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

Kelly and Barnes nodded silently.

"What do we hope to accomplish with this second round?" Barnes polled the trio.

"Not sure. Figured we'd give him a sniff, see what he bites on, and go from there." Kelly tapped the case folder on the seat next to him.

Barnes took the last swig of her coffee before returning the cup to the holder. "If what you said earlier about bombers being artists is true, then I hope whatever we can extract from Collins puts us in a better position to stop this maniac before he paints his masterpiece."

18

They walked through the interview room door. Same hall, different room, although identical once inside. A different guard, a gangly man with thick glasses named Dunlap, had led them in. Same instructions as before; the rigidity and continuity of command so critical in a prison environment was hard to shut off even when not dealing with inmates. The guard stepped into the hallway and shut the door but did not lock it.

A few minutes later, Collins shuffled in and headed toward the seat awaiting him. Shackled from wrist to ankle, he dragged the chain across the coated concrete floor. Dunlap re-entered and set about securing Collins to the bolts in both the floor and table. This guard was nervous around Collins. It was never more obvious than when he bent down to attach the inmate's ankle cuffs to the bolt in the floor. His movements were hesitant, as if he half-expected Collins to strike out at him.

Dunlap finished, then stood with a sigh of relief. "Is there anything else you detectives need before I go?"

"Just make sure it's on." Kelly pointed to the small black orb in the far right corner of the room.

"It's been on since you came in, sir."

"Sounds good."

"Just knock when you're ready." He slipped out of the room, this time locking the door.

In front of Kelly was the thick file he had amassed so far, a compilation of supplemental reports and photographs deemed most valuable. He kept the file closed, resting his right hand on top and staring straight ahead at Collins, who was eagerly eyeing the bulging manila folder.

"You going to let me take a look?" Collins brought his hands up from underneath the table. A clang of metal filled the small room as the cuffs banged against the brushed aluminum. He drummed the nubbed ends of his missing ring and pinky fingers rhythmically.

"In good time."

"That's the arrangement, right? I get to see the file."

"We've got to have a little talk about how this thing is going to go. Let's get you straight. You don't run the show. Hell, I don't even run the show." Kelly threw in the last part to get it into Collins’s mind that there was a hierarchy, a pecking order, and he wasn't at the top. This bought Kelly time on any demands Collins might make.

"Looks like you're already failing to come through on your end. Guess where I just came from? Solitary. So much for getting me out. As far as I can see, you've done half of what you promised. Guess I could return the favor. Would you like that, Detective? For me to give you half of what I know?"

"Solitary is a little harder to pull off and we're still working on it." Kelly hoped Collins didn't make solitary the line in the sand. He needed to keep him in the hole to best ensure the information shared didn't get leaked. Plus, leverage mattered in any interview, and this was no different.

Collins stopped drumming his nubs. "If I get the hint you’re jackin' me around on this, I'm gonna walk. Got me, boyo?"

"Listen, let's not make this a pissing contest. Either you're here to help us or you're not."

"Not sure about that yet. And from where I sit, looks like I might be more valuable than you’re letting on. I see you've brought another friend." Collins gestured toward Mills, seated to Kelly’s left. "I'm guessing you're not moving as fast as you'd like. Maybe I'm the only show in town right now and you're trying to play this cool. You need me a hell of a lot more than I need you. Deep down, you know it too."

Collins had effectively called his bluff. Kelly took solace in the fact that the convicted bomber hadn't ended the interview. He knew it was a distinct possibility. He'd done it with Lancaster. And he’d booted Kelly and Barnes early the last time they were there. During this round, so far Collins had been more bark than bite. He'd threatened but hadn't acted. This was a good thing, and Kelly meant to capitalize on it. "I'm telling you, the issue of your solitary confinement is getting taken care of at levels beyond my pay grade. And you're right, we do need you more than you need us. We could wait until I can get that worked out. Problem with that is, by that time, we may not need you anymore.”

"I hope whatever's in that file is worth my time." Collins extended his hand toward the closed manila file. The bolt his cuffs were linked through restricted his reach, stopping his hands from crossing the table’s centerline.

Kelly gave a weak smile as he teasingly drummed his fingers atop the thick folder. "I may not have been able to get you back to gen pop yet, but I was able to grab the case notes and scene photographs. Which, by the way, is totally out of compliance with departmental policy. So don’t tell me I haven't done my part."

Collins’s scowl receded from his scarred face. He offered a barely perceptible nod.

"While you sit in here, I'm doing that on behalf of the people who have been killed or injured by this bomber. I'm asking for your help. If not for them, then for the mere fact somebody out there is using your signature mark to commit