Murder Board

by Brian Shea

  Muriel counted to twenty in her head. She didn’t know why she’d chosen that number, but in her mind, it seemed a reasonable time. The count complete, she removed her clammy hands from her face and opened her eyes.

  She adjusted to the light around her and as the store’s interior came into view, she looked to where the gunman had last been. He was gone.

  Muriel Burke was alone. The only sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator. Compulsion almost caused her to resume her duties of stocking shelves. In the distance, sirens could be heard. The sound of the arriving police gave her shocked body a boost, enabling her to stand.

  She did not move. She did not want any additional details of the dead clerk’s damaged body in her keen mind. Muriel stood still as a statue between the icebox and chip aisle as whirls of blue and red penetrated the store’s plate glass windows.

  BLEEDING BLUE: Chapter 2

  “Sometimes the bad guys are just misunderstood,” Kelly said as he closed the book. His daughter was becoming a deft reader on her own, but he enjoyed spending the last twenty minutes before her bedtime reading aloud. Tonight was a continuation of The Tale of Despereaux, his daughter’s choice but a book that had now enthralled him as well.

  “What do you mean misunderstood?” Embry asked with the passion of an eight-year-old’s need for clarification.

  Her plea was also a not so subtle attempt at extending her bedtime. Kelly was aware of but was a sucker for her inquiries. Though he vowed not to let her banter get the best of him tonight, as she’d managed to do over the weekend when their conversation went on until nearly eleven o’clock. Tonight, being a school night and it already past nine, it would be the only question he’d entertain.

  “Well, nobody starts off bad. At least, I’d like to think that’s true.” Kelly paused, trying to run a mental checklist of the people he’d encountered over his years of life both on and off the job. He’d battled monsters before, but none who he believed started out bad. “Life is like a choose your own adventure book.”

  “A choose your own adventure book?”

  Kelly realized the series of popular books from his childhood were no longer marketed to today’s youth. “They were these fantastic stories where at the end of each section you were given a choice. And depending what choice you made, the book would have a different outcome.”

  “Cool.”

  “Cool is right.” Kelly made a mental note to look for some of his old books in his mom’s attic. “So, I’ve always seen life in the same way. People are given choices. Each one will lead to later choices. And each one with a different consequence. If you make too many bad ones, the end result of your life can be pretty grim. And therefore, you may be considered a bad person by others.”

  “How will I know what choices are right and what ones are wrong?”

  “Sometimes you will just know. You’ll get this little feeling. Something you may not be able to place, but your body will react. Basically, your caveman brain will alert you. Like when the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you’re scared. It’s like your body’s warning signal. When you get that tingle, make sure you listen to it. That’s your brain telling you something’s wrong. Too many people ignore it.”

  “What if I don’t get that feeling? What if I make the wrong choice?”

  “It’s okay. Those are called mistakes. Everybody makes them.”

  “Even you?” Embry looked up at him with unabashed awe.

  “Yes, Miss Squiggles. Even me.”

  Embry seemed to absorb the impact of the statement. Kelly knew she was still in the developmental stage where he, as her father, took on an almost superhero like persona. He also knew it wouldn’t last forever. Kelly thought it was important for his daughter to see him more plainly, as a fallible human being doing the best he could.

  “What happens if I make too many wrong choices? Will I end up a bad guy?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I would never let that happen.”

  “But you’re not always around. Especially since you and mom got divorced.”

  And there it was, a well-placed psychological gut punch. His daughter had begun to expertly deploy these on a more frequent basis. Each one stung. Each one a painful reminder of his failed marriage. “I know. Life’s not perfect. But hopefully, your mom and I will fill you with enough street smarts to help you make the right choice even if we’re not there.”

  “Okay—then promise me.”

  Kelly swished an X across his chest and leaned down to kiss his daughter’s forehead. “Cross my heart.”

  Embry’s arms swallowed him up. He hoped her legendary hugs would never run out of stock. Unbeknownst to her, they were the battery power fueling his daily life.

  While holding his daughter, Kelly felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket. It pulsed the incoming call’s alert. Breaking contact, he sighed and pulled it out. Sergeant Sutherland was calling.

  “Hey boss.”

  Embry looked up at him. He registered the immediate disappointment on her face as he sat up.

  “We got a body down at the corner store at Stoughton and Everett in Upham’s Corner.”

  Upham’s Corner was a section of North Dorchester and not too far from where Kelly lived. The relatively small geographic landscape of the Boston Dorchester neighborhood was subdivided into sections. Where you lived within the city mattered. Neighborhoods mattered. In Kelly’s world, the neighborhood defined you. And his assignment in Boston Homicide kept bringing him back home to the streets he knew so well.

  “When?”

  “Not too long ago. Patrol arrived on scene and immediately called us.”

  “Give me a few. I’m only a few miles away.”

  “Mainelli will meet you there. Call me if you need anything. And keep me posted.”

  “Will do.” Kelly ended the call.

  Embry softened her eyes. “Daddy, do you have to go?”

  “I do. But Nana’s here. And besides, it’s well past your bedtime young lady.”

  “Fine.” Embry rolled to her side and yanked the covers up in a last-ditch effort of resistance.

  Kelly leaned in again and laid another kiss. This time connecting with her cheek. She smiled. “Sweat dreams.”

  “Be safe, Daddy.”

  “Always.”

  Kelly hated that his daughter had to worry about such things. But that was the life of a cop’s kid. Each shouldered the burden differently, but the job always held the unknown that when he left, he might not be coming back. No matter how distant the thought, it was always present.

  He clicked off the light on her nightstand. The room was immediately cast into the green glow of the nightlight plugged into the wall on the opposite side of the room. The casing around the bulb tossed stars across the walls and ceiling. The window air conditioning unit hummed, providing a bit of white noise in the background and in the heatwave of late, it had been running non-stop. Kelly pulled the door closed and made his way down the hall to his bedroom.

  Kelly grabbed his gun and holster from the sock drawer. He clipped his duty weapon to his hip and draped the necklace containing his shield over his neck, centering it on his chest. He went to his closet to grab a fresh shirt. Leaving his shirt untucked, concealing the weapon from view, he made his way downstairs.

  His mother was dozing in front of the television. Her head sunk low and then jerked back in a subconscious battle to stay awake. He kissed her on the top of her head, gently stirring her from the poor attempt at slumber.

  “Where are you going at this hour of the night?”

  “I got a call. I’ve got to go in.”

  “Can’t they call somebody else?”

  “Not how it works, Ma.” Kelly had this conversation more often since returning to live with his mother after his divorce. She was opposed to the irregular hours and had tried to coax him into leaving the job to take over running the family’s liquor store business. “Can you d
o me a favor and take Embry to school if I’m not back in time?”

  “It’s only nine thirty at night. You think you won’t be back by the time she has to go to school?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll try, but you never know how these things will go.”

  “Of course, I’ll take her.”

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  Kelly turned and left the house. He locked the front door, knowing his mother had a tendency not to.

  BLEEDING BLUE: Chapter 3

  The corner brick exterior of Tyson’s Market was painted in the red and blue wash of light from the police cruisers blocking off the adjoining streets. Perimeter tape had already been rolled out and pockets of people began to gather, craning for an opportunity to see the carnage. Kelly pulled his Impala up to the line and stepped out.

  Before addressing the patrolman working the scene entry log, Kelly looked around. He first took in the crowd. Depending on the nature of the crime, many criminals returned to the scene as a bystander. Sometimes it comes from an innate curiosity. Other times, it’s the need to stay connected to the act of violence. A way of holding onto the moment just a little bit longer. And for some, it was a sickness. Firebugs, or arsonists, derived a euphoric high, almost sexual in nature, from watching things burn. Nobody among the group registered on Kelly’s radar, but that could change.

  He then surveyed the neighboring buildings nearest the small convenience store. Across the street was a state subsidized apartment building for the elderly. A few triple-deckers littered the adjacent Everett Street, but most of the windows were boarded up on the unit closest to the market. Kelly didn’t see any external video cameras, but with security devices like Ring it didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t there. Patrol would do a canvass of the area and document potential surveillance.

  Kelly grabbed his crime scene bag from the trunk and walked over to Hugh Thomas, who was standing in the center of the sidewalk on the other side of the bright yellow police “do not cross” tape. Thomas had been a member of Boston PD for over two decades and was one of Kelly’s first field training officers. A good cop with a solid work ethic and a man Kelly respected.

  “Hey Hugh. How goes it?”

  “Michael Kelly! Here among the working stiffs. And what brings you out on such a beautiful night?”

  Kelly slipped under the tape, and Thomas handed him the log to sign into the scene. Kelly also noted the time in his own notepad. “I decided I’d come slum it with you guys for a little while.”

  Thomas laughed.

  “What am I walking into in there?”

  “Dead clerk. One in the head. He’s behind the counter.”

  “Robbery?”

  “Looks like it. Got a witness. An older woman. She stocks and cleans the store. That’s about all she’s said so far. Other than that, she’s not saying much. Pretty shook.”

  “I thought you could get anyone to talk.”

  Thomas smiled. “Me too. But my charms had no effect. Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

  “Where’s she at?”

  Thomas pointed over toward a stout woman standing in front of a patrolman Kelly didn’t recognize.

  “Good seeing you. Say hello to Haley for me.”

  Kelly stepped by his old mentor and friend, taking out his digital camera from his bag. He snapped a couple photos of the mini market’s exterior. And took a few more before entering. The door was propped open with a wooden wedge. Kelly stood at the threshold of the entrance; the toe of his shoe pressed against the metal lip at the base of the door’s frame. He snapped several photos at multiple angles from his current position.

  Laying the small charcoal gray duffle on the concrete sidewalk, Kelly unzipped and rifled through to find the box containing the Tyvek booties. Slipping the powder blue cloth material over his shoes and stuffing his pants inside the elastic banding, he then retrieved four latex gloves. Double gloving each hand, Kelly stood. He could already feel the sweat rapidly moistening the interior of the nonpermeable material.

  There were a few bloody shoeprints on the linoleum floor, and Kelly squatted low to visually examine them. From the treads, he guessed them to be boot prints. Most likely from the officers responding to the scene. He’d confirm before dismissing them.

  The sensor located on the interior of the doorframe dinged, announcing his entrance as he stepped inside. The external commotion faded away, and Kelly was left with only the loud hum of the air conditioning unit which was working extra hard with the open door. Kelly did not go directly to where the clerk’s body was lying. He wanted to see the scene from a variety of angles before becoming engrossed in the details of the body.

  Kelly stepped to the right, taking care to avoid the rust colored footprints. He navigated around an aisle containing a sparse selection of cleaning products. As he rounded the corner, he saw a stack of sodas on the floor near the back wall of refrigerators. Kelly took a photo and approached.

  Standing by the half-stocked pile of Monster Energy drinks, Kelly turned and faced the direction of the front door. He shifted his gaze to the counter. He then positioned himself as though he were going to resume stocking the refrigerator, taking a knee beside the box of cans. From his new perspective, he again looked at the front entrance area. He had a relatively clear vantage point. She must’ve seen everything, he thought.

  The chime of the door caused Kelly to rise. Jimmy Mainelli stood at the threshold. He was short man with a thick waistline. He wore a buttoned-down short sleeve shirt with a brown tie. Mainelli took a strange pride in his appearance and called it his Sipowicz look, a homage to the iconic detective from television’s NYPD Blue. His partner’s midriff paunch was starting to resemble the fictional detective in that regard as well. Mainelli blamed that on his wife’s cooking.

  Mainelli wiped the sweat from his brow. “Got here as fast as I could. What’d I miss?”

  “Just getting started.”

  “I see the uniforms danced in the paint a bit.”

  “Looks that way. Unless the doer was dumb enough to walk around the counter and stand in the blood.”

  Mainelli looked over toward the counter area. “You already take some photos of the body?”

  “Not yet. I was working my way around from here. Looks like the stocker was probably over here when it happened. She would’ve had a pretty clear line of sight to the shooter.”

  Kelly walked past the chip aisle and approached the counter’s entrance. The three-foot wood door was already unlatched and open. Most likely done by the responding patrol officers during their efforts to evaluate the downed clerk. Didn’t look like much evaluation was needed. The dime-sized hole in the clerk’s forehead just left of center and a fraction of an inch above the eyebrow told the tale.

  “Do you know who’s coming in from Crime Scene?”

  Kelly was squatted down, balancing his body by resting his forearms against his knees. He was in a wide straddle, avoiding the pool of blood. The dark liquid had begun to coagulate, congealing into a jelly-like glob. “Not sure. Didn’t ask.”

  “Sorry boys, you’re stuck with me tonight.”

  Kelly popped up at the familiar sound of the tech’s voice. “Hey Ray. I see you’re not carrying your wife’s latest caffeine concoction.”

  Senior crime scene technician Raymond Charles held up his white foam cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee, giving a mock cheers before taking a pull. “What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.”

  “Till she smells the evidence on your breath.”

  Charles chortled. “That’s what tic tacs are for.”

  “My God Ray, you’re having an affair with a cup of coffee.”

  Mainelli laughed out loud.

  “So, what are we looking at?”

  “We’ve got a single gunshot wound to the head. Looks to be the cause. Dispatch took the call just after 9 P.M. We’ve got a witness. Apparently, she’s not saying much so far. Maybe a bit of shock. We’ll take another crack at her after she’s had some time to recoup.�
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  Charles had his camera strapped around his neck. He took one last swig from the cup before setting it on the sidewalk on the outside of the store. “I’ve already taken photos of the exterior. Any area you want me to shoot from aside from the obvious?”

  Kelly pointed toward the refrigerator. “There’s a box of energy drinks on the floor. Looks like our witness may have been in the process of restocking when the perp entered. I’d like you to get some shots from over there. Standing and from a crouched position.”

  “Will do. Strange our shooter didn’t take out the witness.”

  “Maybe he never saw her?” Mainelli shrugged.

  “Maybe. Or maybe he got spooked.” Charles raised the camera and both detectives moved out of the way, regrouping by the entrance. Cops did their best to avoid being in crime scene photos.

  “Either way, it’s essential we get her talking.” Kelly stepped outside into the mugginess of the night air. He removed the gloves. Typically, he’d leave the bottom pair on, but in tonight’s heat, he decided to air out his hands. Tossing the expended gloves into the trash, he wiped the residual dampness on his pants.

  Looking down the sidewalk, he located the woman, still standing in front of the uniformed patrolman. He strode over.

  “Ma’am, we’re really going to need a statement from you.” The patrolman had a clipboard in hand. The department’s statement form clipped to it.

  It had become department policy several years back that all statements were to be written by police officers. The witnesses or victims would dictate the account, and the officer would then write it down. In the end, statements ended up looking more like police reports than fluid retellings. Kelly hated the practice but understood the value of organizing the information into a cohesive and streamlined version. Back in the day, a victim might write a five-page garbled statement. It could take quite some time to isolate usable facts from the superfluous ramblings. Sometimes the most important details were unintentionally omitted, and the associated cases fell apart at the court level. So, then came the directive.