Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4) Brian Shea (black authors fiction txt) 📖

fight against the English dominance of Ireland. Another militant group formed at that time as well. Members of the Real IRA continued to take aim at the Brits but kept their battlefields in Europe. They're still active to this day. The group of six chose to set their sights elsewhere, on a place where independence had been fought and won. They came to the United States and set up shop in a city brimming with Irish-Americans, hoping to garner support for another revolution."

"You're telling me a fringe IRA group came to Boston in 1997? And twenty-three years later our city's being torn apart because of it?" Barnes asked.

"To be honest, I'm not exactly sure why it's happening now, but I can say with a high degree of certainty if you figure that out, you'll probably have your guy."

"What was the plan, back in '97, when the group came to Boston?" Mills asked.

"I thought you'd never ask. Back then things were still very much in the news. Lots of media coverage and pockets of support." Collins eyed Kelly. "Growing up in Boston, did you ever see the jars in the bar?"

"Are you talking about tip jars?" Mills asked.

Kelly shook his head. "He's talking about another kind. If it had a label, it typically read, For the Boys. Oftentimes it didn't have one at all. Lots of the Irish-run bars and restaurants had them. My father explained it to me when I was younger. The money was collected to support the IRA's cause."

"Look at that. A second-generation lad like yourself knows an infinitesimal fraction of his history."

Kelly took the blow in stride. "What was the plan? Create a stateside political movement?"

"Think bigger. Politics were what kept our people oppressed under the English thumb. Action speaks. It's what the American Revolution was built around. The group realized if there was to be real change, enough to draw the world’s attention, it needed to start in the US. Politics would come later. The six who came did so for one purpose only. War."

"And three of the six people you're speaking of are on this list?” Kelly tapped the list of the dead.

"They are." Collins worked his way down the list, tapping his pinky nub on three. Patrick Adams, Sean Jordan, and Kevin Doyle.

"How do you know all this?" Barnes chimed in.

"Because I was one of the six."

"Looks like your past is coming back to haunt you," Kelly said. "If what you say is true, and McLaughlin is who you say he is, how do we know he's not involved?"

"Because McLaughlin could barely fire a gun let alone pull off a bombing. He was to be the face of our cause after we grabbed the world's attention. That was, of course, until I was caught. I was supposed to bring the fireworks to the party."

"What happened?"

"It's in my arrest report—well, a version of it anyway. Didn't you read my file?"

"We did. But I'd rather hear your version of it."

Collins shrugged. "I was making some deals to get the materials I needed. Turned out somebody tipped off the police. I ended up getting pinched in a raid. Locals hit me with the first set of charges for the possession. Feds came in after they traced my ties back to the IRA."

"Why aren't you sitting in a country club fed resort instead of Mass's supermax?"

"I guess I'm lucky that way." Collins’s chuckle turned into a vicious coughing bout. He wiped the spittle on his orange sleeve. "Excuse me. Prison life's been great to me. You asked why I ended up here? Some local judge trying to make a name for himself in the world of legal politics fought long and hard to get the local charges to supersede the federal. I guess it worked, 'cause here I sit. I got thirty years from the state and an additional thirty to go when I get into the fed system. Doesn't matter either way, I'm going to die inside the wall. I've accepted my fate, a life sentence. A fun twist was when I learned who snitched on me. A lowlife named Tom Coogan. Ended up coming through here a few years back on a domestic. I tried to thank him and ended up with this." Collins dipped his head so he could trace the jagged scar on his face. "Heard he's back in on an armed robbery."

"Why are you telling this to us now? Your case could be reopened on conspiracy charges. And everybody you named can be implicated."

"Good luck getting me to sign anything admitting that. One thing I'm not is a snitch. Your father knows that better than most."

Kelly flinched at the reference and felt Mills's head turn. He made no attempt to refute the comment and was glad Collins didn't make a bigger show of it in front of Mills. Barnes knew everything about Kelly, but Mills did not. He didn't want the tenuous relationship established with their federal counterparts to become further strained by the fact his biological father, Connor Walsh, was currently the head of the Irish mob in Boston, and one of the most dangerous men in the city.

"How could McLaughlin be who you say he is and still rise to the level of political success he has? You'd think the media scrutiny would've uncovered his secret." Kelly redirected Collins back on topic.

"You think I'm just making this up?" Collins slammed his fist on the table. The chain limited the effectiveness of his effort, but in the confined space it was loud.

A split second later, Dunlap opened the door and stepped halfway into the room, his eyes nervously scanning Collins from behind his thick lenses. Mills, positioned closest to the door, held up a hand. "It's fine. We're fine. Please shut the door."

Dunlap looked relieved and did as he was instructed.

Collins lowered his voice, but the intensity remained. "You think for a second I'm somehow involved? Any idea as to how I could do that when I can't even find a way