Читать книгу Visiting Darkness - Celeste Prater - Страница 10

Chapter 5

The slight edge of the sun rising above the horizon and painting a low blanket of clouds into an explosion of deep orange, yellow, and red brought a smile to Max’s face. He never knew what color would greet him. Whatever surprise the sky decided to offer, it never got old to him. This was the best part of living, he affirmed—seeing a new awakening and catching a tiny bit of hope something fresh and clean rode in on its coattails to wash away whatever clung to him the day before.

Match tip scraped across rough gray brick, Max turned his shoulder to block a slight breeze and lifted the flaming wooden stick to light his first cigarette of the day. On a quick snap of the thin, silver case Fergus’s wife, Danielle, gifted him years ago, he leaned back against the wall and let vivid memories flood an accepting mind.

While he and Fergus laughed it up in front of a backyard barbeque pit, she handed one over to her husband too. The little spitfire hadn’t forgotten their flippant promise to cut down on the smokes three days prior. It could only hold five cigarettes, so they’d gotten the message. She was calling them on it.

Looking out at the majestic skyline, he couldn’t believe nine years from their funny moment had passed so fast. Yep, lots had changed since then. He kept his and Fergus’s pact, but now, he placed three inside before heading to work. The perfect number. One in the morning, another right after whatever lunch he was lucky enough to grab, and the last saved for the back porch while staring at the stars before he called it a night. The extra room afforded him more matches in the event he screwed up on getting a flame, which was about half the time.

Max ran a thumb across the engraving she left as a constant reminder of their promise, chuckled, and slipped the case into his breast pocket.

“Less is more,” he whispered. So true.

Cutting down sure as hell made it easier to run the track and think when he wasn’t coughing up a lung, but he knew full well he’d never stop. The years had already taken away entirely too much. He was keeping this one and the fond memories called from just slipping the case into his pocket.

The distinctive sound of fluorescent bulbs flickering to life inside the blue and white sign attached to the Medical Examiner’s office had him shaking his head. He harbored a feeling this fucked up case might cause a full pack and a lighter to start riding in his pocket real soon if not careful.

Max continued appreciating the scenery and quietness of the early morning, refusing to move from his perch until the ash closed in on the filter. All too soon, he ground Marlboro number one into the provided ashtray and popped a mint into his mouth. He enjoyed his habit but rejected breathing his pleasure into anyone else’s face.

A hard yank proving the door unlocked, Max walked six paces, pressed a faded red button next to a caged window, and leaned on the short Formica-encased ledge sticking out from the dull green wall. He wondered how many times his elbow had pressed against the rickety thing, surprised it hadn’t cracked off years ago.

Frankie peeked through the small opening, held up an index finger, and walked away. Relieved to find his buddy on duty instead of Tiffany set his shoulders into normal position. After two years, she still acted like a newb on the first day. He wondered where he found the patience to hold his tongue as she went all airhead on him and rummaged through filing cabinets for something sitting on her desk the entire time. The inevitable giggles at finding them after a round of insistent finger pointing to help the dizzy blond ran his spine like razor wire, though expected on each encounter. If nothing else, she stayed a consistent goof and lucky to claim the doc as her great-uncle. If not for the blood ties, the little bit of fluff would’ve been gone a long time ago.

No doubt, Frankie ranked as top-notch. The guy stuck every toe tag on new arrivals, kept fastidious paperwork, and stood by with the right words and expressions as family members identified their dead. While on Frankie’s watch, a cop never lost a victim or endured a relative’s instance of false hope upon seeing the wrong face uncovered. Max recalled years ago as a tall, lanky kid strolled in the first day on the job, sporting wide sky-blue eyes full of sympathy and easy to well with tears. Not anymore. They were as world-weary as his were now.

Glass partition snapped into the side slot, Frankie handed over the roster of victims and pushed back the red ball cap failing an effort to subdue dark hair curling around his ears. “Doc’s ready for you. Bay eight. He finished up about thirty minutes ago. Worked all night.”

“Good man.”

Frankie buzzed him in.

Max draped his jacket over an arm and settled his breath. This visit was only a formality, another item required to check off his to-do list. There’d be no trial to use the findings or groundbreaking forensic pathology to prove the right killer stood before a jury of her peers. No, the entire event presented the urgency in allowing devastated families to move forward in the grieving process and collect their loved ones. He’d know each one of his victim’s names and stats before the hour ended. Now it got personal.

Faced with a maze of hallways he could navigate in his sleep, Max decided to pick up the pace and get this done and over. He gave the list one more glance and pushed inside the designated room considered the most spacious until finding ten bodies dominating the scenery. Nine covered gurneys lined in a row failed in removing the image of their original positions on the store tile. Another rested in the far corner—in the dark. It had to be Mary.

The significance of its distance from the others led Max to believe Frankie recovered a little bit of humanity and decided to honor the victims by ensuring their killer never got close again. Even the sheet claimed an unusual color—puke green muted against a sea of pristine white. A soft voice pulled his attention away from Jason’s loved one.

“Hi, Max. Let’s start in order.”

He joined Dr. Cecil Deming as he pulled back a sheet and revealed the young man behind the counter. Max dragged his patience front and center, preparing himself. The need didn’t rise from viewing a dead body, but the doctor himself. He liked Deming well enough, but the man got exceedingly enthusiastic at times. He always reminded Max of a mad scientist with the thin body honed from forgetting to eat, shock of white, haphazard Einstein hair, and wireframe glasses refusing to sit at the top of his hooked nose. And so, it begins.

The fanatic for detail didn’t mind sharing every nuance, no matter how tired he was. It would all be in the report, but Max pursed his lips and let him share in the joy of his work. By time they made it down the line and stood next to the male victim found in the grocery aisle, Max couldn’t stop his mind from drifting after hearing, “Gunshot to the back of the head. Instantaneous death,” for the fourth time. No, the lapse in attention wasn’t from boredom or the force feeding of information he already knew, but the idea of lying on one of these tables in the future.

Everyone would park it on a cold slab one day, but he wondered how many gave any thought to strangers seeing all the imperfections they took painstaking care to hide from the world throughout their short existence. The ugly panties worn on washday Sunday, a protruding gut from not knowing when to set the beer down, the drunken tattoo dare won and later cover of the little swastika with a Band-Aid over a fifteen year span, or dreaded lint stuck in a belly button are no longer private matters.

Yeah, unfortunate last memories.

The first time he and Fergus walked their naïve asses inside a morgue and stared at two naked bodies with stab wounds to the throat, they’d both promised to forgo weird tattoos, change their underwear every day, and keep in shape no matter how old they got.

“Go out handsome” rolled out of Fergus’s crazy mouth on their eventful day. It stuck. Max checked back into the conversation upon hearing Deming’s voice speeding up with unbanked enthusiasm.

“All of these were precision shots meant to cause the most damage. Lower gut, hearts, and heads. But this one. Whoa. He must have pissed her off something fierce.”

Sheet snapping back with a flare worthy of a magician, doc waved a hand over the seven bloodless holes in the store manager’s chest. “What do you see besides overkill, Detective Browning?”

Max caught the gist as the doctor tapped next to an entry point two inches above the right nipple and then drifted alongside two more angling toward the belly. His finger followed an invisible line up to the one sitting center mass. The instant a gloved finger traced down to the other side and then tapped next to three more angling in a direct line up to the left pec, Max whispered, “W.”

The doctor’s head bobbed up and down in excitement. “Bingo!”

A low whistle ended Max’s study of the wounds from every angle. “Damn, I wondered why she pegged him harder than the rest, but now 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: Bullet holes in victim’s upper torso forming the letter ‘W.’ Inmate unwilling to disclose meaning.”

Max flopped back and scrubbed the top of his head until sure the hair stood up in little spikes. “Damn. Am I dealing with a copycat?” Eyes swiveled to the left, he pressed a finger against the map tacked to the wall and trailed it down Highway 270, confident he knew what waited at the end. He needed to see the word to let it sink home. The thin yellow line led directly to McAlester.

Did Mary set out to visit her idol with an intent to make a big show outside the prison gates? Was she planning to shout his name and call victory? Perhaps she already planned to be a martyr, but just didn’t make it all the way to her destination.

All signs pointed to it. Had she corresponded or admired from afar? Heart rate speeding, he stood and made a frantic pocket pat for his keys. He needed his ass at the Galesh home to search Mary’s personal belongings before Jason lawyered up out of protection from all things hell bent on further disrupting his life.

The desk phone rang from an outside line and furrowed his brows. For half a second, he thought about not answering. But on the off chance it might be Jason halted his escape. If he received permission to search now, half his battle was in the bag. He snatched the phone.

“Browning.”

“Detective Maxwell Browning?”

The smooth, deep voice threw him for a second. He’d never heard it before, but the man sounded articulate.

Crap! Don’t let it be the lawyer.

“Yeah, how can I help you?”

“My name’s Preston Sinclair. I’m calling about the event at Bagwell’s grocery. I have information pertinent to your case. Please write my number down. I might get disconnected.”