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

television portrayal and much less dramatic, but, just like on TV, real-life profilers did analyze extensive amounts of data accumulated from crime scenes and case facts, and apply expertise in developing a behavioral makeup of the suspect. By doing this they were able to effectively render a profile to aid law enforcement’s investigative efforts.

BAU developed a set of identifiers that, when applied to suspect searches, improved the likelihood of identifying a person of interest where normal investigative efforts had failed. The FBI didn’t have an endless supply of agents to work every violent crime, but in bigger cases they were brought in to assist. It was a useful tool in identifying unknown perps, at least to give a starting point of establishing patterns.

And their unit, as small as it was and based out of Quantico, was tasked with only the highest priority cases, ones that drew the most attention. Apparently a dead priest had hit the jackpot and raised a red flag. Kelly wondered why Rourke's death hadn't caught the FBI’s attention, but then he remembered what Charles had said when he found the mark on Phillip Small's hand. In the Rourke case the X was initially passed off as a non-related wound, and not categorized in any way that might have alerted the FBI to the presence of the killer in Boston city limits.

"What’s the meaning behind the cross?” Kelly asked.

Gray gave a half smile. He had the chiseled jawline and close-cropped hair of ex-military, and the look of somebody who had served.

"It carries religious significance. Because of that, we named him The Penitent One."

Kelly took a sip of his coffee and rubbed his weary eyes. "You've given him a nickname?"

"Every killer gets one until their real identity is revealed. His official label is Unsub 05-80920. The identifier is the year and zip code of the first known body. I don't know who came up with the nickname, but whoever did—it stuck."

"I guess it's ironic that the case that brought us together took place in the penitential confines of the confessional."

"That’s definitely a unique twist and a bit of a departure from the way he carries out his business," Gray said.

"So I’m guessing you've got a list of unique identifiers for this Penitent One? At least an idea of the type of person we're looking for?" Kelly asked.

"I do." Gray tapped a couple keystrokes on his laptop, and a document populated the screen.

"Here's your killer." Gray turned the screen toward Kelly and pushed back slightly in his chair.

Kelly's eyes widened at the depth and detail of the list the BAU team had compiled for this killer. It was the first break in the case.

Kelly stood and walked over to the whiteboard, uncapping a red marker. Drawing an arrow extending from the suspect line into the open space to its right, Kelly began jotting a bulletized list extracted from the BAU report.

First was the notation ex-military/police.

Kelly finished copying the list as the phone rang at his desk.

Barnes answered and hollered down the hall to him, “Debbie Shoemaker's on her way in.”

Shoemaker, who had arrived at the police department lobby ahead of schedule, strode to the main desk area. Her heavy perfume managed to penetrate the bullet-resistant encasement where the main desk officer took walk-in complaints, causing him to cough.

"Debbie Shoemaker. I'm here to see Detective Michael Kelly, hon," Shoemaker said between smacks of the gum in her mouth.

"Is he expecting you?" Officer Lewis asked gruffly.

Contrary to the majority of receptionists around the world, most police departments made sure they selected some of their less-friendly faces to be the receivers of the walk-in complaint.

Many of those complaints handled in the lobby required limited police involvement. A gruff gatekeeper was always appreciated by those on the investigative floors for keeping the loony tunes from consuming valuable time with their rants and insane complaints.

Today's gatekeeper, Jeffrey Lewis, choked by the woman’s perfume, held up one finger and retreated to his desk to call upstairs to Homicide.

Kelly answered the phone.

"It’s Lewis down at the main desk. Got a Debbie Shoemaker here, says she’s here to see you." Lewis was equally surly when addressing Kelly. It was his nature.

Kelly looked at his watch. She was half an hour early, which was fine. The quicker he got done with this, the quicker he could bring the team up to speed on the new information Gray had revealed before he headed over to the autopsy.

"I'll be down in a minute," Kelly said. After hanging up the phone, he made his way to the elevator, which required a fob access, as did pretty much everything within the walls of headquarters. Therefore, either the main desk officer would have to escort a lobby visitor upstairs, which would’ve sent Lewis into a tizzy, or Kelly could go down and receive his own guest. He frequently chose the less confrontational option, not out of intimidation but because he liked the aspect of control it gave him. The small talk enabled him to build rapport before the more intense portion of an interview began.

As the steel doors parted, exposing Kelly to the lobby, he caught the overwhelming smell of jasmine and lavender. It hung heavy in the air, almost making his eyes water.

Debbie Shoemaker, who was lingering by the main desk, turned when the elevator doors opened.

Kelly held his finger on the button, keeping the doors open, and stuck his head into the lobby. "Hey, Deb, I'm over here."

She perked up and began to saunter toward him.

At 7:30 a.m., Debbie Shoemaker was dressed as if she were heading out for a long night of bar hopping. She wore three-inch heels that clicked loudly on the tile floor as she walked, and tight jeans that accentuated every feature her body had to offer. She had an exaggerated swagger to her walk, and she was wearing a fuzzy coat unzipped just enough to reveal a skin-tight black top underneath.

And much to Kelly’s consternation, he could tell she was overly excited to see