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

I can only assume through our conversations and the stories I see in the news, but I'm going to tell you this: Boston needs you. Whatever you're feeling right now, know this: you were called to do this. This is who you are. You help people. You keep them safe. This city is a living, breathing entity. We've each been called to serve it in a different way. I hope this doesn't shake that from you. We stand beside you, Mikey. You fall, we fall. You remember what you said to me that day?"

"Vaguely."

"You said it, and I'll never forget it. When I asked you why you stuck up for me, your answer was simple. And hopefully it matters to you now because it still does for me. 'You don't get to pick your neighborhood, but you get to pick your battles.' And you told me that mine was worth fighting for. I hope you never stop fighting, Mike. The legacy of what you do on a daily basis matters for those lives you touch."

37

Kelly returned home from Pops's gym and pulled up the long driveway. He felt refreshed, not so much because of the cool night air but because of his conversation with Brown. It was almost 9:30, and Kelly decided he needed to check in on his mom before heading back to Barnes's apartment for the night. He'd been gone for the majority of the week, the case consuming his days and nights. Kelly felt guilty for only calling to check in on her once since the bombings started. He knew that she worried.

He got out of the car and walked up to the wraparound porch. Kelly could hear the television blasting a repeat of his mother's favorite game show. The loud creak of the floorboard he had planned to fix for months welcomed him home. As he rounded the corner, he saw a small package no bigger than a book resting on the welcome mat.

Strange. Maybe his mother hadn't heard the delivery? Maybe no one rang the doorbell? Another reminder of his incomplete to-do list. Kelly had meant to get her one of those doorbells that activated when anyone came to her stoop. He bent down to pick it up and saw the brown paper package was addressed to him. In sloppy black marker it read, “To Detective Kelly.” No address. No return address. No postage.

A knot formed in his stomach. He felt a wave of sickness. He rushed back, retracing his steps and taking a position by the car. Then he pulled out his cell phone and called his mother.

"I was hoping to see your face,” she said when she answered. “I thought you'd be stopping by when it was all over. Are you okay?"

"Ma, listen very carefully. I need you to come out the back door. If Brayden's home, have him come too. Can you do that for me?"

"What's going on?" Her voice shifted, and the terror in it was palpable. Kelly's calm was slipping fast too.

"Just do what I said. Come to my car, and then I'm going to pull you down the street to safety. Please hurry. I'll be waiting for you in the back." Kelly sprinted to the back of the house while he made the next call.

Halstead answered on the first ring. "Mike, I thought I told you to take a little time off."

"Listen, I've got a real problem." Halstead was silenced by the anxiety in Kelly's voice. "There's a package at my mother's doorstep right now. It's addressed to me. Nothing else on it."

"What?" Halstead broke character, his normal ice-like demeanor falling away. "I'll get everybody there. Stay tight. Get as far away as you can, and if you can, start evacuating some of the neighbors."

Just then, Kelly's mother came out the back door. She was wearing a robe over her nightgown and slippers. "Brayden's closing up the shop. It's just me. What's this all about?"

"I don't know, but we can't take any chances. Ma, I need to get you away from here."

She shuffled slowly down the ramped driveway to Kelly's Caprice. She had recovered to the point where she no longer used her cane, but the broken hip wasn't fully healed and she moved a bit slower. Kelly acted as a crutch, supporting and guiding her to the sedan. "Do you think it's the guy? I thought you got him. Didn't he get killed?"

Kelly nodded.

"Did you shoot him?" He knew that the police had not released the shooter’s name. That would be done later under a controlled-release format.

"Kristen did."

"Oh God, is she okay?"

"She is. She's just taking some time."

"Are you okay?"

"Mom, no time for this. I need to get you in the car." He helped her into his Caprice and then backed out of the driveway and down the street. He parked the car and left it running to keep his mother warm while he went back to the house.

Kelly began going house to house. To those select few neighbors who didn't know him, he identified himself with his badge and shield. Before long, patrol units from the Eleven, Kelly's old beat, arrived to take over the job of evacuating the neighboring homes.

Within a matter of minutes, Kelly's street was turned into a circus of police cars and bomb technicians, looking very much like every other scene he'd worked over the past several days. The EOD team brought out a bomb robot. Kelly watched from a safe distance as the bomb tech used a remote control to drive the robot up Kelly's driveway. The triangular tread system battled against the wood stairs of his mother's porch until finally reaching the top. The bot worked its way around the porch and over to the package.

The bomb disposal unit's robot was fitted with an X-ray machine similar to the one used in Downtown Crossing to evaluate the satchel the bomber left behind.

"Scanning now."

Kelly held his breath.

"Clear. Not a bomb." The technician controlling the robot sighed.

Kelly was nearby and asked, "Are