Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4), Brian Shea [free reads .txt] 📗

Homicide. The Depot, the oversized conference room, swarmed with investigators from every possible three-letter agency. The door, normally closed off from the main cubicles, was wedged open to enable ease of access to the steady flow of people coming and going.

The walls were lined with everything from schematic diagrams to photographs and sticky notes. The dry erase board was littered with scribblings noting anything of evidentiary value. The room had begun to smell like the body odor of the officers and detectives who hadn't been given any time to change out between the extended shifts.

"How much do you really believe that guy?" Langston asked between bites of his éclair.

Kelly tried to read the man but found it challenging. His eyes always held a glint of sourness, passing his negative energy to anyone willing to meet his gaze. Hard to tell if he was just mad or in a perpetual state of annoyance. "I don't trust him at all,” Kelly said. “But I think we need to verify anything anybody has to say about this situation. Especially when he's naming names."

Since the tip line devoted to the case went live, the department had received over a hundred calls an hour from people reporting possible suspects or things that seemed suspicious. And it didn't show any signs of stopping. Everybody was trying to do their part, but it had become an issue of information overload. On a case like this, patrolmen and detectives alike took shifts answering the calls. At this point, with thousands of calls logged, they still had nothing of value.

Kelly knew this, as did everybody else in the room. But he also knew those call centers did a few things that went beyond the actual solving of the case. When citizens felt that they had an opportunity to help, it gave them a sense of control in an otherwise uncontrolled situation and made them feel that they were doing their part. But with each call came the responsibility of following up on each tip.

Patrol was maxed out with overtime shifts on a budget that was already stretched thin. All twelve districts within Boston PD’s expansive city limits were working overtime, trying to find any link to the bombs. Thanks to Collins, they finally had one.

"I don't like the idea of getting in the face of a mayoral candidate to accuse him of something that we have no evidence of. And that information is based solely on the comments of a bomber in prison for the rest of his life who just now decided to tell the world about his co-conspirators. Doesn't sound like the weighted testimony of a witness I'd ever want to see take the stand."

"If you're afraid, I'll go talk to him." Kelly’s challenge drew the attention of several other investigators in the room. He knew there was no way the rotund agent would be able to back down.

"What did you say to me? You cocky son of a—" Langston growled.

"Whoa. Cool it." Salinger stepped in.

Kelly was silently grateful for the interruption. Not one for losing his cool, he was seriously considering slamming an overhand right into the FBI agent’s face. The intervention allowed him a chance to reset his mind. He uncurled his fist and stepped back.

Salinger seemed completely out of place in this argument and, seeing that his interruption had temporarily defused the situation, went back to busying himself with the paperwork scattered on the table. Mills perked up but didn't interrupt, and Barnes, always having his back, stood beside him but remained silent.

"This is still my investigation,” Langston said. “FBI is running it. I'm pretty sure your boss has already made that explicitly clear to you. You keep pissing me off and you're going to be in the call center fielding tips until this thing ends."

"Everything all right, gentlemen?" Halstead approached.

"All good here, boss. Special Agent Langston was just telling us that he was heading off to speak with McLaughlin and advise him of the potential threat. We're not going to confront him on any of the allegations until we have more substantiation. Right now we're considering McLaughlin and Flynn as potential targets that we need to protect."

"As much as I hate the idea of approaching McLaughlin, I agree with Kelly that we need to dial in our security efforts on them. I've already contacted his head of security. They're keeping an extra eye out for anything suspicious until I can make arrangements to meet him. He is in a meeting right now and should have time later. I’m on my way to meet with him shortly. If that's okay with you, Detective." Langston did a mock curtsey.

And just like that, the tension dropped as both of the headstrong investigators offered their conciliation to the other's terms. Done in perfect cop fashion so as not to lose face.

Langston and Salinger exited The Depot. Kelly stepped to a corner and pulled out his cell.

"I was waiting for your call," FBI Special Agent Sterling Gray said after answering on the third ring.

"Yeah. Sorry. After I threw you that text, I got caught up in things here."

"Let me guess: Langston's ruffling feathers?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Past experience. I know how he gets when working a case. Hang in there. He's better than he looks, and he knows what he's doing, even if he's a pain in the ass with the way he goes about doing it."

"With your endorsement, I'll try keeping an open mind. How's things on your end? Were you able to come up with something based on the information I sent?"

"Well, I've only had a little bit of time to work on it."

Gray was attached to the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, or BAU. They'd met when Gray was sent up from Quantico to assist in the hunt for a killer known as The Penitent One. It nearly cost their lives and bonded the two men beyond the badges they wore.

"I don't mean to take from your caseload. But we're in a real jam here."

"I can see that.