Campanelli: Sentinel (6 page)

              Frank merely smiled, shut the door and made his way squeakily to the stairs. Tam’s sneakers squished along behind him. Once inside the residence, Frank brought Tam a robe and let her remove her wet clothes in the bedroom while he did the same in the bathroom. Hanging their clothes upon the shower rod to dry, Frank found Tam on the couch in the living room, passing her hands through her damp hair. Her smile lit her face in a most youthful way.

              “Well, that was fun,” she announced and took a deep breath and exhaled it with a loud huff.

              “You know, you have to get that roof fixed,” Campanelli advised lightly as he sat next to her. “I almost drowned before we even got out of the car.”

              Lightning flashed around the edges of the shaded living room window. Frank counted the seconds before the report of thunder, counting three before it rumbled.

              “What do we do now?” Tam asked as she moved closer to him.

              “Wait for our clothes to dry.”

              “They’re pretty soaked,” she replied, tilting her head and implying a long wait.

              “It might take all night,” he said and kissed her. It was then he discovered that a chill was creeping into her. “You’re cold. You know, I have a pretty warm blanket in the bedroom.”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah. Come help me find it,” he said as he took her hands and led her from the couch.

***

              Frank awoke some hours later, having slept a most satisfying sleep. He wondered what had awakened him and was quickly reminded of the thunderstorm that was still assaulting the city beyond his walls. The roof hummed with the persistent rainfall, sounding rather pleasant in its rhythm. He lay awake in his natural state of darkness, where the flashing of lightning could not be perceived, but was proven by the thunderclaps which followed. In between them, he could hear Tamara’s light snoring beside him. An exceptionally loud and close thunder strike startled him, but the woman’s breath missed not a beat. Over time, Frank had discovered that Tam could sleep through almost anything.

              Realizing that he needed the bathroom, Campanelli rose gently and scooted his feet along the bedroom floor to find the robe he had so quickly discarded. The room was chilly and Tam had once again thieved the blankets for herself in her unconsciousness. His little toe located the robe, so Frank put it on and quietly left the room, navigating along his practiced path to the toilet without his implants activated.

              He took a detour on the way back to the bedroom, heading instead to the patio door. Its glass thrummed with the blasts of raindrops, hitting the panes at a harsh, wind driven angle. This too, was a soothing sound to a normally preoccupied mind, so Frank placed a hand out in front of him to meet it gently. The glass was cold, giving witness to the low temperature beyond. Thunder rolled almost continuously, giving Frank the idea of activating his implant to view the light show. He was not disappointed by the brilliant blue and white flashes that he discovered.

              He passed his eyes from one part of the room to the other, seeing the entire place catch the light from the electrical storm. Unconsciously, his mouth dropped open in delight of the display. At that moment, he felt utterly at peace as he witnessed the storm. He had no jurisdiction over it, had no responsibility for it and, even if someone said that he did, he was powerless to affect it. Frank was free to enjoy it and he did so happily for several minutes before heading back to bed. The thoughts of Sam Whethers and his daughter would not return until the morning.

***

              The rest of Campanelli’s weekend had slipped leisurely by, giving him the rest he had needed. His tenacious thoughts of the shooting incident persisted, however, and the guilt remained painfully strong. Eventually, he hoped, he would come to accept Jimmy Antony’s role in the man’s death.

              Monday, the twelfth of May, was sunny and already warm by seven that morning. Frank prepared for work and drank his coffee at his dining room table as he perused his messages on the CPD server. Marcus Williams had sent a message the previous afternoon and Frank cussed to an empty room. He wished that he had checked the server, but at the same time, he was grateful that he had not for it would have ruined the day.

              Dmitri Vanek had thought it wise to assign detectives to keep Jimmy Antony under surveillance in an effort to keep the man from fleeing, having been certain that a warrant for his arrest would be forthcoming. The video recordings of Campanelli, Williams and another officer proved that he had indeed fired his weapon with intent to kill. This resulted in the bail being revoked and the warrant issued, but once officers converged on the man’s home, he was not inside.

              Jimmy Antony had somehow eluded the surveillance team and jumped bail.

              Frank was to meet Williams in Vanek’s office in a few minutes, so he departed. As he reached the ground floor lobby, he could see that McKay and Old Bill were already sitting outside enjoying the morning air. Campanelli reached for his lighter and a cigarette, placing the latter in his mouth as he swung the door out of his way.

              “Mornin’ to ya, young feller,” Luke called without turning to see who it was.

              “Mornin’,” Campanelli returned as he lit his cigarette.

              “Back to work, eh?”

              “Yep.”

              “Stay safe now,” McKay wished brightly but sincerely.

              Frank gave his neighbor his two-fingered boy scout salute and took a few steps away toward his parking space. He stopped on a whim and turned back to him. “Say, Luke?”

              “Yessir.”

              “How are you at leaky sinks?”

              “Aces. Got one?”

              “I do.”

              “Which?” Luke asked. Old Bill was as always, outwardly uninterested, though his eyes were steadily trained on Campanelli.

              “Kitchen.”

              “I’ll look in on her. Thankee for givin’ me sumpin’ ta do ta’day. Old Bill here was fidgety and ‘a gettin’ on my nerves.”

              “I see that,” Frank said, though certain that he had not. “Thanks and have a good day.”

              Luke gave a wave and Frank headed to his car. In moments, the cruiser had parked across the street and he entered the District One building, finding Williams loitering in the lobby.

              “Good mornin’, Frank,” Marcus greeted with a faint smile.

              “Mornin’,” the Captain returned. “Anything new on Antony?”

              “Nope,” Williams said as he fell into step alongside his partner. “I’m hoping Vanek has something new.”

              With a cursory knock, Frank opened the door and looked to the man behind the desk. Vanek was alone but on the telephone, which, as it was a secure line, meant that it was most likely a conversation with someone higher up. Campanelli was about to back out of the room when Dmitri waved him inside.

              “Yes, sir,” Dmitri said into the phone as his two detectives sat down. “Well, the two men I’m entrusting this to have just stepped in.” The phone call ended quickly.

              “Mornin’ Chief,” Campanelli and Williams greeted alike. It was returned somewhat gruffly, though Frank sensed that his boss’s annoyance was not with them.

              “That was the mayor,” Dmitri began, “telling me that he wants this human trafficking network put out of business.”

              “Of course,” Frank agreed as he lit up a cigarette.

              “We all know that Jimmy Antony is one of Phil Ignatola’s men. That’s old news,” Vanek sat forward and waved his hand. “What’s new is that this is the first time we’ve been able to make the connection to someone of authority within the trafficking organization. I’m sure you’d both love to take Ignatola down.”

              “Damn skippy, Chief,” Campanelli uttered and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

              “Well, unfortunately, as Antony has disappeared, we haven’t had the chance to interrogate him and make the connection. He was sprung too early by his lawyer,” Dmitri continued. “I want you two to lean on the lawyer.”

              “Beritoni,” Frank put in.

              “Correct. Most likely, he won’t give us anything, but we have to make the effort. He might spill something.”

              “Okay, Chief,” Campanelli agreed as he tapped ash into the tray on the desk. “I take it since the mayor’s involved, this is now
our
priority?”

              “This is not only your top priority, but the Sentinel Division’s as well. I want you to pull any of your VC detectives off of anything that’s not pressing and find Jimmy Antony. If we can make a connection to Ignatola, we want him, too.”

              Other than the idea of distracting one of his Violent Crimes Division detectives from a murder case, especially Albert Kelly’s, Frank agreed with Vanek. He and Marcus left the office and walked to Campanelli’s waiting cruiser.

              Frank called out the address of Taylor, Taylor & Packey, the law firm they were to visit. The cruiser responded, backing out of the parking space and turning north onto State Street.

              Marcus thought about the address. “Isn’t that right across the street from the old Art Institute?”

              “Yep.”

              Michigan Avenue featured many ancient buildings, primarily on the west side of the street. Most were condemned, near collapse and uninhabitable, spared by reclamation for their materials because they were so old and small in comparison to other younger, more richly constructed skyscrapers. The east side of the street featured mostly unattended parks and other cultural attractions which had long ago closed. The Art Institute of Chicago was one of these structures. It had been mothballed by the city, shuttered and mostly forgotten.

              As the car turned onto South Michigan Avenue, Frank stared with wonder at the mostly empty structures to their left. The once busy avenue was broken up by the occasional victim of fire, leaving a rotted black hulk to hunch between the others like a bad tooth.

              The building at One Twenty-Two and its immediate neighbors were spared such tragedy, mostly from luck but also by the fact that there were tenants rich enough to keep it going. Taylor, Taylor & Packey was One Twenty-Two’s chief benefactor. The law firm was its only tenant, though they could not put the entire building to use.

              Campanelli took over the driving once the cruiser approached the corner of Adams and South Michigan. It was here that he made a left turn and parked the car in the perpetual shade of buildings. The detectives got out and made their way back to the corner and turned north. There was not much foot traffic. The sidewalk bore only a couple of dozen people as far as Frank could see without manipulating his vision. About the same number of vehicles rolled by on the street. As they approached the building’s entrance, Frank noticed the attention Marcus was giving to the old Art Institute on the other side of the street.

              “Something?” Frank asked, knowing of the man’s military-ingrained instincts.

              “I was just thinking it’s a shame to see it like that,” Williams commented with a nostalgic air.

              Frank stopped and took a moment to take in the sight of the abandoned landmark. The great green lions which stood guard over the pigeon-infested steps had seen better days. Like the thick wooden panels that covered the large windows and doors of the Institute’s main entrance, they had been spray painted uncountable times with meaningless graffiti. Campanelli, not a native Chicagoan, still felt sympathy for the place, for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, located in his home town of New York City, had not only suffered the same fate as its Chicago counterpart, but had preceded it in death by almost five years.

              Without saying a word, Campanelli gave a short, solemn nod and left the landmark across the way to disappear behind the overgrowth of wild grass, weeds and trees that ruled the concrete divider between northbound and southbound lanes. Staring at the abandoned bit of culture had reminded him too much of home, a place where he had lived another life.

              Frank gave the heavy revolving front door a push, stepping into it and virtually popping out on the other side. Williams quickly followed. Their shoes sent echoes of footsteps throughout the great lobby, the white marble floors and walls of which made their presence seem insignificant. Overwhelmed by the beauty of the ancient architecture, both men were drawn beyond the great marble columns to the source of the room’s natural light; a vaulted glass ceiling. Simultaneously, they craned their necks to take in the view above. The rest of the building, all twenty floors of it, framed the skylight as it stretched to the heavens.

              “Wow,” Williams whispered. The sound left his throat and was swallowed up by the greatness of their spacious surroundings. Nonetheless, his partner heard him.

              “Yeah,” Frank croaked, his eyes transfixed upward.

              There was not another living soul on the street level, though, unlike the rest of the world beyond the glass doors, the immense room was well-maintained and spotless.