by Brian Shea
"At least they didn't mention the round and casing were missing from the scene."
Kelly raised his eyebrows. "Exactly. Whoever tipped off Maxwell, either they didn't have that information or knew it would’ve been too obvious a tip-off from whoever was feeding the beast. The pressure's definitely on now. Do you feel it?"
"I guess nobody’s going home early tonight, huh, Mike?" Mainelli grumbled.
"Might as well fire up a fresh pot of coffee."
The four detectives plus their newest addition, Special Agent Gray, waited for the elevator to take them up to the second floor and back into The Depot.
7
Kelly poured a cup of coffee from the pot, the deep stains penetrating the percolator’s steel walls from years of use adding a flavoring all its own. The aromatic scents infused the surrounding air. Kelly had read somewhere that the smell of coffee was therapeutic and activated the brain in similar ways to the caffeine contained within. Science aside, he loved the smell and held the mug close to his face before taking his first sip of the morning.
The kitchen was cold. His mother kept the heat set low, claiming she “ran hot.” Kelly knew her sensitivity had more to do with cost than comfort. It was as though his mother had a built-in thermostat in her head. When he was a child, she seemed to always know if Kelly made even the most subtle adjustment to it.
Ma Kelly was as tough as they came, and Kelly had been raised under her roof and accepted her way. But now, at 5:30 in the morning, he was grateful for the warm mug in his hand that was hard at work chipping away at the cold surrounding him. The steam licked at his face as he took his first sip, the hot liquid working its way down his throat and warming him from the inside. The caffeine tore the cobwebs from his mind, the fog of exhaustion lifting with each gulp.
Kelly closed his eyes around 2:00 a.m. and managed less than three hours of restless sleep before he was back up.
He'd showered before hitting the sack, which didn't help him sleep any better, but he was tired enough that it didn't much matter. He always liked to wash himself, especially after a day like yesterday. Having spent time in his childhood church under such tragic circumstances didn't give his mind any peace as he tried to settle in for some sleep. The focus of the murder investigation would be his fuel as he revved up for the coming day's events. He had already accepted that sleep would come in spurts, and usually not long ones.
He was grateful for this quiet moment, alone with his thoughts. Kelly had peeked in on Embry, who was sound asleep, before coming downstairs. It was his morning to take her to school, rounding out his weekend with her. The call-in and subsequent murder investigation threw a kink in his plans, and he would need his mother to fill in as chauffeur again. Now that her broken hip was healed enough, she could drive short distances without too much discomfort and was better able to assist in matters like this, but she still had a long road of recovery. She had even begun working more hours at the package store, though she really didn't need to be there as much as she was. Kelly’s Liquors, their family-owned business started by his late father, was in the watchful hands of Reyansh Gupta, the manager she'd hired. He’d proven to be as honest and hardworking as any they'd ever had in the past, if not more so. The store was in good hands, but Kelly knew his mother needed to keep busy.
Ma Kelly never refused any of his requests to assist in raising Embry. She'd taken great joy when Michael had returned to his childhood house after the divorce, and especially on the weekends and nights his daughter slept over. Even so, he felt a modicum of guilt for his constant need for help.
Kelly grabbed a slip of paper from the magnetized pad stuck to the outdated beige fridge, removing a clean sheet from underneath the running shopping list.
He took a second to write a quick note to his daughter: "I love you. I'll miss you. But we’ll see each other on Turkey Day. - Gobble Gobble." Much to his frustration, Embry had received notes like this more times than he cared to admit. He wanted to wake her and tell her in person but couldn't bring himself to disrupt her sleep just to fulfill his selfish need to tell her that he loved her. That’s why he made sure to tell her at every opportunity, especially when he was on a case. Working with the dead called to mind the importance of those he loved most. A side benefit to the darkness of his profession.
Simple acts of kindness had lasting effects, especially for those left behind. His job had given him an amazing perspective on that particular aspect of life, and he tried to keep that in mind.
Kelly finished the note with a cartoon caricature of a turkey that looked more like a fat duck with big, dreamy eyes. He learned how to draw the eyes while watching his daughter doodle. She taught him how to make what she called “emoji love eyes,” and he found himself scribbling them on scraps of paper around the office. It came in handy on days like today. He was hoping she'd be pleased when she found the note, easing some of the guilt he had for leaving before she was awake.
He heard a creak on the floorboard behind him and turned to see his mother’s bright eyes and soft curled hair, white as fresh snow. She was standing there in her nightgown and slippers, giving him a warm smile.
"We're up early, Mike," she said, kissing him on the cheek before moving past him to retrieve her own cup from the mug tree that dangled a variety of choices. She picked one with a hand-painted sunflower, a gift Embry had recently given her. Setting it down, she poured herself a cup from the percolator. "Smells good. It actually woke me up. You do something different this time?"
"No. Same old pot. Same old coffee, Ma. Nothing different."
"Hmm. Well, it smells different. Either way, I'd rather wake up to the scent of coffee than our neighbor's damn car alarm. Can't you do something about it, Mike? For the last week and a half, that red Jetta's car alarm goes off at godawful times of the night. I have half a mind to go out there and smash it with a rock."
"Ma, please don't do that," Kelly said, knowing her Irish temper could get the best of her and turn an idle comment into action. He regretted staying for the second cup of coffee that kept him from avoiding this conversation. He’d meant to address the problem when it was first brought to his attention. "Like I said, Ma, I’ll look into it."
"When? You’re not home all that much."
Kelly let the verbal jab slide off his chin. Too early for a back-and-forth. As far as the car alarm went, he assumed the person probably worked late or left early. Probably something as simple as an accidental push of the panic button instead of the door unlock, simple mistakes, but at 3:00 in the morning, those sounds were exacerbated.
Back in the days of Kelly's youth, his mother probably would have walked around until she found the neighbor and had a polite but direct conversation about common courtesy, but in today's world, that was a dangerous thing. Neighbors were not so neighborly, and overreactions could be disastrous. Most people now took to social media, putting neighborly disputes on blast for the world to see. Kelly had advised his mother to leave the problem to him, but right now, it was the last thing on his mind. He had a long list of things on his agenda to complete before the day was up.
His mother looked down at the note he had scribbled and then back at him. "I guess I'll be taking Embry to school today, huh?"
Kelly shrugged. "I was going to leave a note for you too, Ma. I'm sorry. I caught a bad one."
"Mike," she interrupted. "You do not have to explain. I saw the news. I actually saw you on it. Looked like you were trying to hide from the cameras. I don't know why. You're so handsome."
Kelly blushed slightly at his mother's compliment.
"But I know what you're doing and what you're working on. It's important. The people are very nervous. It’s a scary time for the neighborhood. You’ve got plenty on your plate. I understand that you have to go, and Embry will too.” She looked down at the note again. “She sure does love getting them. I just wish you didn't have to write them so often."
"Me, too," Kelly said quietly, more to himself than his mother.
They'd had this conversation before, and she was well aware of the guilt he felt over Embry.
"And you don't have to worry about picking her up, Ma. Samantha is going to get her from school,” Kelly said. “We'll get her back on Thanksgiving Day. We'll split the day with Sam and get her just in time for dinner. Good news is we’ll have her for the rest of the week after that, so you’ll only have to drive her this morning."
His mother gave a dismissive wave. "You know I don't mind doing this for you and her whenever you need."
"I know," Kelly said. “Just wish you didn’t have to.”
He drained the last bit of his coffee, then kissed his mother on her forehead before grabbing his to-go mug and moving toward the door.
"You be safe out there, Michael Kelly."
"Always am."
Kelly’s early morning commute didn’t take long. Construction had begun in some spots, but he was able to bypass most of it and make quick work of the drive from Dorchester to downtown.
Kelly entered police headquarters through the side access, fob-only entrance and took the stairs to the second floor. The doors to the Homicide unit were always locked, regardless of the time of day or night, a security measure designed to maintain case integrity. The list of authorized personnel was limited. There was a phone on the outside wall where non-cleared members of the department could call in. Nowadays, most usually sent a text message to coordinate their entry.
When Kelly reached the door, he could see a light on through the window.
Typically, he was the first one in. Somebody was either burning the midnight oil or had come in early to work a case.
As he made his way to the main office area, he saw Barnes at their unit’s cubicle cluster, which housed her, Kelly, and Mainelli. He wasn’t surprised to see Barnes; she matched his work ethic and was the one person he could always count on to stay late or come in early, and on days like today, sometimes beat him at both.
"Morning, Kris," Kelly said as he approached.
"Well, look who's dragging themselves in a little late this morning."
"What time did you get here?"
She smiled. "Only a few minutes ago. But that’s because I went for a jog first."
"You went for a run and still beat me here. I’ve got to start upping my game. You're making me look bad." Kelly chuckled.
"I'm not the only one who’s here early."
Kelly looked around and, seeing no one else, furrowed his brow. "What gives?"
Then he heard a toilet flush, and moments later, Sterling Gray exited the restroom. He tossed a paper towel in the trash can and gave a friendly wave. Kelly nodded at the man and looked over at Barnes.
"Don't look at me. He was waiting outside the door when I got here, said he couldn't sleep, wanted to get an early start."
"I did," Gray said as he walked up. "I came in on this investigation behind the power curve and wanted to get caught up on things. I want to look at it from my perspective and see what I can bring to the table so I can make myself useful. If you don't mind, I'm going to head into the conference room."
"You mean The Depot. If you’re going to be part of the team, you’ve got to start using the lingo," Kelly said.
"Yeah, right, The Depot."
They had explained to him the nomenclature used for Homicide's main conference room.
"Give me a few seconds to get settled in,” Kelly said. “I can come in and see if we can put our collective brain power to work, if you’d like?"
"Sounds good to me," Gray said, grabbing his laptop and heading into The Depot. The motion-activated lights kicked on as the agent took up a spot at the table and began looking through some of the files.
"We've got a big day today," Kelly said to Barnes. "Debbie Shoemaker's going to be coming in this morning." He looked at his watch. "Maybe she can give us something useful. I'm going to ask that Sutherland pick some other stand-ins today for the press conference. It’s the other reason I called and got Shoemaker's interview pushed up to 8:00. We've got the autopsy afterward. Then we'll see where it all gets us. I’m not too hopeful about Shoemaker, but I definitely want you in on that interview with me."
"Of course. What are partners for? She's from your neighborhood, right?"
"She is," Kelly said.
"Am I supposed to read any further into that?"
"Nothing between us. Never has been, but she’s definitely flirtatious."
Barnes’s smile broadened. “Flirtatious, as in former love interest?"
"One-sided completely," Kelly said. "And not just me. She had it in for everybody. In particular, Father O’Brien. She chased him around all through high school."
"Funny. And she still attends his services."
Kelly smiled. "I think that's the reason she attends his services."
"Maybe we should consider taking out a stalking order against her." The two laughed.
Kelly sat down at his desk and started to organize his handwritten notes, along with his field sketch from the scene at the church. He then began the tedious task of reading through the supplemental reports completed by the patrolmen assigned to check surveillance and canvass the area around the church.
As of right now, they were batting zeros. Of the three potential surveillance cameras in the area, one was totally defunct, there solely for deterrence purposes. The report documented that no wire was physically attached inside the store that owned it. The other two cameras of interest were reviewed. One was blurred so horribly that the reviewing officer couldn't make out pedestrian traffic within a few feet of the camera, and it was well over forty feet from the church and angled poorly. The last camera, his only hope, came from a barber shop across the street, though it was pointed away from the church’s door. All of the tape had been pulled and placed into a digital evidentiary file for later review, but nothing seemed worth their investigative time at this point.
The canvass conducted by officers going door to door in the neighboring residential section revealed nobody heard or saw anything. A total of forty-eight people had been interviewed so far, and not one person had any information. This caused concern for Kelly. A dead priest with a gunshot wound to the head, shot at close quarters in a church where the open space was designed to reverberate sound, yet nothing was heard. Either people didn't hear it, or it was designed not to be heard. A bullet missing from the scene, along with no shell casing, pointed to the latter. Lots of holes, none of which were good.
Kelly figured it was time to pick Gray's brain without anyone else around and get a feel for what the Bureau had to offer.
8
Kelly entered The Depot and pulled up a seat beside Gray. He had a laptop open and was scrolling through something when he looked over at Kelly.
"What are you working on?" Kelly asked, expecting the federal agent to close the screen and pleasantly surprised when he didn’t.
"Remember yesterday, when I said I might be able to give you a little guidance in the case and maybe explain what those marks on the hand might mean, the significance of them?"
"Of course, been waiting for you to open that can of worms."
"Yeah. Sorry about the delay. I was playing catch-up on what you guys had been working on. It's a pretty extensive crime scene and very meticulously handled. Kudos to you, your team, and in particular your crime scene technicians."
"Thanks. They're top-notch," Kelly offered in return.
"I had to wait to get clearance before I could share this information with you. You've got to understand how things work where I come from.”
Kelly nodded. He understood the bureaucratic red tape. There was plenty of that to go around at his agency. Not a big leap to assume it was commonplace everywhere else.
“What I'm about to show you stays within the confines of this team and this team alone. That means you, Barnes, Mainelli, and Sutherland. Outside of that group, I would have to go back and speak with my superiors to get authorization to disseminate it any further.”
Inte
resting. It usually worked the other way, with the upper echelon controlling access to the people on the ground level who needed it most. It was refreshing to hear the opposite was true. Kelly wondered if this came at Gray’s direction.
Kelly's interest was thoroughly piqued. Up until now, Sterling Gray had offered little in the way of assistance during his short time in Boston.
Gray appeared to have taken a step back, allowing Kelly’s team to process yesterday’s crime scene uninterrupted. He was more of a fly on the wall, listening to the back-and-forth banter and the heavy resistance offered by Mainelli.
Smart move to enter into any new organization and observe, just as Kelly had done when he came to Homicide as their newest investigator. He’d found it best to watch and get the feel of things rather than assert himself before he’d learned the protocols.
Gray had obviously reached his comfort level and received the approval required for sharing whatever he had to offer.
"I'm all ears. What do you got?" Kelly asked, trying to look beyond Gray's shoulder at the monitor.
Gray turned it toward him. The digital image of a hand—in particular, the meaty web of the left hand—was similar to the side-by-side comparisons of Danny Rourke, Phillip Smalls, and the most recent victim, Benjamin Tomlin. In fact, when Kelly first looked at Gray’s screen, he thought for a moment the photographs were from their case files. The close-up showed the flesh near the web of the hand and the X cut into it.
"That's not one of ours, is it?" Kelly asked.
"No, and that's the real reason I'm here."
Kelly was quiet for a moment as he processed Gray’s words. "So, you have been working cases where you’ve seen this before? Where you've come across this X pattern in other victims? Are we looking at a serial here?"
Gray let out a shallow exhale. "It's not an X."
"What do you mean it's not an X? I'm looking at it. It's an X." Kelly was suddenly tense.