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Monck nodded. “And the phones of those on board.”
I pictured Doyle and his passengers, helplessly floundering in the open sea, losing hope, eventually dying of dehydration.
Monck’s voice brought me back.
“Once Cloke was certain Benjamin was the real deal, he flew to Provo to persuade him to hijack commercial airliners for a big score.”
“Did Cloke know about Benjamin’s other extracurriculars?” I asked.
“Stalking, then capping good-looking male tourists? Negatory. Apparently, that’s what caused things to go sideways. Cloke learned what Benjamin was up to and decided he needed to shut that down.After all the hard work and planning, he couldn’t allow Benjamin’s craziness to bring Johnny Law down on their heads.”
“Talk about choosing a partner with a messy sideline,” I said, shaking my head.
“Toward the end Benjamin did appear to be having misgivings about the ransom caper,” Monck said. “At least, that’s the FBI read on that one sloppy phone call. Cloke may have come to Provo to cajole Benjamin back into compliance, maybe to blackmail him. But Benjamin wouldn’t budge. The two ended up in a throw-down at the house on Karst Way. Cloke killed Betty. Incensed, Benjamin killed Cloke.”
“With Cloke dead and Benjamin bailing on their ‘op,’ who was sending out the ransom demands?”
“Cloke had preprogrammed transmission times for the emails.”
“Why?”
“Maybe to establish an alibi for himself? Who knows?”
Ice popped then fizzed in my glass. Monck chugged more beer, Adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy in his throat.
“It’s like a B-grade spy movie,” I said. “Just in the nick of time, the villains are foiled, and the world is saved.”
“No shit. We don’t know whether the airlines were actually assembling the money, but by ten last night, while I was saving your sweet cheeks, Rossiter and Reid were shutting down every scrap of electronics in Benjamin’s home—four phones, six laptops and desktops, seventeen storage devices, six external hard drives, the rooftop WiFi signal booster, the Ring doorbell system, and a second mother lode of hardware set up in the shed. In short order, the OTD accessed every one of Benjamin’s networks and servers and deactivated his programs remotely.”
“Jesus on a cyclone. How?”
“With Benjamin’s help. The wackjob even provided passwords. Though with Cloke toast and Benjamin no longer playing, there may have been no one to activate the crash codes. Go figure.”
“What are the chances, Monck?” I asked, slowly shaking my head. I still couldn’t believe it. “Our village psycho partnered with the FBI’sinternational saboteur. Why? Whatreallymotivated Benjamin to throw in with Cloke?”
We fell silent a long moment thinking about that. I recalled snatches from the exchange I’d had with Benjamin the night before when he seemed furious with me. Suddenly it all made sense.
“It was about subservience and dominance,” I said.
Monck looked at me. Eyes slightly fuzzy?
“The powerless, unattractive, repressed little man could play God by taking control of people and sending them to their deaths. Down a road to a killing ground. Out to sea. Into a fatal nosedive. Whatever. He was in charge. And in Cloke, he had a pretty boy essentially working for him, taking his orders. That would have been how Benjamin viewed it anyway.”
Again, we went still. Then,
“Has Benjamin admitted to the first break-in at the Villa Renaissance?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why?”
“You and Musgrove seemed to be getting too close. He wanted to know what you had. She was a cop, so you were an easier target. He swears he meant to see your intel and scare you that time, not harm you.”
“You believe him?”
“He’s being up front with the rest.”
“Why the second break-in?”
