by Wally Duff
And he would finally be arrested.
Part 4
92
We had an uneventful family weekend, except for the release papers Tony faxed to me on Saturday afternoon. I took them to Linda, and she okayed the content.
On Sunday morning, everyone came to my home right after breakfast. Carter hung out in the computer room working on his reporters’ stories. The kids played in our main-floor family room. The adults would have to speak loudly over their noise when we read the scripts I’d written so we could make sure the bomber heard us.
Before they arrived, I partially closed the blinds so his cameras couldn’t peer into the family room and see that we were reading instead of speaking spontaneously. The first item was for everyone to sign the release papers. David is a notary, so he put his stamp on each page after we individually signed. I would fax copies to Tony after everyone left.
Now we could begin.
“Here’s how I see this,” I began, waving my script so they would know I was starting. “I think the bomber is changing his method.”
I nodded at Cas and pointed to the paper in front of her.
Cas read it and then spoke. “Why do you say that, Tina?”
“He recently shot an abortion doctor. I think he wants more publicity for his cause, and he’ll stop the bombings and continue using other methods, like shooting doctors.”
“Tina and I have discussed this at length,” David read. “The bombings don’t seem to be getting the bomber enough publicity, so we think he is going to change to a more aggressive method of protest.”
“Jeez, bombing seems pretty aggressive to me,” Molly said.
The rest of the Irregulars began thumbing through their pages hunting for what Molly had just said.
I walked over to her and leaned down. “That’s not in the script,” I whispered. “Don’t ad lib.”
She began to reply, but I stopped her by gently placing my hand over her mouth. “Don’t say anything that’s not written down here,” I whispered again.
“Sorry,” she whispered back.
“Does anyone have any ideas?” I asked.
Cas’s eyes widened as she read her lines to herself before she said them out loud. “Didn’t you mention last week that the president is coming to Chicago?”
“I did,” I said.
“What if the bomber decides to shoot him?” she asked. “That would certainly get him maximum attention all over the world.”
“It sure would,” Molly read and then said.
“How do you think he would do it, David?” I asked.
He checked his script. “Are you guys familiar with the movies The Day of the Jackal and The Manchurian Candidate?”
A pause was followed by a murmur of yeses from everyone.
He raised his eyebrows behind his glasses as he read what he was about to say. “I think he could go in disguised as an old priest using a walker that is actually a dismantled gun.”
“Do we tell the police?” Molly asked, sticking to her script.
“Yes, we do,” I said. “I’ll notify Tony Infantino about our concerns, and we’ll let the police, Secret Service, and FBI handle it.”
“What will we do?” Cas asked. “We don’t have anything to do until they catch the bomber a week from Monday.”
“It’s about time I have a dinner party for the group,” David said. “How about this Friday night?”
Which was the night we would be waiting for the bomber at the clinic he was going to blow up.
“What time?” I asked.
“Why don’t we meet at my apartment at about seven?” he said. “That should give your husbands time to get home from work.”
“That sounds fabulous,” Cas said, reading her final lines. “I can’t wait.”
Let’s hope the bomber buys into this.
93
Everyone left. After lunch, Carter took Kerry to Hamlin Park. I emailed my script to Tony, with a copy to Brittany and Carter. I also asked Tony if he’d received any feedback about the C4 comparisons from the FBI.
Then, I walked into the wine room and called Brittany.
“Brit, this is Tina,” I said. “Gotta sec’?”
“I just read your email to Tony, and I think your plan is super,” Brittany said. “And we need the FBI report about the C4 for the story.”
“Can you get it?” I asked.
“Tina, please. It’s Tony we’re talking about here. I’ll have a drink with him tonight and have the answer tomorrow.”
“I assumed you were going to do that the last time we met.”
“I sort of blew him off. It keeps him coming back.”
“The dangling carrot.”
“Whatever… But I’ve never done a stakeout. I don’t think Tony is the person I want to give me instructions,” she said. “There might be too many distractions. Could you give me some help?”
“Why don’t I meet you near the clinic around two or so? We can check it out before the rest of the troops show up on Tuesday.”
“But it’s Sunday,” she protested.
“Do you want to do this or not?”
She paused. “I’ll see you at two.”
I disconnected and texted Carter that I was going to XSport to try out our transportation system before I traveled to the South Side to scout out the clinic.
After calling for Lyft, I went out the back door of the club. The driver met me in the parking lot of Whole Foods, which was a block away.
It took half an hour to reach the clinic.
Brittany stood next to her car, a new red Lexus IS C convertible. She had parked across the street from the clinic. The Lyft driver dropped me off behind her car.
She eyed the driver. “Something I should know?”
I told her about the bomber’s GPS device on my van.
“Smart move using Lyft,” she said. “Do you think the bomber will tag my car too?”
“Good question. Let’s check it out.”
I searched under the fenders and bumpers. Her car was clean.
“This is really a nice ride,” I said, visualizing myself roaring down Lakeshore Drive with the top down and the wind blowing my hair.
She smiled. “A present from my parents when I graduated from Northwestern last year.”
Did you just emphasize “last year”?
Maybe I was wrong, but her tight designer jeans were enough of a statement about the differences in our ages.
I surveyed the South Side neighborhood where the clinic was located. Most of the dilapidated brick buildings were at least five decades old and in serious disrepair. The one-story abortion clinic had previously been a tire store, which had been out of business for several years.
“I don’t see where we can watch that building without sticking out like a Packer’s fan at a Bear’s home game,” Brittany said. “Any ideas?”
“Actually, I do.” I turned around and pointed. “Right there.”
“There” was a seedy apartment building behind us. It had a great view of the clinic. It was so disgustingly run down, it couldn’t possibly have many permanent residents, so finding an available room wasn’t going to be a problem.
Brittany’s face blanched behind her glowing tan.
You’ve never seen anything like this, sweetie.
In the old days, I would have entered the three-story apartment building without a concern for my safety if it would have enabled me to get the facts for a story. But this time, I was a mommy. And I wasn’t sure how Brittany would react if there was a problem.
I called Tony.
94
After parking his BMW behind Brittany’s Lexus, Tony led us into the shabby lobby. The clerk was asleep, his head on the top of the desk.
Tony banged his fist on the wood counter. The man’s head snapped up. He peered at us through heavy lids and rheumy eyes. His wrinkled skin looked like the pocket of my brother’s baseball glove.
Tony badged him. “Need a room that faces the street.”
“Full up, sorry,” he said, his voice raspy from too many cigarettes.
You missed your last few dental appointments.
I stood off to the side, afraid the man’s two remaining lower teeth might fly out when he spoke. Brittany stood close behind me.
Tony hit the desk again. “I need a room,” he repeated, louder this time. “Got it, dude?”
“No need to get upset, detective.” The clerk grabbed a set of keys off the rack behind him. “Follow me.”
Brittany touched my shoulder. “I think I’ll wait in the car.”
“You want to help write this story?”
“For sure.”
“Then get with the program. Breathe through your mouth and don’t touch anything.”
The desk clerk bypassed the rusty elevator, which probably hadn’t moved since the White Sox last won a World Series. We followed the two men up the stairs. The stairwell reeked of a combination of sweat, urine, feces, cheap wine, vomit, and cigarettes.
I sniffed. “This is amazing,” I said to myself.
“What?” Brittany asked from behind me.
I continued to walk up the creaky stairs. “This odor is always the same. When I had the police beat on the South Side of Chicago, the indigent patients in the ER smelled like this. I’ll never forget it.”
“Kind of like the desk clerk smells.”
Why is your voice so far away?
I stopped on the first landing and glanced over my shoulder. Brittany was still on the first floor.
“I think it’s revolting,” she continued. “How can anyone live like this?”
“Suck it up, or go home and I’ll write the story myself.”
95
The clerk showed Tony four empty apartments on the top floor of the three-story building. He picked the last one on the right.
It was a musty single room. To the right of the door was an efficiency kitchen containing a rattling refrigerator and a lopsided kitchen table with no chairs. In the middle of the room was a dusty, overstuffed gray chair and, on the left, a saggy single bed. Two grimy windows faced the clinic. It smelled like the clerk slept in there.
He left. Tony pulled the grungy armchair up to the windows.
“You can set up here and watch the clinic,” he said.
“And that’s it?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Am I missing somethin’ here?”
“Cameras, computers, a way to communicate with you and the rest of the police department. I would say we’re missing lots of things.”
“Captain ran out of funds.”
“And let me guess the rest. He doesn’t think the bomber’s going to show up here.”
“You said it, not me, sweets.”
“But…” Brittany broke in.
“No buts. You want to call me, use your cell phone. You got my number.”
And with that, he left.
So much for serving and protecting.
“Asshole!” she screamed at his back. She turned to me. “We are so screwed.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
I’d been in worse situations when I was with the Marines, but they always had my back.
Think.
The rancid smells of the room began to nauseate both of us, so I opened the windows.
Or at least tried to.
The windows must not have been opened since the last war the U.S. won. Brittany had to help me.
“Do we have to do this twenty-four hours a day?” she whined.
“I don’t think we need to be here after the clinic closes.” I pointed at the building. There were outside security cameras on each corner of the building. “They seem to have tight security.”
“You’re saying that if the bomber’s going to get in, it’ll have to be during the hours when the clinic’s open.”
“I am, just like he’s done at the other clinics.”
I pictured our setup.
“We need to see if there’s a back door into this building,” I said.
“What’s wrong with the front door?” she asked.
“If the bomber starts watching the clinic building, he’ll see us going in and out. Young white women in this neighborhood would stick out like an alcoholic having a cocktail in the Mormon Tabernacle.”
“The same goes for my car. There aren’t any new ones like mine parked outside.” She paused. “You do realize Tony’s probably right. No one, including Carter, thinks the bomber is really coming here.”
“My mole was right before, and I’m a believer.”
“But you were almost killed that time.”
A valid point.
“There aren’t many people who would want to be in this rat hole. We’ll be safe in this room. What could happen up here?”
96
I rode in the backseat of an Uber car. I called Carter to tell him I was on my way back to XSport Fitness. “Have you talked to Brittany?” I asked.
“She just called me,” he said. “Is the room as bad as she made it out to be?”
“Probably worse, but she needs to toughen up if she’s going to last in this business.”
“I agree, and I told her that when she began to complain.”
“Thanks. She didn’t seem to want to listen to me.”
“She also told me about the lack of police tech support.”
“I didn’t expect them to help us. They use us when we can be of service to them, but other than that? Never.”
“As members of the press, we’re always on our own for stories.”
“Any ideas?”
“What about David?”
“What about him?”
“He might be able to come up with the equipment you need.”
“Honey, that’s a great idea. I’ll call him right away.”
I did and explained the problem to David.
“I assumed they would have, at the very minimum, a way for us to communicate with them,” David said, when I finished.
“Carter and I just talked about that. That’s just the way it is.”
“Well, we’ll see about that. I’ll call my friends at Hogan. I think we can come up with all the surveillance apparatus we’ll need.
97
On Monday, Labor Day morning, Brittany texted me. She found a basement door in the back of the building that would shield our approach.
At 8 a.m. on Tuesday morning, the Lyft driver dropped Cas and me off in front of an abandoned Methodist church three blocks away from the clinic building.
David and Molly followed us in another Lyft. Our kids were at the XSport Fitness children’s center. Margaret was in preschool. Brittany arrived in an Uber.
The girls didn’t say anything as we walked through the grimy neighborhood. David lagged behind, weighed down by a carrier with his computer gear. Molly lugged a large bag, which I assumed carried the rest of his equipment.
When we reached the back door of the building, Cas stood motionless staring at it. We had to wait for Molly and David to catch up.
“Is this it?” David asked, when we walked in the back door of the building.
“Yeah, but see, it’s not that bad once you get in the room,” I said.
They followed me upstairs, and of course, it was way worse when we stepped into the room. David scanned the space, and from the stricken look on his face, I thought he was going to throw up.
He put his head down and began to hyperventilate.
Help him!
“David, would you like some assistance unpacking your computer gear?” I asked.
I knew he always did everything his own way. I hoped to shock him back to being able to function.