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Grabbing a Sharpie, Monck drew a line down the middle of the board. Labeled the space on the leftVictims, that on the right,Perp/Motive.
“Toss out anything that comes to mind. I’ll start.”
I nodded.
“All three vics are white males between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two.” Monck wrote their names to the left of the vertical divider: Robert Galloway. Ryder Palke. Quentin Bonner.
“Allknownvics.”
Monck tipped his head to acknowledge that I’d made a valid point.
“Unless you include Cloke,” I added.
“There’s no proof Cloke is dead. For now, let’s stick to established facts.”
“Right.”
“All three were killed in the past seven years.”
After checking his files, Monck jotted the dates. April 16, 2017. August 5, 2020. February 25, 2022.
Three-year gap. Two-year gap. Spring, summer, late winter. No patterns there.
“All were tourists,” I said. “All came by air and disappeared shortly after landing in Provo.”
Monck listed the carriers, the airline codes, and wheels-down time of each flight.
American. Delta. United.
“They all landed between ten a.m. and two p.m.,” I said.
“Good one,” Monck said.
It wasn’t. It was lame.
“Each victim rented a car.”
Monck added the companies. Three different outfits.
“Only Galloway’s vehicle was recovered,” I said.
“In the airport parking lot.”
“Two of the three were seen at a place that employed a very sketchy bartender.”
Monck added Polly’s Tiki Shack and the name Glen Wall.
“Have you learned anything new on Wall?” I asked.
“I’m working on it.”
“Each victim was shot in the chest,” I tossed out, redirecting a bit.
Monck wrote COD: GSW beside each name. Cause of death: gunshot wound.
“No bullet or casing was found with any set of remains.” Monck.
“Each victim’s left hand was hacked off.” Brennan.
