Killer Profile

“Good,” Hotchner said. “What do we know about him?”

“A thoroughgoing lowlife,” Garcia said. “Twenty-four with arrests and convictions for procurement, misdemeanor possession of marijuana, and one battery charge that got dropped when the complainant didn’t show up in court.”

His expression perplexed, Reid said, “And now he’s imitating some of the most evil serial killers in American history? He doesn’t fit our profile.”

Nodding, Morgan said, “Either we’re completely off base or this isn’t our guy.”

“One way to find out,” Hotchner said. “Garcia, do you have a current address on Mr. Minchell?”

“Last one was an apartment on Clark,” she said, “near the bus station.”

She read off the address.

“I knowthat building,” Lorenzon said, sitting up. “It’s an old hotel that devolved into a flophouse. We busted a bunch of junkies there, last few years.”

“All right,” Hotchner said. “You and Morgan go get him.”

The African-American detective nodded.

Rossi said, “I’d like to go along.”

“Fine,” Hotchner said. Then he asked Lorenzon, “Can Chicago PD provide backup?”

“No problem,” Lorenzon said.

Tovar stood up. “I’m in too.”

The two profilers and two local detectives took two vehicles: a Tahoe, with Morgan behind the wheel with Rossi riding; and Lorenzon’s unmarked, which the detectives shared.

Less than a half hour later, they pulled up and double-parked, lights flashing, at the run-down building housing Minchell’s apartment. Each man do

The neighborhood was busy, sidewalk heavy with pedestrian traffic going or coming from lunch. None of the four were distracted by a need for lunch: the aroma of the neighborhood was a bouquet of fried chicken, car exhaust, Burger King, cigarette smoke and urine. Of course, an old Chicagoan like Morgan felt right at home.…

As they checked their weapons, Lorenzon said, “Look, uh… you know how I told your boss backup would be a piece of cake?”

“Uh oh,” Rossi said.

“Uh oh is right,” Lorenzon said. “I radioed in on the way over and got informed SWAT is wrapped up in a hostage crisis in Wrigleyville.”

“Cubs fans out of control again?”

Lorenzon gri

“What about patrolmen?”

“Cleaning up a chain reaction accident on Lake Shore Drive.”

“There’s four of us.” Rossi shrugged. “One nonviolent offender, I think we can handle it.”

“He didhave a battery charge,” Tovar said with half a grin.

Morgan gave him the other half of the grin. “What are you saying, Hilly? Want to wait for SWAT because the guy got frisky once?”

Tovar shrugged. “What if he’s the killer?”

Rossi said, “Then we better make sure he doesn’t get away.” He made a face, eyebrows climbing. “Of course, if this really is our UnSub? Once we get back, Morgan and I can start updating our résumés.”

Tovar bit. “Why?”

“Because we’ll be looking for work once Hotchner sees out how far off we were on the profile.”

They stood at the rear of the double-parked Tahoe and discussed tactics. Morgan and Lorenzon would go in the front, Rossi and Tovar down the alley next to the ten-story brick building, to find a back entrance or a fire escape, just in case.

They were about to execute their plan when Morgan looked up and saw Eddie Minchell less than half a block away, walking toward them, smiling to himself, the poster boy for the Ignorance Is Bliss Society.

With this many citizens around, Morgan couldn’t risk yelling; he could only hope Minchell would just keep coming, oblivious to their presence on the sidewalk.

A medium-sized guy with a plastic bag of groceries dangling from one hand, Minchell was a ringer for the forensic drawing: floppy blond hair, lively blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a sharp chin. He wore a green T-shirt with the words ALL-BEEF WIENER, jeans with holes in the knees, and canvas sneakers.

Morgan willed himself to become invisible in the throng. The two detectives and the other profiler were turning now, to go to their stations, and had no idea that their quarry was approaching them from their right. Wanting to alert them, but knowing he’d have to yell to be heard, he didn’t, as Minchell would hear him, too.…

“Don’t see me,” Morgan muttered to himself as he closed the rear door of the SUV. “Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me.” Morgan stepped up on the curb, the muttering now his mantra, his eyes riveted to Minchell.

Hand snaking toward his pistol, Morgan took another step…

... then their eyes locked.

And in a split second, everything went to hell.

Minchell made him as an officer, and the blissful smile dissolved as he froze, staring at Morgan. And in his next breath, Minchell took off in the opposite direction, pitching the grocery bag.

“Minchell!” Morgan bellowed. “Freeze!”

Rossi, Lorenzon and Tovar all turned, but Morgan was already in motion, heading up the block in pursuit, struggling through the mob on the sidewalk. His eyes still on Minchell, Morgan instantly decided to cut between two parked cars and move into the street.

Within seconds, Morgan heard footsteps pounding the concrete behind him and knew the others had joined pursuit. Minchell was still struggling to make his way on the sidewalk, shoving people out of his way, ru

Ru

“Federal officer!” Morgan yelled, but the crowd didn’t cut him much slack.

Still, Morgan managed to get within five feet of his man, and then Morgan drew even closer, stretching his arm to reach for Minchell, who suddenly veered left out of Morgan’s grasp, down an alley.

Morgan overshot, and had to bump his way back to the opening, the other three—Rossi, Tovar and Lorenzon—turning down the alley, ahead of him now.

No pedestrian traffic in the alley, but parked cars sat here and there on either side. The four officers followed their man down the narrow canyon of brick and concrete.

“Freeze!”Rossi yelled.

Tovar followed that with, “Stop!”

Soon Lorenzon—younger than Rossi and Tovar— took the lead while Morgan quickly caught up with the other two. On his way, Minchell tipped over a metal trash can and it caught Lorenzon across the shins, sending him in a somersault that landed the detective in a heap, the others dodging around him to keep from piling on. Rossi and Tovar slowed, Morgan bursting past them, continuing the chase as he heard Lorenzon yelling, “ Go! Go!I’m fine!”

Instead of turning at the next corner, Minchell charged straight into the street, sidestepping left to keep from ru

Hearing the screech of brakes, Morgan looked right to see a yellow Hummer bearing down on him, and he dove out of the way, rolling and popping up again, but having lost ground with his suspect.

Morgan was in top shape but he still felt as though he were breathing liquid fire. Sweat rolled down his cheeks and his back felt sopped under the Kevlar, his legs aching like flu had suddenly set in. Even as he pursued his quarry, a part of his brain was processing just how bad his balky knee would feel tomorrow.…