Campanelli: Sentinel by Frederick H. Crook

jacket pocket, he placed it in his mouth and turned to the north to shield his NYPD lighter’s flame from the wind. Looking up, his eyes caught the corner of a building some distance beyond the raised “L” station on South Wabash. The building was windowless, but that was not unusual for an abandoned structure. What had gotten his attention was the fact that it seemed familiar. Frank understood that it might have been the fact that he and Marcus were just here a few days earlier, but there was more to it.
                  He pushed out a cloud of white smoke and checked for traffic before walking out to the middle of the street, keeping his eyes on the cream colored building.
                  “What is it, Frank?” Williams called from the sidewalk.
                  Campanelli shrugged, but as he did, a memory shot into his brain. It was a photograph from one of his picture books that was triggered by his position in the street. The picture must have been taken in almost the very spot in which he stood, for Frank could recall it clearly. The building that had gotten his attention had not been the subject of the photograph, but it was in the foreground. The subject had once been one of the tallest buildings in the world, known at the time as the Willis Tower. Gone for almost thirty years, it had been meticulously dismantled story by story for its materials by one of the foremost starship builders in the country. The building’s demise had been touted as one of the city’s most devastating losses.
                  Looking again at the windowless structure, he recalled that a giant green sign had once hung from its side. Within the field of green had been the letter “P.”
                  It was another parking structure, far larger than the one right next to them.
                  “Hey, Marcus,” Frank motioned his partner over and once the big man had joined him, he pointed toward the great structure. “Whaddiya think? It’s well within walking distance. There’s ten, maybe twelve stories of parking.”
                  “It’s also condemned and supposedly empty, Frank,” Marcus supplied after having looked it up on the CPD server.
                  “Perfect.”
                  “According to the computer, the entrances are blocked by concrete barriers,” Marcus added in a tone which seemed to protest the idea. “If Antony didn’t dump the car here or in the Grant Park Garages, why would they hide it in there?”
                  “It’s a Mako , Williams. Very rare. I have a hunch that Antony wanted it hidden in a place that had the best chance of keeping it safe. See if you can get a crew out here from the street department.”
                  “Okay,” Williams conceded.
                  The two men retreated to the sidewalk as a car and a truck turned onto Adams behind them. The car was a police cruiser carrying two of Campanelli’s men. It parked behind Frank’s car and the men got out briskly.
                  “Lyman, Davies,” Frank greeted. “Did you guys get a look at the case file?”
                  “Yessir,” Hank Lyman answered. Daryl Davies nodded.
                  “I want you two to search Fifty-five East Monroe here,” Campanelli ordered and gestured to the parking garage across the street. “Take your cruiser and your sweet time. If there’s any vehicles under a tarp, get out and remove it for a good look. The Mako is a very tiny car, only about twelve feet long and very low to the ground. If you run into any problems, call me or get backup. Go.”
                  “You got it, boss,” Davies answered as both detectives jumped back into their car. In seconds, they disappeared into the parking structure.
                  Frank lit another cigarette as they waited for the other