Taking Lives

Where are you going?

The 2:15 to Mont Laurier will be loading at gate number 10.

One ticket, please. Mont Laurier.

Do you mind? The guy in the back, he won't stop snoring.

No. Sure.

I'm Matt.

-I'm Martin. -Hey, Martin. Nice to meet you.

-Nice to meet you. -Where you headed to?

Just as far away as I can get.

Well, I'll drink to that, brother.

Cheers.

I think we got a little engine trouble here, folks. Just sit tight.

Man! You know, the same thing happened in St. Lawrence.

We had to sit tight for nearly eight hours.

Hell, this sucks. This totally sucks.

Three hundred and eighty-five dollars. Cash only.

All I got is my dad's credit card.

You can't read?

Cash only.

-You have a license? - I had one. They took it away, though.

Looks like you're driving.

See that?

Fake.

-What happened? -Courtesy of my stepdad.

Hit me so hard I flew across the kitchen, dented the Sheetrock.

My mom watched the whole thing.

-Why? -Why does he do half the things he does?

Fucking psycho, 200 pounds of worthless grease.

But I got him back.

What? You popped him?

Got me a tour of hell, though. Had me in military school by the next morning.

But I don't believe in following people's rules, man.

Fuck people, fuck their rules. That's why I jumped the wall two days ago.

Now I'm going to Seattle to play music.

Jesus Christ.

I'm so sorry, man. I'm an idiot, I wasn't paying attention.

No. Forget about it, man.

We're lucky this piece of shit had a spare. Fuck.

You ever changed a tire before, Martin?

Didn't think so. Cool.

Okay. What do we got here?

Oh, yeah, I'll have us back on the road in no time, no time at all.

But this time, I'm driving. Cool?

Fucker's on tight.

First one's always the hardest. After that, the rest of them come off pretty easy.

You and I are about the same height, man.

What?

Shh.

Be quiet.

Officer. Officer, I need your help.

I just saw my son on the ferry.

My son is dead.

He died 19 years ago, but this was my son.

He walked straight in front of me. We had eye contact.

He recognized me.

A mother's not wrong about things like this.

How can I explain how dangerous he was, how...?

No, not "was."

Is.

My son is a very dangerous man.

-What are you doing? -Preparing a briefing for Agent Scott.

Agent Scott?

I don't understand why he needs someone else. We've got everything under control.

-We don't have anything, Joseph. -Because we didn't have enough time.

-We need a couple more days, that's it. -She here yet?

She was on the flight. They can't find her. Gerard is checking baggage claim.

-She's going to be advising, right? -This isn't about territory, Paquette.

There hasn't been a murder like this in years.

And the first thing you do is bring in someone else. Come on.

I have a strange feeling about this murder.

We need help. We have nothing.

You call me as soon as she gets here.

You got to be fucking kidding me.

-Special Agent Scott? -Yes.

We were waiting for you at the station.

That's a grave, you know. -Yes, I know that.

-Ah. -Agent Scott.

Monsieur Director, hello.

I see you are already making yourself comfortable.

Joseph Paquette and Emile Duval. They're leading the investigation.

-Nice to meet you. -Nice to meet you. Thanks for inviting me.

We didn't.

We're pretty sure the victim was killed somewhere else, then brought here.

I think it was premeditated.

What? - I think it was premeditated.

I think the killer chose this site, specifically, and dug it in advance.

I can show you-- You can tell because-- See this? The corners?

They're neat. They're symmetrical.

The proportions are precise.

They're exactly 5 foot, 11 inches.

-Your victim 5-107? -Yes, exactly.

I think he's been watching him for a few weeks...

...studying his habits, his routine.

And he knew he could rely on digging the grave right here.

And how did he know the victim would be here when he wanted?

That's a bicycle path, right?

On the photos you sent...

...the victim had these slight indentations on his ankles.

I'm guessing that's from bicycle clips.

Also, there's a sexual element to all this.

Strangling from behind, cutting off the hands, smashing in the face.

It's tactile. It's immediate. It's what turns him on.

And...

...he wanted you to find the body.

I mean...

...why else bury it at a construction site, unless you want it to be dug up, right?

His eyes, we think they were removed, or are they still in his skull?

-We don't know. -I assume you're doing--

Skull reconstruction. Yes, of course.

-It's being done right now. -Okay.

Are we done here?

-Yeah. -Okay.

Good night.

Don't worry about Paquette. He's impulsive.

He wants to rush into everything.

I don't blame him.

It's good to see you again, Illeana.

Means a lot that you're up here.

Lying in the grave.

My investigators think you are some kind of witch.

Well, I've been called worse.

-You know that. -I know.

Hi. I'm sorry for disturbing you. A man was killed last night.

It happened in a parking lot outside a 24-hour health club around 9:00.

-Same m.o.? -Same everything.

We found the garrotte there. It looks homemade.

The face was bashed in with a loose stone.

No time to get to the hands, though.

-Why not? -He was interrupted.

The victim's name was Clive Morin, and that's James Costa.

He claims he saw what happened.

He headed towards my car, and I hear--

When our guys got there, he was trying to revive the victim.

What about the blood on you?

You try to help somebody who's bleeding to death...

Is he checking out? -...you get blood on you.

James McKeen Costa. Born Nova Scotia, 1965.

Everything looks pretty standard.

We've got blood samples and a DNA swab on the way to the lab.

I turn, and I see...

...a man standing over somebody else...

...with...

...a rock...

...in his hand.

And then...

...he started beating this guy's face in...

-So I shouted-- -What did you shout?

"Stop," you know. Something dumb like that. I don't know. I--

And then I ran towards them.

And he looked up at me, and he pointed a gun at me.

And I....

I don't know. I thought--

I don't know what I thought. Then he ran away.

He's gone, and then I call the cops.

And I tried to perform CPR on the other guy until the paramedics came.

Did you remove the garrotte?

The--? Oh, the thing around his neck? Yeah, I kind of had to.

-Did you see where the attacker went? -Yeah, he went far from me. Right?

What kind of gun did he have?

He had the kind that puts really big holes in people.

I saw this guy.

All right? And I can draw a little bit, all right? So...

...maybe if you would give me a piece of paper, I can sketch him for you.

I don't know about this guy. I can't read him.

Something about his answers.

You mind if I give it a try?

No, please go ahead.

Hi.

You another cop?

In a way, yes. I'm Special Agent Illeana Scott.

-Special agent? -I'm FBI. I'm helping on the case.

-Can I ask a few questions? -You asking the same ones...

-...the other guy did? -Yes, probably.

-Do you mind if I have a cigarette? -No, of course not.

You nervous?

Yes, I am.

Extremely.

Thanks for the pad of paper.

So, what did he look like?

He had extremely bright eyes.

Burning, you know?

Even in the dark.

His hair...

...could have been blond.

He had a beard.

He had, not five-o'clock shadow...

...but something cultivated.

Did he seem agitated or in control?

Oh, Jesus.

Is that what I think it is?

Is that--? That's the--

That was around his neck, right? Am I right?

-Am I right? Yes, yes.

You did that on purpose?

All right, I'm doing my best here, all right? That man's face was half gone!

I couldn't even-- It didn't even look human.

I did everything I could to try to help him, and he--

He died, okay? He died. There was...

Look, there was too much blood there. I'd never seen so much blood in my life.