Читать книгу Visiting Darkness - Celeste Prater - Страница 8

Chapter 3

Max studied the crowd of Bagwell customers now experiencing the aftermath of adrenaline leaving the body at a rapid pace. Docile bodies perched on the curb tried to keep their heads from wobbling on loose necks as the EMTs continued tending minor cuts and scrapes. He looked down at his notes.

Butch, Brian, and the new kid pulled enough info out of them to confirm six stood one register over from the hot zone and considered themselves lucky enough not to have taken a round in the back as they tripped over others throwing themselves to the floor. All reported the same thing: Heard the shots. Woman with dark hair holding a gun. I ran. All planned on buying lottery tickets tonight.

On instinct, the remaining followed the stampeding herd as they fled from whatever monster lurked up front and saw nothing of consequence. After finding the rear doors dead-bolted, they clustered on the back dock, clamped hands over mouths unable to stop crying, and prayed the beast from hell wasn’t making its way through the building. Major fire safety violation on Bagwell’s part, but this was someone else’s problem. Max glanced over at Brian’s unit.

Camo guy, as he would be forever known, aka Irwin Smith, became his saving grace when cluing the cameras were toast after she killed the first two victims. Even still, Max knew he’d met every detective’s dream. Calm, rational, and recounted in vivid detail her exact movements without added commentary on his now traumatized life or he was only there to buy milk. The man had seen combat. This was just another event Irwin would shove into one of those dark slots in the back of his brain to keep from losing it every time a door slammed shut. They gave each other a knowing look and exchanged head nods before Max turned to the store.

Martinez and Higgins met him at the glass doors as he snapped gloves in place. Both faces were pale. Martinez pushed out a weak, “Clear,” and Higgins shook his head, mumbling, “God damn, Max. Get ready,” before they walked away. He bet they carried a little more sympathy for the new boot right about now.

Once inside, Max refused to do nothing more than count bodies as he walked through the scene on his way to register two, the start of everything. This is where he would settle himself and try to enter the mind of a killer.

Careful to avoid shell casings scattered about, abandoned carts full of groceries, and pools of blood now thickening under each form, Max continued to make small tick marks on the notepad. As he reached the targeted counter and added the young kid slumped on the other side, he tallied nine dead. Six females and three males. He avoided looking at the nametag pinned to the shirt, refusing to see them as individuals. Not right now anyway.

After a careful study of the counter, he upended the paper sack resting next to the bag carousel and found melted Blue Bell ice cream, package of yellow gloves, small bottle of bleach, and children’s cold medicine. Random items from various aisles and unrelated except for the bleach and gloves.

Maybe she grabbed shit to blend in with the other shoppers as she cased the place.

Max shook his head and looked around. “No, doesn’t make any sense. You knew full well you had a packed store by counting cars in the lot. You could’ve stuck to the front where the money was. Less eyeballs on you. In and out. Fast. There was no need to shop, so why did you?” His eyes tracked from one body to the next as he stepped through the sequence, placing himself at each location.

“Ending these nine didn’t accomplish hiding your identity, either,” he whispered. “If it were the goal, you would’ve put something over your face and blasted the cameras first. Irwin said you never tried pursuing the others. What you saw, you shot. Were you waiting for the right person to get in line, masking your target by adding more?” He glanced back at the carnage. “Yeah, the focus of all of this was on the killing. Wasn’t it?”

Squatted next to the manager’s body, Max replayed Irwin’s chilling recall of events. The cold smile as she pointed the Glock at each target and fired without an ounce of hesitation, the selection of candy from the shelf, nonchalant enjoyment of a cigarette at the door, and the ecstatic expression while blasting this last gentleman all to hell and back.

“Nah. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the money secondary—an afterthought. You got off on the chaos. The power.”

Assessment of the crumpled man left Max fighting an insane desire to right the toupee, to give the guy a little more dignity before cameras starting clicking and forever captured this moment.

“Irwin said he couldn’t see your face when this went down,” Max whispered to the corpse. “Did you say something to her? Was it to beg for your life, or did you clue to the inevitable and tell her to fuck off?” He exhaled on a sigh. “I hope it was the last one, buddy.”

The sight of multiple holes in what was once a light purple shirt, allowed a little bit of empathy to seep into his emotions while his thumb traced across an old wound riding the side of his own throat. He could still recall the flash of fire sending the bullet through Fergus’s left cheek before exiting and entering him like a hot poker, splitting skin, burrowing into muscle, and chipping bone. Without doubt, he could understand what each of these victims experienced, yet he’d been the lucky one and got to walk away.

“You’d shit if you saw this one, Gus,” he huffed. “Finale’s worse than when the couple over on Skyline knifed their neighbors and offed themselves in the backyard.”

Max liked to think some of his best friend still rode inside him after all these years, maybe nudging him in a right direction every now and again. He found comfort in knowing their blood mixed before Fergus took his last breath. Except for genetics, he was his brother in every sense. The only person he’d been able to bounce off a half-baked idea and get back five possible leads spit out in a deep Irish brogue, making them sound that much more plausible.

Startled at the ringing phone disturbing the eerie quietness, Max released a soft chuckle as he stared at the incoming number for a few beats. “You being funny, Gus?” It was Sean McLellan, Fergus’s son. He was smart like his dad. It wouldn’t surprise him if the boy made detective soon. McLellan blood ran deep.

“Hey, Sean. What’s up?”

“They got her. She’s dead.”

“Fuck. Clue me.”

“Got word a sheriff’s unit spotted a vehicle on 177 matching the description. We caught up with the van after it turned onto 270. Ten miles outside Seminole, she hit the spikes and blew out the tires. After running on flats for a quarter mile, we boxed her in, and everyone believed we’d squat for a while until the negotiator arrived. No such luck. Shit. Hold up.”

Max listened to Sean’s deep voice barking out orders.

“No. Make them move back. Go ahead and string the tape. Jurisdiction’s ours. Yeah? Tell him to bite me. We’ll measure dicks later.”

After a hard battle against a chuckle gurgling up his throat, Max finally gave up.

“Where was I? Oh, right. The crazy female took her sweet ass time smoking a cigarette, sailed the butt out the window, and then crawled out like it was no big deal. We all yelled to toss the weapon and hug the van. She started firing on the closest unit, instead. Get this. The broad laughed at us. Cackled like a loon. I’m not shitting, Max. Total suicide mission. Local cops lit her up. Its fucked beyond reason. You have to come see this.”

“Be right there.” Phone secured in his back pocket, Max took one more look around at the horrific sight and motioned forensics to come inside to do their thing. He gestured to the left as Anderson came within earshot.

“Manager’s office is behind those swinging doors and on the right. If you find video, send it on a direct path to my office in some trusted hands. Don’t wait for the wrap up. Pictures of the victims and their IDs can come over with the other stuff. Make sure I find a copy on my desk when you’re done. I should be back at the station in about two hours. Keep the names under wrap and only turn over to the Captain. He’ll make personal notification to family and speak to the public. This is big. Don’t fuck it up.”

* * * * *

“How far out are the news vans?” Max hung his coat and slipped on a pair of new gloves while Sean’s intelligent blue eyes skirted the area. The light smattering of freckles across his nose and red strands scattered throughout his “getting a little too long” brown hair stood out from the sun blasting off the surrounding vehicles. He even clenched his strong jaw like his dad when amped on adrenaline. The kid was a definite McLellan. Fergus had all but cloned himself. Even the accent was there, just not as pronounced.

“They’re converging on 177 now. I sent two units to block the road right before the curve. Two 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 in his inbox tomorrow, that and the phone records he ordered.

A thorough study of the faux Louise Vuitton’s contents spread out on the desk hadn’t been a help, either. Just typical things women shoved in their purses—chewing gum, tampons, Pepto, Spiderman Band-Aids, pen with a chewed cap, and a compact. Other than the wads of bloodied money bagged into evidence, Mary looked like any typical mom raising three kids while her husband pulled in the bacon.

Sensing a presence, Max glanced up in time to catch Sean’s head popping around the corner of the half-closed door. He motioned him in. Like his father, the kid lost no time in spilling what ran at lightning speed through his head.

“I didn’t find anyone at the house. No cars out front, either. A nosey neighbor caught us walking the perimeter and told me the husband worked at a steel plant about fifteen minutes away.”

Max grunted out what was supposed to resemble a laugh as soon as Sean rolled his eyes and removed a thick stack of folders from the only chair he ever allowed in front of his desk. Straight back and wooden seat with purposeful discomfort in mind ensured less chance of lingering visitors, but Sean knew he was the exception. Obvious his task drained him, he plopped down on the unforgiving seat anyway. Paperwork balanced at a precarious pitch on his right knee, the closest Max would ever have to a son shoved out a tired breath.

“I kept it discreet as possible in getting him out of the plant. Nice, decent guy. Secured him in Room 5 before I told him his wife robbed the store and fled the scene. Best to let him chew on the first shocker a bit before you feed him the rough stuff. Heads up. As expected, he’s in denial and pissed. Says we’ve named the wrong person, and Mary’s probably shopping somewhere else. He even tried calling her. I’m positive he’s clueless on her intentions.”

Sean’s eyes softened. It was the only characteristic his mother could lay claim. The one trait he’d one day learn to save for places other than this, Max hoped.

“They’ve got kids. Three small boys.”

Max turned back to the computer. “Yeah, I know. Go get him a soda. If he smokes, let him. I’ll be there in five.”