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“They wouldn’t say.”
“Why was he here?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Fine. Whatdoyou have?”
I watched Monck debate. Discretion versus the possibility of getting my help in finishing what Musgrove had started. The latter won out. Or the anger-fueled grief. Or the hangover. If that’s what it was.
“Upon landing in Provo, Cloke rented a car, then checked into acondo complex called The Ocean Paradise. Which is neither. The place is a dump and miles from the water.”
“You’ve interviewed the staff?”
“Thestaffconsists of the owner and his wife, each with the IQ of a potted fern. Both say they haven’t laid eyes on Cloke since handing him a key.”
Monck stopped. Again, weighing options?
“That’s it?” I prompted.
“When we tossed the unit, I found a crumpled paper in a wastebasket containing a handwritten address and phone number.”
“You ran them?”
Monck nodded.
“And?”
“They click.” Monck slid the tablet back into his bag. Stood. “I’m heading there now.”
What the hell? I couldn’t use the microscope today, anyway.
I stood. “I’m going with you.”
Monck started to protest.
“Does thatclickfor you, detective?” I asked, still a bit snappish.
“Like a Zippo lighter.”
With no hint of a smile, Monck strode toward the door.
18
Unfamiliar with the hood, Monck programmed his GPS with Cloke’s scribbled address. While driving, he briefed me on what he knew of the property. The briefing was brief.
“Title is in the name of Joe Benjamin. Benjamin has no record of arrests, convictions, or encounters with law enforcement.”
“That’s it?” When he said nothing further.
“That’s it.”
“Do you know anything at all about the guy?”
“No.”
“You’ve never heard of him?”
Monck swiveled to face me. “TCI’s population is close to forty thousand. If a citizen stays clean and keeps a low profile, it’s possible he or she will never cross paths with the cops.”
