Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4) by Brian Shea (ebook reader android .txt) 📕

work came a new opportunity to find something, anything, that might point them in the right direction. An ambulance was staged on the far side along with a sea of cruisers. The strobe lights cast the quaint shops and restaurants in flickering blue and red.

As they closed the gap, their pace slowed. The debris field became denser, populated with bits of glass, metal, and plastic from the destroyed stretch limo. Littered among the broken bits of car were the fragmented body parts of the blast's victims. Forensics would have their work cut out reassembling this crime scene.

At the corner of Prince Street near the wrought iron fence enclosing St. Leonard's Peace Garden, Kelly saw several medics loading someone onto a gurney. The injured man's head was bandaged. What caught Kelly's eye was the large piece of metal sticking out of the lower right side of his ribcage. The EMTs put a pressure dressing on the wound and packed the impaled object, leaving it in place and stabilizing him for transport.

Kelly was now close enough to see the shard was in fact a piece of the demolished limo's license plate. The medics moved swiftly in a synchronized dance, raising the stretcher, extending the collapsible frame, and bringing the injured man up. The senior paramedic orchestrated the team as they moved toward the waiting ambulance.

Kelly jogged up to the patrolmen standing by with the medics. "Who's the guy? A pedestrian?"

The senior paramedic trailed a step behind the two other medics guiding the gurney. "Name’s Gordon Simpson. Apparently he knew the people in the vehicle."

Kelly rushed up to the side of the stretcher, hoping to get a couple questions in before he departed.

"He's lost of lot of blood. In and out of consciousness when we first got on scene," the paramedic said. "All we got out of him was that he was the secretary to the man in the limo."

"Administrative assistant," Simpson wheezed. They were the last words he uttered before flatlining.

The medics rushed the dying man toward the back of the ambulance. The doors were opened and the gurney banged in place. The two medics jumped in, taking up positions on the bench seats. Kelly hustled to catch up, hoping to get more out of him before the transport took off. A thin medic began to pull the back doors closed.

The door hung open, the space filled with a narrow-faced medic with an oversized Adam's apple. "We're rolling the bus. You want to talk to him? Get on or meet us there."

"Hold up!" A patrolman named Becker jogged up beside Kelly. "Sarge is having me ride."

Kelly snagged Becker’s elbow as he ran past. "You get anything from him, you call me or Barnes immediately."

"I got it." Becker was young, a little bit of a know-it-all. Kelly had worked a stabbing a few weeks ago and Becker had jumped the ambulance ride on that call too. Maybe he was that guy in his unit? The one who snagged the easy gig hanging at the hospital, flirting with nurses while the rest of his shift was sifting through a messy evidence field in the pouring rain. Kelly didn't like him.

Kelly held his arm a second longer. "Anything. I mean any single thing that trickles out of his mouth. Not just the stuff you might think's important. Understood?"

"I said I got it." Becker hopped into the back of the ambulance.

The doors slammed shut. Less than ten seconds later, the sirens cried out as the ambulance pulled away. Barnes came up beside him. "I just chatted with the street boss, who's on-scene commander until cavalry arrives. He's got the names of the two dead men. The driver was a man named Charles Wellington. The passenger was Sean Jordan."

Even the steadily falling rain did little to wash away the acrid smell of the charred remains of the two men entombed in the limo’s twisted metal. "The Sean Jordan who's been in the news recently because of the massive renovation and revitalization project?"

"One and the same."

"There's got to be a connection we're not seeing." Even though the ambulance had disappeared from view, Kelly continued to stare in its direction. "I'm hoping we get something out of the assistant when he comes to."

"If he comes to. That looked bad."

"Standing here sitting on our hands and waiting isn't going to do much to forward our investigation." He turned his full attention to the carnage. "Let's do a quick walk-through while we wait for the rest of the gang to arrive."

"Might as well wait." Barnes directed Kelly's attention to the arriving caravan. "Looks like the party's about to get started."

A procession of fed and city police vehicles approached as several patrol officers worked quickly to erect a few large canopies, battling against the intensifying rain.

9

Charles got out of his crime scene technician van with Freckles in tow. Boston PD's legendary crime scene technician shouldered the burden of the bodies he worked better than any cop Kelly had ever known. His ability to compartmentalize the thirty years of working hand in hand with death never ceased to amaze Kelly. On most scenes they'd worked together, Charles showed little in the way of outward expression of the impact it had on him. Tonight was different. The morning had been rough on everyone, even Charles. Making eye contact with him now, Kelly could see the fatigue in his mentor and friend.

Langston signed into the scene and passed Charles, making a beeline for Kelly. He looked to be in a huff. Kelly started to wonder if the seasoned agent had any other look. His windbreaker repelled the falling rain and his mustache received a nature shower, rinsing the sweat normally present. Salinger was a few steps behind. The two federal agents had forgone their formal attire, trading their blazers for windbreakers similar to the one worn by ATF Agent Lexi Mills, who was third in line entering the scene.

"Kelly, do you just teleport your way to these scenes?" Langston didn't hide his frustration at