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“Okay.”
“On August 4, 2020, at 9:42 p.m., Palke phoned Reef Dive and Water Sports, a local outfitter for SCUBA, snorkeling, and such.”
“Palke or the girlfriend.”
“Agreed.”
“On February 25, 2022, at 7:27 a.m. Bonner rang Bert’s Photo and More, a camera and electronics store on the Leeward Highway.”
Monck raised expectant brows in my direction.
The agitated neurons grasped it in a nanosecond.
“The calls were made outside business hours, so they were rolled to an answering service. To VVV.”
“There’s that lightning insight that so impresses me.”
“Jesus, Monck!” In my enthusiasm, I shot forward in my chair, which compromised its sketchy arrangement with gravity. “That’s how he finds his victims!”
“Vannie’s proxy receptionists take names, phone numbers, and addresses in Provo. They’re encouraged to chat up the caller to assuage any disappointment at not getting through.”
“Vannie’s is Joe’s virtual hunting ground.” I was literally on the chair’s edge. “Later, he does a drive-by to see if the guy meets his standards.” Sudden insight. “Don’t you see? His sick game involves a three-stage hunt. First, there’s the audio spotting by phone of potential prey. Then there’s the visual tracking. Finally, there’s the capture and kill.”
“Cowabunga.”
“Did you say cow—”
Monck’s phone buzzed.
He yanked it from his pocket.
I held totally still.
The voice was male, his words too muffled for me to catch. His message was brief.
Monck answered two queries with the same clipped response. “Affirmative.” Asked, “Single vehicle?” Then, “Ten-twenty?”
As Monck listened, his droopy eyes narrowed, and his thin lips tightened.
“We’ve got paper,” he said upon disconnecting.
Eureka! A warrant to search Benjamin’s place.
“You’re heading there now?”
“Affirmative.”
Monck rose.
I rose.
“I’m going with you.”
“Fuck that.”
“Why not?”
“I won’t have adequate backup.”
