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

The gym session hadn't been as long as normal, and since the car’s engine was still relatively warm, the heater soon started to work its magic.

"You know where I was this morning?”

McDonough rolled his eyes. "I can only imagine."

"Can you, Bobby? Can you? Because I was standing knee deep in a frozen tundra, looking down at the dead body of Turtle O'Toole."

Bobby took another swig of his beer.

"I can see by your utter shock that the news has obviously circulated through your ranks…probably before I was even called to the scene."

McDonough shrugged. "Not sure what you want me to say, Mikey." He didn’t make eye contact, instead choosing to stare down into the can.

"I need you to say something. One of your own ended up on the side of the Charles River, with a hole in the back of his head. If I didn’t know better, I'd say somebody's sending your boss a pretty serious message.” McDonough’s silence was irking Kelly. “O’Toole was Walsh’s number two. Doesn't bode well for you or anybody else in the crew."

"Somebody is always trying to knock off Walsh. Nothing new there, Mike. It's always been that way. When you're at the top, somebody is always gunning for you."

Kelly knew his friend's simplistic viewpoint was actually spot-on. As soon as you're in a position of power, people who want what you have will do whatever it takes to get it. And Connor Walsh had a bigger target on his back than anybody. He was at the top of the criminal food chain, at least for now.

"I get it," Kelly said. "But I'm going to tell you something that nobody outside of the investigation knows, and the reason I'm doing this is because A, I'm worried about you and your safety, and B, you may be the only person I can reach out to on this who’d be able to point me in the right direction."

Bobby sipped his beer noisily as if trying to drown his response.

Kelly hesitated for a moment. When he'd worked the case with Gray a few months back, he’d learned the shocking news that the FBI had been working to capture this killer for over fifteen years. They had never released information on the wound on the victims’ hands to avoid copycats muddying the water. They didn't want the killer to change his MO, his calling card, and make it more impossible to link the cases than it was now. Yet here Kelly sat, preparing to confide that tightly kept secret with a mob enforcer. Fifteen years and nothing more than a whisper. No suspect, no ID, no person of interest ever established besides the list made by the BAU analysts. He needed to get the upper hand, and Bobby McDonough potentially had the ability to give him that insight.

"You remember when I reached out to you about trying to find Phillip Smalls when I was looking for the killer of that young girl?"

Bobby nodded slowly.

"Remember how he killed himself? Then you told me not to look too deep into it."

Bobby raised his hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don't put me there. I just told you where to find him, and I told you what he knew. I'm not saying how I came about knowing it. And if I recall—the information I gave you helped save a couple girls."

Kelly knew his friend was right. He’d asked for help and Bobby delivered.

"Well, the same mark on Smalls’s left hand matched the one on O'Toole's today, also many others—including the priest at Saint Peter’s."

McDonough’s eyes flashed with surprise. Kelly had said something that unnerved his friend, a nearly impossible thing to do. It took a lot to frazzle a kid who grew up in the rough section of the neighborhood, a kid who had it tougher than most, and then, at an early age, had proven himself for the most dangerous man in Boston and risen in the ranks over the years to become his top enforcer. McDonough either didn’t know about the mark on O’Toole or was shocked Kelly did.

Kelly saw something in his friend's eyes, a look he hadn't seen in a very long time. Fear. That fear registered the moment Kelly told him about the cross on O'Toole's hand. He knows something. He's holding out.

"Bobby, this is where you open your mouth, and the words start coming out," Kelly said. "This is where you prove to me our friendship means more than the alliances we keep to our employers. After all we've been through—you owe me."

The surprise in Bobby's eyes flashed over to anger like fire when fresh oxygen was breathed on it. "I'd call us pretty damn even," Bobby snapped.

Kelly knew he was right and regretted trying to lay that card on the table. McDonough had saved his life when Kelly was staring down the barrel of a gun. And in turn, Kelly had saved him from the law enforcement manhunt that followed.

"Look, I'll check it out, and if there's something I can tell you, I will," McDonough said.

"Every minute we waste playing this game, Bobby, puts people's lives at risk. Maybe yours."

“My life's been at risk since the day I was born.”

Kelly had mulled over his friend's lack of cooperation the previous night as he sat up in bed just before dawn broke. His routine was back in place after the last two days had thrown things out of whack, and he was on his way out the door a few minutes ahead of schedule.

He liked the quiet of the morning commute and rarely, if ever, listened to the radio on his way into work. Kelly drove in silence from Dorchester to downtown Boston, replaying the last thing McDonough had said to him before leaving. Maybe I’ll find him before he finds me. His friend was way out of his league on this one.

Kelly pushed the thought from the forefront of his mind and began plotting out his shift. It wasn’t