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

and walk us through. Please trust me when I say this: no detail is too small. Everything you say matters."

"He was kind of an average-looking guy, ya know? Not somebody I'd normally take an interest in." Fazzino didn't sense any judgment in their eyes. Had this been his hometown, he doubted the officers would've been so accepting.

"Start at the top and work your way down."

"He had dark hair. He was white, his skin pale. Can't remember much else about him. It's like looking into a dream."

"We're going to have you sit down with a sketch artist. Maybe you'll be able to put something together?"

"I'll try." Fazzino wanted to do anything to lighten the gruesome fact that Maeve was dead because he didn't show up to work.

"Can you recall any accent when he spoke?" Barnes asked.

"No accent that I can remember. He was soft-spoken. That's about it."

"What did he talk about?"

"Watches." Fazzino jingled his wrist, rattling the Oris Aquis. "It's actually what started the conversation between us. He knew all these details about how it worked. He seemed smart. Like really smart. I think that's what got me past his looks."

Kelly jotted a note. "Anything else you can think of?"

He thought for a minute. The strain rippled across his forehead. And then he remembered. "A scar."

"A scar?" Kelly perked up.

"It wasn't the size of it that caught my attention, it was the location. Size-wise it was tiny, but it was at the crest of his left cheekbone just beneath his eye. I complimented him on it, said it looked like a permanent teardrop had been stamped into his skin." Fazzino's stomach rumbled loudly. "Do you think that helps?"

Kelly nodded and handed Fazzino a business card. "You just gave our killer a face."

25

Kelly listened in as Langston berated the woman on the other end of the phone.

"What do you mean he's not in his office?" Langston pressed the iPhone against his ear with a death grip. Kelly could hear the woman on the other end but not the words spoken. "I know you gave me a schedule, but if you haven't turned on a TV or radio in the last two days, we've been a little busy."

Langston held the phone in front of him as if looking at its face would help make sense of what he'd just heard. "He's where? When? Great. I'll reach out to his security. I suggest if you have a way of reaching your boss, you'd best get on that. And when you do, tell him to stay put until we arrive." Langston paused while he listened to her response before resuming his tirade. "I don't care if he's not going to like it. If he keeps running around this city, all willy nilly-like, he's putting these citizens' lives in danger. You tell him I said stay put."

Langston hung up the phone and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Kelly met his gaze. He was coming to understand and respect the man. Gray had been right. Langston pushed when it was needed. He caught glimpses of the investigator buried beneath the gruff exterior.

"Well, where is he?"

"He's launching his campaign for mayor to a small gathering at his alma mater, Harvard."

"That's not good. I'll get dispatch to relay the need to lock down the campus and secure McLaughlin to Harvard's police. I'll get units from Cambridge to start heading that way too."

"The secretary said it was a small venue, maybe fifty people at most, some type of mini reunion. He's trying to gain some financial backing for his upcoming campaign."

"He's given our bomber an ideal target."

"Even worse, McLaughlin's already there. He's been speaking for the past ten minutes."

"How long is he supposed to be doing this?"

"Secretary said it's a half-hour speech during a luncheon."

"He didn't think it might be good to lie low? You talked to him, right?" Kelly grabbed his cell to notify Halstead.

"I guess he didn't heed it. Two ways to look at that."

"Either he's an idiot, or he's part of it."

"If you think the fact that he's drawing a crowd is bad, then you're going to love this…he's riding back out of Boston on the T."

"With a bomber on the loose he's going to use a mass transit system? When he's the next target?"

"Have you read up on him?"

Kelly shook his head. "Not really. Caught a soundbite or two on the news but I don't pay much attention to politics. I've always focused on things I can control."

"Apparently McLaughlin made a big to-do about not using a car to commute while he was attending Harvard. Brags that when he was studying there, he used to take the train in from Braintree to Harvard Square every day. It became the platform for his campaign, the reduction of greenhouse gases. He's making a big push to increase usage of the metro to cut down on commuter traffic. He wants Boston to have the cleanest air record of the big cities. Personally, and mind you, I'm no expert, but I see him as somebody who wants to take it nationwide down the road."

"McLaughlin's got a lot to lose if what Collins said is true."

"True. We also have to keep an open mind to the idea that McLaughlin is just an overly ambitious politician looking to keep up appearances. Either way, we need to get him out of the public's spotlight and into ours." Langston checked an incoming message. "Hopefully we can get him secured before he gets back on the T."

Kelly knew the Red Line and the metro system like the back of his hand. The network of train lines were as familiar as ridges of his fingerprints. Boston city streets and their subways were coded into his DNA. There were thirteen stops between Harvard and Braintree. That meant thirteen possible choke points where the bomber could strike. Couple of taps on his cell phone's screen, and MBTA's digital map showing current times and schedules for the Red Line came into view; in particular, inbound and outbound