The Penitent One (Boston Crime Thriller Book 3) by Brian Shea (most read books in the world of all time .txt) 📗

into a crime and took something from the scene with them when they left. It was up to Kelly and his team, and particularly the in-depth forensic analysis of Senior Crime Scene Technician Ray Charles, to find that link. No matter how minute the exchange.

The pieces of trace evidence could break a case wide open, whether it was DNA, a fingerprint, a fiber from clothing unique to the person, or the thousands of other potential variables at work during the physical exchange. They’d be searching for anything to give them a leg up in finding the killer or killers. A round recovered on scene would be a good place to start. Kelly’s mood brightened a bit at the prospect of recovering the spent bullet from the confessional’s outer wall; hopefully, it would be intact enough to make a comparison.

"Looks like we can tighten our search to the area around here, but I still think we should leave the external barrier that patrol set on the surrounding streets,” Ray said, asserting himself as the evidence expert. “It looked pretty good. We’re going to have to sweep the area. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a surveillance camera system that picked up something useful. Inside the church, I think our focal point for evidence collection should be here." He indicated the confessional.

Raymond Charles was the most senior of the group when it came to evidence recovery, and the most seasoned when it came to the handling of crime scenes. He'd served as a mentor to Kelly since he first arrived at Homicide, cutting his teeth on the Faith Wilson case. Charles had proven to be somebody Kelly could rely on when dealing with the uniquely different scenes he'd encountered in his short time in the unit.

"I'm completely in agreement," Kelly said. "Let's back out. We'll do our official walk-through with photographs, and then we'll focus on the internal scene for processing. Does that sound good to everybody?"

The group nodded in agreement. Mainelli added a grunt.

They retreated outside, exiting through the same door they had entered twenty minutes ago.

"All right. Unless you want to be in the first shots, you might want to step back." Charles fished out his Nikon from his oversized duffle.

Kelly, Mainelli, and Barnes walked down the split concrete stairwell, out of view of the first few shots. Cops did their best to make sure they were out of sight when any crime scene photography was underway. Nothing worse than getting snagged in a photo and then being called into court to explain something you were doing. Another prime opportunity for the defense to attack a case, a tactic used quite often, especially with patrolmen captured by the camera.

Kelly allowed Charles to do his photography and lead the team back into the scene. They followed the same entry point, retracing their steps.

Charles was taking overalls, capturing the big-picture visual overview of the church, then working his way down the aisle to the place where the victim lay. Kelly and his team stayed a few steps behind the technician, moving at his pace.

Kelly, notepad in hand, took a moment to do a rough sketch of the church's interior, a basic outline of the entryway leading to the confessional. Measurements would be taken later, but he would use this sketch to orient himself to the scene after he left.

The progression down the center aisle was slightly quicker this time because they knew from their preliminary walk-through that there was no noticeable evidence in the pews and aisle areas leading up to Father Tomlin’s body.

Kelly marked the first piece of evidence, laying a triangular yellow placard with the number one in black boldface print at the faded bloody boot print just outside the confessional.

Charles focused his lens and began taking photos from different angles of the partially open confessional area containing the priest’s crumpled body.

“Let’s open it up,” Charles said, still holding the camera to his face.

Mainelli stepped around the bloody shoe print and reached up to the top of the door with gloved hands, minimizing his risk of contaminating any potential trace along the handle.

The hinge creaked noisily at the movement, seeming louder due to the silence.

Father Tomlin’s knees were folded awkwardly, as if he had been seated—which he most likely had been when the bullet struck his head. The impact sent him to the floor. The room’s small confines didn’t give the dead man much in the way of wiggle room. He was partially tucked underneath the wooden bench attached to the back wall, his body folded into an awkward Z pattern—his legs tucked underneath his buttocks and his body bent forward. The dead priest’s head rested alongside the left wall, just beneath a smattering of blood and brain matter.

"Mike, I need to get a measurement on that entry wound on his left temple. Can you put up a point of reference for me?" Charles asked.

Kelly did as he was asked. Retrieving a disposable ruler, he lay it alongside the wound, taking care not to make contact. He kept several measuring strips with him in his homicide go bag in the event one got soiled.

Charles took several photographs, adjusting the settings on the camera to accommodate for the limited light within the confessional room. "All right, I've got my photos.”

“We've got a small hole in the wall just above that chunk of brain matter,” Kelly said.

“I see it, Mike," Charles said.

Kelly knew the crime scene tech was also documenting his visual findings on the voice recorder he kept tucked in his shirt pocket.

"Let's mark that as well,” he added. “Can you get up another measurement?"

Kelly marked and measured as Charles took the photographs.

"All right, we can work on retrieving the round later. I’ll probably take the whole wall with us," Charles muttered. “I need to get some close-ups.”

Kelly backed out of the confessional box as Charles cautiously stepped over the priest’s body. He used his camera’s low light setting to capture the inside of the dimpled hole.

"Son of a bitch," Charles