Campanelli: Sentinel (9 page)

              “That’s about right,” Frank agreed and went on to explain the rest of the conversation with Ardello.

              “So, is the Ignatola family still going to do the trafficking for this…whoever?” Marcus asked after some contemplation.

              “Who knows?” Frank replied in an exhalation of smoke which swirled thickly on its way through his open window. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of hiring new drivers. We didn’t catch their pilots. The guys we picked up with Antony aren’t talking. We don’t know how the Whethers family was going to be moved from the DuPage Airport or where they were going. All the aircraft there were legit.”

              “Well, what do we do next, Frank?”

              “We wait. We search,” he said and added lowly, “and we go to a funeral.”

***

              The next morning arrived in a shroud of gray. The clouds threatened heavy storms and the air was almost cold, considering the mild weather that had come before it.

              Frank Campanelli prepared for the dismal Tuesday’s proceedings in utter quiet. He had not even turned on the HV for the morning news. Once showered, he retrieved his dress uniform from the bedroom closet, the one with the wool coat adorned with the gold aiguillette over the left shoulder. He removed the plastic garment bag and with a heavy sigh, began to dress.

              As he snatched the cap from the closet shelf, he considered the possibility of rain and took its transparent cover along as well. He stepped to the bathroom mirror, placed the cap on his head and gave a slight adjustment to the checkerboard hatband. Nearly forgetting about the possible showers, Frank stopped just short of closing his front door behind him before heading quickly back to the bedroom to retrieve his CPD slicker.

              McKay and his dog were not attending the front door. It was almost eight in the morning, so Luke and Old Bill were most likely on a walk. Though he had wanted to thank McKay for the work on the sink, their absence was a relief to Campanelli, who did not wish to explain the reason for his mode of dress.

              The drive to the funeral home was short, only nine blocks away. As usual, most of the spaces on both sides of the street in front and along the side streets were taken up by police cars and motorcycles.

              Frank sat a moment before getting out of the car.
This is the third one and its only May
, he thought. Campanelli was no stranger to funerals as he had been an officer a longer time in New York City than here in Chicago. Every time he attended one, his mind would take him back to all of the others. If he thought about it too long his thoughts would return to the one most painful and personal.

              As if he had received an electrifying graze from a pulse rifle, Campanelli got out of the car. He set his cap upon his head as he walked toward the funeral home and took comfort in the shade which settled over his eyes. He removed his white gloves from his coat pocket and pulled them on, but found no solace in their protection.

              Marcus met him inside and when it had come time for the procession to Rosehill Cemetery, his partner rode with him. The mood was somber for all, but Campanelli felt the rekindling of the anger over the lightning quick release of Kelly’s murderer. In addition to Williams, Frank had informed Vanek of what he had found out from the old barber, but it was to remain quiet until it could be proven. It was some time into the drive to Rosehill before Campanelli realized that his partner was feeling the same way.

              Frank had set the cruiser to follow the convoy of vehicles and glanced over to Marcus. Like he had done, Marcus kept his cap on. His eyes stared hard and forward, partially protected by the brim from the blue and white strobes which blazed brightly out into the overcast day.

              Campanelli drew a hard breath and pushed it away. “You okay?”

              Marcus said nothing as he gave a sharp nod.

              Frank started to reach for a cigarette and tilted his head in annoyance when he realized that he had none with him.

              “We have to find Antony, Frank.”

              “Yeah.”

              A city block went by their windows unnoticed.

              “I swear she knows that her husband’s shooter was let go,” Marcus hollowly.

              Frank understood his partner to mean the widow of the man lying in the lead car. Barbara Kelly, a woman Frank had met once, was a demure, mild-mannered woman with dark hair and sharp facial features which became eloquent when she smiled. Today, however, Barbara’s expression was hardened as a granite bluff with more anger than sorrow. She had avoided making eye contact with most of the people that he had seen her conversing with, but when she had given a glance into their faces her eyes were little daggers that slashed before darting back to the comfort afforded by a white handkerchief.

              “I only told you and Vanek,” Frank said.

              “I know,” Williams conceded, “but did you see her?”

              “Yeah, she’s mad her husband’s gone. I know that feeling,” he said too harshly.

              Marcus turned from the mesmerizing lights and met his older partner’s gaze. He nodded in understanding then looked away.

              The procession turned into Rosehill and stopped. The ceremony proceeded once the pallbearers set the flag-draped coffin upon the stand. As he stood in his place amongst the other officers in attendance, Frank found himself watching Barbara Kelly closely. The widow appeared as angry as he felt. Though she shed many tears throughout the morning, she wiped each one away as if it were an annoying insect. The only time her expression surrendered to complete sorrow was when the flag was folded and presented to her. She broke to near collapse and the women on either side of her, most likely sisters, leaned in to hold her upright in a tight embrace.

              The rifles were fired into the air as the rain speckled dark wood coffin reflected the rays of the muted sun. When the gunfire faded the casket began to lower into the rectangular hole as the bagpiper played his lonesome tune. The officers saluted.

              Despite Frank’s lack of religious convictions, he bit the inside of his mouth to keep his eyes from tearing. Cheating, he ordered his implant to block the sound, which it could only do to a certain degree. He needed to distract his mind, so he composed a message for Williams.

              “
Meet me at District One as soon as you can after this
,” he sent.

              “
We’re not going to the luncheon?
” was Williams’s reply.

              “
We have a murderer to catch
.”

***

              It was two thirty in the afternoon, just three hours after Al Kelly’s funeral. The rain had stopped and the sun did much to dry the streets. Frank was perusing the case files from his terminal at the District One station. Like many of the desks around his, it was not used very much. It was clean except perhaps for a light layer of dust on the two dimensional computer monitor. Many of the desks in the detective squad room were unassigned and though he had never known the place to be fully occupied, he had noticed that manpower had dwindled over the past year and a half. According to intradepartmental reports, the amount of officers and detectives had remained the same for years. From his personal count, the station was down ten officers since the beginning of 2110. Three were deceased and seven others resigned.

              He did not wish to contemplate the implications of the discrepancy. For the moment, there were more pressing matters. He turned his attention back to his work.

              From the details in the file he had compiled so far, it looked like Antony had disappeared from the face of the Earth. Detectives assigned by Vanek found Antony at home that following Saturday morning. He had not been observed leaving the house, but had disappeared nonetheless. His friends and family had been questioned and their residences staked out with no result. Despite alerting the authorities of the surrounding suburbs, counties and states, the holes in the dragnet were huge and Frank knew it.

              Meanwhile, Antony’s accomplices were indicted and unexpectedly, Beritoni’s underlings had them plead guilty. A trial by jury was avoided, so the pair went to prison in Statesville to serve a five year sentence. Considering the multiple diseases circulating throughout the joint, they were not expected to live more than a couple of years. That was fine by Campanelli, but it was not enough.

              The Homicide Division’s door opened abruptly and Marcus came in.

              “Frank,” he greeted in a serious, somber manner. It would be a while before the effect of the morning’s activity would wear off.

              “Marcus,” he returned likewise, not taking his eyes from the two dimensional screen.

              Williams read his partner perfectly, but asked the question anyway. “Anything new?”

              “Nope,” Campanelli said absently as he looked over the information for what must have been the thousandth time.

              “Our stakeouts have turned up nothing?”

              “Nope,” Frank reiterated as he shook his head and sighed. “I’m gonna hafta pull Tomlinson and Miskowski from Antony’s aunt’s house. They have other cases.”

              “Still no hits on the car?”

              Frank punched up CPD gateway to the GPS records and entered Antony’s license plate number with boredom. “Nope. Still nothing since it was parked near the corner of Adams and South Michigan Thursday…
evening
,” he said and frowned in thought.

              “Okay. Wait…did you say evening?” Marcus perked up and came around the desk to see what Frank was seeing.

              “Yeah, Nine-oh-nine
PM
,” Campanelli rubbed his chin in thought, annoyed that the exact time had been missing from earlier reports. Only the date had displayed before.

              “Naw. The satellite data must be goofy. Why would he have gone back to the lawyer’s office that night?”

              “I don’t know,” Frank answered. Campanelli switched tacks and checked the GPS service’s maintenance records for that evening. “Damn it! The service went down for one hour…eighteen minutes after this last sighting.” Frank leaned back hard in the chair and rubbed his face in his hands. “The delay in the full report explains why the detail watching his home never noticed him leave. He was already long gone. They couldn’t have even run a query to verify that the car wasn’t in the garage.”

              “That’s a lot of time. During which he
must
have destroyed the plates, stolen someone else’s or changed cars.” Marcus surmised.

              “There are still no hits on his credit cards and his bank balances have not been touched since he paid for bail and the lawyer,” Campanelli said frustratingly. “No one reported a stolen car from that area, either.”

              Williams noted something else on the report. “Wait. How can a high-priced lawyer like Beritoni charge the guy five hundred? The bail was two hundred grand. You would think that he would’ve wanted at least a couple thousand for his time.”

              “It couldn’t have taken him that long to process bail,” Frank protested.

              “A couple hours at minimum, Frank,” Marcus said with some certainty. “Taylor, Taylor and ‘who-ever-the-hell-else’ would charge a grand an hour for a junior partner’s time.”

              Frank Campanelli took all this in and processed it.
Why would they take on this little fish’s case for peanuts and then let the other two stew in Statesville
? He gave Antony’s bank account another look, this time for transactions before the expenditure for bail. He slapped his desk hard.

              “What, Frank?”

              “Less than an hour and a half prior to his release, Antony’s account received a transfer for two hundred ‘K’!” Campanelli exclaimed.

              “Okay,” Williams said and leaned over Frank’s shoulder. “From who?”

              Campanelli took the account number of the transaction and set it into another database for identification. Although to the general public this information was hidden, the police had their clearance.

              “It’s a personal checking account. The holder is one Gianfranco Beritoni,” Frank read in fascination.

              “Son of a bitch,” Marcus whispered and straightened up.

              After a moment of thought, Frank stood. “Feel like taking a ride, Marcus?”

              “Let’s go,” Williams agreed and beat Campanelli to the door.

***

              As they strode to the car, Frank accessed his Homicide Division’s detective list and quickly picked through it to determine whom he could reassign temporarily. Picking two pairs that were relatively close to One Twenty-Two South Michigan, he sent orders to case the area for the car and sent the description of it and Jimmy Antony.

              Campanelli set the destination in the car’s computer and let it take control. “Dispatch, this is Unit Five-One-Six-Two,” he called aloud to the dash mounted radio.