The Terrorist Next Door (18 page)

Chapter
38

“HE’S JUST DOING HIS JOB”

Ahmed Jafar forced a smile as he opened the reinforced door of the Shrine of Heaven. “Nice to see you again,” the young imam lied. “Peace be upon you.”

Gold responded with feigned sincerity. “And upon you, Ahmed.”

Jafar’s eyes revealed his skepticism as he closed the door and escorted Gold and Battle inside. “Anything you can do about the media mob out there?”

“Not much.”

The TV vans had chased Gold and Battle down an empty Milwaukee Avenue to the mosque. The cable channels were filled with “expert” commentators culled from the ranks of retired military personnel. Several espoused convoluted conspiracy theories blaming everyone from Mullah Omar to the CIA to the Mossad. Mojo already had reported that Sayyaf’s cell had been the detonator at Riverview. Kuliniak quickly issued a terse statement saying that his mechanic wasn’t a suspect.

“The press isn’t making my life any easier,” Jafar observed.

Ours, either
. Gold felt no need to reveal that the FBI had been watching Jafar and his mosque since his SUV was blown up at the Addison El. He figured Jafar knew that he was being watched. The feds had confirmed that Jafar had left the mosque at seven o’clock the previous evening. He’d gone straight home, where he’d stayed all night. He’d arrived at the mosque on Tuesday morning in time for five o’clock prayers, and hadn’t left the building all day. It meant that he hadn’t initiated a call from the U. of C., stolen a Taurus in Woodlawn, or planted a bomb at Riverview. The feds also confirmed that Omar Sayyaf had, in fact, entered the Shrine of Heaven at six-fifteen on Monday night, and left at six-forty-nine. The mechanic had boarded a northbound bus at six-fifty-eight. The security camera caught Sayyaf getting off near Six Corners at seven-ten. Jafar had been the only other person inside the mosque during prayers. The painter, Michael Janikowski, had left the building immediately after Sayyaf’s arrival.

A search of Sayyaf’s apartment and an analysis of his computer, cell phone, and e-mails had uncovered no terrorist connections or suspicious activities. There were no secret accounts or questionable money transfers. As far as they could tell, Sayyaf was exactly as Kuliniak had described him: a model employee and a solid citizen.

Gold pretended to extend an olive branch to the young imam. “We’ll run some interference with the press if you’ll answer a few more questions for us.”

“And if I refuse?”

We’ll turn Mojo loose
. “That wouldn’t be in your best interests, Ahmed.”

“That’s what you told me yesterday. Now
Fox News
is outside.” He led them through the packed multi-purpose room filled with energetic toddlers. The heavy air smelled of fresh paint, sweet tea, Play Doh, and crayons. Six seniors were sitting near the end of the old bar, sipping tea and gossiping. “Now you see why we need a bigger space.”

Battle nodded. “Paint job looks good.”

“Thanks. I’d like to air things out, but I can’t keep the doors open with the reporters outside.”

Gold looked around at the bustling daycare center. “I’m surprised so many people dropped off their kids today.”

“Most of our members can’t afford to take off time from work. We’re staying open late to take care of the children.” Jafar led them into the relative calm of his makeshift office. He took a seat behind his desk and invited Gold and Battle to sit in the chairs opposite his computer, which displayed the CNN website. They declined his offer of tea. “Any idea when the buses and the trains might be running again?”

“Hopefully in the next day or two,” Gold said. “You heard about Riverview?”

“Of course. Same guy?”

“Could be.”

Jafar’s eyes narrowed. “I hope you aren’t going to suggest somebody from our mosque was involved. This is a house of peace, Detective.”

So you keep saying
. “What time did you get in this morning?”

“A few minutes after five. I’ve been here all day.”

This jibed with information provided by the FBI agents parked across the street. “How late were you here last night?”

“Evening prayers started at six-fifteen. I walked home a few minutes after seven. I was home all night. You can talk to my wife.”

“We will.” Still consistent with the FBI’s timeline. “How many people came in for prayers?”

“Just one: Omar Sayyaf.” Jafar flashed a knowing look. “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you know that he works for you?”

“Of course. Does he have many friends here?”

“A few. He comes in from time to time.”

“Anybody dislike him?”

“Not that I know of.”

He was being a little too coy. “Anybody resent the fact that he works for us?”

“He’s just doing his job. Frankly, I’d be thrilled if you’d hire a few more of our members.” Jafar was losing patience. “You’re asking a lot of questions about one of your own, Detective. I take it you’ve already spoken to him?”

“We have. He lost his cell phone here last night.”

“I didn’t find it this morning.”

“That’s because it was used as the detonator at Riverview.”

Jafar’s lips formed a tiny ball as he processed the revelation. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“You think Omar’s blowing up cars?”

“He’d already been in jail if we did. We think the person who took his cell phone last night is blowing up cars.” Gold cleared his throat. “You were the only other person here.”

Jafar’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t take Omar’s phone.”

“Prove it.”

“I can’t prove a negative. Maybe he dropped it outside. Maybe somebody stole it on the bus. Either way, you’re talking to the wrong guy.”

“Was anybody else here? A custodian? A security guard?”

“No.”

“Any chance someone came inside and took his phone during prayers? Maybe a delivery person or somebody off the street?”

Jafar’s tone turned testy. “I told you nobody else was here.”

“What about later last night? Any chance somebody broke into the building?”

“Nothing was broken or missing when I got in this morning.”

“We need to look at your security videos.”

“I’d be happy to show them to you, except we disconnected the cameras while we were painting. The security company is coming tomorrow morning to reset them.”

Gold inhaled the pungent fumes. “What about your painter?”

“Mike finished work a few minutes before we started prayers.”

“So he was in the building when Omar arrived?”

“Briefly. He went out in back to finish cleaning up. I think he left around six-thirty.”

“Is it possible that he came inside and you didn’t see him?”

“No.” Jafar frowned. “Mike’s a war hero and a good guy, Detective. He isn’t setting off bombs.”

Chapter
39

“I DON’T BELIEVE IN COINCIDENCES”

Mojo and her cameraman accosted Gold and Battle as they emerged from the mosque. “Why are you here?” she snapped.

Gold didn’t want to conduct an impromptu press conference in front of the flash mob of reporters on Milwaukee Avenue. “No comment.” He put on his sunglasses and walked with Battle toward the Crown Vic.

Mojo kept pace. “A car belonging to this mosque was blown up at the Addison El. Our sources tell us that the detonator phone at Riverview belonged to a man named Omar Sayyaf, who is a member of this mosque and a Chicago PD employee. We understand he was here last night.”

“No comment.”

“It’s the second time you’ve been here in the past two days. There must be a connection.”

No, I came here to play four-square with the kids
. Gold opened the door to the Crown Vic, got inside, and lowered the window. “I will provide additional information later today. In the meantime, I’d suggest you get down to police headquarters. Chief Maloney will be providing a press update at one-fifteen.”

* * *

Battle shot a sideways glance at Gold as they drove north on Milwaukee Avenue. “Nobody mentioned anything to me about a press conference.”

“I lied. I was trying to get a little breathing room.”

“Does the chief know about this?”

“I texted him. He announced a phantom press conference at
one-fifteen. He’s going to postpone it for an hour, then he’ll cancel it.”

“Well played.” Battle looked at the chopper overhead. “We won’t be able to ditch them for long.”

“I know.” Gold head throbbed. They were in the only vehicle on Milwaukee Avenue in the middle of the day. The sidewalks were empty. Many of the shops were closed. “What did you think about Jafar?”

“He looked you in the eye. His story didn’t change. He didn’t get defensive.”

“Is there a ‘but’ coming?”

“We now have three connections to the Shrine of Heaven: the car at the Addison El, the donation by Al-Shahid to the Chicago Islamic Council, and Sayyaf’s stolen cell phone. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Neither do I,” Gold said. “You think Jafar is involved?”

“Way too obvious. He wouldn’t have blown up his own car, and he wouldn’t have stolen a phone from a Chicago PD employee—especially since he was the only other person in the building. He knows we’re watching him.”

“Somebody’s going to a lot of trouble to point us in his direction.” Gold glanced at his watch. “Let’s find the painter. Maybe he saw something last night.”

Chapter
40

“I’VE HEARD RUMORS”

“Got a minute?” Gold asked.

Father Stash’s wide face transformed into a broad smile. “Of course, David.” The priest was working on a crossword puzzle and eating a paczi—a traditional Polish jelly doughnut—as he sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair beneath an etching of St. Hyacinth in the modest dining room in the rectory. “What brings you back here?”

“We’re looking for Mike Janikowski.”

“He was painting a couple of our classrooms this morning.” Father Stash’s bushy right eyebrow shot up. “You didn’t come here to talk about a paint job. Is Mike in trouble?”

“The phone used as the detonator at Riverview may have been taken from the Shrine of Heaven during evening prayers yesterday. The owner of the phone isn’t a suspect.”

“I thought you cut off access to all the cell phones.”

“Except law enforcement. It belonged to a Chicago PD employee whose alibi checked out. Ahmed Jafar was the only other person inside the building.”

The priest’s expression turned serious. “You think Ahmed is blowing up cars?”

“Seems doubtful.”

“Where does Mike fit in?”

“He was working at the mosque yesterday evening.”

Father Stash’s eyes narrowed. “You think he took the phone?”

“We have no reason to believe he did.”

“The fact that you’re here means you have no reason to believe he didn’t.” The priest folded his arms. “I think he’s still out in the back.” He placed the crossword puzzle inside his briefcase—a signal that the conversation was over.

Gold started to walk away, but Battle stopped him. Battle addressed the genial priest. “You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you, Father Stash?”

“Since he was a baby.”

“Noticed any unusual behavior since he came back from overseas?”

“He’s a hero, Detective Battle.”

“I know.” Battle took off his glasses, wiped them with a small cloth, and put them back on. “You didn’t answer my question.”

The priest took a sip of tea. “He’s having a tough time. His father died while he was overseas. His mother is sick. He’s had trouble finding work.”

“Is he angry? Depressed?”

“I don’t think so. Just more serious—with good reason.”

“Understood. Is he resentful that so many Muslims have moved into the neighborhood?”

“I don’t think so. He’s done work for several Muslim businesses—including the Shrine of Heaven.”

“Do you know anybody who has an axe to grind with the mosque?”

“No.” Father Stash lowered his voice to confession level. “You really think Mike had something to do with the explosions?”

“No, but maybe he saw somebody who did.”

* * *

“You’re back,” Janikowski said. He was sweating through a spattered T-shirt bearing a faded U.S. Marines logo.

Gold looked at the freshly painted classroom. “Nice work.”

“Thanks.”

They’d found Janikowski in a cheery first grade room on the ground floor of the red brick school building across the courtyard from the basilica. He was loading empty cans, soiled drop cloths, and used rollers onto a cart. His beard was flecked with yellow droplets.

Janikowski forced a smile. “You need a painter? Bet your station could use a fresh coat.”

“It could. I’ll talk to our facilities guy. You willing to drive down to the South Side?”

“Sure.” Janikowski handed Gold a dog-eared business card. “I’m serious, Detective.”

“So am I, Mike.” Gold waited a beat. “Father Stash told me you might be interested in going to the academy.”

“Maybe.”

“Call me if you’d like to talk about it. I’d be happy to write you a recommendation.”

“I appreciate it. What can I do for you other than sell you a paint job?”

“Answer a few questions. What time did you finish at the Shrine of Heaven last night?”

“A few minutes after six.”

“Was anybody else around?”

“Just Ahmed and a guy who came in for prayers. I didn’t catch his name. I went out in back. I was trying to be respectful.”

“How long were you there?”

“Five or ten minutes. I loaded up and drove home.”

“Were you home all night?”

“Yeah.” Janikowski’s eyes flashed anger. “I did two tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. I have a bum leg and a bad ear to show for it. You think I’m blowing up cars?”

“No.”

“Then why are you treating me like I’m a terrorist?”

“I’m not.” Gold tried not to sound patronizing. “We’re on the same side, Mike. It’s my job to confirm everything I hear.”

Janikowski’s voice filled with sarcasm. “Fine. Call my mom. She’ll give you all the corroboration you need. Search our house if you’d like. Knock yourselves out. Satisfied?”

“Yes.” Gold lowered his voice. “Father Stash told us that your mother is undergoing cancer treatments. I hope everything goes well.”

“Thank you.” Janikowski paused. “What’s this really about, Detective?”

“The cell phone used as the detonator at Riverview belonged to the guy who came in for prayers last night. His alibi checked out. We think somebody stole the phone at the mosque or on his bus ride home.”

“Ahmed was the only other person there last night.”

“Did you see anybody else? Even for just a minute?”

The crow’s feet at the corners of Janikowski’s eyes became more pronounced as he scowled. “A delivery guy from Salaam Printing dropped off some flyers by the side door right before I went home.”

“Any chance he went inside?”

“Could have.”

Gold’s heart raced. The FBI hadn’t mentioned anything about a deliveryman. “You know this guy?”

“I’ve seen him around the neighborhood.” Janikowski described him as late twenties or early thirties. “Tall. Wiry. Dark hair. Beard.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He asked if Ahmed was still around. I told him to knock on the door, but he didn’t want to interrupt prayers.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Tariq.” Janikowski said he didn’t know his last name.

“You know anything about Salaam Printing?”

“It’s on Pulaski just north of Milwaukee. They do print jobs in Arabic and Farsi.” Janikowski lowered his voice. “I’ve heard rumors that it’s a front for other stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“Guns, drugs, computers, cell phones, auto parts.”

“You have any substantiation?”

“I’ve heard rumors,” Janikowski repeated. He gave Gold a knowing look. “And if I were in your shoes, I’d be careful if I went over there.”

“Why?”

“I’m pretty sure Tariq was packing.”