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“Well, that’s what I’m saying,” Michael said. “We go there and talk to his coworkers. Management won’t give us anything, but if we grab one of his buddies off the record, we might learn where he is when he’s not at work or at home.”
“Well, we have an idea where he might be when he’s not at home,” Faith replied.
Michael nodded and sighed tensely. He was just as worried as Faith was. When they arrived at Campanelli’s address and found him not at home, their minds had both gone to the obvious place.
He was working again. Not at his job.
They had to find him tonight.
“So what do we do?” Michael said. “At least if we talk to his coworkers we establish some habits, maybe.”
“Or maybe they shut us down like his neighbors did,” Faith countered.
“Well, we don’t know if we don’t try.”
“It’s eleven-thirty at night, Michael. Daniel works in Galveston. It’ll be after midnight by the time we get there, and if we don’t find anything, that’s another three or four hours we’ve wasted.”
“So what? We go to the hotel and sleep and hope he’s not burying someone alive as we speak?”
Faith thought for a moment. Then a thought struck her. Daniel Campanelli worked the night shift at a loading dock in Galveston. If he was used to being up nights, then his schedule likely wouldn’t change on his day off.
Which meant if he wanted to visit his son’s grave, he would visit at night. Few cemeteries were open after dark; Houston Hillside Memorial allowed visitors until seven p.m.
She checked her watch. It would be midnight before they arrived, well after closing time.
“We go to the cemetery,” she said, “Hillside. If he’s not there, then we’ll call it a night and have the police stake out his house and bring him in when he comes home.”
“You think he’s visiting his son?”
“Or doing something else. It’s worth a visit, at least. One more shot in the dark before we call it a day.”
Michael shrugged. “Works for me.”
They reached the cemetery at five to midnight. Surprisingly, although the cemetery was closed to visitors, the gate was unlocked. In they went, and Turk, not surprisingly, picked up the scent before they saw their target. He trotted ahead and growled softly.
“Easy, Turk,” Faith said. “On my command.”
The dog slowed to match Faith’s pace. With his head lowered and his tail straight out behind him, he looked like a wolf.
They reached Daniel less than two minutes later, kneeling in front of a gravestone. He looked up at the agents’ approach, caught one glimpse of the big dog approaching, and bolted.
“Mr. Campanelli!” Faith called, sprinting after him, Michael just behind and Turk keeping pace at her side. “Stop! FBI!”
He ignored her, running away as fast as he could, which was surprisingly fast considering his short, stumpy build.
“Mr. Campanelli!” Faith called again. “Stop or I will release my K9!”
He began to run even faster, a medical marvel, Faith thought. She called a final time, and when he still ignored her, she said, “Go, Turk!”
Immediately, the dog launched forward, taking off like a rocket and closing the distance between himself and the suspect in seconds. Campanelli shrieked when Turk reached him. He lifted his hand to defend himself, but in the process tripped and fell sprawling. Turk jumped over him and barked menacingly but didn’t bite the defenseless Campanelli, who fell into a fetal position and covered his head, screaming.
Faith and Michael jogged the rest of the way to the two of them. When they reached him, Faith called Turk off. The dog trotted away but kept his eyes on Campanelli and remained coiled and ready to strike.
“Please,” Campanelli cried, weeping. “Please don’t hurt me!”
“We won’t hurt you,” Faith replied, “but we need to ask you some questions.”
“Me?” he squeaked. “Why me?”
