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“Incel communities?”
Monck raised both brows.
“Involuntary celibates, men radicalized by their mistrust of women. Incels are misogynists, but they also resent the type of males they see as scoring all the sex.”
A comment made during the attack at the condo suddenly made sense.
“Last night Benjamin called me a mean but clever gal, and started to say I was a typical Stacy.”
The brows retraced their upward trajectory.
“Incels refer to good-looking guys as Chads and to attractive butunattainable women as Stacys.” It was more complicated than that, but I kept it simple.
“They’re pissed that the Chads monopolize the Stacys.” As usual, Monck got it right away.
“Exactly. When you break it down, their main grievance is that women get to choose their own sexual partners.”
“And they’re not the ones getting chosen.”
I nodded, gave a quick smile. “You were spot-on during our brainstorming session when you proposed that the perp could be a sad little loser who never gets the girl.”
“I keep telling you, I’m a genius.”
My eyes rolled without direction from me.
“What was the final word on Glen Wall?” I asked.
“Musgrove was correct to clear him. His story about being on a fishing boat checked out. The brother and one of the cousins are both pastors, and thus reliable witnesses. The other cousin is an ardent photographer. Lots of pics, lots of other proof that Wall was elsewhere when Palke went missing.”
“Uri Stribbe?”
“Same deal. Adeera’s claims about sonny’s whereabouts were all corroborated.”
“What’s happening with Rossiter and Reid?”
“They’re hot to extradite. Not gonna happen. Benjamin’s staying here to face multiple counts of first-degree murder and a dozen other charges.”
“He’s owned up to Cloke,” I pointed out. “The cut marks in the ulnae, and the rental cars and severed hands at his home should nail him as the serial. What about Musgrove?”
Monck frowned. “He’s adamant he didn’t do her. And she’s a local cop and he’s a local guy, and she didn’t appear to be that close to tagging him.”
“Seems more Cloke’s style. After all, the bastard kicked a dog to death.”
“Turned out the text Musgrove received while the two of youwere dining at Da Conch Shack contained intel pertaining to Cloke. Apparently, the inquiry she sent to the DC office landed with a buddy of Cloke’s. What are the chances? Anyway, the buddy dropped a dime with a heads-up that a TCI cop was asking about him. Cloke got spooked, decided to take Musgrove out.”
A moment of silence as we both thought about that.
“Have you questioned Benjamin about the airplane-hijacking scheme?” I asked.
“No need,” Monck said with a snort. “During transport and booking, the guy wouldn’t shut up. He maintained that he’d decided not to sabotage airliners. He claimed the caper started when Cloke was investigating a mysterious plane crash down here, and somehow tied that mishap to the software Benjamin had developed to hack into navigational systems.”
“Cloke dug deep on Benjamin, learned of his past with NSO and Pegasus?”
“Yes, ma’am. Maybe to impress, who knows? Benjamin told Cloke all about his little hobby hacking cars and boats. The Piaggio P.180. TheCod Bless Us.”
My own Google Maps misadventure. I didn’t say it. Instead, I asked about a detail that had bothered me.
“Benjamin’s program allowed him to sabotage theCod’s satellite and radio systems?”
