Campanelli: Sentinel (12 page)

              “’Mornin’, Lincoln,” he wished as he took in the sight of the attractively designed automobile. He saw that the convertible top had been lowered, adding to the vehicle’s appeal.

              “Frank,” Rothgery answered. Without his white lab coat, Frank thought the tall genius might be getting thinner as he got older. His lanky bulk leaned heavily against a workbench. The forensic scientist sipped coffee as he joined Campanelli in appreciating the
Mako
.

              “It’s a pretty thing,” Frank muttered as he leaned next to Rothgery.

              “Yep,” Howard Lincoln agreed with a nod. Somehow, the glasses remained on the top of his bald head. “I’ve got half a mind to take it for a spin after work.”

              “I won’t tell,” the Captain promised. “I might even join you.”

              Lincoln changed the subject. “How’s that Whethers girl?”

              “I checked on her status last night with Family Services. She’s in a home on the southwest side. Thanks again for your help.”

              “Glad to do it,” Rothgery said and set down the cup. “One minute.” Grabbing a bottle of a chemical from the bench, he opened the driver’s door and sprayed the carpet, the seat and the steering yoke. Moving to the already opened trunk, he sprayed its tiny area as well. “Four point eight liter, ten cylinder gasoline powered engine. Not a hybrid of anything. One of the last gasoline only cars ever made. You know, they built only a hundred of these a year. The company only lasted six years,” he narrated as he worked. “This one, the twenty seventy-eight model, was made in the fifth year. Mind you, there’s no such thing as a collector’s item anymore, not in this ‘post-Great Exodus’ world of ours. Despite that,
Mako Speedsters
still bring up to a million dollars each.”

              “Uh-huh,” Frank interjected, patiently awaiting his colleague’s point.

              “So,” Lincoln went on as he went over the areas he had sprayed with his handheld optical scanner, “how does some low-level gangster rate this car? I doubt his boss, Ignatola would even spend the dough.”

              “Who knows? Gangsters aren’t exactly upfront about their spending habits.”

              “True,” Rothgery conceded and stepped to the trunk to continue scanning. In a moment, he turned off the device and stepped back to the workbench and reclaimed his coffee.

              Frank waited a moment, then a moment more. He peeled his eyes away from the gorgeous roadster and craned his neck to look up into Rothgery’s face. “So?”

              “Hmm? Oh, negative on the blood. Nobody was killed in this baby.”

              Campanelli rubbed his chin and stared at the car again. Though a lack of blood in the car was certainly no proof that Antony was not dead, Frank felt for sure that he had not left the city.

              “Hey,” Rothgery nudged him. “Wanna hear it run?”

              Frank smiled crookedly, but shrugged rather than give an answer. Taking that as a positive, H. Lincoln set the coffee down and walked back to the car. The tall man sat in the driver’s seat and Campanelli had to casually place a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing. Rothgery’s head stuck out above the height of the windshield. Reaching a long finger to a button on the dash, the engine ignited its fuel and sent its ten cylinders into their rhythmic dance.

              The ensuing roar was augmented by the close quarters and the high performance exhaust. Campanelli’s audio receptors reacted to the noisy assault, cutting it down by twenty-five decibels. Rothgery glanced over at the detective and gave a self-satisfied grin. He revved the engine, running the revolutions up and down a few times. Tools and other items sitting on the benches shook and rattled. A stack of papers on the desk in the corner slid over, dumping the top layer onto the floor. Howard Lincoln let off the accelerator, introducing a sudden loss of pressure in the exhaust, resulting in a few loud ‘pops’ before the car settled down to an idle.

              Rothgery cut the motor and climbed out with some difficulty. “Woo!” he shouted and waved a hand across his face to clear it of exhaust fumes.

              “I think you better open a window,” Frank commented.

              Lincoln did so and went about picking up his fallen documents. “You know, gas is expensive, too. Almost forty a gallon.”

              “Yeah,” Frank agreed a then an idea struck him. “How many gas stations you suppose there are in Chicago?”

              “Oh, no more than a dozen for civilians. I don’t know about the suburbs, though.”

              Campanelli nodded in thought. “How much gas is in the tank, Lincoln?”

              “It’s full.”

              “Recently refueled,” Frank said so low that Howard barely heard over the ringing in his ears.

              Just then, Marcus Williams burst into the room with his eyes wide in wonder. “What the hell is all the noise?”

              Frank said nothing, but pointed at the white antique car. Lincoln remained silent as well, a look of an innocent lamb upon his face.

              “This thing?” Williams said incredulously. He looked the tiny automobile over in doubt, one eyebrow tilted up high. He scanned the faces of Campanelli and Rothgery for signs of deception, but all he found were utterly blank gazes. “Well, whatever. Frank, we got to go.”

              “That we do,” Frank agreed and turned to Lincoln. “Give it a good look over for me, ‘k’?”

              “Don’t I always?” Lincoln said mildly as the detectives left.

              As Campanelli and Williams strode to the elevator, Marcus looked to his partner and said, “
Did
that little thing really make all that noise?”

              Frank shrugged. “Actually, I’m not sure I heard anything,” he lied as he stabbed the elevator call button with his finger. He crossed his hands and stared after the lit floor numbers above the doors.

              “Come on, Frank,” Williams almost begged, “Did it?”

              “Naw. It couldn’t have,” Campanelli waved off as they both stepped into the car.

              Once on the second floor, they both went directly to the Chief of Detective’s office. Knocking, Frank swung the door inward and took a peek before entering. Vanek was at his desk with an expression that Campanelli could not identify.
Apprehension
?
Worry
?
Defeat
?

              “Come on in,” Dmitri called and waved. He gestured for his detectives to take a seat at his right. Opposite those chairs sat the Chief of the Organized Crime Division, Earl Sebastian. A man in his upper fifties and a bit more than mildly overweight, the dress uniform helped to hide little of it. Despite his weight, the man was always well-kempt and had a reputation as a professional. He nodded to both men as they took seats and exchanged greetings.

              Vanek cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands over his middle as he regarded Campanelli. “Frank, Marcus, first off, we congratulate you on locating James Antony’s car so quickly. That was some intuitive work. Secondly, as a result,” he hesitated and shot a glance to Sebastian before tearing off the bandage, “Frank, I am handing you over to OCD, where you will continue working on ‘Sentinel’ full time.”

              “Chief,” Campanelli tried to interrupt. He felt the blood drain from his face and his spine heat up in shock and anger.

              “Hold on a minute,” Vanek pushed on and raised a hand to quiet his favorite detective. “There are some things you need to know before you get upset. You are to keep on the hunt for Antony, as his case is both human trafficking and murder
and
the fact that you are already hot on his trail. You also should know that this transfer comes from the Mayor’s Office. He asked all CPD chiefs to pool their best men into a dedicated ‘Sentinel’ task force.”

              Campanelli gave his partner a glance and noted a trace of despair. There was no reason to question the mayor’s mandate, for Frank knew from news reports and the department’s Missing Persons Files, that human trafficking had shown little signs of slowing, despite the CPD’s ‘Sentinel’ program.

              Earl Sebastian took up the explanation. “The entire department is being reorganized as well. Williams, you’ve already experienced some of this, being a transfer from the south side.”

              “Yes, sir. I have,” Williams nodded.

              Sebastian shifted in his seat and leaned slightly forward. “The population of the city is declining in number more drastically than has been made public. In just over one year, we have gone from nearly three-quarters of a million people to approximately six hundred and eighty thousand,” he cleared his throat and, with a glance to Vanek, continued. “This drop in population is not only due to trafficking, but the impact from influenzas and other health issues as well. The department is forced to reduce headcount and patrol area in response.”

              “Excuse me, sir,” Williams interjected. “We’ve already closed Districts Twenty-Two and Five. What else is there?”

              “I am sending you both updated Area and District Maps,” Sebastian said just as both detectives’ implants registered the arrival of the OCD Chief’s transmission. “Have a look at those when you can.

              “Campanelli, as a member of the Sentinel Task Force, which I personally oversee, I would like to hear your plan for apprehending Antony.”

              “Well, sir,” Frank returned, “I would like permission to stakeout Giovanni Beritoni’s home. He’s the lawyer that sprung Antony so quick.”

              “Why?” Vanek asked.

              “Well, it’s my opinion that Antony is still in Chicago. There’s been no activity on any of his accounts and I believe he planned on retrieving his car, since he didn’t go to the trouble to dispose of it. It was kept in good shape and fully fueled, even though it was parked in the abandoned parking structure on Wabash.”

              “So, you think the car was stashed there and he is…what? Staying with a friend?” Sebastian extrapolated.

              “I do,” Frank confirmed with a confident nod. “You see, almost everyone who works for Taylor, Taylor & Packey lives in the building on the same block as the main office. The firm owns both buildings, parking garage and all. Now, I’ve checked and those condos are barely half occupied.”

              “Like everything else in this city,” Vanek muttered almost angrily. Campanelli was a bit surprised by his former boss’s sudden display of negativity, but he shelved any reaction.

              “Wait a moment, Captain,” Sebastian held up his hand. “You’re saying that a fairly low ranking member of the Ignatola crime family is hiding out in the same building as Fillipo Ignatola’s lawyer?”

              “I think it’s a fairly strong possibility,” Campanelli confirmed.

              “Even though Antony’s accomplices are now in Statesville?”

              “Yessir.”

              “Why?”

              “That’s what I want to know, sir,” Frank pressed on quickly, sensing that he was losing his fight. “I’ve learned from a good source that Ignatola wanted Antony killed for his part in the DuPage Airport arrests. Now, it’s a pretty sure bet that the accomplices that went to Statesville are facing death by flu and even if they don’t get sick, Ignatola can still get to them. He can order someone on the inside to take them out with no trouble.”

              “Agreed,” Sebastian nodded.

              “I think that Del Taylor or a partner wanted Antony protected for personal reasons. I think that person is Giovanni Beritoni himself.”

              “Okay,” the OCD Chief conceded, “but wouldn’t that put Beritoni or whomever at serious risk of a backlash from Ignatola?”

              “Yes,” Frank nodded, “a very lethal risk. I believe that he or whoever is hiding Antony is doing so right under their noses.”

              Sebastian shook his head either with doubt or sympathy for Antony’s benefactor. Frank saw that Vanek was essentially out of the conversation. His expression was that of a man thinking of something else entirely.

              “All right,” Sebastian shrugged, “put together a report of how you will proceed and I’ll approve it. But, keep in mind our limited resources, Campanelli,” he finished with a definitive finger point at Frank’s chest.

              “Yessir,” Campanelli answered and sat back.

              “Excuse me, sirs,” Williams interjected. “What about me?”

              “Well, Frank?” Sebastian said, leaving it to the Captain of Detectives.

              “Uh, well…can I take some men from the homicide squad?”

              “I was actually going to suggest it, Frank,” Vanek said, coming alive. “Our crime reports indicate that homicides are way down and the Violent Crimes Division is to be hit with layoffs just like every other section. You’ve noticed that your men are on top of things, I’m sure.”

              “I have.”

              “OCD needs them more for ‘Sentinel’ than anything else,” Dmitri put forth, generating a nod from Sebastian. “Pick the best you have.”