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

of a church confessional. That was until he looked up. Heavy gray shackles hung above it, and a small circular mirror the size of a quarter was centered where someone’s head would be if they were in a kneeling position. Kelly had seen this before. Or read about it somewhere. Small mirrors like this were used by some for focused meditation for critical introspection.

"What do you make of this?" Kelly said, looking at Gray.

The two got closer. Etched in the wood just above the mirror were the words: Then He will also say to those on His left, “Depart from Me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil.”

"Tell the guys at BAU they nailed it. I guess The Penitent One was an appropriate nickname after all," Kelly said.

He was transfixed by the kneeler. Punishment. The pain of his upbringing morphed into his calling card.

Kelly moved on, scanning the basement without touching anything. Observations only at this point.

No photographs hung on the walls. At least none of any non-religious images. The shackles might be beneficial in gathering some potential DNA. He made a mental note to relay that to Charles or Dawes. The rest of the house was destroyed, and the basement would be their best chance of finding any clue. Once they drained it and Charles had a chance to go through the scene, they might be able to find something usable.

Kelly was standing still, momentarily lost in thought. The water drew his attention. He looked at the water line just below his knee, now approximately two inches lower. Either the ground wasn't level and he’d walked up an incline, which was common in New England homes, or it was draining. A second later he had his answer.

The water was moving, flowing in one direction. Kelly followed a small bit of floating wood.

"Hey," he said to Gray, pointing at the little ripples of moving water flowing toward a wall across from the kneeler.

Kelly pulled his pistol and slowly began following the flow of the water to the wall. Gray followed.

He reached the wall and started running his finger along the edge, soon finding a small, hair-like seam. Had the basement not been flooded it was unlikely he would’ve found it.

"Get me something to pry it open."

Gray trudged over to a tool bench, sloshing his way through the cold water. He returned a few moments later with a crowbar. "Think this will work?"

Kelly took the beveled edge and slipped it into the crack. He worked it into place and began pushing and pulling, working it deeper. After several minutes, he heard a loud cracking sound. Whatever mechanism opened and closed the door had snapped.

One massive effort, with Gray assisting in the final pull, and the hidden doorway budged. As soon as it did, the water in the basement flowed out. Kelly slammed the crowbar in tight, fighting to keep it open as the water pushed hard against it.

It took a few minutes until the water pressure weakened enough for them to pry the door wider. Once opened, they traded the crowbar for their guns.

The two pointed their guns down the dark tunnel as the water’s surge echoed loudly along the tubular walls.

They edged forward with Kelly in front. One hundred feet or so ahead, they saw the gray light of day illuminating the other end. They moved quickly, their heads ducked low and their weapons at the ready. Where the tunnel ended, they were met by a locked iron gate.

Peering through the bars, they saw a small dock like that of a personal boat launch. No boat was tethered to it.

"You know what this is, don’t you?" Kelly asked.

"An escape hatch."

24

"Can you believe this?" Mainelli huffed. “We get stuck on guard duty for the crime boss of Boston. All because some nut job is planning on taking him out! Seems like it'd be doing the taxpayers a favor if we were to drive around the corner for a bit. Maybe grab a bite to eat. There’s a great deli down the street with the best mozzarella you’ll find outside of the North End. And if we get back and happen to find Walsh dead, would that be so bad?”

Barnes had been listening to Mainelli's tireless rant, or some variation of it, for the better part of the last four hours. Sadly, that meant they were only halfway through their security detail.

Positioned outside in an unmarked cruiser was not exactly what the BPD brass had in mind when they offered up the protection. Walsh had thrown a fit Barnes had only caught one end of as Halstead worked to broker the deal. Cooler minds prevailed. Halstead, the Iceman, prevailed. Walsh agreed to have unmarked units present outside of his home if BPD felt so inclined. Which, of course, they did. And so, Barnes and Mainelli had been assigned the first rotation.

“And would you look at that place? I couldn’t afford that house in three lifetimes. Maybe more.”

Barnes had been staring at the house for the past four hours. Mainelli’s comment wasn’t lost on her. The Herald had done a piece on the converted multi-family in the lifestyle section a few years back. She couldn’t remember the cost, but it was in the millions. It stood out amidst the other neighboring buildings. It was a corner lot at the intersection of Dorchester Avenue and Harvest Street.

Not only was the burnt orange paint distinctly different, the contours were sharp when juxtaposed with the older surrounding structures. Barnes remembered one quote from the article. The interviewer had asked Walsh why he’d spent so much money converting the old triple decker when he could’ve spent the same elsewhere, like the Carolinas, and gotten triple the luxury. His answer was simple. “This is where I was born. And this is where I’ll die.” Looking at the front door now, she just hoped it wasn’t tonight. And wasn’t on her watch.

“Ya know, Jimmy, us being here providing security really isn't about