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

Kelly was worried the bomber would now drop off the grid completely. With the mission completed, minus Collins, he might disappear into the ether. He had no idea how the bomber could get something inside a maximum-security prison to cross the last target off the list, but if the last few days had proven anything, it was that he was highly intelligent. Kelly felt he was being toyed with, taunted. Since the first bomb went off, he’d always been one step behind.

Their best chance would be to keep Collins in solitary a little longer. Halstead was right—without anything substantial to go on, all they had was the sketch, which had been released to the press an hour ago. Now came the tedious task of following up on every single possible sighting. Nothing had panned out thus far. And the Boston Police Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigation still had not positively identified the killer.

The bomber was a ghost. Kelly worried he'd follow in the Unabomber’s footsteps and go underground, disappearing off the grid for several years. He was worried all the victims' cries would go unvindicated.

Halstead was right. There was no rush to get to Collins. He wasn't going anywhere, and the bomber's timeline for him remained unknown. No warnings were left at the last bomb site. The bomber had waited twenty-three years. He proved his patience. Now, he could wait again.

Evidence-wise, they had no prints and no DNA. The satchel and inert bomb recovered at Downtown Crossing offered nothing new in the way of tangible leads. The receipt of that news dashed Kelly’s last bit of hope. Mills had been so excited at the prospect of the evidence they could recover from an undetonated bomb, but it hadn't panned out. And now, his best potential lead had just been blown up.

"We're going to head back to the station and try to piece this mess together. See what we missed and what we can come up with. You're not going to miss anything taking a little bit of time getting stitched up. Your head will be clear."

"My head's never been clearer," Kelly snapped.

Halstead pulled out his cell phone and walked away. He returned a minute later. "That was Acevedo. You're not going to believe this, but we've got an ID on our bomber."

Kelly thought Halstead was joking, but he knew better. The Iceman didn't joke. "How?"

"Some guy snapped a photo of him at the Braintree stop. Digital was able to do their thing and get a positive ID. Name, date of birth, the works. And you won't believe this, but it was an ex-con who snapped the photo."

"Everybody's doing their part, I guess. You get an address?"

"They did. And the guy doesn't live too far from you, Barnes."

Kelly shot off the ambulance bumper where he'd been sitting and tossed the blood-soaked gauze aside. The EMT who'd been treating him frowned.

"Can't you just pack it really well?” Kelly asked. “A temporary patch until I can get to the hospital?"

"Sure thing. But if you wait too long, the docs won't be able to stitch it and you'll be left with a nasty scar."

"Won't be the first."

34

The ex-con’s photo from the Braintree subway station captured the bomber in the act. The image showed him walking away from a utility door underneath the pedestrian footbridge. The box containing the bomb was in the background. The ex-con was taking a selfie at the time and after hearing about the bombing contacted the PD. Seeing the killer’s face was strange and unnerving. He was as Fazzino described. The deadliest bomber in recent history looked more like a college professor than a terrorist. And one thing Kelly found truly odd was that he didn't look Irish.

An endless list of questions swirled in Kelly's mind. He looked at his cell phone, examining the screenshot image Charles had forwarded him. He zoomed in on the scar underneath the killer's eye, fascinated at how close the teardrop comparison had been. The perfectly shaped tear had a ghostlike quality, fitting for a man who had sent so many to an early grave.

They now had everything about this man's life. No gap in the chronology like the recently deceased McLaughlin. Even the bomber's name matched his generic features. John Smith, age thirty-two, still lived in the same apartment he'd grown up in just a couple of blocks from the MIT campus. Smith lived above the same watchmaker's shop his father had owned and operated for nearly thirty years before dying and leaving it to his son. Smith was a watchmaker by both birth and trade. Records showed he still maintained both the store and his family's residence, where he lived in a small two-bedroom apartment with his mother.

Smith was educated at MIT but had returned home after getting his degree in applied physics to assume his father's work. He had nothing on his record, not even a speeding ticket, except for one arrest that occurred three years ago. The arrest was the result of a breakdown Smith suffered after his father's passing. He spent a year in prison for the crime. According to the police report, that incident had left him with the scar. He had made a time bomb, a small one. He built it in the back of his father's watch shop and left a suicide note, but the bomb exploded in his face during its construction. A fragment of the bomb cut his skin just under the eye, leaving the mark.

Smith was arrested. He was originally charged with making the bomb, but after looking into his background, a local judge and prosecutor took into account that Smith had no priors and deemed it was an act of curiosity and not one of terroristic intent. He ended up receiving a one-year sentence for reckless endangerment. He did his time at Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center, the same place that housed Liam Collins.

Smith’s connection to Collins remained unclear at the