Chapter 6

When we hit FBI headquarters, Ryan dragged me down a hall to the office of the Assistant Director of the FBI, Kyle Chaytor. He was hunched over his desk, typing away on a laptop.

“Chaytor, you'll never frickin' guess.”

“You've done some work for once?” Kyle asked, looking up from the computer.

Kyle Chaytor was about twenty six, tall, and, heavy set, to say the least. I didn't know him very well, seeing as I was an independent contractor and didn't work very often with the FBI, but from what I knew, he was pleasant enough to be around.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “I always do work, Chaytor.”

“Agent Carr, do we need to have the 'respect talk' again?” Kyle said, raising and eyebrow before returning to the computer. I stifled a laugh.

“Look, Kyle. I know what kind of saw decapitated Hadley, Nichlson, and Tacolini.”

This got his attention. He looked up from the laptop again.

“How do you know?”

Ryan smiled over at me, “Well, thanks to local genius Katelyn Amos, of course.”

Kyle looked at me. “You're serious? You found what saw killed him?”

“Well, not the actual saw, per se, but the type used, sir.” I nodded.

“Call me Kyle,” He began. I nodded, “So what was it? Handsaw? Band saw? Hacksaw?”

“Hand-held reciprocating saw.”

Kyle nodded. “Is there any way we can figure out exactly which saw was used to dismember the vics?”

I shrugged. “You probably could. I could make a mold of the striae in the bone and you could try and match it to any commercial reciprocating saw.”

He nodded again. “I'll get Agent Keller to get all of the reciprocating saws he can get his hands on,” He said, returning to his computer screen, “In the meantime, Agent Carr, I want you to search the Tacolini home, find out what got him killed.”

Ryan nodded and looked at me, “How about Dr. Amos, here?” He asked, “Can she accompany me?” Kyle didn't look up.

“That's up to her.”

I looked to Ryan. He pouted his lip at me. It was annoyingly adorable.

“Fine.”

X-x-X-x

Pablo Tacolini lived in a shabby apartment building relatively close to Oshawa's downtown. Short drive, not even fifteen minutes away. I looked at Ryan.

“What exactly are we looking for?”

His eyes moved from the road to my face. “Anything that will tell me why Tacolini was killed,” He began, “Crime Scene units were already there and processed the scene. We're looking for anything; notes, phone numbers, addresses, anything that will lead us to anyone or anything.”

I nodded. The drive continued in a nice quiet. I saw Ryan look over at me occasionally and smile. We pulled onto an ugly street, lines with small, shabby apartments.

“Nice place.” Ryan muttered.

“Yeah, really.”

We pulled up in front of the smallest apartment on the block. Like most of the cheap apartments in Oshawa, this one had a cheap paint job. Chipped pink colour lined the outside siding. Cheap, dirty windows with equally dirty screens decorated the outside walls. Ryan walked up the brick walkway to the door and knocked. I stood behind him and waited.

He stood there for about two minutes before knocking again. Finally, a tall, skinny man who looked about forty opened the door. His lanky arm moves to his head to brush dirty hair from his blue eyes. Ryan cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, sir. I'm Special Agent Ryan Carr of the FBI. This here is my partner, Dr. Katelyn Amos,” He began, flashing his badge at the man, “You've been informed by the authorities about your tenant Mr. Pablo Tacolini's death, right?”

The tall man nodded. “That Mexican guy, right?” His voice was scratchy and throaty.

Ryan nodded, “Yes sir. We're here to take a look at Pablo's apartment, see if there's anything to suggest why he was killed. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions, first?”

The man shrugged. I stared. He gestured for us to follow. Ryan stepped to the side, allowing me to pass first. I felt his hand on the small of my back. The man led us into a small, cramped lobby with two cheap, leather couches. Ryan and I sat across from our boy. Ryan pulled out a note pad.

“Sir, can I get your name?”

“Name's George Whitney. I'm the landlord.” He muttered. Ryan scribbled on the notepad.

“How long had Mr. Tacolini been living here?”

Whitney pondered that. Blue eyes flew to the ceiling, “'Bout four months, maybe? I 'member he asked for the biggest apartment in the building.”

I looked up. “Did he say why he needed it?” I asked. Whitney shook his head.

“Never did. Kinda creepy, he was.”

Ryan nodded. “How well did you know Tacolini?” He asked, glancing up from the notebook.

“Didn't know him too good. Kept to himself. Think I only talked to him two or three times.”

“So you weren't close? He didn't tell you if her was in trouble or anything?” I piped up. Whitney hook his head.

“Did Pablo pay his rent on time? Did he ever have problems getting the money?” Ryan.

“Nah, guy always brought the cash on time. Never had no problems with him.”

I looked to Ryan. Time to do a search. He nodded.

“Thank you for your time an co-operation, Mr. Whitney. We'd like to search Tacolini's room. Could we borrow the key?”

Whitney nodded and fumbled for a set of keys, pulling out a small, rusty, gold one. He handed it to Ryan.

“Down the hall. Third room.” Ryan nodded, and offered me his hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet.

We started down the hallway of the cramped apartment and stopped at an oak door with the number 3 printed on it in heavy black ink. Ryan inserted the key into the door and pushed it open. The room was quiet. I could see little evidence markers before I even stepped in the premises.

Ryan stepped through the door and walked carefully into the apartment, being sure not to step on the yellow evidence tags. I followed.

The scene in front of me told the story. The infamous line of chalk outlined where Tacolini's body had fallen. Pools of blood lay upon the hardwood floor, heaviest in the area where the head had been removed. Splatter lined one white wall in front of me. I looked around and thought.

It seemed as though Pablo Tacolini had still been alive when he was decapitated. That would explain the heavy blood loss.

Ryan gestured for me to follow him deeper into the apartment. I complied, stepping over blood and chalk. We padded into the living room. It was fairly small, but impeccably clean. A book shelf was pushed against the east wall, filled with books of all sorts. I pulled on latex gloves and pulled out a title. To Kill A Mockingbird. I remembered Tacolini's interrogation. I scanned a few other paperbacks. Nothing relatively interesting. '1984', 'Deja Dead', 'A Clockwork Orange'.

“Katelyn,” I heard Ryan call. I looked over. He was holding up a clear plastic baggy.

“What is it?” I walked over. He shrugged. “

“I don't know yet. I found it in his desk.” He handed it to me. I opened it slowly. Inside was a fine, white powder. I showed to to Ryan.

“Cocaine?” I asked. He stuck a finger in the back, pulled some of the powder out, placed the stuff in his mouth.

“Ryan! God, don't do that!”

He swabbed the finger around his mouth for a few seconds more before nodding at me.

“Coke. Pure.” He said solemnly. I raised and eyebrow.

“I don't even want to know how you know that.”

Ryan grinned at me. We moved from the living room to the kitchen. Ryan walked over to the beaten up fridge and glanced at it. I did the same. Newspaper articles plastered the plastic surface.

“Holy s**t.” Ryan muttered. My thoughts exactly.

The newspaper articles in front of us were headlines about Remy Hadley and Robert Nichlson. I gently pulled a piece of newsprint from the from the fridge. Ryan did the same. The article I held was a basic summary of the death and what had been found at the scene.

“So much for not knowing her.” Ryan sighed.

Something caught my eye.

“They're all written by the same person.”

Ryan looked at me, “What?”

“Look at the author of the articles. They're all by the same person. A Ms. Olivia Rose.”

Ryan nodded. “Could be he was stalking her.”

I wasn't listening, I had made my way into the bedroom. The same sight as the living room met my eyes. Bed made perfectly, not a single dresser out of place. I felt Ryan walk up behind me.

“Anything?” Breath on my neck. I shivered and shook my head.

“I don't see-” He gently pushed past me and into the room, crouching down by the bed.

“What?” I asked. Ryan brought something into my line of vision. A pink thong.

“Someone had a good time in here.” He joked, putting the underwear into an evidence bag, “Can you get DNA off of that?”

I rolled my eyes. “Depends.”

“On?” Humour.

“What Tacolini and his friend were doing.”

Ryan grinned at me, “I already checked the bathroom. I think we're done here.”

I nodded. Ryan led me through the apartment and out into the hallway. As we left the building, I saw George Whitney staring at me. There was something about the blue eyes that was unnerving. I shook the thought from my head and let Ryan lead me out into the car.

There was something not so right going on.