Campanelli: Sentinel (18 page)

              “Really,” the forensics man replied flatly.

              “Yes, please, Lincoln,” Campanelli pressed as the car turned onto Eighteenth Street.

              “Okay,” Rothgery agreed with a sigh that depicted boredom.

              Frank ended the call and took manual control of the car after it turned right onto State Street. Once in front of the District One building, he turned the car into a tight U-turn, parking in a space right in front.

              “Why an hour and a half, Frank?” Marcus called to his partner as they both got out.

              “I want the both of them to sweat in the rooms for a while before we start,” Frank explained as he rounded the back of the cruiser. “I’ve just sent a request to have the both of them transported there,” he said as he walked through the front door, “at the same time to make sure they see each other,” Campanelli added with a wink.

              “Are you trying to give the watch officers trouble?” Williams asked as he followed his Captain.

              “I’m trying to shake ‘em up and piss ‘em off,” said Frank. He turned a corner that Marcus had not expected.

              “Where are we going?”

              “To the machines,” Frank explained. “I’m getting some snacks to watch them sweat from the comfort of my desk.”

              Campanelli shelled out some money for packaged pastries and coffee for Marcus and himself and the two of them went to Frank’s new office on the same floor as Chief Vanek’s.

              “I love what you’ve done with the place,” Marcus commented sarcastically. There was nothing inside but a desk with computer, a monitor and two chairs. The shelving unit which was attached to the desk at the user’s right hand side lie empty, save for a layer of dust. “What was this room before? A broom closet?”

              “Shut up and si’down,” Frank shot back with restrained humor as he went to his chair and keyed up the computer. Once he found what he was looking for, he turned the monitor so that Williams could see.

              “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Marcus said after he took a swallow of coffee. Campanelli had accessed the cameras of the interrogation area just as the lawyer and the cop killer were escorted inside. As Frank had hoped, both men were involved in a shouting match as they made their way to their respective rooms.

              Frank chuckled around a mouthful of frosted Danish and washed it down with coffee. “Look at ‘em go.”

              Though there was no sound, it was obvious that Beritoni had much to say to his lover-turned-informant. While Antony allowed himself to be guided into his room, Gianfranco fought to remain in the doorway of his as he shouted after the other. With one final shove by the guard, Beritoni disappeared from the hallway camera view.

              Both Frank and Marcus laughed. “I think Gianfranco got the last word in,” Campanelli commented as he put his feet up on his new desk.

              The Sentinel detectives whittled more than an hour away as they watched the criminals squirm. At this distance, the implant suppressing equipment had no effect on Campanelli’s eyesight. He was saving the implant’s power and his head from undue strain.

              Finally, as the clock approached ten in the morning, Frank rose from his office chair. “Okay, it’s time we got down there and met Rothgery.”

              Marcus agreed with a nod accompanied by a yawn. Standing, he turned and was first out the door. Without conversation, the two detectives made their way to the observation room set in between the two interrogation rooms. Immediately upon entering the section, Frank felt the effects of the high-frequency jammer. His vision blurred into tiny, dancing pixels as the bio-electronic network in his head strained to remain functional. Everything he gazed upon was transformed into a low-resolution representation.

              Campanelli and Williams had sat and watched Beritoni and Antony upon the big flat screen monitor for only a moment when Rothgery knocked and entered.

              “As punctual as ever, Lincoln,” Frank commended.

              “Of course,” Rothgery returned. “What is happening ?” he asked once he had shut the door behind him. He eyed the two men on the screen suspiciously.

              “These two have some things to tell us,” Campanelli explained, “and I think you can help us to…fortify their willingness to speak.”

              “I see,” Rothgery said and manipulated the big black bag in his restless fingers.

              Frank rose from his chair and motioned for the scientist to follow. They exited the surveillance room and stepped to the next door. He halted a moment before opening it and whispered to Lincoln. “Just stand in the corner and try to look formidable.”

              “Are you saying I don’t look formidable?” Lincoln retorted as if insulted.

              “You’re formidable, just really emphasize it.”

              “I’m a whole head taller than you, Frank. I think I’m pretty goddamned formidable.”

              “Great. Just like that. Come on,” Campanelli turned the knob and pushed the heavy door out of his way before Rothgery could go on any longer.

              Antony looked to Frank with hostile boredom at first, but upon eyeing the tall man with the white coat and strange leather bag, his expression melted into nervous neutrality. Frank could see the defense mechanism for what it was: fear.

              “Good morning, Antony,” Frank greeted with a wry smile. He reached into his jacket for a cigarette and let it dangle between his lips for a moment as he fished for his lighter. As he prescribed, H. Lincoln floated to the corner at Antony’s extreme right, silent as an apparition. Campanelli’s smile returned as he witnessed Jimmy swallow. Antony did not return Frank’s greeting. “You and I…an’
him
…have stuff to talk over.”

              Antony had to turn his head and upper body almost a hundred and thirty degrees to find Rothgery. He looked the man up and down before facing Frank again. “What else do you want?” he said in a wavering voice.

              Campanelli did not sit. He kept his eyes on Antony’s bruised face, admiring his handiwork as he paced the room slowly. He had not realized that he had hit the cop killer’s face so hard. The bruising on the outer edges had yellowed, while the eye socket was so dark purple it appeared black from a distance. Though the mobster had been allowed to shower and had been given fresh orange coveralls, his greasy black hair suggested filth.

              Frank tapped his lighter on the metal desk. The sound rang against the walls. Ever so faintly, James Antony flinched. The Captain of Detectives turned from the prisoner and spun the lighter’s flint wheel with his thumb. The fire lit, Frank placed the tube of tobacco over it and inhaled. In the mirrored walls reflection, he saw that Antony was watching him. Deliberately, Campanelli replaced the lighter to his interior pocket and, shooting a quick glance at the camera above it, ran a hand over his throat as if to tell someone on the other end to turn the camera off. He had told Marcus to do nothing at that signal. The motion was theatrical, meant to be seen by Antony.

              “Hey!” Jimmy shouted and shifted in his chair. “I don’t know what more you want…uh...”

              “Oh!” Frank exclaimed in mock embarrassment. “I’m terribly sorry. I forgot to introduce myself the other day at Beritoni’s place. I’m Captain Frank Campanelli, the guy that you tried to kill…
twice
.”

              James’s face drained to a white pallor. “I’m sorry! All right? Sorry. It was nothin’ personal!” Antony shouted as he whipped his head around to look at both Frank and the tall stranger in the corner. The chain of the handcuffs attaching him to the table made a sound like the world’s largest zipper as the links ran through the metal loop.

              “You being sorry has nothin’ to do with our visit,” Campanelli said as he stared into Antony’s face. He tapped cigarette ash onto the floor and settled into the chair across from the prisoner.

              “Then…what?” the sweating cop killer begged to know.

              Frank gave another smile. The intimidation part of the show was going far easier than he had suspected. He only hoped that Antony actually knew something.

              “You know full well that we’ve got you for murder, attempted murder, yada, yada, yada,” Campanelli flurried the air with his cigarette, leaving rough circles of smoke to float in front of him.

              “Yeah. Stuff I ain’t too proud of,” Antony lied and looked to his hands in faux regret.

              “But we’re after Ignatola’s network. We want to shut his human trafficking down for good.”

              “Good luck,” Jimmy wished sullenly.

              Campanelli’s eyes drifted to Rothgery, drawing Antony’s there as well. “Your partner in the other room has told us some interesting things,” he baited.

              “Wha…what kinda’ things?”

              “He says that Ignatola only runs the ground transportation,” the detective drew out deliberately as he watched Antony’s face. “He says that someone else provides the air transport.”

              Jimmy blinked through shifting eyes and sat back, trying to look casual. He made a true effort to calm himself, but the presence in the corner of the room kept him from achieving that.

              “Beritoni told us that the person responsible for this is Maximilian DeSilva,” Campanelli said, dropping the bomb with a heavy annunciation of the minister’s name.

              Jimmy Antony’s eyes widened briefly then looked away. Frank’s heart soared at the giveaway, but he carefully hid it, trying to convince Antony that what he was saying was already fact.

              “He also gave us the locations of helicopters, planes and pilot names,” Frank yarned and took a deep inhalation of his tobacco. He let it out as Antony began to protest. “Save it. Honestly, I don’t have time for your lies. That’s why I brought my friend, here,” he indicated Rothgery with his free hand.

              Antony turned once again to face the tall man. This time he did not look away. H. Lincoln, for his part, played it beautifully. With his antique-styled eyeglasses on the top of his bald head, his hawk-like features were enhanced in a medieval sort of way. Frank had a hard time not smiling as the forensic scientist regarded Antony as if he were mildly interesting prey already trapped under a talon.

              “The doctor’s nickname around here is ‘Tremors’. Don’t address him directly, it pisses him off. To him, you’re just human sludge. Barely worth his time, in fact. I had to promise him a favor just to get him to show up,” Campanelli laid it on thick. Rothgery’s eyes began to show some traces of humor. “Antony!” Frank called out.

              Jimmy’s head swung forward as if attached to a spring. His eyes were wide, naked and frightened.

              “Do you have anything to add to Beritoni’s testimony?” Frank asked as if taking a lunch order. “If you do, I’m sure we can work out some kinda deal to take some jail time off. Might even be able to get you somewhere other than Statesville.”

              Antony was silent, but clearly frightened. Campanelli could see that the criminal was thinking about it, which was a clue that he was on the right track.

              “Okay, Doc Tremors,” Frank sighed and relaxed in his chair, “let ‘im have it.”

              “What? Have what?!” Antony squealed.

              Rothgery moved for the first time since entering the room. He stepped to the table as Jimmy shrunk back from him as far as the handcuffs would allow and was startled violently when the medical bag was dropped onto the metal table. As Lincoln unzipped the bag, the criminal’s breath fell to short rasps of near-panic. Lincoln retrieved a small bottle, the contents of which were indecipherable through its brown tinted glass. Then the doctor retrieved the needle from the bag’s dark depths.

              “What the hell?!” Antony exclaimed. He leaned impossibly far away from the doctor, his arms stretched to their extreme length. To Frank, Antony appeared close to dislocating his shoulders.

              “There’s nowhere to go, Jimmy,” Campanelli called over the criminal’s whimpering.

              Lincoln pushed the large needle through the top of the bottle and pulled the plunger, drawing brown liquid from it.

              “I want a lawyer! Any Lawyer!!” Antony screamed.

              “We’re way beyond that, Jimmy!” Frank yelled back. “Is DeSilva involved like Beritoni says?!”

              Lincoln looked to Frank with a hint of doubt. Campanelli gave the tiniest of nods to continue. As Antony attempted to shrink further away, his chair shot out from under him and collided with the wall. Jimmy fell to the floor and screamed for help.

              “Jimmy! Jimmy!” Frank called after him. “This ain’t gonna kill you. It’s just a little somethin’ to loosen the lips. Beritoni took it like a man, at least.”

              Lincoln and the needle loomed closer, but upon hearing that the liquid was not lethal, Antony calmed a bit. The plunger was pressed slightly in order to clear oxygen from the hollow needle, forcing a stream of the yellow liquid to spike into the air.