Campanelli: Sentinel by Frederick H. Crook Page B

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