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

stood for. They got soft. They got content. They used the money allocated for our cause to their own benefit. Once I was locked up, once the muscle behind the plan was gone, they decided to disband, use the money for themselves, and go their separate ways. But I kept tabs on everybody over the years. I watched them while I rotted away inside."

"Why wait twenty-three years?"

"I'm bound by no statute of limitations in seeking resolution. To do it right took time." He thumbed toward the heart monitor beeping quietly beside his bed. "Then my clock started to wind down."

"I get it, but why didn't you do this early on?"

"Bombing requires precision. I needed to make sure I did it right. I had to find the right person. And three years ago, the right person walked through the doors of this facility." Kelly knew he was talking about Smith.

"I was in gen pop at the time. I came across an awkward inmate by the name of John Smith. I heard some other prisoners laughing about his bombing mishap. I wanted to speak with him. When I did, I was blown away by how intelligent he was. He may have screwed up his first attempt at a bomb, but he understood the intricacies of the mechanisms used to create them. He just didn't have the right teacher. That's where I came in. The year we spent inside together was devoted to sharing from my cup of knowledge."

"The guards didn't pick up on it?"

"Are you kidding me? You think those oversized baboons would even know a schematic diagram if it bit them on their arse?" Collins spoke loud enough for his disparaging comment to be heard by the guards on the other side of the door. The effort sent him into another coughing fit.

"I made him my protege. He was happy to receive the knowledge. But he didn't know quite why I was giving it to him at first. Smith enjoyed learning. He was unique like that. He didn't talk much, just quietly absorbed everything I threw at him. It was only when he got close to leaving that I gave him the plans for six bombs I had designed. Each with very specific targets."

"But he was killed."

"It's a shame, I know. But he'd served his purpose." Collins’s scarred face twisted into a nasty smile. "Ironic that an ex-con was the one who broke the case wide open with that photograph."

"That was you?"

"You don't spend twenty-three years plotting something and fail to leave anything out."

"Why me? Why'd you agree to speak with me?"

"I needed you on the case. I needed to know what you knew and ensure I guided you in the right direction. You see, the ultimate design of my bombs isn't in their creation. That goes without saying. The true skill, the true power that I wield is the planning that goes into them. Smith understood this."

"Why would he carry out your mission? What was in it for him?"

"He was lost. A strange bird by all accounts. I gave him purpose. In that year he spent in here with me, I gave him a reason to live. The satisfaction of undoing the embarrassment of the failed bomb that had blown up in his face. It gnawed at him. He spoke about it on the rare occasions when he spoke at all. I used it to my advantage the same way I used your tenaciousness to serve me."

"What if we had caught him?"

"I wagered that prospect was slim. Before he was released from prison and sent away with his marching orders, he told me he'd rather die than ever come back here. That bomb vest he created was of his own design. It would've been interesting to have seen its potential. Guess we'll never know. Please thank your partner for taking that shot. With Smith dead, your boss came through on your promise and called in the favor to get me out of solitary."

"So you could add one final body to your tally?"

"Not just anybody. The man who gave me this." Collins reached for the jagged scar on his face. The restraints wouldn’t allow his fingers to make contact.

"I pay all my debts." Collins drummed the nubs of his two missing fingers against the guardrail of the gurney. "Thank you for your assistance, Detective Kelly. I couldn't have done it without you."

The words of appreciation coming from a man responsible for the most devastating attacks in Boston's long history sickened Kelly. He wanted nothing more than to reach across the space separating them and speed up Collins's limited time left on earth.

"That picture I sent you is the only piece of evidence linking McLaughlin to the rest of us. Did you read the message on the back?"

Kelly nodded. "I did."

"Does it make sense to you?"

"That you're a bunch of lunatics committed to a cause that—"

"Stop. That's not what I asked. Did the words of that message make sense to you?"

"They did." Kelly thought of his four friends and the indivisible bonds they'd formed. He knew the secrets they shared. Some, like the ones he and Bobby shared, could potentially destroy Kelly's life. And Kelly always knew the day might come when some of those truths were exposed. He wasn't sure he was prepared for the fallout should it happen. But one thing was certain: he would never attempt to silence him.

"It's over for me now. There were six, and in probably a few days' time, our group will be down to zero. So, take heart in the fact that you've got your man, Detective."

Kelly took no solace in the man's words.

"You have your truth. That's my parting gift to you for all the help you've given me." He broke into another coughing spasm.

Kelly turned his back on the dying man and made his way to the door.

"Truth's light casts the darkest shadows." Collins’s final words lingered in the air as Kelly walked out of the room.

Kelly was led out of the