The Penitent One (Boston Crime Thriller Book 3) Brian Shea (good book club books .txt) 📖

of Boston received during The Globe’s 2002 Spotlight investigation into the sexual abuse and coverup of multiple young victims, resulting in the arrest and conviction of five priests, continued to this day. Kelly wondered if this was possibly related. All possibilities for motive had to be considered.

Kelly temporarily suspended the thought. He never entered a crime scene with a preconceived notion of the why. He tried to take on each bit of information as fresh and new, in the hope that as more evidence piled up, the picture would become clear. To enter a crime scene with an idea of what might've happened tainted the direction and flow in which the scene was processed. It might pigeonhole him into making decisions or seeking out evidence in areas he wouldn’t normally have done.

Kelly’s eyes were wide open to all the possibilities that lay ahead once those doors were opened.

He looked down at his watch. "Mark the time. 11:13 a.m. We're beginning our preliminary search and walk-through now." He scribbled the time in his notebook and then tucked it away, leaving his hands free. He didn't want any distraction to interrupt his focus on the scene.

Each member of the team donned Tyvek booties over their shoes and slipped on a pair of latex gloves, then the group entered through the church’s center door.

Even though it was sunny outside, cold air worked its way past Kelly’s windbreaker, sending a shiver up his spine. At least that was what he told himself. In reality, a dead priest in a church shattered the norm and left him feeling a bit unhinged.

Taking the lead, Kelly pulled the door open and was immediately greeted by the intense scent of the frankincense oil used during Mass, which seemed to linger and permeate every square inch of the church’s interior. The incense, burned as a purification ritual dating back to biblical times, tickled the back of Kelly’s throat.

Stepping further across the threshold, he saw the light penetrating through the ornate stained glass high above the main entrance, decorated in a vibrant array of colors and arranged to look like a six-petaled flower. As the door closed behind them, the colorful beams streaming through the glass warmed the church’s interior. High gabled arches lined the ceiling in three columns leading down to the altar. The intricate details of the hand-carved wood bore testament to the incredible effort made in the artistic construction of this impressive church.

Kelly knew the church well, having spent most of his youth in it, either forced by his father, or later, once he had passed, under the watchful eye of his mother. He was reminded of the ritualistic up-down-kneel his Roman Catholic upbringing offered, a fate no boy born of Irish descent in the Dorchester neighborhood could avoid. He had a love-hate relationship with the church, but being here now, and under these circumstances, was difficult to process. The murder of a priest was a tough pill to swallow.

Kelly no longer needed to command his group of seasoned investigators. No one would touch anything and would only call out if they noted a potential piece of evidence, which would be photographed once they formally processed the scene. This walk-through was designed to give the grander scope, a wide-lens perspective of what they were up against before they dove deep into the minutiae that came with any crime scene.

Every fourth step, Kelly paused. He scanned the pew to his right and then his left, eyes moving down to the floor in a slow, methodical visual processing of each row. Not that he was expecting to see a loaded pistol resting on one of the wooden benches, but there was always the chance of something left behind, an article of clothing or the like.

He continued his measured approach to the altar, reversing the path Donny would’ve walked at the completion of the Mass. Mainelli did the same to his right and Ray Charles to his left, each man keeping an even pace with him and Barnes.

She leaned over, her skin a combination of Irish Spring soap and something sweet like honey, and whispered, "This is crazy, right, Mike? Somebody shooting a priest? Worse yet, somebody shooting a priest inside a Catholic church. That's got to be a first, right?"

Kelly stopped and looked at his partner, his date for his family’s upcoming Thanksgiving dinner. The lines were definitely beginning to blur. He found it harder and harder to separate his feelings for her from their work relationship. "I've never heard of anything like this. You seem a little more unnerved than usual. You okay?" he asked, recalling her reaction while standing outside the church door. Now, out of earshot of the other two, he was glad to be able to check in on his partner's wellbeing. "What's eating at you?"

Kris initially shook her head. "It's nothing. It's... I just..."

"What?" Kelly whispered, keeping his voice from echoing in the openness of the sanctuary.

"Just brought back some memories, things I had tucked away long ago."

Kelly furrowed a brow. "From before? During your foster care time? I mean, before you were adopted?" He wanted to approach the subject delicately to avoid offending her or bringing up something too intense to be dealt with adequately in the current circumstances.

"Yeah, I guess so. It's funny what you can force yourself to forget.” Barnes visibly shook herself. “Anyway, I'm sorry. I was a little off when we first came in. I'm good now. I promise. My head's in the game. Let's figure out what's going on here. Focus on finding the killer."

"Or killers," Kelly added. An assumption that one person was responsible immediately closed the investigative mind to other possibilities. It created a barrier, clouding judgment and, at times, overriding logical reasoning. If multiple people were involved, they’d have to take into account the possibility of lookouts or getaway drivers. And more importantly, the modus operandi going into the decision to commit the crime. Right now, everything was possible until proven otherwise. Eyes wide open,