Criminal Minds by Max Allan Collins Page B

‘‘He waited.’’
    Rossi chewed on that momentarily. Then he said, ‘‘He sat in wait until his victims came along. Yeah.
    I’ll buy that.’’
    ‘‘No, I think you miss my point—I mean, he waited past midnight .’’
    The other two stared at him.
    ‘‘Technically,’’ Reid said, articulating something he’d discerned on first reading the report, ‘‘he missed the anniversary of the Son of Sam killing. He shot them in the early morning hours of the eighteenth.’’
    ‘‘What does that mean?’’ Tovar asked.
    Rossi sighed, gave Reid a little smile that meant, Nice going , and said to the Chicago cop, ‘‘It means that even though he’s re-creating crimes, our UnSub is willing to adapt his crime so that he gets his kill . . . even if it undermines the exactness of his recreation.’’
    Tovar still seemed confused. ‘‘And what does that tell us?’’
    Rossi tilted his head just a little, then righted it. ‘‘Even though he’s patient and highly organized in his planning, he’s going to kill —that’s the priority— even if it doesn’t fall within the exact boundaries of what he’s trying to create.’’
    ‘‘Or rather,’’ Reid put in, ‘‘re-create.’’
    Rossi nodded, then went on: ‘‘Reid used the word ‘artistry,’ and I think that’s right on point: in his own way, probably in his own mind, our UnSub is an artist. Instead of just painting or sculpting the things that inspire him, he’s acting them out.’’
    ‘‘It wasn’t clear until we got here,’’ Reid said, ‘‘but aren’t these jurisdictions where he committed the crimes rather far apart?’’
    ‘‘Yeah,’’ Tovar said, with a nod.
    ‘‘ How far apart?’’ Reid asked.
    Tovar gestured vaguely. ‘‘The Chinatown crime scene is about an hour from here, depending on traffic. The Wauconda crime scene is at least an hour and a half north of here.’’
    Reid’s eyes tightened. ‘‘That tells us something too.’’
    ‘‘Which is?’’ Tovar asked.
    ‘‘He’s mobile,’’ Reid said.
    ‘‘He owns a car,’’ Rossi agreed.
    ‘‘What kind?’’ Tovar asked, a smile creasing his face. It was a joke.
    Smiling back, Rossi said, not joking at all, ‘‘Something inconspicuous, probably an older car that would blend in. It won’t be anything too flashy and the color will be something neutral or subdued, too. He’s been spending a lot of time planning these crimes. He has to’ve spent a lot of time in the areas where they took place . . . and no one noticed him.’’
    ‘‘Okay,’’ Tovar said, impressed. ‘‘I can get on board with that.’’
    Reid asked, ‘‘Were all the crimes committed at night?’’
    ‘‘This one was,’’ Tovar said. ‘‘The other two, the bodies were found well after the murders, so there’s no way to know for sure.’’
    Reid turned to Rossi. ‘‘If he’s spending this much time in these places, doesn’t he have to have some job freedom?’’
    Rossi nodded, once.
    Tovar asked, ‘‘Why not just unemployed?’’
    Rossi shook his head. He patted the SUV near where they stood. ‘‘Not likely with the distance between these crime scenes and Chicago gas prices. He’s got a job that allows him at least some freedom.’’
    ‘‘You’re sure of this?’’ Tovar asked.
    ‘‘It’s an educated guess,’’ Rossi said. ‘‘But a very educated guess.’’
    The Hispanic detective mulled that. ‘‘Maybe his wife works, or he’s somebody that doesn’t have to work, ’cause his family left him money or something.’’
    ‘‘Possible,’’ Rossi said with a tiny smile. ‘‘Not probable.’’
    Mind going a million miles an hour, Reid said, ‘‘His job doesn’t give him the satisfaction he needs, either.’’
    ‘‘Why do you say that?’’ Tovar asked.
    ‘‘These crimes are all about getting attention,’’ Reid said. ‘‘There’s no indication of any sexual aspects to the killings, so the UnSub’s doing it for two things: