THE MURDER OF REAGAN TOKES

Chapters

• 0:00 Framing The Stakes
• 1:22 Reagan’s Life And Last Day
• 3:10 The Disappearance And Search
• 5:02 A Body Found And A Suspect
• 6:01 GPS Data And Systemic Failure
• 7:39 Trial, Verdict, And Accountability
• 9:18 Legislative Push And Reforms
• 10:55 Centering Reagan’s Legacy
• 12:18 Collective Safety And Closing

Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:00

Welcome back to Human Wreckage, the show that examines the stories of real people who found themselves caught in the fallout of human choices, some deliberate, some negligent, all catastrophic. Here we examine not just crime, but the conditions that allow crime to flourish. We analyze not just tragedy, but the systems and failures that let tragedy happen. Today's episode is one that shook a community, broke a family, and exposed deep cracks in criminal justice systems. It raised uncomfortable questions about parole supervision, electronic monitoring, the meaning of rehabilitation, and the risks everyday people don't realize they walk through until someone they love is taken. This is not an easy story, but it is an important one. February in Ohio has a particular feeling to a gray skies, cold air, a sense that winter is overstaying its welcome. On February 8th, 2017, the campus of the Ohio State University moved through the day as usual. Students rushed between classes with coffee cups, buses rumbled past the oval, and the brightness of early spring still felt far away. Among the crowd was Reagan Tox, a psychology major just months from graduation. Those who knew her describe her as intelligent, driven, kind, and the sort of person whose presence made a room feel just a little brighter. Her friends say she had a laugh that was warm and contagious. Her family remembers her as deeply empathetic, grounded, and full of promise. At twenty one, Reagan had plans she'd been interviewing for jobs and had spent the previous summer interning at a wildlife sanctuary. She wanted to build a career helping people, possibly in clinical psychology. She lived in an off-campus house with roommates, kept up a demanding academic schedule, and like many students, worked part-time. On the evening of February 8th, she was scheduled to work at Bodga, a popular restaurant and bar in Columbus's short north district. It wasn't a particularly busy night. Wednesday nights rarely are. At the time, there was no reason to think anything would happen. No sense of danger, no sense of forwarning, just a college student finishing her shift, ready to head home. In normal true crime narratives, this is where the ominous music swells, but real life rarely offers warnings. For Reagan, it was just the end of another ordinary shift. She clocked out around 9.45 PM. She texted her sister, told coworkers she'd see them later, walked out into the cold night, and made her way to her car parked a short distance away. She never arrived home. When a young adult misses Curfew, or a simply late returning home, friends and family often try not to panic. College life is unpredictable. Phones die, plans change, people get distracted. But early on February ninth, Reagan's roommates knew something was wrong. She hadn't come home. She hadn't contacted anyone. Calls went straight to voicemail. By the time morning classes began, the uneasy feeling had shifted to full fledged alarm. Reagan was responsible. She didn't just vanish. Her family, who lived hours away, immediately sensed danger. Her mother Lisa Tokes later said she knew something was terribly wrong almost instantly. When the Columbus Police Department received the missing person's report, they treated it with urgency. This was not a situation to wait and see. Reagan had disappeared after leaving work at night. She drove a distinctive silver 1999 Acura. Surveillance footage in the short north area captured her last known movements around her car. Detectives quickly began searching for Reagan's vehicle, interviewing coworkers, pulling security camera footage, and tracking any digital footprints they could find, phone pings, bank activity, anything that could narrow the timeline. But soon, the search shifted from hopeful to grim. By mid morning, officers discovered Reagan's car abandoned near Parkwood Avenue, several miles southeast of where she had last been seen. The location raised immediate suspicion. It was an area known for criminal activity, not somewhere a young woman would logically go on her own at night. The car was abandoned, but not damaged. The items inside painted a confusing picture. Some things were left, some were missing. But one fact was clear there was no sign of Reagan. The search intensified. Helicopters were deployed, ground crews combed nearby woods. Students across campus shared her photo, urging anyone with information to come forward. And then, that afternoon, the call came in from a Metro Parks employee doing routine rounds in Sayoto Grove Metro Park, a quiet nature preserve just south of Columbus. A body had been found. Authorities confirmed what everyone had feared. It was Reagan. The Toaks family's world shattered. As investigators reconstructed the timeline, one name emerged Brian Galsby. He was twenty nine years old. He had a violent criminal history. And at the time of Reagan's disappearance, he was on post-release control, the Ohio equivalent of parole. He wore a GPS ankle monitor. Despite this, he had been committing a series of robberies in the area eight of them between January and early February 2017. Women had been targeted, threatened, assaulted, the pattern was escalating, yet he remained free. His GPS monitor recorded his location constantly, but no one was actively reviewing the data. This detail later became one of the most shocking revelations of the case. The system meant to monitor him was reactive, not proactive. Data was collected, but unless someone went back and checked it after a crime occurred, it served no real time protective purpose. When detectives cross-referenced the GPS logs, they discovered what should have been caught much earlier. His routes matched the robbery locations, and on the night of february eighth, his movements aligned with the timeline of Reagan's disappearance and murder. The evidence mounted quickly. DNA, surveillance, stolen items found in his possession, the GPS data itself, a firearm linked to the crime. It became clear that Gallsby had approached Reagan as she walked to her car after work, forced her into her vehicle, and kidnapped her. He drove her to multiple locations throughout the night before ultimately taking her to Sayoto Grove Metro Park. Again, we won't describe the details. We honor the victim by refusing to sensationalize her suffering. But what must be said is this Reagan's death was preventable. Not in the magical, hindsight is twentywinny way, but in a literal way. The man who killed her was supposed to be monitored. And yet, no one was watching. As the case moved toward trial, Columbus watched closely. The crime had gripped the community not only because of its brutality, but because of what it suggested about public safety and the parole system. During the proceedings, prosecutors presented overwhelming evidence tying Gallsby to the crime. They laid out the timeline, they connected dots the monitoring system had failed to connect. They showed the GPS data, they showed forensic evidence. They showed how Reagan's belongings had been found in his possession or discarded along his route. The defense attempted to argue mitigating circumstances related to Gallsby's upbringing and psychological background, but the jury had heard enough. In March 2018, Brian Goldsby was convicted on multiple counts, including aggravated murder, kidnapping, rape, and robbery. He was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. For many, the verdict felt like justice. For Reagan's family, justice is a complicated word. Nothing brings her back. Nothing repairs the damage. But accountability mattered because accountability had been missing when it mattered most. The aftermath of Reagan's murder sparked statewide conversation. People asked questions that demanded answers. How could someone with a violent past be released without adequate supervision? Why was a GPS monitor used in a passive way, collecting data without analyzing it? Why weren't his previous crimes detected sooner when the evidence was literally recorded on his ankle? The Toxes family demanded not just answers, but change. And so began the push for the Reagan Toxes Act, a legislative effort in Ohio aimed at reforming monitoring systems and strengthening sentencing guidelines for violent offenders. The Act proposed significant adjustments, stricter guidelines for post-release supervision, improved GPS monitoring protocols, the ability for authorities to respond more quickly to high risk behavior, stronger consequences for parole violations. The legislation did not move quickly. Reform never does, but the public pressure was immense. The Tokes family appeared before lawmakers, speaking through unimaginable pain, urging them to fix what was broken to ensure no other family lived through what they endured. Eventually, in 2018 and 2019, parts of the Reagan Tokes Act were passed. The reforms addressed sentencing structures and gave corrections departments more flexibility and oversight in supervising offenders outside prison. It wasn't perfect. No law is, but it was movement movement driven by a young woman whose life should never have been sacrificed to expose flaws in the system. True crime often becomes about villains and mysteries. We talk about criminals, we talk about motives, we dig into timelines and procedures. But this story at its core is not about a criminal. It is about Reagan. Her family lost a daughter. Her friends lost someone they loved. Classmates lost a peer who inspired them. The world lost someone who had more to give someone who helped animals, volunteered her time, cared deeply for others, and had plans for a future that was taken from her. When you look at photos of Reagan, you don't see a true crime case. You see a real person with real hopes, someone who should have graduated in may twenty seventeen, celebrated her accomplishments, and moved into the next chapter of her life. Instead, her memory became a rallying point for justice reform. It is important to acknowledge both truths that she lived a meaningful life, and that her death served as a catalyst for change. But we must never allow the second to overshadow the first. More than eight years have passed since the night Reagan disappeared. Time has moved forward, but the loss remains. So does her legacy. The Tox family continues to advocate for improved safety measures and reforms. Scholarships exist in her honor. Awareness programs have been created. Students at Ohio State still hear her name not as a cautionary tale, but as a reminder of humanity, vulnerability, and the importance of systemic responsibility. Her case is studied in criminal justice classes. It is referenced in policy discussions. It influences how monitoring technology is used and how parole guidelines are structured. Change is slow, but her impact is real. Before we close, I want to speak directly to listeners because true crime, when consumed responsibly, is not just about stories. It's about awareness. Reagan did everything a person is supposed to do. She worked a job. She parked in a populated area. She walked to her car. She lived her life. The responsibility for what happened to her does not lie with her. It lies with the man who committed the crime. And it lies with the systems that should have prevented him from having the opportunity. If there is a takeaway from today's episode, let it be this. Safety is not an individual responsibility alone. It is a collective one shared by policymakers, communities, institutions, and all of us who demand better. Reagan deserved better. Thank you for listening to today's episode of Human Wreckage. This has been the story of Reagan Tokes, a case that exposed systemic failures, influenced legislative reform, and forever changed those who knew and loved her. If you or someone you know has been affected by violent crime, resources are available. Please don't hesitate to seek support. This is Human Wreckage, where we confront the stories that force us to confront ourselves.