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

first day on the job. Kelly wasn't about kissing ass, but he definitely wanted to make a good first impression on his new supervisor. He figured the better he did in that regard, the more likely it was he’d be able to carry forward with the Tomlin case. He was a realist and knew that arriving early would do little to change Halstead’s decision about a case that had stalled out nearly three months ago, but it couldn’t hurt.

He toweled his hair and put on a decent shirt, then grabbed his gear and headed down for his first cup of coffee. As he descended the staircase, his cell phone vibrated. Looking at the incoming number, Kelly recognized the three-digit prefix 538 registered for all BPD department-issued phones but not the last four numbers.

Kelly answered it as he pressed the brew button on the coffee maker. The grinds had been set the night before and the water tank filled to the max line. The cold pot buzzed to life, hissing as the first droplets of black gold struck the empty bottom.

"Kelly," he said. Speaking aloud caused his head to hurt.

"Detective Kelly, this is Sergeant Halstead."

"Morning, Sarge, you can just call me Mike."

Silence for a moment on the other end. "Detective Kelly, I need you to meet me at the bike path near Storrow Drive under the Mass Ave bridge. You'll see the cruisers."

“What do we got?"

"I'll brief you when you get here."

Kelly heard the chirp of a siren in the background, and the muffled voices of other men talking nearby. Son of a bitch, he's already on scene.

He’d become accustomed to Sutherland’s way of doing business. His former sergeant, who was probably in a near coma after last night’s abuse, used to just take the incoming by phone. If Mike’s team was up on rotation, Sutherland would take the incoming call from a street supervisor, get the details, and then notify them. Rarely did he show up on scene unless requested, or it was a major one where he might be needed to run interference. Majority of the time he would review it from his office, keeping tabs on the case from the confines of the second floor.

Things were apparently going to be very different under Halstead's command. Kelly had heard rumors he was a micromanager, often running his own parallel investigation to his subordinates. Looked like he was validating that early on. He had gone to the scene before notifying the team. And with it, Kelly's effort to beat his new boss to the office had failed before the day had even gotten started.

“Be there in a few minutes.” Kelly didn't have time for his normal routine. With the coffee still brewing, he exchanged his travel mug with the pot, filling it before returning the pot to its rightful place. He threw in a couple scoops of sugar for balance and extra cream to coat his stomach.

He was out the door less than a minute later.

It was cold. The air had a rawness capable of penetrating the outer layer of flesh and deep into the bone. The sensation was worsened by the dampness that only a New Englander truly understood.

Down by the Charles River, the wind skipped off the partially frozen edge of the waterway. The path around the river was a hot spot for joggers, and during warmer months crew teams from iconic schools such as Harvard and Boston College could be seen navigating its waterway. On mornings like this, the only people pounding the icy paving were the true die-hards. The woman who called in the body had told the patrolman she was out for an easy ten-miler when she found him. An easy ten-miler? Not under normal conditions. And definitely not this morning. Kelly was fit from his boxing and fleet of foot, but he had never been one for distance.

All the layers Kelly had piled on did little to mitigate the air’s chilling bite. He shivered. The hangover was definitely adding an X-factor into the mix.

Kelly walked up to Halstead, who was standing by with Ray Charles and Trent Dawes, AKA Freckles. Everybody was there except Mainelli. Barnes had pulled up just a split second before him and was exiting her car.

She eyed him warily as the two met up, walking across the frozen tundra and down to their new supervisor.

"I guess things are going to be a bit different under our new commander," Barnes offered.

"Definitely looks that way."

They crunched their way down and stood outside the closed scene marked off by yellow police tape. In the backdrop they saw the tarp covering the body.

Halstead was expressionless as he looked at Kelly and Barnes. "Detective Mainelli said he'd be in soon, but I figured you'd want to get started as soon as possible," he delivered in robotic fashion.

The Iceman seemed to be a fitting nickname. Even more so in their current surroundings.

“You got a floater. He popped up this morning." Halstead thumbed in the direction of the body. "Early morning jogger saw. Patrol has her information. He washed ashore at some point.”

"Isn’t this Troop H’s jurisdiction? The staties typically handle the waterway," Kelly said. Off in the distance, he saw the blue-gray shirt and blue pinstripes on the navy polyester pants distinguishing the Mass State Policemen from the city cops. The sloop garrison hats nearly touched as they clustered together. One of them wore the chevrons of a supervisor.

"It looked like it was going to be theirs at first. That’s originally why I came. No need to come in force if it wasn’t going to be ours.”

Maybe not as much of a micromanager as he thought. Halstead had come to determine whether the squad needed to be activated. He was prudent. Didn’t want to expend resources where they weren’t needed. Kelly sipped from his mug. The warmth of the coffee worked to thaw him somewhat.

“So, it’s ours?” Barnes asked.

“You’ll understand in a second." Halstead looked at Charles and Dawes.

"Water recoveries mess a lot with