it makes sense. She left us a calling card.” He leaned forward and stared at Mary’s last victim’s pale face.
“You didn’t do a damn thing but be the unlucky one she encountered on her way out the door. You were her canvas for speaking to the world. If you’d ran outside at first chance, we’d be looking at this exact thing on number eight’s chest. No, you’re the one getting the shitty draw of wearing her legacy. I’m sorry, buddy.” He felt a light tap on his shoulder.
“What do you think it means?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. A sick upside-down version of her initial, a directional indicator, or maybe something stupid as a school varsity letter. Hell, no clue what ran through the woman’s brain as she made this choice.”
“Maybe I can help you out there. I’ll need a few hours of shut eye, but I’ll do a thorough autopsy this afternoon. Toxicology shows no drugs in the system, so I’ll focus on any major diseases.” He shrugged and snapped off his gloves. “Some people let loose when they think they’re traipsing close to the reaper. Perhaps she made plans to whoop it up in Mexico before she bit it.”
“Possible. You never know what makes people tick.” Max wouldn’t have thought he’d ever wish a brain tumor on someone, but it would supply a reasonable explanation for the horror, even give Jason some socially acceptable closure if you wanted to find any good in it.
Doctor thanked for the selfless hours of effort, Max left the facility unable to shake his belief Deming wouldn’t find a damn thing wrong with her, other than thirty or more bullet holes riddling the body.
Scared of the gun, my ass. Those weren’t lucky shots. Mary knew exactly what she was doing. This was years of practice with an eye for detail. She’d been the perfect killing machine.
* * * * *
When you hit a wall, turn and find a new path.
Max clicked open the email box desperate for a thorough clean up one day and found JoAnn supplied two solid roads to follow.
Good girl!
Phone records and the unsealed juvenile history sat in his inbox like a gift from the gods. The autopsy report appeared, but he decided to save it for last. He had a feeling it held no new surprise.
Three lines in on the Beckham County juvenile report, Max leaned forward in interest.
“Well, what do we have here?”
Yes, there was the expected minor in possession of alcohol ticket, but it also rode hand in hand with an assault charge for fighting at a football game and resulting in bodily injury.
Another girl made a grave mistake of shoving Mary to the side so she could walk one of the football players off the field after their victory. Said athlete was none other than Jason Galesh. Mary’s victim, Erin Sweeny, suffered a broken tooth, patch of missing hair, and a dislocated arm for stomping around in Mary’s territory. The brick to the knee got her the use of a deadly weapon charge tacked on.
“Well so much for not being violent, Audrey. Your friend’s got a history.”
For the over-the-top jealous streak, Max discovered Mary spent a week in juvenile detention with a parental promise to the judge she would attend a strict boarding school to finish out the rest of ninth grade. They bowed to the mandatory concession or faced watching their otherwise sweet daughter spend serious jail time in a hardcore youth facility. Did it stop there? Nope.
Reports to the court notated a few escape attempts. Jason caught sneaking onto the grounds resulted in the parents sending her to another school for troubled teens on the east coast to avoid the judge’s threat to revoke her plea agreement. Last report notation showed she finished out there without incident and returned to Elk City. Nothing but the speeding ticket followed. She became a model citizen.
“Guess she didn’t like the idea of staying away from Jason, so she straightened up. Okay, now I know you’re the jealous type and resort to violence if you imagine a relationship’s threatened.”
Max shuffled through the large manila envelope forensics placed on his desk an hour ago and retrieved a scene photo of the tall, well-built blond. “Maybe you were the catalyst.” He flipped it over. “Sherilynn Owens. Current or former mistress of the hubby?” He sat back and thought about it for a minute.
“Nah, that doesn’t make any sense. A scorned woman would wait and catch them together to justify her actions, or if working off pure ignited emotion, would’ve blasted her first.”
High school Mary struck out at Erin fast, yet Owens ranked as the second victim, not the target. Gut instinct clamored Mary wanted to chalk up a body count on her way to the door. If the blond were banging the hubby, he expected the seven holes reserved for the homewrecker and the W representing “whore” to show her distaste. The only way he knew to sway from the logical course of thought is if Ms. Owen’s number started popping up on the Galesh’s phone records. He slipped the photo back in with the others and opened the second email.
Not long into the assessment, Max discovered Mary spoke with Audrey quite a bit. Calls to her parents in Elk City were consistent—every Thursday like clockwork. Most texts were short and revolved around notices to Jason she’d be late coming back from the kid’s doctor visits or asking him to pick up something from the store on his way home.
A smattering of gooey love messages confirmed Jason and Mary were still hot for each other. If Jason did half the naughty promises to his wife, then she ranked as a very satisfied woman in the sack and vice versa. Sherilynn was set aside as a motive.
Max found no odd, rogue numbers slipping in with the rest. All were neighbors, the school, mom, local businesses, or the hubby. Jason’s were all to Mary, work, or Audrey’s husband, Lou. A perusal of the autopsy proved him right. Nothing out of the ordinary, and she had perfect health. Despite the added information, she remained Mystery Mary. He closed the reports and clicked the National Crime Database link.
“Okay, so let’s look at the event instead.” Gus relayed on more than one occasion people were just a bunch of animals riding instinctual moves most of the time. If you look at similar actions, you might find motives the same as your perp. At least it could open doors for new trails to sniff down.
A plug of “gun use” and “multiple victims” delivered Max a list too numerous to even consider traipsing through. The reveal came as no surprise. Nobody broke out with a good fistfight anymore and left it at that. Of course not. They go for the kill, as if this would somehow right their pride. Instead, most found themselves murdering innocent bystanders and missing the true mark by a mile. He added “grocery store” to the search engine.
The results narrowed but stayed outrageous. Even an include of “leaving a calling card” for perpetrator quirks got him zero hits. Max removed the store variable and received a much shorter list, but still too long to rifle through in a reasonable amount of time. Search grid narrowed down to Oklahoma and the surrounding states brought back five hits and a surge of hope. The third lifted the hairs on his arms.
Well, shit.
Eyes jumping from one line to the next, Max read it twice to make sure he wasn’t imagining the content.
“Inmate: Bernard Adler. Event Location: Target store in Ardmore, Oklahoma. Event date: Four years ago. Victim count: Twelve. Method: Handgun. Sentence: Life without parole. Inmate Location: McAlester, Oklahoma penitentiary. Quirk:
