Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4) by Brian Shea (novel books to read TXT) 📗

issues were on the rise in the constantly changing environment of law enforcement. Kelly bore the invisible scars of his job as best he could. His outlet, the place where he cleaned the plaque from his brain, was in a much smaller warehouse than the one where he now stood. In the boxing ring, his therapy came with each punishing blow received or delivered.

After this morning's events, he knew he needed some ring time to clear his head, but that would have to wait. Barnes stood nearby. She looked somewhat refreshed, but her eyes remained vacant. The death of a child lingered. He knew without asking that she could still feel the weight of his lifeless body in her arms. The moment we're born, we begin our journey to the grave. Everybody expects their life to be a long and fruitful one. When a child’s is cut short, it casts a deep darkness. No parent should ever outlive their child.

The boy’s mother had been absolved of that. Kelly found out that she had also been killed in the blast. He'd caught a glimpse of the husband on scene just before leaving. He was a ruined version of a man, crippled beneath the weight of losing both spouse and child in one terrible moment. It had wrecked him completely, turning the overgrown construction worker into a shriveled mess.

Kelly couldn't imagine the recovery, the emotional journey the man would have to take to regain any semblance of normalcy. He watched as a patrol officer attempted without success to console him and thought of Embry. If the shoe were on the other foot, the only way he'd find even a modicum of relief would be to hunt down the person or persons responsible and make them pay. Retribution didn’t always clear the conscience, but it was a good start.

He looked out on the investigative personnel tackling the daunting task taking place before him. The process would be time-consuming but could possibly provide a lead on their bomber.

The beady-eyed Langston was in a square berating a technician who had dropped an evidence bag containing a shattered cell phone. Kelly couldn't catch all of what was said, but the word “numbskull” came up three different times in the short bombardment. Kelly was glad to see that Langston was indiscriminate in dishing out his brand of annoyance. After he finished delivering his tirade to the young technician, he turned in Kelly's direction. He was looking through Kelly and not at him.

Kelly looked behind him to see Mills moving in his direction with a cell phone pressed to her ear. "I know, I'm going to talk to Langston now." She clicked off the phone.

Kelly and Barnes fell in behind her like a racecar driver drafting off the lead.

"Dan, it looks like we got something."

Langston looked past Lexi at the two BPD homicide detectives standing behind her.

"Didn't know you two kids were invited to the meeting."

"I thought we're on the same team." Kelly offered minimal effort to hide his annoyance but fought saying anything further, remembering the heart-to-heart he had with Superintendent Acevedo earlier.

"Play nice, Mike, or you're going to be taken off the case." Barnes nudged him.

The spacious warehouse wasn't warm or humid, yet Langston's mustache was lined with beads of sweat. The prickly ’stache acted like a tennis player's headband, catching the sweat before it ran into his mouth. He wiped it on his sleeve absently. The technician Langston had been berating saw the interruption as an opportunity to slip away, and Kelly saw the welcome relief on her face.

"As long as you understand who's running the show?" Langston didn't make an effort to hide his annoyance either.

"Hey, listen, guys, this is getting ridiculous. If we're going to have any chance of figuring this out, then everything needs to be on the table. We know you guys are running the show and that you're juggling a lot with this one. Let us lighten the burden. Don't forget, if this guy's local, then our resources may become extremely valuable to you. So let's cut the crap and get back to the business at hand." Barnes’s voice held no trace of animosity.

Lexi turned and smiled at Barnes. "Agreed. If you didn't say it, I was going to."

Langston folded his arms across his chest, not quite ready for a Kumbaya moment. But he offered nothing to the contrary, instead directing his attention toward Lexi. "What do you got?"

"Well, that's the thing. The bomb fragment I found has been run through the database. No hits."

"Damn," Langston mumbled.

"I was holding out hope something might come up in the database, but as of right now the search yielded nothing."

"Where does that leave us?"

"Back at square one. But there's a lot of evidence here in this room. We'll go through it and maybe something else will stand out."

Back to square one? More than nine hours had passed since the bomb went off and they were no closer to finding the person responsible.

"It could've been a lot worse. The person who made it was extremely talented."

"Talented?" Kelly found the word choice odd. "That's a strange word to describe a terrorist."

"If the bomber had directed the blast outward, we'd be looking at a lot more fatalities." Mills held a file folder in her hand.

"Could've been an accident. Maybe the guy screwed up?" Langston asked.

"It's a possibility, but I doubt it. I think the blast was designed to do exactly what it did."

"Wouldn't the bomber want the largest body count possible? That's how these things work, right?" Kelly was intrigued.

"If that was the intent. But I'm looking at this from another angle. We haven't received any official claim from any international terrorist groups as of yet, which isn't a guarantee one or more won't try later."

"Then what are you thinking?" Langston seemed eager to move the conversation along.

"I think the bomb worked as it was designed to." Mills pulled out a photograph from the folder. "I think it was intentionally directed so the full force of