Read Online Criminal Minds by Max Allan Collins - Free Book Online
Authors: Max Allan Collins
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self-satisfaction, a twisted sense of self-worth you might say; and, again, the attention.’’
Rossi said, ‘‘You can’t be a performance artist if there’s no audience.’’
Reid and Tovar both turned to look at the goateed FBI agent, his words having hit them both fairly hard.
As Reid digested the idea, Tovar turned toward the house. Following the detective’s gaze, Reid turned as well and saw a stocky man of about five-nine striding across the yard in their direction. He had short hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a sad, pouchy face etched with a frown.
Tovar stepped forward, hand extended. ‘‘Mr. Andrews.’’
‘‘Detective Tovar,’’ Andrews said politely. He wore khakis and a tan-and-brown striped Polo shirt. ‘‘Good to see you again.’’
Reid and Rossi let the detective take the lead.
Tovar said, ‘‘Vernon Andrews, this is Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi and Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid from the FBI.’’
‘‘We’re sorry for your loss,’’ Rossi said, shaking the man’s hand.
Andrews nodded. ‘‘Thank you.’’
‘‘For what it’s worth, we’re here to help bring the person who did this terrible thing to justice.’’
‘‘If I can help in any way, don’t hesitate.’’
Andrews was saying this as he shook Reid’s hand, the grieving man’s grasp limp and cool, a dead man’s handshake.
Reid added his condolences.
‘‘Thank you,’’ Andrews said.
‘‘Mr. Andrews,’’ Reid went on, ‘‘we’d like to ask you some questions, if that would be all right.’’
‘‘Will it help find my daughter’s killer?’’
Rossi said, ‘‘We hope so, sir.’’
‘‘Then please ask. But I’m afraid I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told Detective Tovar.’’
‘‘We know what happened,’’ Rossi said. ‘‘Right now, we’re more concerned with why it happened . . . and how.’’
‘‘I’m not sure I understand,’’ Andrews said.
Rossi said, ‘‘The police have given us a good picture of the night your daughter and her boyfriend were killed. We want to know what led up to that moment.’’
‘‘How on earth can I help with that?’’
With a small, respectful smile, Rossi asked, ‘‘Mr. Andrews, would you call yourself an observant man?’’
With a shrug, Andrews said, ‘‘I try to be.’’
‘‘Let me ask you then—did you see anyone watching your house or the neighborhood in the weeks before your daughter was shot? Someone who didn’t belong here?’’
The grief-stricken father considered that for a long moment.
Finally, he said, ‘‘You know, I never gave it a second thought before . . . but Addie told me one night, last March? That she had thought someone was watching her and Benny, when they were parked next to the house. Actually, it was a kind of accusation—she assumed it was her mother or me, spying on her. At the time, I was so worried about convincing her that she should trust us, that she must’ve just been imagining things, that I . . . I never took in account that someone might actually be watching them.’’
Reid asked, ‘‘Did Addie say why she’d thought you were watching her and Benny?’’
‘‘She said . . . said it felt like someone was there in the darkness when they were sitting in the car. With all the trees around the house, she assumed it was Doris—that’s her mom. Or me.’’
‘‘And it wasn’t?’’
‘‘No. I’m as protective as the next father. But we were young once, we knew the kids needed some time to themselves . . . and, anyway, we trusted Benny. He was a good kid, too. We liked him. I’m pretty sure Addie loved him, though she hadn’t told us that.’’ He looked at Tovar. ‘‘You’re a parent, Detective. You understand.’’
Tovar nodded gravely. ‘‘It’s a balancing act between trying to protect them and letting go.’’
‘‘Yes,’’ Andrews said, and swallowed. ‘‘I should have protected her more. Did I
Rossi said, ‘‘You can’t be a performance artist if there’s no audience.’’
Reid and Tovar both turned to look at the goateed FBI agent, his words having hit them both fairly hard.
As Reid digested the idea, Tovar turned toward the house. Following the detective’s gaze, Reid turned as well and saw a stocky man of about five-nine striding across the yard in their direction. He had short hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a sad, pouchy face etched with a frown.
Tovar stepped forward, hand extended. ‘‘Mr. Andrews.’’
‘‘Detective Tovar,’’ Andrews said politely. He wore khakis and a tan-and-brown striped Polo shirt. ‘‘Good to see you again.’’
Reid and Rossi let the detective take the lead.
Tovar said, ‘‘Vernon Andrews, this is Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi and Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid from the FBI.’’
‘‘We’re sorry for your loss,’’ Rossi said, shaking the man’s hand.
Andrews nodded. ‘‘Thank you.’’
‘‘For what it’s worth, we’re here to help bring the person who did this terrible thing to justice.’’
‘‘If I can help in any way, don’t hesitate.’’
Andrews was saying this as he shook Reid’s hand, the grieving man’s grasp limp and cool, a dead man’s handshake.
Reid added his condolences.
‘‘Thank you,’’ Andrews said.
‘‘Mr. Andrews,’’ Reid went on, ‘‘we’d like to ask you some questions, if that would be all right.’’
‘‘Will it help find my daughter’s killer?’’
Rossi said, ‘‘We hope so, sir.’’
‘‘Then please ask. But I’m afraid I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told Detective Tovar.’’
‘‘We know what happened,’’ Rossi said. ‘‘Right now, we’re more concerned with why it happened . . . and how.’’
‘‘I’m not sure I understand,’’ Andrews said.
Rossi said, ‘‘The police have given us a good picture of the night your daughter and her boyfriend were killed. We want to know what led up to that moment.’’
‘‘How on earth can I help with that?’’
With a small, respectful smile, Rossi asked, ‘‘Mr. Andrews, would you call yourself an observant man?’’
With a shrug, Andrews said, ‘‘I try to be.’’
‘‘Let me ask you then—did you see anyone watching your house or the neighborhood in the weeks before your daughter was shot? Someone who didn’t belong here?’’
The grief-stricken father considered that for a long moment.
Finally, he said, ‘‘You know, I never gave it a second thought before . . . but Addie told me one night, last March? That she had thought someone was watching her and Benny, when they were parked next to the house. Actually, it was a kind of accusation—she assumed it was her mother or me, spying on her. At the time, I was so worried about convincing her that she should trust us, that she must’ve just been imagining things, that I . . . I never took in account that someone might actually be watching them.’’
Reid asked, ‘‘Did Addie say why she’d thought you were watching her and Benny?’’
‘‘She said . . . said it felt like someone was there in the darkness when they were sitting in the car. With all the trees around the house, she assumed it was Doris—that’s her mom. Or me.’’
‘‘And it wasn’t?’’
‘‘No. I’m as protective as the next father. But we were young once, we knew the kids needed some time to themselves . . . and, anyway, we trusted Benny. He was a good kid, too. We liked him. I’m pretty sure Addie loved him, though she hadn’t told us that.’’ He looked at Tovar. ‘‘You’re a parent, Detective. You understand.’’
Tovar nodded gravely. ‘‘It’s a balancing act between trying to protect them and letting go.’’
‘‘Yes,’’ Andrews said, and swallowed. ‘‘I should have protected her more. Did I
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