Criminal Minds by Max Allan Collins Read Free Book Online Page A

directions, Hotchner and Jareau, accompanied by Lorenzon, to the north, Rossi and Reid, along with Tovar, to the south, while Morgan with Prentiss in the rider’s seat drove east.
    He followed I-90, then turned south after it merged with I-94. Outside, the afternoon sun blazed down, reflecting off their vehicle’s hood; but inside the air-conditioning hummed quietly. Morgan left the car radio off—he was in work mode.
    They had been on the road the better part of ninety minutes when Prentiss asked, ‘‘How much longer?’’
    He gave her a sideways, arched-eyebrow look. ‘‘Didn’t you work in Chicago before you joined the BAU?’’
    Prentiss smiled but didn’t look at him. ‘‘Yeah.’’
    ‘‘For how long?’’
    ‘‘A while.’’
    ‘‘Then you know how much longer, don’t you?’’
    She nodded. ‘‘Just making conversation.’’
    ‘‘You don’t have to go out of your way to be friendly with me, Emily. I like you.’’
    ‘‘Gee, thanks.’’
    ‘‘By which I mean, I respect you. You’ve done well.’’ He returned his eyes to the swarming traffic. ‘‘But you figure Hotch is still testing you.’’
    ‘‘Why would he be testing me?’’ Her voice sounded a little defensive. ‘‘It’s been over a year, and I wasn’t exactly a novice when I joined the BAU.’’
    Morgan grinned. ‘‘Hell, Emily, he’s still testing me . I’d say he’s still testing himself. He’s the team leader. That’s part of his job. And just maybe you’ve noticed he’s wrapped tighter than a new spool of thread.’’
    ‘‘He lacks confidence in me.’’
    ‘‘Why do you say that?’’
    She shrugged. ‘‘Hotch knows I know Chicago. But he had you drive.’’
    ‘‘Maybe he thinks it’s a man’s job.’’
    ‘‘Are you kidding?’’
    ‘‘Yes.’’ Morgan laughed. ‘‘Is there a possibility you’re overthinking this?’’
    She smiled again and looked away as they crossed the Chicago River. He had to pass the street they wanted and exit the expressway at Thirty-first Street, then work his way back to Twenty-fifth. He went west on Thirty-first for a block, turned north on Wentworth and followed that through the light at Twenty-sixth, taking a left onto Twenty-fifth, only to find that the street was blocked by fireplug-sized columns of cement after about a car-length, turning the street into a cul-de-sac, leaving Morgan on the wrong side. Still, an alley ran back south and that would keep him from having to make a U-turn to get out.
    ‘‘Of course,’’ Prentiss said, ‘‘ I would have known not to do that.’’
    ‘‘Are you kidding?’’
    ‘‘Yes,’’ she said.
    The first building on the south side of the street faced Wentworth, the alley running behind it. Across the alley to the west, the first thing Morgan saw was a set of four concrete stairs with wrought-iron railings, the stairs leading to thin air, the building they rose to long since demolished, going nowhere except to overlook a stretch of grass and weeds, surrounded by a four-foot cyclone fence.
    Prentiss gave him a look. ‘‘Stairway to heaven?’’
    ‘‘If it is,’’ Morgan said, ‘‘next door you’ll find the stairway to hell.’’ He looked down the block at the next residence from the building-less stairs.
    The house with 213 stenciled on the mailbox next to the front door was a dirty beige two-story. From his angle parked at the northeast corner, Morgan could see that something drastic, probably a fire, had happened to the huge structure once upon time.
    The front half of the building was the dirty beige siding; the back half was old, bronze-colored brick. A door on the east side split the border of the two halves, which would be the entrance to the middle apartment, and where the alley curved around behind the building would be the entrance to the rear apartment. The length of two normal houses, the ungainly structure might have been constructed half from LEGOs and half from Lincoln