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

weren't shrouded in black balaclava masks. Also missing was the intensity, the screaming and yelling. This was something different, and from the look in their eyes, Fazzino could tell it was something bad.

"Mr. Fazzino, can we have a minute of your time?" The male detective remained standing in the threshold but did not enter the apartment.

"Call me Chaz. Mr. Fazzino was my father."

"Okay, Chaz, I'm Detective Michael Kelly, and this is my partner, Kristen Barnes. We're with Homicide."

Homicide? Fazzino felt panic twist the knot in his sour stomach. "Sure. Come on in. Sorry about the mess." What he really meant to say was, sorry about the smell of piss.

He led them toward the kitchen area, then opened the fridge and poured some water from a filtered container. He took a long drink, draining half of the cup before turning his attention back to his badge-wearing guests. He wiped the excess from his lips. "Sorry. I'm parched. Can I get you guys a drink?"

"No, thank you."

"Here, have a seat." Fazzino pointed to a small circular table by a window. It only had two chairs, but it was enough for Fazzino. He rarely ate at home but did use the small setting to enjoy his daily post-workout latte.

Kelly eyed the small breakfast nook. "I prefer to stand."

"Fair enough. So, Detectives, what brings you here at this ungodly hour?"

"This is important. Can't wait." Barnes took out a notepad.

"Not sure what couldn't wait until morning." Fazzino finished the rest of the water and then let out a yawn. "I just got off work a little over an hour ago. What could be the problem?"

"Got off work?" Barnes asked. "Do you have a second job we don't know about?"

"Second job? No. I tend bar over at The Monkey Wrench."

Kelly and Barnes looked at each other, confusion plainly stretched across their faces. "You were at the bar tonight?"

"Yeah, I closed up. Left a little after two a.m." Fazzino looked at the clock on his microwave. It was now 4:03.

"You didn't close the bar tonight," Kelly said.

"You're not making any sense, Detective." Fazzino racked his mind. He remembered cleaning up and finishing his bar responsibilities. "Whatever you think I did, you're wrong. I came home after work. At least I think I did.” The fog still hadn't lifted on the details, but he must've, right?

"He doesn't know," Barnes said to Kelly.

"Know what?"

"About the bombing."

He knew about the bombings. He'd been watching the news. It was all anybody was talking about. Well, everybody but Rory. He knew the cops were on a manhunt. Every news channel was running on a continual loop showing the efforts being made to track the killer. Did they think he was somehow linked to that? The water gurgled in his empty stomach and he fought to keep the contents from regurgitating onto his kitchen floor. "Do I need a lawyer?"

"That's completely up to you. Do you feel you need one?"

Fazzino shrugged. He didn't know. He also didn't have one. "I didn't have anything to do with those bombings."

"We never said you did." Kelly's voice was steady but his eyes maintained their intensity. "What bombings do you think we're referring to?"

"The ones from the news."

"You didn't hear about the bar?"

"The bar? My bar?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Six hours ago."

"That doesn't make a damn bit of sense. I was at work six hours ago." Fazzino looked more closely at the badges dangling from their necks. He'd been pranked by Tammy before and having two people posing as cops show up in the middle of the night wouldn't be beneath her. But if these two were pulling his leg, then they were the best actors he'd ever seen.

"What day do you think it is?" Barnes asked.

"It's Sunday morning."

"No. It's not…It's Monday."

"What the hell? Monday? That doesn't make sense. I..." He thought of the piss on the sheets and the unrelenting fog coating his memory. "I've been asleep for a day?"

"We don't know what you've been doing for the past day, and that's why we're here."

"Wait. What? You think, you think I had something to do with the bombing?"

"We're just trying to figure out—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm going to call an attorney."

"We're not looking at you as a suspect in this at all." Barnes looked to Kelly. "We don't think you had anything to do with it."

"Then I don't understand."

"We think you may have had contact with the person who did."

"You think Rory had something to do with this?"

"Is that who you were talking with at the bar?"

Fazzino bobbed his head. The throbbing persisted, as did the foggy remembrance of the events leading up to his blackout.

"One of the waitresses mentioned you two hit it off. Even left together. Is that an accurate statement?" Barnes had her notepad out and clicked the end of her pen.

"Yeah. I did. Well…at least I think I did."

"What do you mean 'you think?' You don't remember if you left the bar with someone?" Kelly asked.

"I mean, I don’t remember much of anything besides bits and pieces. But yeah, I was talking with a guy named Rory. Don't bother asking me his last because I don't remember if he told me. I also don't remember much beyond what you said." He felt embarrassed. Like he had screwed up. He wanted to make it right and help them figure out whatever it was. "How bad was it? The bombing, I mean."

"Bad." Kelly grimaced. "Four dead, including your boss, Maeve Flynn."

"Maeve's dead?" He felt like he was going to throw up again, this time not because of the pounding in his head but because of the realization that his absence from work meant Maeve had filled in for him. He would've been working. She was dead because he didn't show up.

"Listen, I know this is hard. We come banging at your door in the middle of the night and drop a bombshell on you like this." Kelly put a hand on Fazzino’s shoulder and gave a slight squeeze. "I need you to focus. Take yourself back there