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tea for each of them. Then he led them into a makeshift office cobbled together from plasterboard partitions. Gold and Battle sat down in the mismatched folding chairs. Jafar’s dented metal desk and chipped wooden credenza looked as if they’d been purchased at the Salvation Army thrift store down the block. The only modern technology was a laptop on the credenza next to an inkjet printer. The walls were brightened by framed photos of his wife and children. Jafar settled into his tattered chair and switched on his computer. “Who stole our van?”
    “We don’t know yet,” Gold said. “When was the last time you saw it?”
    “Thursday night. I parked in the alley around eight-thirty. I was inside for twenty minutes. I didn’t see anybody or hear anything. I had the only set of keys, so the thief must have hotwired the ignition. I called you guys right away. Two of your colleagues from Logan Square station showed up three hours later. I didn’t hear another word until this morning.”
    Gold wasn’t surprised. “Was anybody else here?”
    “No.” Jafar’s tone turned emphatic. “Nobody from our mosque took our van. This is a house of peace.”
    “Maybe somebody is trying to make it look like your house isn’t so peaceful.” Gold and his people would interview everybody associated with the mosque. “Got any angry members?”
    “No.”
    “Anybody with a criminal record?”
    “Probably. We don’t do background checks before we invite people to come in for prayers.”
    “Any of your members ever been in any trouble?”
    “Nobody’s in jail, Detective.”
    “Ever had any problems?”
    Jafar considered. “This community has never been crazy about change. A lot of Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, and Muslims have moved in. It isn’t news that the Muslims—even guys like me who were born here and eat at McDonald’s and drink Starbucks—aren’t going to win any popularity contests. Ninety-nine percent of the people leave us alone.”
    Battle spoke up. “You have steel grating on your door.”
    “That’s for the other one percent. There’s opposition to our new building. You’d think we were trying to build a mosque a few blocks from the World Trade Center instead of refurbishing an abandoned auto body shop. We’ve been careful since the Al-Shahid case broke.”
    It was the opening Gold had been waiting for. “I hear you know Hassan Al-Shahid.”
    “I met him at a CIC board meeting. You probably already know that he was a donor.”
    “We do. The CIC is also suspected of trying to recruit jihadists.”
    “Not true.”
    “Does it bother you that part of your grant came from a terrorist?”
    “I accepted a contribution from a reputable charity. If Hassan Al-Shahid is responsible for what happened in South Chicago, he should be punished.” Jafar cleared his throat. “I recognized you from the news, Detective. For what it’s worth, I’m very sorry about your partner, and I’ll do whatever I can to help. I’d be happy to give you information about our members and the CIC. In the meantime, unless you have other questions, I need to help Mike finish painting. I promised our members that our daycare center would reopen tomorrow morning.”
    “Mind if we take a quick look around?”
    “Be my guest. I have nothing to hide.”
    * * *
    Gold and Battle found no throwaway cell phones, explosives, or weapons. A check of Jafar’s credit cards, e-mail accounts, and phone records uncovered no direct links to Al-Shahid. The painter had a stellar military record including an honorable discharge. Gold enlisted two detectives from Logan Square station to interview the members of the mosque. Fong already had a team of FBI undercover agents keeping the building under surveillance.
    Gold and Battle eluded Mojo and the expanding press contingent on Milwaukee Avenue on their way to the Crown Vic. Battle pulled down the sun visor as he turned on the ignition. “We need to get the full story about this mosque and