Criminal Minds by Max Allan Collins Page A

houses,’’ Reid said.
    ‘‘Yeah,’’ Tovar said. ‘‘Some of the old houses are being bought up, torn down, and replaced by newer ones. Other oldies are getting the renovation treatment.’’
    ‘‘Gentrification,’’ Rossi said. ‘‘Gotta love it.’’ But he clearly didn’t.
    ‘‘Oh yeah,’’ Tovar said. ‘‘The neighborhood’s changing.’’
    Reid asked, ‘‘For the better?’’
    ‘‘Matter of opinion,’’ Tovar said. ‘‘Certainly isn’t better for the Andrews family.’’
    The Chicago detective pulled the Tahoe to a stop next to a plain but well-maintained one-story tan house surrounded by trees and bushes. ‘‘This is where the daughter was parked with her boyfriend when they were shot to death back in April.’’
    Reid looked around, trying to get a feel for the neighborhood. The houses were not terribly close together and they all appeared well cared for, a fairly typical middle-class neighborhood. Across the street, a park spread out before them, a parking lot on the far side of the block.
    ‘‘Quiet,’’ Reid said.
    ‘‘Too quiet, like they say in the old movies,’’ Tovar said. ‘‘No crimes to speak of, here.’’
    They climbed out of the SUV, each taking a moment to survey the area. Reid couldn’t take his eyes off the parking lot across the park. Trees shaded the cars that were nosed in, facing this direction. To see who was or was not inside those cars from there was impossible without binoculars or a high-powered camera lens. The powerlessness gave him an uneasy feeling.
    Rossi asked the Chicago detective, ‘‘Did the boy and girl park alongside the house and make out, you know, as a regular thing?’’
    ‘‘They had been dating for a while,’’ Tovar said.
    ‘‘I think it’s safe to say that night wasn’t the first time they’d sat there and necked, yeah.’’
    Reid nodded across the way. ‘‘That park would give someone an easy place to surveil the victims.’’
    ‘‘Of course,’’ Rossi said, ‘‘but how did he know they would be there on this particular night? Nothing indicates whether this was a randomly chosen couple, or one that the killer had selected and watched over time.’’
    Reid agreed.
    Tovar looked blank.
    Rossi said, ‘‘The boy, Benny Mendoza? His coach had taken Benny and his girl to the White Sox game that night. Benny was a promising young ballplayer. Anyway, the game got rained out late. The boy and girl didn’t get back till well after midnight.’’ Rossi made a face at Reid. ‘‘How the hell could the UnSub have known that?’’
    Reid considered that for a moment; then he put some pieces together. ‘‘Let’s suppose he was indeed stalking the couple.’’
    ‘‘Suppose away,’’ Rossi said.
    ‘‘If he’s re-creating Berkowitz’s crime, it’s the street he’s most concerned with—Hutchinson Avenue. What if he was stalking more than one couple along the street, and this one, Andrews and Mendoza, was the couple that happened to show up at the right time?’’
    Tovar said, ‘‘Wrong time, you mean.’’
    Rossi was looking at Reid, hard. ‘‘You’re saying it could have been anyone along the street?’’
    ‘‘It’s possible,’’ Reid said. ‘‘Son of Sam shot individuals as well as couples.’’
    ‘‘Dr. Reid could be right,’’ Tovar said. ‘‘The weather was bad that night. Rained like hell most of the evening. I doubt if there were a lot of people out and about.’’
    Reid said, ‘‘This isn’t the only house visible from the park.’’
    Rossi said, ‘‘It would be easy to watch most of the street from that parking lot.’’
    ‘‘There’s something else,’’ Reid said.
    The other two turned to him.
    "Our UnSub is patient. He takes care and exercises a certain artistry, but he’s not a perfectionist—he’s willing to fudge a little on his re-creations.’’
    Rossi eyed Reid skeptically. ‘‘And you’ve reached this conclusion how?’’
    Reid shrugged.