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“The OTD does what?” I asked.Operational technologysounded like it could be anything.
“According to Special Agent Lyle Carmichael, the guy I was finally bounced to”—Monck flipped pages in a legal pad lying on the desktop—“?‘the division develops technologies that enable and enhance the intelligence, national security, and law enforcement operations of the agency.’?”
“Why dispatch a computer nerd to Provo?”
“Carmichael was not at liberty to say. And refused to confirm that Cloke was actually ‘dispatched,’ as you put it.”
“Might Cloke have come here concerning the dead boaters?Maybe the government is worried about the impact of a potential incident in international waters?”
“That’s a stretch.”
I didn’t disagree.
“Here’s some intel that set me buzzing,” he said. “I checked with immigration and customs enforcement. Over the last seven years Cloke has made eight trips to Provo, each time flying coach, billing the ticket to his personal Mastercard, and not identifying himself as law enforcement upon departure or arrival. Each trip he left and returned to DCA,” he added, using the acronym for Washington’s Ronald Reagan Airport.
“Except for the last.”
“Except for that one.”
“Is Cloke married? Maybe he was coming to Provo to vacation with the missus?”
Monck sighed. “Carmichael preferred not to say.”
“Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”
“Carmichael wouldn’t comment. But I did my own digging. No repeat names showed up on any of the dates Cloke checked through passport control. Or on his flight manifests or those of the adjacent days.”
“Did he always stay at the same place?”
“The Ocean Paradise? No. I’m looking into that.”
“Did Carmichael know why Cloke phoned down here about Uri Stribbe?”
“He did not. Or—”
“Refused to say.”
“You’ve got it.”
“Cloke was asking about Uri Stribbe. Might he have been looking into the murders?”
Monck shrugged. “Why send an E-geek to investigate a serial?”
Good point.
“Might Cloke be a victim?” I was posing questions stream-of-thought style. “Maybe he came to Provo for whatever reason, was randomly grabbed by this psycho. Like the others.”
“The guy’s thirty-six. Too old for the known victimology.”
“Did you request a photo?”
“Carmichael promised to get right on that.” Sarcastic as hell.
“Did you explai—”
“Screw those pricks. I got a pic on my own.”
Monck dug a printout from his file and handed it to me.
