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“He’s proud of his bladesmanship?”
“Is that a word?” I asked.
“If not, it should be.”
“After Galloway, he found a dumping ground he thinks is secure. He must also have a hunting ground where he feels safe. Where he thinks he blends in.”
“So, the guy must be a local,” Monck said.
“Or someone familiar with the island.”
“Probably single. If he did hold Bonner and Palke for any length of time he’d need privacy.”
“A setting secluded enough not to draw attention.”
“Could be a home that he owns or rents.”
“Or a place where he works. A warehouse. A barn. A storage facility of some sort.”
We both fell silent, studying the scrawled mess on the board. Digging for that single link that could create the tiniest crack.
Emitting a throaty grunt of frustration, Monck dug a folded sheet from his bag, opened and taped it over the notices blanketing the adjacent corkboard. I recognized the lacey, asymmetric map of Provo.
“Let’s plot every goddam site any vic ever touched.”
Back to the files.
As I cherry-picked location info, Monck pushed pins with his real thumb. Blue for Galloway, red for Palke, yellow for Bonner.
Bobby Galloway and his friends had a rented condo at the Sunset Beach Villas. He left there heading for Taylor Bay Beach. Two days later, his body turned up in the Frenchman’s Creek Nature Reserve, his car in the airport parking lot.
Ryder Palke and his girlfriend were at the Royal West Indies Resort. From there, he went diving with Caicos Adventures. Four years later his skeletonized remains were found near the Wheeland Settlement, at the end of a road accessing the TCI waste disposal facility.
Quentin Bonner was staying at the Sibonné Beach Hotel on Grace Bay Beach. He set out to photograph shorebirds on Parrot Cay. Two years later his bones were found in the same wooded area as Palke’s.
We added pins for the three rental car companies. For any restaurant or business at which any victim’s credit card had made a charge. For every witness sighting recorded due to police canvassing.
Two hours later, dozens of pins formed a rainbow quilt covering most, but not all, of the island. Satisfied we’d marked every location mentioned in Musgrove’s and Monck’s files, he and I studied our creation.
“Bonner and Palke were both sighted at Polly’s,” Monck said. “Musgrove ruled Wall out, but it can’t hurt to give the toad another poke.”
“Galloway and Palke both ate at Grace’s Cottage,” I said, feeling a flutter of excitement at seeing a second pair of side-by-side pins.
“As does every tourist coming to Provo.”
We studied it some more.
“He doesn’t display the bodies,” I said, picturing the recovery sites I’d worked. “He’s not making a statement with his victims.”
Monck said nothing.
“Maybe we’re reading the whole thing wrong. Why leave his victims at a dead end beyond a waste treatment plant? Why so far out of the way?”
“I’ll bite. Why?”
“Maybe hedoesn’twant his victims found.”
Monck said nothing.
