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

"Yeah, well, Sutherland just let us do our thing. He didn't hassle us along the way. We gave him results. He trusted us. We kept working. He knew we were handling our caseload. Life went on."

"Well, obviously we're under different management now. To continue making comparisons to how things used to be seems a complete waste of time. You either adapt and overcome or you get run over. I don't have a problem with keeping the boss informed. I mean, he's going to be the one running interference,” Kelly retorted.

“I personally don't want to have to face the lieutenant, or worse, Acevedo, if he decides to pop in. I like that he wants to run a good, clean defensive block for us, should the need arise," Barnes offered, throwing in her support.

"Of course you'd agree with him," Mainelli said, rolling his eyes.

Kelly was grateful Mainelli didn't finish his thought and make an overt comment about their dating relationship, especially in front of Sterling Gray. He didn't want Gray to think the unit had gone all amateur hour in the few months since he had been with them.

"Ideas on how we attack this now that everything's on the table?" Gray asked, redirecting the conversation back to the subject, which Kelly appreciated.

"I can reach out to a couple of my girls,” Barnes said. “A few of them are regulars, go-to girls, for Walsh’s guys. I can see if they've heard anything. Maybe there's some talk on the street."

"I'll make some calls, check with Organized Crime and see if they've got anything on Tomlin. Maybe somebody got wind there was a plant in the church. Maybe they put a hit out on him, hired this killer. Who knows?" Mainelli offered.

Kelly thought of McDonough and the conversation they'd had the night before, and the lack of information and cooperation he offered. Now with everybody grabbing intel from multiple sources, Kelly realized he needed to push his friend a little harder.

"I've got something I can look into. It's more of a long shot, but I've had results in the past," Kelly said, intentionally vague.

Barnes shot a glance at him. "I can come with you, Mike."

"It sounds like you're heading out to see some of those prostitutes,” Gray said, “so maybe I could take a ride with him. We divide our resources up, maybe we get more done, and when we reconvene, we'll have something to push forward with."

"It’s settled. Let’s go," Kelly said.

Kelly and Gray sat in his unmarked Caprice about a block and a half from JW's Pub, Connor Walsh's hangout. For lack of a better term, it was the mobster’s clubhouse. But Kelly wasn't there for Walsh.

Bobby McDonough's beige Ford Taurus had pulled up, parked in the back lot, and remained unmoved for the last ten minutes. Kelly waited. The lot was about half full, but nobody had come or gone in since McDonough’s arrival. Kelly figured his window of time was running out, but he wanted to give enough time from when his friend went in to make sure he didn't pop back out. Ten minutes seemed reasonable.

"So, this guy's a friend of yours?" Gray asked.

Kelly gave him a reader's digest version of his and McDonough's long-time friendship, leaving out many unique aspects that had made things more complicated in recent years.

"Why don't we just talk to him?" Gray said.

"I tried that last night. He's holding out. I can tell. And to be honest, I don't want to wait until another body or two drops before he decides to talk to me. He's as stubborn as they come. I’ve known him the better part of my life, and there’s a good chance he may never speak to me about it."

Kelly fiddled with the magnetized device in his hand. It was the size of a pack of gum and weighed about the same. He pressed a small rubber button, activating it, then checked on his phone to ensure the tracking device was synced to the mobile app. He'd used them in Narcotics. He’d ordered a couple online and kept them in his drawer at the office. Until now he hadn’t used them since coming to Homicide. "Now's as good a time as ever," Kelly said, mostly to himself, as he opened the door.

Kelly made quick work of his approach to the bar's alleyway, which led to the lot where McDonough had parked.

He hustled around the corner, ducking as a nasty gust of wind lashed at his back. Kelly wasn't dressed in his normal BPD windbreaker or jacket, trading them in for a more subdued look of jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and a puffy overcoat. He had a baseball cap pulled down just in case anybody looked outside. The hood was up, and his face was as obscured as his wardrobe would allow.

He walked along the row of cars, stopping near McDonough’s as he pulled out a cigarette, another throwback to his Narcotics days. A cigarette went a long way in adding to his subterfuge. He always kept the pack with him should the need arise for Kelly to hide in plain sight. Cigarettes gave a reason for a person to be standing about, but also aided him in the next step of his plan.

Kelly put the cigarette in his mouth but didn't light it, instead intentionally dropping the red dime-store lighter on the ground. It bounced once and landed near the right rear tire of McDonough’s Ford. Kelly then bent down to pick it up. In one deft move, he slapped the magnetic backing of the transponder to the dirty undercarriage of the Taurus. He gave a quick tug, making sure it adhered to the metallic surface. It held.

He stood with the cigarette still in his mouth. Completing the ruse, Kelly lit it with the cheap red lighter. He took a quick puff for anybody who might be watching, either with plain eyes or on the security cameras undoubtedly covering the lot. He then walked out of the