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

for him. Maybe there was a slip-up? Maybe Lumpkin, who was unwilling to talk after being booked and processed last night, had a change of tune. Or maybe he decided to file a complaint about excessive force. Kelly knew there had been none, but he also knew neither he nor Barnes had a body camera to prove otherwise. It wouldn't be the first unwarranted complaint lodged against Kelly.

Desperate people, especially those arrested for murder, typically did anything in their power to deflect attention from the real matter at hand. In Lumpkin’s case, he’d killed a man for what amounted to $160. That said, Kelly also knew the review process within Internal Affairs. If and when a complaint reached their desk, regardless if it was perceived as frivolous, it had to be investigated thoroughly. Supervisors would be notified. The officer who was the target of the investigation would have an opportunity to review the accusation, and in most cases, obtain union representation to deal with the potential fallout.

Not too long ago, Kelly had survived the Internal Affairs review and civil suit revolving around the death of Baxter Green. He employed the union's attorney, Marty Cappelli, who happened to now also be dating Kelly's ex-wife. The thought of having to call him on another matter regarding an IA investigation soured the taste of Kelly’s hot coffee.

He approached Mainelli, eyeing the closed-door meeting. "What's going on in there?"

"Beats me. They were in there when I came in.” Mainelli shrugged. “So at least twenty minutes now, if not longer."

"Any talk?" Kelly asked, code for the rumor mill.

Mainelli, as lazy as he was, was adept at receiving these whispered rumors. He'd been in Homicide long enough that people trusted and confided in him.

"Nothing. Not a peep." Mainelli absently shuffled the papers on his desk.

Kelly sat down at his desk.

Barnes pushed her chair back, rolling past the divider separating their desks and leaning back to look at Kelly. "You think it has something to do with last night? How we handled Lumpkin?"

Kelly shrugged. "I can't see why. We did everything by the books. It was clean all the way through. I mean, I screwed up with the takedown. Should've seen that coming. Should've waited."

"Don't beat yourself up, Mike. You did good. You caught him. You ran him down. Shit happens. Nobody's perfect. Hell, I'm just glad I was in a position to address it when it went sideways. I hate to think what could have happened otherwise."

"I don't get it. Why is IA in there with Acevedo?"

Mainelli overheard and peeked his head overtop the cubicle. "Maybe his son had something to do with it. He's been pissed off at you ever since you stole the Tomlin case. Wouldn't surprise me if that little prick tried to railroad you on some BS complaint. I'll ask around, see what I can find out."

Kelly nodded slowly, not really one to pry. He usually had the patience to wait these kinds of things out. Closed-door meetings would eventually open. If it involved him, then the turd would land on his desk.

He decided to occupy his mind as he sipped his coffee, thumbing through the paperwork from the Lumpkin case even though it was committed to memory. He eyed it anyway, knowing some supplemental reports were needed, a couple administrative T's to cross before it was closed and forwarded to the prosecutor’s office.

He put it aside and stared at his murder board. The red cards for Rourke and Tomlin taunted him amidst the blue solved cases. The fact that he had a blank red card ready to go for Jason Palmer but never even had a chance to fill it out added insult to injury. Kelly never bothered to fill out a red card for the murdered rapist, Phillip Smalls, even though he knew the man was a victim of The Penitent One. A rapist didn't deserve to be on the same board as his former partner and a dead priest.

He opened his drawer and pulled out the thick file on Tomlin, always within arm’s reach. Kelly opened it and started scrolling through the pages of reports, photographs, evidence, listings, DNA attempts, fingerprints, and autopsy reports, searching for the clue that would break the case wide.

Mainelli popped back up and looked down at him. "Oh no, not this again, Mike. Let it go. You win some, you lose some. And that right there is a lost cause if I’ve ever seen one. That guy's in the ether. We're not going to catch him. Hell, the FBI couldn't catch him, and they've been looking for him for almost two decades. Stop beating yourself up.” Mainelli cracked his knuckles. “And if I recall, I'm pretty sure Sutherland already told you to push that over to Cold Case and let it rest."

Kelly snapped the file shut and looked at the man whose pudgy fingers were clinging to the top of the divider. "Yeah, I know. It's on my list of things to do."

He put the file back in the drawer and shut it. The case had more to do with the faltering status of his and Barnes's relationship than he cared to admit. She'd been a stalwart supporter of his investigative efforts in every case they'd worked together since she'd come to Homicide after leaving the department’s Sexual Assault Unit in mid-summer of last year. But even she had grown tired of talking about the Tomlin murder.

For Kelly, it had become an obsession, one that was driving a wedge between him and everyone in his life. Even when he pretended not to be thinking about it, he was. He’d become disconnected, his mind trapped back three months ago when the case first hit his desk. Kelly had been chasing a ghost ever since. Any open time between the end of a case and the beginning of a new one, he was back on the Tomlin murder. Mainelli was right; he'd been told by Sutherland on more than one occasion that it was time to