The call was supposed to be routine — an eviction notice, a locksmith, a simple knock on the door. Instead, it ended with gunfire on a quiet Vero Beach street. Six days before Thanksgiving, Deputy Terri Mashkow arrived at a modest home to keep the peace while locks were changed at the request of the homeowner — the suspect’s mother. What should have been tense but ordinary became deadly in seconds.
According to investigators, 32-year-old Michael Halberstam burst out of the house with a gun and opened fire without warning. Mashkow, her partner, and the locksmith were all struck before deputies returned fire, critically wounding Halberstam and ending the attack. Mashkow’s wounds proved fatal, turning a civil process into a tragedy that shook the community.
In the days that followed, grief rippled through Indian River County. Mashkow, a devoted mother and dedicated deputy, was posthumously promoted and her badge retired. Colleagues described her as steady, calm, and compassionate — the kind of officer who handled volatile calls with quiet professionalism.
Neighbors shared stories of her kindness: checking on elderly residents, helping stranded drivers, volunteering at school events. She preferred staying out of the spotlight, they said, wanting only to keep people safe.
Investigators are still reconstructing the events that led to the shooting. Halberstam’s mother had sought eviction after escalating household conflicts, and court records point to a troubled past that included previous arrests and erratic behavior. Detectives are examining whether mental-health struggles or substance abuse contributed to the sudden violence.
For the sheriff’s office, the incident has forced renewed attention on the dangers of civil processes. “There’s no such thing as a simple call,” Sheriff Eric Flowers said. “Terri knew the risks, and she showed up anyway.”
Across the county, vigils were held, blue ribbons tied to mailboxes, and prayers offered for Mashkow’s family. Her teenage son spoke softly at one gathering: “May her courage keep others safe.”
In the end, Mashkow’s final act was one of service — stepping toward danger so others didn’t have to. Her legacy is quiet courage, given freely in a world that rarely pauses to see it.
