footage. He was well-dressed in a blazer and wool trench coat. His tie was loosened, and his Oxford collared shirt was partially untucked. These were the same clothes he was wearing when Kelly saw him.

Kelly watched the drunken businessman swaying inside the ATM enclosure as if being blown by a heavy wind. But he knew that the only wind came from Palmer's undoubtedly high blood alcohol concentration, which must have been off the charts based on the stupor they were witnessing on screen.

Somewhat sad his last moments of life showed him in such an incapacitated state as he ineffectively fiddled with his wallet while trying to retrieve his ATM card.

After an unbearably long effort, he guided the card into the slot and entered his passcode. The camera had no audio, but they could see him reach down to retrieve the money before bringing it up to his face and fanning out the eight twenty-dollar bills.

As he turned to put the wallet in his back pocket, somebody came into view outside the backdrop, nothing more than a shadowy blur. Kelly cursed under his breath, fearful this would be the only image of their potential suspect.

But Palmer shifted, and there, staring back at them, was a man’s gaunt face and deep-set eyes. Even with the dark hooded sweatshirt, the light from inside the ATM station clearly illuminated his face.

Palmer was oblivious, staggering onto the sidewalk. The suspect already had the knife in his hand and was waving it around wildly.

Kelly watched and understood why the robbery turned to murder.

Palmer, in his intoxicated state, initiated a drunken haymaker on the skinnier knife-wielding man. A stupid move, and one that cost Palmer everything.

The perp ducked the wild blow and punched the blade into Palmer’s midsection. Palmer fell forward and out of view, but Kelly already knew the end.

Snow had already begun to fall, and the scene on screen transitioned from horror to tranquility in a matter of seconds.

The last image was a smudge of darkness, which, based on the pattern of blood droplets, was their perp's departure toward School Street.

"Well, it looks like we’ve just caught a murderer on tape. Not every day we get to see firsthand the evil our suspects do," Barnes said softly.

Seeing somebody killed in the real world had a far different effect on the psyche than watching an action film or crime drama. Real death was ugly, fast, and horrifying to watch. Seeing the aftermath was bad enough. Watching it happen somehow made it worse. But one thing was for sure, they had a clear visual of their suspect.

"We need to get this screen shot down to intel so they can send it to the rest of patrol, put a BOLO on this guy. Hopefully we can have him grabbed up by the end of the day," Mainelli said.

"I'm hoping we can get him in the next couple hours," Kelly added.

Kelly's phone rang, displaying the four-digit extension for Raymond Charles. He picked it up. "Hey, Ray, won't believe what we just watched."

"Oh yeah, what's that? Mainelli doing police work?" The crusty crime scene tech laughed at his own joke.

"No, nothing that shocking," Kelly retorted. "We just witnessed the murder of Jason Palmer."

"No kidding." Charles sounded genuinely interested. "Guess that ATM footage was good after all. Well then, you're going to love this."

"I can't wait," Kelly said.

"He wasn't wearing gloves."

"No kidding. I guess a little Irish luck is playing out on this one."

"Yeah, I got a full lift, thumbprint outside of the leather. It's a beautiful print. I've already run it through AFIS and got