The Terrorist Next Door (7 page)

Chapter
12

“MY BROTHER IS NOT A MURDERER”

The undercover cop lowered the driver-side window as Gold and Battle approached his battered gray Suburban parked across the street from Al-Shahid’s condo in a brownstone at 53rd and Hyde Park Boulevard. Mature maple trees formed a leafy canopy over the elegant residential street two blocks from the lake. The intersection was usually busy, but police cars and undercover FBI agents outnumbered the residents. DeShawn Robinson sported knock-off Ray-Bans and a soiled baseball cap with a House of Blues logo. His unshaven face and faded Kanye West T-shirt contrasted with the button-down look of the baby-faced FBI agent sitting beside him in the passenger seat. “What the fuck’s going on at the museum?” Robinson asked.

Gold liked his directness. Robinson was the son of a heroin-addict mother and a father he’d never met. He’d been one of Bowen High’s most accomplished gang bangers until Gold had persuaded him to join his midnight basketball league ten years earlier. Gold cajoled him into staying in school long enough to collect his diploma. After a few stumbles, Robinson ended up at the police academy. He became a valuable undercover operative in South Chicago.

“Three dead,” Gold said, “eight injured. Seen anything out of the ordinary here?”

“No. Everybody’s holed up at home—and staying put.”

“Any sign of Nasser Salaam?”

“I just talked to him. He’s been in London for three weeks.
Got a summer job with some fancy-ass law firm. Makes more in a month than we make in a year.”

“Nice work if you can get it. I take it that means he didn’t drive his Mercedes to the museum today?”

“No shit, Sherlock. It also explains why he didn’t file a police report about a missing car. He didn’t know it was gone. And before you ask, we didn’t see Al-Shahid’s brother or anybody else steal the Mercedes. Neither did any of the neighbors.”

“Is Al-Shahid’s brother upstairs?”

“Yep. He got into town on Thursday night. We’ve been watching him ever since.”

“Any chance he drove the Mercedes to the museum at twelve-twenty-seven?”

“Nope.” Robinson glanced at his notes. “He took the eight a.m. Metra train from 53rd Street downtown to see his lawyer. He was there until noon. He took the twelve-twenty back here. He got home a few minutes to one. We had eyes on him the entire time.”

“Where was he when the bomb went off at Millennium Park?”

“At his attorney’s office.”

“Any chance he initiated the call to the detonator?”

“I doubt it, but I can’t tell you for sure. We didn’t go inside the lawyer’s office.”

“Where was he at twelve-thirty-five?”

“On the train. I was sitting across the aisle from him. I didn’t see him place a call to the museum.”

“The call was initiated from a throwaway cell. It pinged a tower on the Southeast Side. Is it possible that you couldn’t see the throwaway?”

“I suppose it’s possible.”

Gold looked up at the brownstone where Hassan Al-Shahid
had lived for two years. “Did you pull a warrant and check inside Salaam’s condo?”

“Yes. No dead bodies. No signs of forced entry. The keys to the Mercedes were in a drawer in the kitchen. Looked like nothing was missing, but we won’t know until Salaam gets back. We’re checking his computer.” Robinson handed Gold a card with an eleven-digit international number. “We got logs on Salaam’s phone and his e-mail. No communications with Al-Shahid’s brother since Salaam left for London.”

“Unless they used throwaways. Pull a warrant for Al-Shahid’s condo, too.”

* * *

Muneer Al-Shahid made Gold and Battle cool their heels for more than an hour while he consulted with two senior partners from the Chicago office of the gold-plated international law firm of Short, Story and Thompson LLP—the second largest in the world. A frustrated Gold used the time to call Fong, who hadn’t been able to identify the driver of the Mercedes. The forensic evidence from the museum was useless. Gold also checked in with his father, Assistant State’s Attorney Silver, and Katie Liszewski.

At four o’clock, Muneer Al-Shahid and his high-priced legal entourage finally emerged from the old butler’s station and took seats on the Louis-the-Something sofa in the living room with hand-crafted crown moldings and a panoramic view of Lake Michigan. Muneer was taller and more muscular than his younger brother. He wore a powder blue oxford shirt made of fine Egyptian cotton, and his pleated gray slacks were custom-tailored. Gold figured the legal team was running him at least two grand an hour. Robert Stumpf was a gray-haired sage with a commanding baritone who oversaw the legal work for the Al-Shahid family’s business in the U.S. His partner, Larry Braun, was a tightly wound barracuda who chaired the
firm’s white collar criminal defense practice. He bore a striking resemblance in appearance and temperament to his classmate from the prestigious New Trier High School in Winnetka, who happened to be Chicago’s mayor.

Braun appointed himself as spokesman and invoked a patronizing tone. “Gentlemen,
we are here in the spirit of cooperation. I would remind you that Mr. Al-Shahid is under no legal obligation to speak to you. For obvious reasons of attorney-client privilege, we can’t discuss anything relating to Hassan’s case.”

The dance begins
. “Understood,” Gold said. “We were hoping your client has some information about the individual who set off the bomb at the museum.”

“I hope you aren’t suggesting Muneer had anything to do with it.”

“We aren’t suggesting anything.”

“I must also insist that this discussion be off the record.”

Nice try
. “Muneer isn’t the subject of a criminal investigation.”
Not yet, anyway
.

Braun shifted to a condescending smirk. “You didn’t pull his name out of a hat. It took us a month just to get his visa to enter the country. His brother has been unjustly charged with a capital offense, which could make Muneer a person of interest.”

So much for the spirit of cooperation
. Gold was losing patience. “Your client can answer a few questions now, or he can do it in front of the grand jury. The State’s Attorney isn’t as accommodating as we are, and you won’t be able to sit next to him inside the grand jury room.”

Braun responded with another of his seemingly endless repertoire of disdainful expressions. “I’ll allow Mr. Al-Shahid to answer a few questions, but he isn’t going to talk about his brother’s case, and we reserve the right to terminate this
conversation at any time.”

As if we’re going to water board him
. “Fine.”

Braun nodded to Al-Shahid, who responded on cue.

“My brother is not a murderer,” he recited in flawless American English, as if reading from a script. “I don’t know anything about what happened at the Art Institute, the El station, Millennium Park, or the museum. Hassan is a peaceful man. I have nothing else to say.”

Braun smiled triumphantly. “There you have it, gentlemen.”

Gold was tempted to ask him if he’d written out anything else for his client to memorize. He shifted his gaze to Al-Shahid. “What have you been doing since you got into town?”

“Organizing my brother’s affairs. Meeting with his attorney, his imam, and his academic advisor. I tried to see Hassan, but the authorities wouldn’t let me.”

“We might be able to help you there. Where have you been today?”

“I went downtown to see Mr. Braun and Mr. Stumpf about business. I took the eight o’clock Metra train from the 53rd Street station. I took the twelve-twenty train home.”

This jibed with Robinson’s timeline.

Braun pointed a finger at Gold. “You’re wasting your time if you think Muneer was involved in the bombings. He was in my office this morning. We have witnesses. End of story.”

“The bomb at Millennium Park went off at ten-forty-seven. The initiating call came from downtown. Are you prepared to testify that he didn’t initiate the call?”

Braun hesitated for an instant. “Absolutely.”

Gold figured that Braun wasn’t going to risk his firm’s reputation or, more important, his seven-figure draw, on a perjury charge. “The bomb at the museum went off at twelve-thirty-five. Muneer could have driven the booby-trapped car to the museum from your office.”

“Didn’t happen that way. Not enough time.”

“Thirty-five minutes was plenty of time.”

“Except Muneer took the Metra to and from downtown. We have train tickets. You’ll find him in the security videos at the 53rd Street and Millennium stations. He didn’t get back to Hyde Park until twelve-forty-eight. That was after the explosion. There’s no fucking way Muneer could have parked the car at the museum.”

Such a delicate way with words
. “He could have parked the car at the museum before he came to see you.”

Braun harrumphed. “The museum didn’t open until nine-thirty. They tow anybody who tries to park overnight. Bottom line: there is absolutely no connection between Muneer and the bombing at the museum.”

“Yes, there is. A car belonging Muneer’s friend, Nasser Salaam, was blown up at the museum. Turns out he lives downstairs in this very building.” Gold turned and spoke to Al-Shahid. “You want to tell us how your friend’s car got to the museum?”

Braun answered for him. “How would we know? Muneer was with me.”

“And you’ll make a fine witness at his trial. Why don’t you let your client answer?”

Braun’s small mouth turned down. “We came here in the spirit of cooperation, and now you’re making accusations. Talk to Salaam about his car.”

“He told us to talk to you.”

“Obviously, he didn’t have anything to do with this, either.”

Gold turned to Al-Shahid. “When was the last time you talked to him, Muneer?”

Braun held up a hand, but Al-Shahid ignored him. “Before
he went to London.”

“How about texts or e-mails?”

“Nothing.”

“I trust you have no problem if we check your phone records?”

“Be my guest. I’ve assumed you were doing that already.” Braun tried to interrupt him again, but Al-Shahid silenced him with a raised hand. “We have nothing to hide, Larry.” His eyes narrowed as he turned back to Gold. “Nasser is a smart guy from a good family who works for a top-tier law firm. He had nothing to do with the explosion at the museum.”

“Except his car blew up. Three people were killed, Muneer, including an eight-year-old boy. Aiding and abetting is a serious crime. You’ll get a better deal if you come clean now.”

Braun’s high-pitched voice filled with indignation. “We’re done.”

“I trust you have no objection to our searching the premises?”

“Get a warrant. Make sure it’s very specific.”

* * *

“That didn’t go well,” Battle said.

Gold shrugged. “Comes with the territory.”

They’d just completed a search of Al-Shahid’s condo. They’d found no throwaway cell phones or evidence of the Islamic Freedom Federation. A team from Fong’s office was going through Al-Shahid’s computer. So far, they had uncovered no suspicious e-mails, although they’d confiscated his hard drive for further analysis. In the meantime, Robinson’s people had retraced Al-Shahid’s route from his brother’s condo to and from downtown. They’d inspected the Metra trains, stations, and platforms. They’d reviewed the security videos from the 53rd Street and Millennium stations, which confirmed that Muneer had passed through at the correct times. They found no evidence of throwaway cell phones.

Salaam’s condo also turned up empty. There were no signs of forced entry. As far as they could tell, nothing was missing. An analysis of his computer was in process. Fong’s people were working with their counterparts in London to monitor his cell phone and e-mail. Gold was coming to grips with the reality that he had no hard evidence connecting Al-Shahid or Salaam to the bombings at the museum.

Battle stroked his chin as he sat in the driver’s seat of the Crown Vic at four-thirty on Monday afternoon. They were parked across the street from Al-Shahid’s condo. The air conditioner was making a valiant—albeit futile—effort to cool down the car. “You think Muneer knows more than he’s told us?” he said to Gold.

“Absolutely. He’s also smart enough to know that we’re watching him and monitoring every available means of communication.”

“You’re ruling him out?”

“I’m not ruling anybody out.”

* * *

The red dot was at the corner of 53rd and Hyde Park Boulevard. Gold and Battle were still at Al-Shahid’s condo.

The young man glanced at the WGN website. Mojo was warning of additional attacks by the Islamic Freedom Federation. She noted that army reserves were assisting the National Guard at all gas stations in the Chicago metropolitan area. Deliveries of staples such as milk and fruit had been disrupted. There were rumors that the mayor was preparing plans for a government shutdown on Tuesday morning. The expressways were packed with people fleeing downtown. Mojo furrowed her brow and advised viewers to go home, hunker down, and wait it out.

He used a gloved hand to lift the receiver of the landline
phone.