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

He had stormed out of the bar, saying he was going to Uber his way home. When Barnes asked why he would be using the ATM, Dupree explained that Palmer typically paid for anything related to their romantic trysts in cash. Harder for the wife to track. Apparently the two had racked up an impressive bar tab, and Palmer needed the cash to cover the spread for his ride from downtown Boston to the suburbs of Medford. According to the mistress’s narrative, Palmer’s wife had grown increasingly suspicious in recent months, part of the reason he’d decided to put an end to their relationship.

Dupree vehemently defended the position that Palmer’s wife had anything to do with his death. For a mistress, she was surprisingly protective of the now-widowed spouse. Kelly figured the guilt was confronting her under the circumstances.

Dupree’s story, told in dramatic fashion, boiled down to the simple fact the two had been drunk and disagreed on the status of their relationship’s future. She said Palmer made his angry departure just before last call while she remained and had another drink to wash away her anger. Kelly made a note to confirm this on her bar tab. But in reading the distraught mistress’s non-verbal cues, he didn’t note anything of suspicion.

She had waited in the back of a marked cruiser for the better part of ninety minutes while Kelly and his team processed the scene. Kelly didn’t want her input to slant his investigative eye; he needed to absorb the evidence the picture painted without any taint.

During that time, Dupree’s intoxication had slowly transitioned to a brutal hangover. She told Barnes that once the lights went on in the bar, the not-so-subtle reminder for patrons to make their way to the door, Dupree became desperate to talk with Palmer. She called him but he didn’t answer. A simple enough check of the phone records would confirm this. Kelly noted it.

In some strange act of desperation that even Dupree couldn’t quite fathom, she ran out into the snowy Boston night in search of her lover. Kelly figured the overindulgence in martinis provided the push needed to make such a decision. After wandering the area looking for Palmer, Dupree said she came upon the red and blue strobes of the BPD cruiser.

Kelly had learned from Sergeant Parker that a unit patrolling the post-bar crowd saw the man down and stopped to check on him, assuming he was either a homeless person or a drunk passed out in the snow. Charlotte Dupree had run up and melted down at the sight of Palmer’s body.

After concluding her account of the time she’d spent with Palmer, Dupree asked if anything she said would be used in a police report. Barnes fielded the question, saying most of what they talked about could be redacted and she’d only be needed if and when the case proceeded to a jury trial. The reality was, Palmer’s wife would be privy to the case, if not while it was ongoing, then at least at its conclusion, receiving the devastating news that on the night her husband of twenty-six years died, he was in the midst of ending a long-time affair. Salt in an open wound.

There was no speculation that Dupree had anything to do with the murder. The first officer on scene described her as distraught and utterly shocked that the man she had just dined with and consumed copious amounts of drinks with was now dead. Gathering exculpatory evidence was also important, and so Charles had taken DNA swabs of her fingernails.

After Dupree was released from the scene, Barnes informed her that they would be in touch if they needed anything further.

"Looks random," Kelly said.

"Possibly. Maybe crime of opportunity, drunk guy at an ATM, somebody walking by. Why knife him, though? Why not just take his money? Why kill him?"

"I don't know. People do stupid things. A lot of the reasons behind the why wouldn't matter much anyway, right? The wallet missing makes me lean toward robbery."

Sutherland called, asking for an update.

“Looks like a street robbery gone bad,” Kelly said. “We grabbed some good potential evidence and a usable shoe print. ATM footage gives us a timestamp, and hopefully when we hear back from the bank, we'll have access to the video footage that'll give us something we can use to help ID our doer."

"All right, sounds good. Just keep me posted."

In the background, Kelly heard one of the patrolmen yell, "Found something over here."

"Hold on, Sarge." Kelly lowered the phone and walked over. Across the street, outside the boundaries of the yellow police tape, a patrolman stood beside a trashcan near the T station entrance. The gates were closed to the Blue and Orange Line connector rail.

"What do you got?" Kelly asked as he walked closer.

The patrolman pointed his flashlight into the trashcan. Good cops had good instincts, and apparently this young officer fell into that category, making use of his time as he waited for his shift to end.

Following the beam of light into the can, Kelly saw a brown leather billfold. "Got a wallet," he called out.

Charles walked up to them. "All right, give me a second. I'll photo it in place. We'll mark it with a placard, then retrieve it."

A few minutes later, all was done.

Kelly had half-forgotten his sergeant was still on the line.

"What is it?" Sutherland said, only getting one side of the conversation, most of which had likely been muffled by Kelly’s hand.

"Recovered a wallet. It’s our victim's. I'm guessing our perp dumped it on the run. Maybe we'll get something usable off this."

"Maybe, maybe not. It's cold as hell tonight. The guy probably had gloves on," Sutherland said in his gruff voice.

"Hey, trust in a little Irish luck once in a while, Sarge."

"It didn't get us anywhere on the Tomlin case, did it?"

A biting blow but one Kelly took in stride. For all intents and purposes, Sutherland was right. No amount of Kelly luck had