The Penitent One (Boston Crime Thriller Book 3), Brian Shea [best non fiction books of all time .TXT] 📗

the strangest sight. Under different circumstances it would have registered as comical.

On one side of a patient door was a uniformed Boston police officer. Sitting in a chair on the other side was one of Walsh's goons. Two polar opposites guarding the same man.

Kelly walked by the room. The door was open enough to see in. The legendary mob boss was surrounded by several of his closest friends. The doctor was fighting an uphill battle and wasn’t faring well, evident as Walsh gave him the middle finger and then stuck a Tootsie Pop in his mouth.

Kelly walked by without stopping.

Kelly, exhausted, was sitting at his desk. Barnes and Mainelli had gone home two hours ago, and Gray was in the hospital recovering. His first visit tomorrow morning would be to the FBI agent.

Kelly stared at the murder board. He had already taken down Tomlin’s card, switching it from red to blue. Same with O'Toole's. He stared at the last red one, the one that had topped his board since he came to Homicide.

Kelly stared at the card for what seemed like an eternity, then reached out to remove it. The red card seemed as distant as if reaching for the sun. The un-closable case was now shut forever. The card felt foreign in his hand, its value disintegrated with McDonough’s words.

He pulled it off the board, holding it between his fingers before transferring the information to a blue one. When he was finished, he grabbed his coat and made his way to the door.

On the way, he tore Rourke’s red card in half and dropped it in a trashcan.

Then Kelly walked out of the second-floor offices of Boston Homicide, leaving nearly a decade of emotional baggage behind him.

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Sign of the Maker

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SIGN OF THE MAKER

A BOSTON CRIME THRILLER NOVEL

A serial bomber is on the loose in Boston.

If Kelly wants any chance of stopping the attacks, he must join forces with the most unlikely of partners.

Click here to purchase SIGN OF THE MAKER now

Turn the page to read a sample —>

SIGN OF THE MAKER: Chapter 1

The morning walk through the park had been exhilarating for several reasons, most importantly being that the approaching end to weeks of tireless effort that would soon be over. He had time. Seven minutes to be precise. And if he was anything, he was precise.

He'd calculated the moment of time he now took to sit on the green painted bench and watch the birds. His back was to Beacon Street where many of Boston’s wealthiest resided, looking down on the green of the Common. The exhaust from a passing bus momentarily tainted the park’s air until a gust of wind cleared it away.

He settled pressed against the hardwood and watched the birds.

Most people hated pigeons, seeing them as rats with wings. But he did not. He saw the subtle variances of gray in their wings to be just as dynamic and unique as a brightly colored toucan. To him, the birds were fearless. He respected their defiance in the way they held their ground against humans who scurried about it in the overpopulated city. They didn't cower and fly off like the more skittish and delicate birds. They stood their ground against the foot traffic of the humans sharing the park space with them. Sure, they'd shift and adjust themselves, maybe give a quick flight to move out of the way of a jogger or cyclist or speed walker. But they always returned.

He felt a connection to the winged creatures, mostly for their ability to hide in plain sight. For the man on the bench was invisible too. He, like the pigeon, moved in and out among these people without even receiving a passing glance. The colors of his clothing were always muted in soft uninspired tones. He was neither good looking, nor ugly. An average person carried a unique quality of anonymity to it. On the outside he was nothing but a waif of a man. Shorter than most. Smaller than most. But his mind was anything but small.

Early in his youth, he'd found that exposing the true nature of his genius caused others to look at him differently. His parents had been the first to notice and they’d been intimidated by it. As he grew, he learned even his enlightened professors were no match for his intelligence. In time, he’d become completely isolated from the outside world, left only with his thoughts and the birds he so adored.

He watched as a larger pigeon shoved a smaller one out of the way and nibbled at a bit of coffee cake on the ground. In the animal world, size matters. The bigger, the more powerful you were, the more you could take. But intelligence was the ultimate equalizer. He wouldn’t interfere and help the smaller bird. Nobody had helped the man when he had needed it. Survival of the fittest.

He watched the smaller bird carefully. His wing fluttered briefly, tapping the bigger pigeon on his tail feathers. As the bigger bird spun to see the source of his meal interruption, the smaller bird swooped in and snagged the bit of broken coffee cake and flew away. And, just like that, intelligence had trumped the larger bird’s position. The man smiled at the