more took the south end, but I doubt any stations will head in from the opposite direction anytime soon. Too far away. The others shouldn’t be able to take any pics other than the vehicle. I covered the plates. She’s on the opposite side facing the woods and has a skirting around her.”
On a nod, Max decided to start with the van since the coroner’s office beat him there by ten minutes. Bursts of light proved their focus remained on the body. A quick glance around confirmed Sean had effectively warned off the massive number of officers responding to the chase. Even the Del City force was present.
Max scanned the faces eyeballing the scene and pinpointed which fired their weapons. Most were Seminole and Holdenville cops rocking the sweaty, haunted look. It wasn’t every day you filled a woman full of lead. They’d toss at night for weeks, if not forever. “Who owns the van?”
Sean pulled his notepad. “Came back to a Jason Galesh. Home bought eight years ago is about three blocks from the shooting. No wants or warrants.”
Max noticed the Garfield stuffed animal Irwin mentioned. Now missing an ear, it clung to the half-shattered back glass by one plastic cup. The cargo area carried a spare tire leaking from one of the shots, but otherwise came up clean. He kept to the passenger side free of bullets and shell casings. A peek into the back seat revealed a few sheets of paper with what appeared to be kid drawings. Laden with glass, he left them where they lay.
Maybe there is something to the children’s cold medicine choice, after all.
The front compartment reeked of cigarettes despite the missing driver and back passenger-side windows. An empty Almond Joy wrapper fluttered in the cup holder while another package lay unopened on the console. The chocolate leaked through the seams and at a steady drip over the edge, no match for the heat of the blazing early June sun.
Ah, that’s what you snatched off the candy rack.
From inside the fancy purse taking up residence on the floorboard, he retrieved a wallet hiding under wads of loose cash and studied the driver’s license. A brilliant smile greeted him. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve considered the woman friendly and approachable.
“Mary Galesh. Five feet, six inches. Brown hair. Green eyes. One eighty. Turned thirty about three months ago.” He held it out to Sean.
“Same address as the registered owner,” he confirmed. “Looks like her too. We can now rule out a carjack scenario.” He handed it back and opened an evidence bag so Max could slip it and the purse inside. Insurance and registration papers found in the glove compartment proved the vehicle belonged to Jason Galesh. They went in too.
“Do me a favor, Sean. Go check out the home. Find out what’s going on there. Round up the family, if you can.” He caught his arm.
“Swing by the store first and take Higgins with you. Ask Brian to stay for the forensics wrap-up. He knows my checkpoints. I’m going straight to the office after this, so drop the bag in my trunk.”
“Got it.”
Max rounded the front of the van and received his first unencumbered look at the damage. There had to be at least thirty or more shots peppering the length. He was still trying to figure out how they hadn’t broken out the windows on the passenger side by time he spotted the subject splayed out on the pavement about ten feet away.
Son of a bitch.
One look and Max figured every bullet must have passed through her body before striking the vehicle. What she heaped on the Bagwell manager returned three-fold, believing it a miracle none had struck the face confirming her as Mary Galesh. He kneeled by the skirting, searing the scene into his brain.
Both tan sandals lay about three feet away. Either she kicked them off or they blew her out of them. She wore the clothing Irwin described. Her eyes remained open and staring at the pristine blue sky. Max swore she carried a slight smile…that or the sun was getting to him. He reached up and swiped at a trail of sweat tickling the side of his neck.
Butted up close to the blood-soaked T-shirt, he found the Glock still gripped in her right hand and finger on the trigger. A full magazine lay across the left palm while another hung out of the shorts pocket and rested against the shot-to-shit cell phone—which would’ve been nice to include in evidence. No wonder they’d lit her up. She had no plans of going in easy.
Inevitable outcome asked and received.
Max rose and stepped back a few paces as the gurney rattled to a stop next to the most unusual perp he’d ever met. The “whodunit” aspect appeared over. Now it was only the matter of why and if more might be involved. Max gave a quick nod to confirm his analysis complete and stared at her unseeing eyes.
“What in the hell were you thinking, Mary?”
* * * * *
A search of several more internet sites and finding nothing of importance, Max shook his head and leaned back in his chair. It squeaked out a string of discontent, reminding he needed to quit lying to himself about oiling the damn thing. His focus returned to the computer screen, frustration mounting at the repeated dead ends concerning Mary Galesh. No warrants, no priors…nothing.
The video store surveillance matched to the last detail of what Irwin recounted. It chilled his blood to watch how fast the events turned. He caught sight of her standing in line waiting to check out after the tall blond moved aside. The camera angle showed only the top of everyone’s head, hindering any idea of Mary’s emotions until she’d looked up and aimed at the camera. Cold, dead eyes stared right into his. She was nothing like the woman on the DL.
Max started the video again and studied the mechanics of each kill but came no closer to understanding how she ticked. Three smooth, flawless shots and the two were down. It appeared she spoke to the kid after she nailed him, but there was no audio to confirm.
He sat back and wished the store had cameras throughout so he could have at least seen her while she selected the items. Was it with purpose or haphazard? Nope, Bagwell’s sole focus lay on the clerk’s hands working their money, nothing else.
On the off chance of success, he scoured traffic records and came away with the most excitement experienced in the last two hours. Report of a one-car accident with a guardrail the previous April opened a new door. Property records showed the accident occurred a block from the house. No one injured. All three kids were in the car, though. The tidbit of information made his gut cramp.
Poor things. Half-hearted suicide attempt with a thought of taking the little ones with her?
He knew he was grasping now, but nothing made sense other than she made a big splash before throwing the dice and winning the suicide by cop round. The report listed her maiden name as Wilkins and led him to a speeding ticket out of Elk City. It appeared to be her hometown. She’d just turned eighteen. Nothing major listed there, either.
Even with one door closing after the next, Max’s eyes kept bouncing back to the notice of an available juvenile record. It remained sealed from the age of fifteen. He reckoned a possible curfew violation or minor in possession of alcohol, typical shit teenagers get into when bored in a small town. But then again, it could reveal a slice of her personality helping mold the woman she would become.
JoAnn, the loveable department assistant every detective fought over to utilize and ended up abusing beyond reason, promised after a comical bout of bribes she would call in a few favors and force a rush on having it unsealed. He had complete faith it would land
