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“It’s possible.”
“Why?”
I ignored his very valid question.
“Did Cloke’s trips to TCI coincide with the dates of the murders?” I asked.
Monck gave me a look that suggested I may have raised a good point. Still, his next questions, and his tone, suggested serious skepticism.
“You’re thinking Cloke traveled here to use Provo as a hunting ground? That Musgrove was an accomplice?”
“Or maybe she was on to him and didn’t want to say anything until she had proof. In case she was wrong. Maybe that text she received was about him.”
“Why has Cloke vanished?”
I had no answer to that.
“Wherehas Cloke vanished?”
Or to that.
“I’ll do a deep dive into all of this.”
“Maybe go back at Uri?”
“Adeera’s Rottweiler lawyer has him shrink-wrapped tighter than a frozen pizza.” Monck did not sound hopeful.
“What else could break wrong?” I asked.
A lot.
By the end of that day, it was a whole new ball game.
Before leaving the hospital, I phoned Monck. Was rolled to voice mail. Of course, I was.
I packaged the bones, returned to the morgue, and signed both sets of remains back over to Iggie. He seemed uncertain what to do with them. I suggested he seek counsel from the coroner.
Though troubled, and a bit confused, I was certain of my conclusion. Wondered how the Merry Monckster would react.
The sun was low when I headed out, a fuzzy peach kissing an apricot horizon. The world around me was glowing a soft coppery pink.
My work was done. I was eager to reunite with Ryan and Birdie. But Montreal’s subdued northern sunsets offered nothing so vivid. I’d miss Provo’s spectacular fruit salad dusks.
Back at the Villa Renaissance, thinking it would be my last opportunity, I went for a beach walk, then an ocean swim. More like a clumsy try-to-maintain-my-balance frolic in the surf.
The brief respite was as soothing as I’d hoped. I was on my laptop, eating Caribbean jerk fish salad from Turks Kabob, and checking flights from Provo to Montreal, when my mobile sounded.
“Brennan.”
“Two in one cockwomble day.”
Monck’s tone caused my recently sun-warmed scalp to prickle. Abandoning the takeout I asked, “Two?”
“Looks like Willis could be telling the truth. Now Stribbe may be in the clear, too.”
A beat, as disparate data bytes joined in my head.
“Uri Stribbe has an alibi?”
