him the case files.’’
Lorenzon asked, ‘‘And the shrink came up with something?’’
Reid nodded. ‘‘After combing through the material, the doctor came up with some startling conclusions—he predicted that the UnSub was paranoid, hated his father, obsessively loved his mother, and lived in a city in Connecticut.’’
‘‘Brother,’’ Tovar said.
Reid continued. ‘‘Brussel insisted that the UnSub had a grudge against Commonwealth Edison and was probably a former employee of that firm. And the doctor went on to say that the man was heavyset, middle-aged, foreign born, Roman Catholic, single, and lived with . . . ‘brother’ is right . . . a brother or sister. Finally, Brussel told the police that when the UnSub was found, he would be wearing a double-breasted suit—buttoned.’’
Tovar asked, ‘‘How close was the doc?’’
Hotchner said, ‘‘The police came up with a former Con Ed employee: George Metesky. The only thing Brussel missed on was that the UnSub lived with two maiden sisters, not one. When they arrested Metesky, he changed into a double-breasted suit—buttoned.’’
‘‘You’re making this up,’’ Tovar said.
Hotchner smiled a little and said, ‘‘No. That was chapter and verse from the history of our field. It wasn’t until almost twenty years later—1972—when the BAU was initially formed with eleven agents. Since then, we’ve been growing and learning more and more about our craft. Agents like David Rossi, here, built it into what we have today. It’s not guesswork, Hilly, or mumbo jumbo, either . . . rather, science based on research, study, and hard-earned field experience. We’ve had a lot more successes than failures, and I fully expect us to bring this killer to justice as well.’’
‘‘Okay,’’ Tovar said. ‘‘How do we do that?’’
‘‘The first question,’’ Rossi said, ‘‘is whether or not to suppress the pictures.’’
‘‘That’s a question?’’ Lorenzon asked, alarmed. ‘‘Why in the hell would you even consider making them public?’’
Rossi said, ‘‘To press him. If we can make the UnSub uncomfortable enough, we might force him into making a mistake.’’
‘‘Okay, I can see that,’’ Lorenzon admitted, ‘‘but I don’t see how the pictures fit into the catching-the-bastard equation.’’
‘‘We can use the pictures or not, really,’’ Rossi said, and shrugged. ‘‘But if we do, they’ll be part of publicizing the mistakes he’s already made.’’
Tovar blinked at Rossi. ‘‘He’s made mistakes?’’
But it was Reid who responded. ‘‘Not mistakes that will help us apprehend him—not in the sense of direct evidence, anyway. But he has made mistakes in the sense that his reenactments have been inexact in numerous ways.’’
Lorenzon asked, ‘‘Why’s that significant?’’
Hotchner said, ‘‘It goes back to what I said earlier. Behavior reveals personality.’’
‘‘Guys.’’ Tovar raised both hands in surrender. ‘‘You’re losing me. You keep talking in circles.’’
‘‘We really aren’t,’’ Prentiss said and gave the detective a friendly smile. ‘‘What we’re saying is that this UnSub has gone to great lengths to re-create these crimes—wouldn’t you agree?’’
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘So what does that tell you about him?’’
Tovar shrugged. ‘‘That he’s a goddamn lunatic?’’
Morgan shook his head and said, ‘‘You’re expressing an emotional reaction to the crime.’’
‘‘You’re damned straight I am!’’
Morgan gestured with open palms. ‘‘Take emotion out of it. Look at the behavior purely for what it is . . . and how it reflects the personality of the UnSub."
Tovar ran a hand over his face, a trail of confusion left in its wake. The older detective looked for help to the younger one, who could only shrug. Frustrated, Tovar turned back to Hotchner. ‘‘In English, please.’’
‘‘If you want to understand the
Lorenzon asked, ‘‘And the shrink came up with something?’’
Reid nodded. ‘‘After combing through the material, the doctor came up with some startling conclusions—he predicted that the UnSub was paranoid, hated his father, obsessively loved his mother, and lived in a city in Connecticut.’’
‘‘Brother,’’ Tovar said.
Reid continued. ‘‘Brussel insisted that the UnSub had a grudge against Commonwealth Edison and was probably a former employee of that firm. And the doctor went on to say that the man was heavyset, middle-aged, foreign born, Roman Catholic, single, and lived with . . . ‘brother’ is right . . . a brother or sister. Finally, Brussel told the police that when the UnSub was found, he would be wearing a double-breasted suit—buttoned.’’
Tovar asked, ‘‘How close was the doc?’’
Hotchner said, ‘‘The police came up with a former Con Ed employee: George Metesky. The only thing Brussel missed on was that the UnSub lived with two maiden sisters, not one. When they arrested Metesky, he changed into a double-breasted suit—buttoned.’’
‘‘You’re making this up,’’ Tovar said.
Hotchner smiled a little and said, ‘‘No. That was chapter and verse from the history of our field. It wasn’t until almost twenty years later—1972—when the BAU was initially formed with eleven agents. Since then, we’ve been growing and learning more and more about our craft. Agents like David Rossi, here, built it into what we have today. It’s not guesswork, Hilly, or mumbo jumbo, either . . . rather, science based on research, study, and hard-earned field experience. We’ve had a lot more successes than failures, and I fully expect us to bring this killer to justice as well.’’
‘‘Okay,’’ Tovar said. ‘‘How do we do that?’’
‘‘The first question,’’ Rossi said, ‘‘is whether or not to suppress the pictures.’’
‘‘That’s a question?’’ Lorenzon asked, alarmed. ‘‘Why in the hell would you even consider making them public?’’
Rossi said, ‘‘To press him. If we can make the UnSub uncomfortable enough, we might force him into making a mistake.’’
‘‘Okay, I can see that,’’ Lorenzon admitted, ‘‘but I don’t see how the pictures fit into the catching-the-bastard equation.’’
‘‘We can use the pictures or not, really,’’ Rossi said, and shrugged. ‘‘But if we do, they’ll be part of publicizing the mistakes he’s already made.’’
Tovar blinked at Rossi. ‘‘He’s made mistakes?’’
But it was Reid who responded. ‘‘Not mistakes that will help us apprehend him—not in the sense of direct evidence, anyway. But he has made mistakes in the sense that his reenactments have been inexact in numerous ways.’’
Lorenzon asked, ‘‘Why’s that significant?’’
Hotchner said, ‘‘It goes back to what I said earlier. Behavior reveals personality.’’
‘‘Guys.’’ Tovar raised both hands in surrender. ‘‘You’re losing me. You keep talking in circles.’’
‘‘We really aren’t,’’ Prentiss said and gave the detective a friendly smile. ‘‘What we’re saying is that this UnSub has gone to great lengths to re-create these crimes—wouldn’t you agree?’’
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘So what does that tell you about him?’’
Tovar shrugged. ‘‘That he’s a goddamn lunatic?’’
Morgan shook his head and said, ‘‘You’re expressing an emotional reaction to the crime.’’
‘‘You’re damned straight I am!’’
Morgan gestured with open palms. ‘‘Take emotion out of it. Look at the behavior purely for what it is . . . and how it reflects the personality of the UnSub."
Tovar ran a hand over his face, a trail of confusion left in its wake. The older detective looked for help to the younger one, who could only shrug. Frustrated, Tovar turned back to Hotchner. ‘‘In English, please.’’
‘‘If you want to understand the
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