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

they differed slightly in their approach to law enforcement. Not that his was any better, just different.

"How do you typically like to attack a scene?” Gray asked. “Everybody has their way of doing things, and this is your baby, so I don't want to step on your toes."

"I appreciate that. A lot of guys wouldn't have asked, but since you did, I kind of like to see it for what it is. An initial walk-through, usually with a camera, and then I come back through and do a more thorough piece-by-piece investigation. It helps me organize the evidence and come up with a plan of attack before I go in. You can get into the weeds on these things, focusing too minutely before seeing the big picture.”

“All right. Do you want to wait for Crime Scene or get started now?”

Hard for Kelly to tell if Gray had a preference or was just asking for the sake of it.

“I say we get started now. We can do the preliminary walk-through while we’re waiting," Kelly offered.

Both men slipped on a Tyvek jumpsuit, booties, and double-gloved each hand with sterile latex gloves before making their way into the crime scene that was now a smoldering wreckage of a house. No door to open this time, and no fingerprints likely left on anything in the house.

The smell was horrid. Smoldering ash was everywhere. Kelly coughed. The vapors were activating the tingle in the back of his throat, already irritated from his earlier bout with the fire and smoke.

The two now stood where the island in the kitchen had been, the same island that had worked to shield them from the initial blast wave that rocked McDonough. There was little left. The studs at the base that kept it rooted to the floor were all that remained of the charred ruin.

The tile floor was covered in soot, thick and pasty from the deluge of water dumped from the fire department trucks. The evidence eradication team had flooded this fire. They had done their bit, it seemed, to run every bit of water in the State of Massachusetts through their hoses.

Kelly treaded lightly, although there was no way to enter a scene like this without leaving your mark. Thankfully they could follow the path left by their shoes on their way back out. He walked over to where the access door to the basement had been, now nothing but a gaping hole. The stairwell led down, but many of the boards were burnt or missing altogether. The FD had managed to water the slab fairly well, flooding much of the lower few feet of the poured concrete basement.

Kelly stood on cracked tile in the kitchen and scanned the ground where he’d found McDonough. Wedged between an exposed pipe in the splintered baseboard was the silenced pistol they'd seen McDonough carry and, for a brief moment, point at them.

Kelly pointed to it. Gray nodded and then looked around. "Doesn't have to be his, you know. I'm sure if what you say is true and he is the enforcer, then there's going to be no tie between that weapon and anybody in their crew. And you putting a gun in his hand regardless of the house, well, that's a lot harder to explain than somebody doing a little recon. The intent to kill comes off and it just looks like a break-in. I'm pretty sure the owner of this house, if it's who we think it is, isn't filing any complaint charges."

For the second time in barely twenty minutes, Sterling Gray had proven himself loyal beyond Kelly’s wildest expectations. He was jumping headfirst into the faded gray of the world Kelly had found himself in since putting on the shield.

This second go-round with Gray, he'd begun to see him more as an equal. In November, Kelly saw the agent as somebody sent down from on high for the sheer amusement of some supervisor's whimsy. A face for the press with little to offer. But it appeared he’d been wrong, completely misjudging both the man and the mission. There was more to Gray than met the eye, and Kelly was glad to have him here now. His trust for the fed was growing exponentially.

"Feel like getting wet?" Kelly offered.

"It is a little bit balmy today. Wouldn't mind cooling off." Gray laughed.

Both men were making light of the fact that they were about to plunge into the cold water that had filled the basement when the external temperature hadn't yet hit thirty degrees. The thought of submerging themselves in the frigid pool was less than appealing.

Kelly took the lead, navigating the functional steps and using the wrought iron railing that had survived the fire. With a few steps to go, Kelly felt the water penetrate through the Tyvek suit’s paper-thin material and into his pants. It was shockingly cold, nearly taking his breath away. Regaining his composure, and with the quick numbing properties of the water adding to his ability to compensate, he stepped onto the concrete floor into knee-high water.

The basement was like something he'd expect in a horror movie—aisles of religious memorabilia, neatly organized and in glass cabinets, most of which were either shattered or melted. It was like a wax museum lit ablaze. Gallons upon gallons of water and fallen debris littered the space. Even through the damage, Kelly could see ornate items of religious significance, crosses and bits of stained glass, that looked handmade, along with stones labeled with the names of the holy places of their origin. A shrine filled with religious accoutrements was not what Kelly had expected to find when he first hit the icy water.

“Jackpot,” Gray said. As cold as he looked, there was excitement in his eyes.

“Looks like we found our first potential lead in figuring out who this guy is,” Kelly muttered.

Kelly’s interest was piqued by something he saw in the corner–a kneeler set against the wall. It was lacquered wood and looked as though it had been cut out