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

That was the problem with cops, he thought; everyone was an alpha. Everyone thought they knew best. Everyone was smarter than the next guy. The difference was, Kelly didn’t think…he knew. And time and again he proved it. Yet he never spoke it aloud; only in the work did the truth come out. His work ethic was polarizing.

Kelly’s investigative efforts were solely for the dead. His job was to speak for them, and he took it seriously.

Kelly didn't engage the heavyset Italian. He knew whatever he said to Mainelli in response would either end in an unnecessary brawl or be forgotten the moment it came out of his mouth. Either way, Kelly saw it as a waste of effort.

"Let me get you a drink," he said, turning the other cheek.

Mainelli tossed back one of the beers. Several loud gulps later, punctuated by an obnoxiously loud burp, he slammed down the empty glass and smiled.

"Well, absolutely," he said. "I've got a free hand."

Kelly flagged the overworked bartender, slid a twenty-dollar bill across the wet counter, and ordered Mainelli another drink. The bartender made quick work of the refill before attending to another of the horde.

Taking his prize, the double-fisting detective disappeared into the crowd. The conversation ended, comment forgotten.

Kelly slammed back the shot of whiskey in front of him and then picked up the Miller Lite bottle in his hand, pushed back from the bar stool, and began looking for Kristin. They hadn't come together. Too obvious. But he'd hoped to spend a little bit of time with her tonight. With the tightly packed crowd, he was hoping no one would notice, and maybe his conversation or proximity to her would go unchecked.

He saw her in the cramped space against the brick wall adorned with framed sienna images of Ireland. Whether they were the bar owner’s actual photographs or just purchased for show, Kelly didn't know, nor did he care. He shoved his way through the group, bumping and sliding in and out of the crowd, trying not to dislodge anybody's beer from their grip.

Kelly reached his destination, getting close enough to Barnes to catch her light perfume. Even amongst the sweat and body odor of the others crammed into the tight space, he could pick her scent out of the crowd. He rested his arm on the table and intentionally jostled her, bumping her with his hip. She looked over and smiled, her emerald green eyes by far the brightest thing in the dimly lit bar room. Barnes then turned her attention back to Sutherland.

"I still can’t believe you're really leaving us," she said.

"I think you guys are going to be in good hands." Sutherland bobbled slightly. His ability to maintain any falsehood of sobriety was gone completely. Whatever he'd been consuming during the course of the evening had finally caught up to him. Sutherland wobbled and grabbed the back of a chair for stability.

"I'm good," he said as Kelly tried offering assistance. "I'm fine." He straightened himself and then stared bleary-eyed at the two. "You guys are a hell of a team." Then he leaned in and said, not as quietly as intended, "I hope the relationship works out, too."

He reached his meaty paws across the table, using it as a balance point for his protruding midriff as he gripped both by their shoulders and shoved them together slightly. An awkward gesture received with awkward smiles.

Neither Kelly nor Barnes confirmed the sergeant's suspicion. Even here at the retirement party there was no need to open that can of worms in a room full of drunk cops. The fallout could be disastrous.

A blast of icy wind blew through the bar as the door opened. Kelly saw a face he hadn't expected as the door closed, and Paul Halstead entered the bar room.

Halstead had an easier time than Kelly in navigating his way through the crowd. It was as if he had some invisible force field pushing people away. He slipped his narrow frame through as the crowd parted, walked directly over to Sutherland, and shook his hand with an awkward formality.

"Dale, it's been an honor serving with you," he said rigidly. "Let me get you a drink."

Sutherland shook the man's hand and staggered slightly. "I think I'll let you do that," he slurred.

Halstead disappeared for a moment and came back with two beers, set them on the table, and then tapped the rim of his mug to Sutherland's. "To new beginnings."

Kelly and Barnes raised their glasses, and all four took a drink.

Halstead drank his beer rather quickly. Then, looking around awkwardly, he said, "I just wanted to come in and wish you well. You were a good cop, Dale, and I hope you have a good life after this job. I want you to know your team is in good hands with me."

"I didn't doubt it for a second," Sutherland slurred.

Halstead stood rigid. "I'm going to call it a night."

Sutherland bobbed his head and stared absently at the amber liquid in his mug.

"See you two in the morning," Halstead said, directing his attention to Kelly and Barnes.

And then, just as quickly as he’d arrived, Halstead slipped back out the way he had come. One and done, Kelly thought. Impressive. He'd come into a bar full of cops, made his peace with the man he'd be relieving, and then left. Smart move.

Halstead made something else very clear in his brief visit. He didn't want to be at their level. He didn't want to be their friend. He was assigned to their unit for one purpose and one purpose alone, and that was to be their supervisor, their leader, and to do that, he had to maintain his distance.

Kelly looked at Barnes. "It's going to be an interesting day tomorrow."

Her eyes seemed greener. The carbonation from the beer had watered them just enough to make them shine bright like mossy rocks at the bottom of a stream.

"It's Homicide. Every day is interesting."

"Kelly, you mind if I talk to you for a minute,"