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

Barnes is going to stay here with Salinger while Mills processes the scene. I'd like you to come with me. I took the liberty of pulling the rest of McLaughlin's schedule. It looks like he's got dinner plans at the Oyster House Tavern tonight at six."

"What do you plan on doing?” Kelly asked.

They were interrupted when one of the crime scene techs announced he’d found a bit of the bomb fragment wedged into the concrete wall that survived some of the blast. Mills crossed the line, re-entering the crime scene to inspect it. A couple minutes later, she walked back to the group.

"Any sign of the maker?"

She shook her head. "No. Doesn't mean it's not there."

"What about the subway bomb?"

"I got a message while you two were chatting. Didn't want to interrupt." Mills pulled out her cell phone. "The note said 11:38."

"11:38?" Kelly looked at his watch. It was 12:49 p.m. "Another countdown?"

"That was our first thought. Then Barnes had an idea. She checked the schedule for the trains that passed through Downtown Crossing's station. One came through at exactly 11:38."

Kelly gave Barnes a nod. "That's some outside-the-box thinking. How much do you want to bet McLaughlin was on that train."

"Is he messing with us?" Salinger asked.

"Maybe. Or he could be messing with his victim? If our theory is off, maybe our bomber is enjoying taunting McLaughlin most? He did save him for last."

"Don't forget Collins, right?" Salinger asked hesitantly.

"True. But solitary confinement at a supermax seems like a pretty safe way to hide," Kelly said.

"I don't know which way this thing falls with McLaughlin. But I do know that, either way, it’s bad for anybody around." Langston gave another wipe of his lip. "Only one way to find out. Kelly, you ready for that drive?"

"Hopefully, we get some clarity at its end."

31

Hodges sat at a table by the bar. He wasn't drinking. He never did when he was on the job. And when it came to his employer, he was always on the clock. He couldn't remember the last time he had a drink, but he definitely wanted one now. It had been a long day after the near miss at Downtown Crossing. At least McLaughlin had listened to him about the train threat, even if he waited until nearing the end of the line before making the decision to exit at Quincy Market. If he hadn’t, Hodges knew he’d be dead. He eyed the bottles behind the bar and considered having that drink.

Hodges stewed as he recalled his employer's recent series of short-sighted judgment calls and overall pigheadedness that almost cost him his life. McLaughlin listened to his experts in every aspect of his company except when it came to his physical security. He wondered how somebody with his boss's inability to listen had amassed such a fortune. The richest, most powerful people in the world were surrounded by the brightest in whatever field or fields they dabbled in. The smartest, most successful ones listened to those with expertise and defaulted to their experience. Some found the power too intoxicating and took on a God complex, making decisions for themselves without heeding the warnings of, or potential fallout for, others. When this happened, they became dangerous, and McLaughlin had begun to teeter in that direction.

His disregard for his personal safety to protect his image was reminiscent of Abraham Lincoln and, more recently, JFK. Hodges remembered back in high school reading about the eerie similarities when comparing the deaths of both men. Both attended high-visibility events. Both failed to heed their security’s warning not to attend those events. Both were killed.

Image trumped everything, and at times, the decisions made in an effort to maintain it trumped reason. Hodges hated that aspect of his job and his boss. Tonight, McLaughlin had kept his scheduled dinner and was out in public once again, which baffled Hodges completely.

McLaughlin sat two tables away from the bar with Sally Perkins, his current campaign manager and the woman behind his public image. The dinner was slated as a campaign meeting, but Hodges knew about the affair. This meeting was like many others McLaughlin had with the woman in the six months since their relationship had shifted from the boardroom to the bedroom. Something Mrs. McLaughlin and their three children knew nothing about. And Hodges, as much as he despised such behavior, was not the man to tell them.

He had overheard a phone conversation between the two, or at least he heard McLaughlin speaking with someone he assumed to be Perkins. He only heard McLaughlin's side of it. Something his boss said struck Hodges as odd, although without knowing the context the meaning was hard to decipher. McLaughlin had said, "It was only a matter of time. I can't let this touch me, you know that. We can't meet, no, especially not now. Maybe I'll see you when this thing is over." The conversation wasn't meant for Hodges's ear. Seeing the two engaged in conversation now, he started doubting that Perkins had been the one on the other end.

Hodges wasn't a thinking man's soldier. Force Recon taught him to look at everything from multiple angles. And every way he looked at that cryptic conversation, he came to the same conclusion: McLaughlin was somehow involved with these bombings. He just wasn't exactly sure how. That strange phone call came an hour after the first bombing at the café. Hodges didn't like the smell of it. He planned to dig a little deeper into his employer’s life when things settled for a minute. Maybe he'd reach out to the FBI agent who'd been continually nagging him. Maybe the cops were suspicious of his boss too.

Even though McLaughlin kept Hodges at arm's length, he still loved to vent. He spent many a car ride listening to him bitch and complain about everything, ranging from his wife, to his kids, to his job, to his secretary, to his whatever. Sometimes he even bitched to Hodges about Hodges himself, never