Read Online Campanelli: Sentinel by Frederick H. Crook - Free Book Online

painted uncountable times with meaningless graffiti. Campanelli, not a native Chicagoan, still felt sympathy for the place, for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, located in his home town of New York City, had not only suffered the same fate as its Chicago counterpart, but had preceded it in death by almost five years.
                  Without saying a word, Campanelli gave a short, solemn nod and left the landmark across the way to disappear behind the overgrowth of wild grass, weeds and trees that ruled the concrete divider between northbound and southbound lanes. Staring at the abandoned bit of culture had reminded him too much of home, a place where he had lived another life.
                  Frank gave the heavy revolving front door a push, stepping into it and virtually popping out on the other side. Williams quickly followed. Their shoes sent echoes of footsteps throughout the great lobby, the white marble floors and walls of which made their presence seem insignificant. Overwhelmed by the beauty of the ancient architecture, both men were drawn beyond the great marble columns to the source of the room’s natural light; a vaulted glass ceiling. Simultaneously, they craned their necks to take in the view above. The rest of the building, all twenty floors of it, framed the skylight as it stretched to the heavens.
                  “Wow,” Williams whispered. The sound left his throat and was swallowed up by the greatness of their spacious surroundings. Nonetheless, his partner heard him.
                  “Yeah,” Frank croaked, his eyes transfixed upward.
                  There was not another living soul on the street level, though, unlike the rest of the world beyond the glass doors, the immense room was well-maintained and spotless.
                  Campanelli was the first to snap out of it. “Come on,” he said, giving Williams a tug.
                  They found a sign that indicated the main offices of the lawyers within. Each partner held court upon an entire level.
                  The pair entered the elevator and selected Beritoni’s floor, the eighteenth. The ride was slow but smooth, lacking the creaking, hitchy rides of the less well-maintained buildings in the city.
                  Once on the eighteenth, the doors rumbled open and the detectives exited. Their arrival drew the brief attention of two well-dressed and attractive women to their left, seated at desks just on the other side of glass walls. Along their right ran another wall of elegant marble, recessed at points where Frank assumed that office doors would be found.
                  Stepping curiously forward, Frank saw that he was correct and before they had intruded very far, the first office door opened. A tall young brunette in a white dress suit came out to greet them, though there was something odd about her movements. Frank dismissed it as she approached to speak.
                  “Can I help you gentlemen?” she said with a voice as smooth as melted caramel, sultry and sweet.
                  Frank and Marcus routinely displayed their CPD stars for the woman. As they did, both detectives realized that she was not a human at all, but a doppelganger, an automaton. From the machine’s exquisite appearance, smoothness of voice and movement, Campanelli could tell that this was a very high-end model. That being the case, it was also understood by the detective that the machine was far older than it appeared, as there were no manufacturers of doppelgangers left on Earth.
                  Frank introduced himself and his partner.
                  “Nice to meet the both of you,” it said, “I am Marta, personal assistant to Attorney Gianfranco Beritoni. How may I help you?”
                  “We need to speak with Mister Beritoni about one of his