Campanelli: Sentinel

by Frederick H. Crook

  Rothgery said nothing as he conjured an expression of extreme disappointment. He dropped the needle into the medical bag and stepped to the fallen chair. He picked it up and placed it within the prisoner’s reach then zipped his bag closed and returned to the corner.

  Antony watched the Doc in abject relief as he retook his chair. He did not notice Campanelli turn around and wink at the camera above the mirrored window.

  “Okay, Antony,” Frank said after he had sat down, “prove to me you’re not lying right now.”

  “Huh? How?”

  “The day you were busted at DuPage County Airport, we looked the place over and all aircraft were registered to legitimate owners,” Frank said.

  “You won’t find anything there,” Antony explained as he caught his breath. “Nobody smart is gonna leave a plane or helicopter just lying around an airport.”

  “Okay,” Campanelli nodded, “so what were you and the Whethers family going to meet?”

  “A black helo.”

  “What kind of black helo?”

  “I dunno, I don’t fly the friggin’ things,” Jimmy said defensively. He tried to spread his hands as he shrugged, but the handcuff chain kept it short. “All I know is some helo was in the area and we were supposed to let it pick up the family and get the hell outta there. It’s a simple routine.”

  “Uh-huh,” Frank said with feigned doubt. “Tell me a detail about the helo that proves your being upfront,” he added as he leaned forward and tilted his head as if to hear something from far away. The act helped sell the idea that he already knew what was about to be said.

  “It’s a black helo, you know, it’s got anti-radar stuff, no lights,” Antony rattled off, “kinda old.”

  “Old,” Frank said leadingly and nodded, prodding the criminal for more.

  “Old model,” Jimmy went on, “it’s got two props. One on top, one on the tail.”

  “Good,” Campanelli said as he sat back. He turned in his chair and took another cigarette from the box. While he did, he stared right into the corner camera above Rothgery. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” he said to his partner at the other end and lit his tobacco.

  Antony assumed he was speaking to Doc Tremors, whom he did not wish to ever look upon again. “Look, I never even met any of the pilots,” Jimmy gave away. “We drive, we open the doors, black aircraft comes, picks up the passengers, then poof!”

  “And the aircraft belong to…?” Campanelli lead the criminal. The hand holding the cigarettes twirled in the air, begging Antony to spill more.

  “Maximilian DeSilva,” the cop killer confirmed. Frank studied his face and found truth. His eyes did not blink nor did they look away.

  “How does Ignatola pay the preacher for this service?”

  “There’s an envelope, or sometimes a briefcase that we get,” Jimmy explained. “We hand it to the passengers and they leave it with the pilots when they get wherever they go.”

  “Very good, Jimmy,” Frank commended and inhaled his smoke. “You’re doing just fine.”

  ***

  After allowing Antony to ramble for an additional ten minutes, Frank excused himself. The bio-electronic inhibitor was beginning to take its toll on a head that was still reeling from a hangover. He stepped out and met Marcus in the surveillance room.

  “How’s our other boy?” he asked and struck a thumb toward the miniaturized image of Beritoni. The man had placed his head down on the table and appeared to be napping.

  “He’s fine,” Marcus said hotly, “but what’s your problem? Are you trying to blow this case?”

  “Take it easy, pal,” Frank fired back and pointed a finger toward his partner. “He was never in any danger.”

  “The hell he wasn’t!”

  “Keep your damn voice down!”

  “Fine,” Williams said and cleared his throat. “I never expected you, of all people to stoop that low.”

  “Relax,” Campanelli directed and dropped his hands to his side. “It’s all a dog and pony show.”

  “What in the world does that mean?” Marcus asked exasperatingly.

  “Never mind,” Frank waved off. “Did you get that part about the helo?”

  “Yeah,” Williams nodded and wiped his forehead of sweat. “It sounds like the one we ran into at O’Hare on that stakeout last year.”

  “It does,” Campanelli agreed. “I think that Beritoni knows more,” he finished as he rubbed his temple.

  “Headache?” Marcus asked.

  “Yeah,” Frank admitted. “Implant’s batteries are going fast, too. I’ll be heading home blind by early afternoon.”

  “Want me to talk to Beritoni?”

  “No,” Campanelli shook his head and opened the door. “I’ll talk to him. See if you can get anything more outta Antony.”

  “Sure.”

  Frank stepped to the other interrogation room and went inside, anxious to get things said and done so that he could get out of the area. The closing of the door awakened the lawyer.

  “Campanelli,” the attorney said with a thick air of disgust. “What more do you cops want out of me?”

  “I’ll be quick, Gianfranco,” Frank answered lightly. “I just want to check with you on a few things that Antony just said.”

  Frank explained the outcome of the interrogation in detail and enjoyed watching the blood drain from the shyster’s face when he mentioned the Ignatola/DeSilva connection.

  “That little bastard!!” Beritoni screamed through a betrayed smile with his head thrown back. “What did you promise him, Campanelli?”

  “Life,” Frank said simply as he stood by the door. “He won’t be going to Statesville. We’ll charge him for killing our officer, change his identity and transfer him to some prison out-of-state.”

  “So,” Gianfranco said and pursed his lips, “you’re expecting me to confirm the story and provide the missing pieces, eh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I don’t think so,” the attorney said flatly and looked away.

  “Okay, buster,” Frank said as he placed his hand on the door knob. “Just remember who you’re talking to.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I’m the one picking out your safe house prior to the trial you’ve already agreed to testify at,” he said as his eyes met Beritoni’s. “I already have the cop killer we wanted. He’s given me enough information for me to go on, but I think you have more and can save me a day’s worth of investigation.”

  “Be plain, Campanelli.”

  “You wanna play games with me?” Frank said angrily and opened the door. “I hope you enjoy the hotel room I’m gonna stash you in. It’s gonna be the one closest to Fillipo Ignatola’s house, ground floor, with a great big window facing the street!” he shouted and moved out of the room, his hand still in contact with the knob.

  “Wait a damn minute!” Beritoni shouted. “Don’t be so hasty, Detective Campanelli,” he said and sighed. “I haven’t a friend left in the world, have I?” he asked with an ample twist of melodrama.

  “Not one,” Frank agreed as he stepped back inside. He winked at the camera on his way to the chair.

  ***

  The day was a productive one, but as Frank predicted, the time spent in that area of District One’s interrogation area drained his bio-electronic implants of their power. By one o’clock in the afternoon, Campanelli had been forced to use his cane to walk to his car with Marcus. Frank listened to the tones of the device and the sounds of footfalls beyond the cane’s range. He realized then just how busy the station was on an average day.

  “Am I drawing a lot of stares?” he asked of his partner.

  “A few,” Marcus admitted and put an end to a few of them with a glare of his own.

  “Just get me home.”

  “Sure thing, Frank.”

  Once inside the car, Marcus entered the destination and set the cruiser off on its short drive. Campanelli promised his partner the use of the car
for the evening in exchange for his escort, though Williams had indicated that it was not necessary.

  The cruiser pulled out onto Seventeenth Street and rolled eastward.

  “I have to ask, Frank,” Williams spoke up. He felt that he could not hold onto the thought much longer.

  “What?”

  “Was Rothgery actually going to go through with injecting Antony?”

  “Sure,” Frank answered with certainty.

  “Wow,” Marcus shook his head incredulously. “I can’t believe you would have been desperate enough to use truth serum.”

  Frank laughed and tapped his cane on the car’s floorboard. Still activated, the cane issued its collision warning tones each time.

  Marcus rarely saw Frank Campanelli smile and had never heard the man laugh much beyond a short chuckle. His eyes widened as he witnessed the unbelievable. Frank Campanelli began laughing hard enough to draw a tear from one sightless eye.

  “What?!”

  “Marcus,” Frank attempted, failed then tried again. “The shot was only a vitamin B complex.”

  William’s suddenly understood the ruse and laughed along with his partner, relieved that the man had not entirely lost his mind and had been playing ‘bad cop’ for real.

  “Okay,” Marcus said once the car parked in its space, “we just confirmed that DeSilva is the man behind the air transport. We have a list of pilot names and their aircraft, but no locations of the aircraft themselves.”

  “Because they aren’t registered. Right,” Frank agreed and tapped the cane again, forcing a hum from it. “Del Taylor will, hopefully, provide some of that information. In the meantime, check the names in the CPD computer when you get back and assign anyone free to put a tail on them. That is to be done, immediately.”

  “Check.”

  “If we can bag any of those pilots tonight,” Campanelli said with great hope, “Ignatola and DeSilva’s network will be forced to shut down. Also, get that report to Sebastian right away.”

  “As soon as I return, Frank.”

  “I want that warrant for DeSilva served before this…whatever it is on Saturday,” Frank said as he opened the car door. Before he stepped out he turned back to his partner, his blind eyes tried, but could not find him. “If we can put a halt to that rally before it even begins, we’ll be better off.”

  “Are you going to be okay?” Williams asked before the door was shut.

  “Yeah,” Frank promised, “I just need a couple hours rest to let the implant recharge. You send that report. I’ll call Sebastian from my couch and beg him to act quickly.”

  “You got it, Frank,” Marcus said.

  Frank shut the cruiser’s door and put the RadarCane to work, paving the way in front of him. As the car retreated into the distance, the tones from the device became easier to discern. Campanelli navigated flawlessly along the sidewalk. The cane found the twelve foot high lamppost, the landmark that told him where to turn to get to his front door. After the change of direction, the cane hummed in warning of something large up ahead and to his left.

  Campanelli slowed his pace and, concentrating the sweep of his cane in that direction. The tones increased in volume and frequency and when halted his forward progress and lifted the tip of the cane to point straight ahead, something triggered the proximity hum.

  Wow-wow-wowowowowow!

  “Frank? What in tarnation happened to ya?” a familiar voice came to him. It was Luke McKay.

  Frank breathed a sigh of relief as he lowered the cane and called, “Oh, Luke. Good afternoon.”

  “Didja go blind since last I saw ya?” the old man inquired in mild alarm. From the sound of his voice, Frank could tell that the man had stood.

  “I’m fine, Luke,” Campanelli explained, “I was blind before. My implants have powered down.”

  “Glory be,” McKay declared in his endearing southerner’s way, “I had no inkling a’tall. Sure fooled me. Ya need any help?”

  “No, sir,” Frank said and moved closer to the door. “I just need a couple of hours to rest.”

  The door hinges squeaked. McKay had pulled it open for him. “Okay then. If’n ya need anythin’, me an’ Bill are here.”

  “Thank you, Luke,” Frank called over his shoulder and followed his cane’s cues to the stairs. He had practiced this maneuver a hundred times at his leisure and on the few occasions when he had gotten into trouble, he simply activated his lenses to get out of it. This time was different. If there was trouble, there was no backup for almost an hour.

  Upon the first landing he made his left turn, found the wall and turned left again to the second flight. He let out a breath of relief when he made it to the third floor. Finding his front door, he used his keycard to manually unlock it.

  Once inside, Frank set the cane on the dining room table, removed his sport coat and draped it over a chair. He then removed his shoulder holster and rested it on the table, followed by his CPD star, which had been clipped to his belt.

  Despite the inconvenience of his temporary blindness, his mood was light. He and his Sentinel team had found a cop killer and they were about to arrest a whole network of human traffickers. The information they had gleaned from Beritoni and Antony proved to be priceless and Campanelli was feeling better about himself than he had since a time before his relocation from New York City.

  Frank stepped around his dining table, stopped in the kitchen to retrieve a soft drink from his refrigerator and moved into the living room to find the couch. Once there, he retracted the cane and placed it upon the coffee table. He sat and opened the drink container.

  The Captain of Detectives leaned his head back into the soft couch and took several gulps of the sweet carbonated fluid. His mind raced through the day’s progress and he wished that he could read Williams’s as yet unwritten report or even replay the recordings of his and Lincoln’s deceit. Frank smiled just thinking about it.

  “Holovision,” he called out as he set the container on the table and kicked off his shoes. Lifting his feet as he felt for the miniature pillows, Frank stretched out. “Volume down. Down,” he directed. It was time for afternoon reruns, apparently. “Time,” he demanded.

  “Two-fifty, p.m.,” the HV’s masculine voice answered. The female-voiced clock in the bedroom also heard his command and answered almost in unison. The two devices were a minute apart.

  An old familiar comedy was being broadcast. Frank had never become a very big fan of the decades-old show, but he left it on for background noise.

  He lay his head upon the pillow and, in a matter of moments, fell into a light sleep.

  ***

  Frank awoke to the opening tune of the local news show. He did not need to request the time, for he knew it to be five o’clock. He cussed as he sat up, having had no intention of sleeping that long. He thought the order to activate his CAPS-Link. Once it powered up and the world was once again in view, he commanded the implant to connect to the CPD server. He found Williams’s report, opened it and began to read.

  He noted that Marcus had submitted it and found the confirmation that Sebastian had received and read it. There was no response from their chief as yet.

  Frank stopped reading as the anchorwoman from the news broadcast on the HV beyond his projected files said something about seven people dying, which immediately grabbed his attention. He minimized the CAPS-Link field and ordered the holovision to back up the broadcast for a minute’s time and play it back.

  “Influenza, once well under control and considered by most experts as no longer a threat, has been on the rise over the past few years. Chicago has seen a recent spike in serious instances of the affliction in just the past week, resulting in the deaths of seven people so far. Chicago health officials warned of the lethal outbreak many months ago, prompting an official plea to pharmaceutical producers. As you may know, however, the number of corporations that can produce Perpetuamivir has been dwindling for decades, mostly as a result of the lack of qualified individuals equipped with
the expertise to manufacture the drug. The Chicago Department of Public Health has been issuing warnings and spreading the word on prevention, but the cases keep growing.”

  “Holy hell,” Frank muttered as the anchor woman disappeared from the wall and was replaced by a street scene somewhere in Chinatown. Citizens were shown walking the streets as they went about their business, wearing medical masks over their faces. The scene shifted to the subway system on State Street, where people were shown wearing the masks and gloves as they ascended and descended the stairs.

  “Other vaccines are currently under production, but they have been found to be less effective against the ever-mutating flu viruses. The truly alarming detail of these new cases is that at least two of the deceased had recently been given booster shots of Perpetuamivir and an investigation into these incidents is ongoing.”

  This fact chilled Campanelli and his first thought was of young Sarah Whethers. He made a mental note to check on her soon. In the meantime, his current case would need his full attention.

  The news broadcast changed topics and Frank muted the audio of the HV and grabbed his telephone. His need to convince Sebastian of the next course of action was paramount. Dialing the Chief’s number, he sat back and waited for the man to pick it up.

  “Sebastian,” the voice on the other end said.

  “Chief, this is Campanelli.”

  “Hi, Frank.”

  “Hi. I see that you received Williams’s report,” Frank said, “I’d like to get arrest warrants drawn up as quickly as possible.”

  “Yeah,” Earl said in a negative tone, “about that, Frank. I spoke to the mayor about DeSilva and his dealings with Ignatola and he is absolutely outraged.”

  “Okay,” Campanelli put in, “then let’s pick him up tomorrow and prevent this rally on Saturday.”

  “I would agree to do that, but,” the OCD Chief explained, “the mayor wants to publicly defeat and humiliate this man. He feels that we have an opportunity to put illegal emigration in a real negative light here.”

  Frank put the hand not holding the receiver to his forehead and shut his eyes in frustration. “Sir, I think that’s a terrible idea.”