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

"I'm telling you, there's nothing in there. It looks like a sheet of paper, maybe a picture of some sort, but there's no mechanism of explosion inside there. We've got no bomb. Looks like you've just got a package."

Kelly felt embarrassment redden his cheeks.

"We're going to open it remotely. Stand by."

Nothing went bang, no explosion. Even though the technician told him there was no bomb, Kelly was still unable to release the tension.

The robot's nimble mechanical fingers tore at the packaging and then opened the box delicately. Its video camera system panned down before its eye relayed the image to the screen set up in the back of the bomb squad van. Kelly watched over the technician's shoulder.

Enclosed was a single four-by-six photograph.

With the bomb rendered safe, the crime scene was released and the neighbors were returned to their homes. Kelly looked at Halstead, who was standing nearby. "I just thought..."

"It was the right decision."

Kelly examined the picture in his hand. The black-and-white image was grainy, but he was able to recognize the six people in it. The photograph was dated March 15, 1997. From left to right stood Patrick Adams, Sean Jordan, Kevin Doyle, Maeve Flynn, Caleb McLaughlin, and last but not least, the only living member of the group, Liam Collins. Kelly flipped the photograph. On the back, written in faded pen, were the words, "If one falls, we all fall. And from the ashes and dust, we shall rise again."

"Call the prison and tell them I'm on my way."

Halstead looked at him. "Why?"

"Because I want to go have a little talk with our bomber."

38

Less than an hour later, Kelly arrived at Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center and was greeted by a lieutenant.

"I heard you were coming and wanted to meet up with you. I know that you’re here in relation to the bombings and wanted to speak with Collins. But there's a minor complication." The lieutenant guided Kelly inside a different set of doors than the ones he'd used in past interviews with Collins.

"What do you mean by complication?"

"Collins is in the ICU. We're preparing to transport him to Beth Israel."

"What happened?" Kelly asked.

"Well, against our better judgment we received pressure from your department to honor some agreement. He was let out of solitary after the bomber was taken down. Within an hour of his return to general population, Collins had buried a broken fork into another inmate's neck."

"So why is he being transported to Beth Israel? Is he injured?"

"No, he's dying."

"Dying?"

"You didn't know? He never told you?"

"What?" Kelly asked.

The frustration of wringing out the information from the lieutenant bit by bit was straining his patience.

"He's got stage four."

"Cancer?"

"Yeah. And the docs gave him about a week, two at best, to live."

The former IRA hitman had looked bad off when Kelly first met him. He just figured it was the lack of sunlight. The ashen skin now made more sense.

"I still need to see him."

"I figured. Just know that your interview is going to be taking place in the infirmary. I told him you were coming. He said you were the only person he was willing to speak with."

Kelly followed the lieutenant through a series of secure doors until they came to one marked “Infirmary.” Inside, he could see two prison guards standing on either side of the bed. Through the small portal window in the door, Kelly saw Liam Collins. He was shackled at both ankle and wrist to a gurney.

"Guys, Detective Kelly's going to need a moment alone with our prisoner before the bus arrives," the lieutenant said as he entered the room.

Kelly entered. The lieutenant led the two oversized corrections officers outside the room and closed the door.

"I'm going to record this conversation. Do you understand me? Everything you say will be documented."

Collins eyed him wearily. "Good." He sounded as weak as he looked, no longer putting up a front.

"What was this all about? A debt owed? One that could only be paid in blood?"

"You're a smart lad."

"This was a vengeance thing?"

Collins tried to sit up as best he could, but in his weakened state, he only managed to nudge his head against the double-stacked pillows behind him. The shackles on his wrists clanged against the metal railings.

"I didn't speak a word about what we came here to do twenty-three years ago. I kept my mouth shut. And then I got my death sentence handed down by the Creator himself. I decided then and there, I'm not going to die in this cage while the rest of them go on living their best lives. We made a pact long ago. A blood oath. One I planned to honor." Collins broke into a violent coughing spell. It took him a moment to regain his composure before continuing. "Our rule was simple: all or none. And since I was already on my way out, I wanted to make sure I wouldn't be alone when I got to hell."

"But why not just release the information? That photograph you sent me would have destroyed any chance McLaughlin had of becoming mayor. Hell, it could have opened an investigation. Every one of them could have ultimately ended up in here with you if you had cooperated from the start."

"I don't work with law enforcement."

"You were working with me."

"I wasn't working with you. I was working you." Collins wheezed a raspy laugh. "I've known a lot of dead men. I've been fighting this war longer than you've been alive. The difference between you and me, I don't ever forget the point and purpose for what I was born to do. You've been raised in a world where you think there's a right and wrong. I'm telling you, I come from a place where things are much different, and for me much clearer. I lost my parents in an English-led attack. So boyo, the grudge I hold runs deep. And my commitment to it is unwavering.

“They left me to rot in here while the rest of them abandoned the principles we