The Terrorist Next Door (17 page)

Chapter
36

“LAUGH YOUR TROUBLES AWAY”

The helicopters chased Gold and Battle fifteen miles north to Riverview Plaza, a strip mall on Western Avenue a couple of miles west of Wrigley Field. They pulled in behind three fire engines, four police cars and two ambulances. Smoke billowed from the roof of the Dominick’s supermarket wedged between a Toys “R” Us, a Walgreen’s, and a closed Blockbuster. The stores had been evacuated, and the few shoppers were milling around outside the yellow tape. Except for the emergency vehicles, the parking lot was empty.

Gold and Battle jogged to the front of the Dominick’s, where paramedics were treating the injured. Gold recognized Detective Guy Gallicho, a native of Back of the Yards on the Southwest Side, who had worked his way up the ranks across town at the nearby Belmont station. Gallicho’s expression was grim, and his charcoal suit was drenched as he surveyed the scene from his perch next to the bullpen for shopping carts.

“Two dead, eight injured,” he reported. He wiped the perspiration from his silver crew cut. “Victims were an elderly couple who’d lived in the neighborhood for fifty years.” His voice filled with sarcasm. “Nobody’s laughing their troubles away.”

Gold understood the reference. From 1904 until 1967, the corner of Belmont and Western had been the site of Riverview Park, billed as “The World’s Largest Amusement Park,” even though it would have fit into a corner of Disneyland. Its patrons were encouraged to come to Riverview to “laugh your troubles away.” Its signature ride, the Bobs roller coaster, had an eight-story drop. The Pair-O-Chutes rose more than two hundred feet above the Midway.

Riverview was more than thrill rides, carnival games, and cotton candy. During Prohibition, beer flowed freely in its picnic grounds, which was a flashpoint for the rivalry between the O’Banion and Capone gangs. During World War II, Gold’s grandfather decreed that his family would never again set foot inside the park after the American Nazi Party was permitted to hold its annual picnic there. In the fifties, the Midway became a source of racial tension when its highest grossing concession was a game known as “Dunk the N***,” where many contestants fired balls directly at an African American man who taunted them with racial epithets from his perch above a water tank. As Chicagoans fled to the suburbs, Riverview limped to an ignominious closing at the end of the 1967 season.

“How did the victims die?” Gold asked.

Gallicho gestured toward a burnt-out Buick Regal parked next to a charred Ford Taurus. “The couple was loading groceries into the Buick when the bomb detonated in the Taurus.”

“Got an ID on the Taurus?”

“Reported stolen between midnight and seven this morning off the street near 64th and Woodlawn. No witnesses. Belonged to a custodian at the U. of C. He’s clean.”

Gold quickly ran the scenarios in his head. The same person could have placed the call from Fayyadh’s phone, walked a few blocks south to 64th and Woodlawn, stolen the Taurus, loaded it with explosives, and driven it to Riverview. “Detonator?”

“Looked like a gob of melted plastic. An FBI agent said it was a cell phone. He took it to their lab. He said Special Agent Fong would call you.”

It can’t be a cell phone. We’ve shut down access. ”Security videos?”

“Lots of cameras in the mall, but nothing pointed at the Taurus.”

“Anybody see it pull in?”

Gallicho pointed at a clean-cut young man standing next to a squad car. “Kid collects carts for Dominick’s. Thinks the Taurus pulled in about an hour before it exploded. Driver may have been a young guy with a beard. Gray T-shirt. Shorts. Sunglasses. Baseball cap.”

* * *

Gold and Battle stood in front of the closed Blockbuster at the south end of Riverview Plaza awaiting the arrival of the chief and the head of DHS, who had promised an “important announcement.” The fire was out, and the Taurus was being towed to FBI headquarters.

Mojo jumped out of a WGN van and pushed her way to the front of the media horde. “Any idea what this announcement is about?” she asked Gold.

“Nobody’s told me.”

“You heard from our friend?”

“No. You?”

“Nothing. Why hasn’t he contacted us?”

“I don’t know, Carol.”

Gold took a gulp of warm water from a plastic bottle as four police cars escorted two black vans into the parking lot. Maloney emerged from the first van. The chief put on his sunglasses and announced that he would provide a full update later. The door to the second van opened, and Talmadge Blankenship waddled outside. Two uniforms escorted the head of DHS to a bank of microphones. The investment-banker-turned-bureaucrat was sweating through his Armani suit. He read from a note card.

“The terror threat remains at its highest level,” he said. “We
implore citizens to be vigilant. O’Hare and Midway are closed, but we are arranging for shuttle buses to transport passengers to locations outside the airports. We are working to restore service on the El, CTA buses, and Metra lines. National Guard troops are monitoring train tracks and gas stations. Service to cell phones remains shut down except for law enforcement, firefighters, and emergency medical personnel.” He tucked his notes into his breast pocket and beat a hasty retreat to his van.

Mojo was staring in disbelief. “That’s it?” she said to Gold.

“Guess so.”
What more could he say?
Gold’s BlackBerry vibrated. Fong’s name appeared on the display. Gold stepped away from Mojo to avoid being overheard. “Give me something, George.”

“The call to the detonator was placed from a land line in the locker room in the field house at Lane Tech.”

Gold looked at the brick towers of the high school north of the parking lot. “It’s a five-minute walk. We’re on our way.”

“My people are already there. The building is empty. Somebody broke in and placed the call from the coach’s office. No security cameras. We’re going door to door.”

“I’ll get more people to help. What about the detonator?”

Fong waited a beat. “It’s a cell phone.”

What?
“But we cut off access.”

“Except for law enforcement, fire, and emergency medical. It’s one of yours.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The detonator was a Chicago PD cell phone.”

Crap.
“Got a name?”

“Omar Sayyaf,” Fong said. “You know him?”

“No. Is he a uniform?”

“He’s a mechanic at Logan Square.” Fong’s voice turned pointed. “We shut down cell phone access for our civilian employees. You should have done the same.”

“We will.”
I hate it when he’s right
. “You got anything on this guy?”

“Twenty-eight. Married. Two-year-old son. Native of Iraq, but came here when he was a baby. U.S. citizen. Graduated from Lane Tech. Lives up near Six Corners. No criminal record. No known connections to terrorist organizations.”

“Let me check with my people.” Gold pressed Disconnect and walked over to Maloney. “You know a mechanic at Logan Square named Omar Sayyaf?”

A look of recognition crossed Maloney’s face. “Yeah. I gave him a citation last month. He’s an excellent employee.”

“Seems our excellent employee’s cell phone was used as the detonator across the parking lot.”

Chapter
37

“WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR PHONE?”

Gold’s gaze was stern, but his tone was even, as he focused on Omar Sayyaf’s eyes. “You want your union rep here?”

Sayyaf took a sip of Diet Rite from a can. He was a slight man with nervous eyes and a prematurely graying beard. “Nah.”

Good
. Whoever had placed the call from Lane Tech had eluded a Chicago PD and FBI dragnet. At the moment, the mechanic was their only connection to the bombing at Riverview. “You wanna talk to a lawyer?”

Sayyaf shook his head. “No. Am I getting fired?”

“Not unless you’ve done something illegal.”

Sayyaf’s eyes darted from Gold to Battle to Maloney, and then back to Gold. They were sitting at a dented gray table in a windowless interrogation room in the basement of Logan Square station, a two-story cement bunker on California Street, about three miles southwest of Riverview Plaza. The door was closed. The room smelled of perspiration, gun oil, and cleaning solvent. The fluorescent light buzzed. The chief had insisted on being present for the stated purpose of making sure Gold and Battle followed department procedure. In reality, he wanted to control the information flow if it turned out that Sayyaf had any connection to the bombings.

District 14’s commander sat to Sayyaf’s right. Roman Kuliniak was a career cop with an erect bearing and a pronounced widow’s peak who’d grown up around the corner from St. Hyacinth’s. He still lived within walking distance of the church that he visited almost every morning. The son of a Milwaukee Avenue beat cop had a reputation as a straight shooter who handled payoffs discreetly and maintained a respectful working relationship with the Outfit.

Kuliniak tugged at the Windsor knot of his maroon-and-blue rep tie. “Omar received a commendation from the chief last month.”

“I heard.” Gold figured this was coming. Protocol required an obligatory recitation of support. Eventually, self-preservation would trump loyalty—especially for a civilian employee. Kuliniak wouldn’t hesitate to throw Sayyaf under a Milwaukee Avenue bus—once they were running again—if circumstances warranted.

Kuliniak addressed Sayyaf in a fatherly tone. “You sure you don’t want Mike to sit in?” Mike Wilmar was the longtime steward for Logan Square.

Sayyaf answered in flat Chicago dialect. “I got nothing to hide.”

“Good.” Kuliniak gave Gold a somber look. “This stays in the family.”

Let’s hear what he has to say first
. “We’ll be discreet.” Gold made a subtle gesture toward Battle, who sat up taller and spoke softly.

“You live here in the neighborhood, Omar?” he asked.

“Up near Six Corners.”

The busy crossroads of Milwaukee Avenue, Irving Park Road, and Cicero Avenue was about three miles north of Logan Square. An unmarked unit was already parked in front of the three-story courtyard building where Sayyaf lived with his wife and young son. Two undercovers were waiting for Gold to give them the go-ahead to search the apartment.

Battle pretended that he was in no hurry. “You from around here, Omar?”

“I was born in Baghdad. I came here with my parents when I was two.”

“Ever been back?”

“Nope. Never had any desire.” He said he’d graduated from Lane Tech. He wanted to go to college to study engineering, but he couldn’t afford it.

“How long have you worked for us?”

“About five years.” Sayyaf shot a look at his boss. “I started as a custodian. I moved over to the garage about a year later. It pays a dollar-twenty more per hour.”

In response to Battle’s inquiry about his family, Sayyaf said he had two siblings: an older brother who worked at a Dollar Store on Milwaukee Avenue, and a younger sister who ran a nail salon. He spent his free time with his wife and son. He wanted to buy a house and send his son to college. Battle darted a glance at Gold. Time to turn to business.

“What time did you get to work yesterday morning?” Gold asked.

“Seven o’clock.” Sayyaf said he left for home at six p.m. “I can use the overtime.”

“I understand you lost your cell phone last night.”

“I did.” Sayyaf’s expression indicated that he wasn’t sure where Gold was heading. “I was going to pick up a new one on my way home tonight. I guess there’s no rush now.”

“Guess not. Did you use it a lot?”

“Not that much. I’m not like the kids. I don’t have time to text and tweet all day.”

“When was the last time you used it?”

“When I left work. I called my wife to tell her I was on my way home.”

They’d already confirmed that the last call logged on Sayyaf’s cell had been to his apartment at five-fifty-eight on Monday evening. “When was the last time you saw your
phone?”

“I put it in my backpack when I left work.” Sayyaf paused. “At least I think I did. What’s the big deal?”

Gold lowered his voice. “It was the detonator at Riverview.”

Silence.

“How’d it get there, Omar?”

Sayyaf’s tone turned defensive. “I don’t know. I didn’t notice it was missing until I got home.”

“What time was that?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“So somebody stole your phone between six and seven-thirty?”

“I guess it could have fallen out of my backpack.”

Sure
. “Did you report it as missing?”

“No.” Sayyaf glanced at the chief and started talking faster. “I should have. I thought I might have left it at the station.”

“Did you call here to see if somebody had found it?”

“No. I figured I’d check this morning.”

The explanation seemed strained to Gold. “What time did you get to work today?”

“Six. I had an early shift.”

Kuliniak confirmed that Sayyaf had clocked in at five-fifty-nine, and hadn’t left the building. It ruled out the possibility that he’d initiated the call from Fayyad’s desk at the U. of C. or planted the Taurus at Riverview.

The chief finally made his presence felt. “Omar,” he said, “the press is going to find out that your phone was used as the detonator at Riverview. It makes you look like a suspect, and it makes me look like an idiot. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Sayyaf hunkered down in his chair. “I’m sorry, Chief.”

“Me, too. I’m not happy that your phone was stolen, but
I’m furious that you didn’t report it.” The chief waited a beat. “I will fire you instantly and throw you in jail if I find out you’ve been lying. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The room filled with an intense silence before Gold picked up again. “Omar, how’d you get home last night?”

“The Milwaukee Avenue bus. They were still running when I left work.”

“Was it crowded?”

“I didn’t get a seat.”

“So somebody could have taken your phone while you were on the bus, right?”

“Sure.”

Gold looked at Maloney. “We need the security videos from northbound buses between six and seven-thirty last night.” Gold turned back to Sayyaf. “It’s only a couple of miles to Six Corners. Why did it take you an hour and a half to get home?”

“I stopped for prayers at the Shrine of Heaven. I go there once or twice a week.”

“How’d you get there?”

“I walked. It’s only a couple of blocks from here.” He took the bus home from there.

“Did you take off your backpack while you were there?”

“Yes. I left it in the rack near the front door.”

“Was your phone in your backpack?”

“Yes. It’s disrespectful to have a cell phone during prayers.”

“How long were you inside the mosque?”

“About twenty minutes. I left right after prayers.”

“Was anybody else there?”

“Just our imam: Ahmed Jafar.”