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

"Sounds like someone's blowing things up in Boston again." He had a weird smile. Only the left half of his face would move.

"Something funny about that?" Barnes snapped. Kelly gently nudged her with his knee. A gentle physical reminder to avoid the inmate's taunts.

"Let's not get our panties in a bunch."

Kelly could feel the heat of Barnes’s anger radiating from her and jumped in before she lost her cool. "There's a lot of dead people. Innocent people."

"Innocent?" Collins interrupted. "See that's what you people think. That's what you all say. You pick who is innocent. You decide who warrants your pity. Problem is, you don't always get it right, and in war there'll always be casualties."

"This isn't a war," Kelly said. "These are random bombings. There's no war here."

"There's been a war brewing here for a long time, sonny boy! You just need to figure out which side you're on."

"What the hell are you talking about?" This time he was losing his edge, confused by the man's incoherent ranting. Maybe too long in solitary had impacted Collins’s reasoning? Maybe he was delusional, slipping into madness in the quiet of his cell?

"My war has been raging since 1916. I know what side I fight for. Question is, Michael Kelly, do you?"

"I do. I'm fighting for the side that puts people like you and my father in prison."

Collins stopped smiling.

"Why don’t you tell me how your signature ended up on a bomb in Boston while you're stuck in solitary? Can you answer me that?" Kelly opened a file and slid the photograph across the table, just out of Collins’s reach but close enough for him to see it.

The photo depicted a piece of shrapnel from the bomb casing with the phoenix etched in it that they had found in the limo victim’s skull. Collins took a moment to inspect the photograph before pushing it back with a shrug of indifference. "Don't know. Maybe I've got myself a fan. You know, copycat and all. Don't they do that sometimes?"

"Sure," Kelly said, "but why? Why would somebody copycat you? Nobody even knew you existed till we found your face in the database going back twenty-plus years ago. To the rest of the world, Mr. Collins, you're already dead."

The blow seemed to strike with a more vicious landing than whatever had done the damage to the man's brow. Collins sat forward, looking like he was going to try to break the chains and come at Kelly. "What did you say to me, you little pissant?"

Kelly was glad he’d struck a nerve, challenging the man's status. It was probably all Collins had left. It was what he lived on, fed on. Kelly knew many of the people he had arrested, especially the bigger names, lived in the shadow of their evil deeds until the very end.

"I'm just saying. Somebody's out there blowing people up and using your marking, your signature, leaving it as a calling card. Any idea why?"

"Tell you what? You let me read all the case details. You let me see what this case is all about, and I'll see if I can help you."

Kelly didn't share case facts with criminals. He didn't expose information to a suspect.

"You could consider me a consultant." The wry smile returned. "Of course, maybe instead of a payment, you could get me out of solitary."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you're going to need me if you ever plan to catch this guy."

At some level, Kelly knew the man was right. A serial bomber was a combination of two uniquely dangerous criminals: bomber and serial killer. That left lots of opportunity for unknowns. And Kelly knew if he had any chance of getting ahead of this thing, it rested with the inmate sitting across from him.

When Kelly had worked narcotics, he'd spent a lot of his time interviewing, getting to know the dealers and the junkies alike, finding out what made them tick, learning their habits, learning the trade through their experience, and it made him a better cop. It gave him the ability to pick apart and identify those dealers who were moving about incognito. Right now, there was a bomber in the city of Boston who had successfully completed two detonations, and Kelly was left with the very real possibility that more would follow. He needed Collins if for no other reason than to get inside their bomber’s head.

"You're going to have to give me a bit of time on that. I don't have the full file with me, and I'll need to get clearance before I can share anything with you. I'll run it by my boss."

"You do that. Get me out of solitary and I'll see what I can tell you after looking at those files."

Kelly looked down at his blank notepad.

"Tony, I'm ready to go back," Collins hollered out.

The door opened, and Tony, the corrections officer Collins made a show of being on a first-name basis with, ambled in.

The fact that Collins hadn't requested an attorney had been a positive thing, cutting one layer of red tape, but he obviously knew the game, knew that in an incarcerated position he was well within his rights to terminate an interview at any time.

"I'll see what I can do," Kelly said.

He and Barnes stood as Collins was unhooked from the table and floor and escorted out ahead of them. Then the larger guard came in and said to Kelly and Barnes, "Follow me."

Collins exited, walking slowly with Tony escorting him at the elbow. "Do your part, Detectives, and I'll do mine," he said as he shuffled back to his solitary confinement.

14

Kevin Doyle set aside the morning's Herald, forgetting to finish his coffee. He disliked working weekends, especially on a Sunday, but his business didn't shut down with the week's end, and today's meeting with the board was critical to advancing the firm's tenuous foothold on its Fortune 500 status.

He looked out on the trail looping the river from the twenty-first floor of his