Mr. Monk is Cleaned Out (20 page)

When a guard, his face obscured, walked past the blocked camera in front of the boarded-up storefront, he would duck into the unoccupied store and switch places with one of the other guards, who would then continue the patrol, creating the illusion that all the guards were constantly on duty.

“That still leaves one guard stuck in the empty storefront,” I said. “How would he get out without being seen?”

“He’d slip out of the storefront, his exit blocked from view by the kiosk and umbrellas, and hide in the trash cart the custodian has just parked here. The custodian will come along later and push it away with his cohort hidden inside.”

“That’s a lot of cohorts,” I said.

“It’s a major heist,” Monk said. “When the robbery is discovered tomorrow by the jeweler, the evidence will lead the police to assume that the robbers hid in the vacant store until morning, unnoticed by the security guards on patrol, and then escaped by slipping into the crowd when the mall opened.”

“But won’t the old security tapes show the guards going in and out of the unoccupied store over the last few weeks?”

“They’ve undoubtedly been reusing old security camera footage, feeding it into the system and putting a new date stamp on it. I’m sure if we study the tapes we will find some tiny inconsistencies that they missed.”

He might, but I doubted that anybody else would unless they were told what to look for.

“You figured all that out from dirty pants, dry hands, and a guy moving an umbrella kiosk a couple of feet?”

“It was like a confession,” Monk said. “If Randy stakes out the mall tonight, he can catch them in the act.”

I took Mike’s card out of my pocket, tore it in half, and dropped it into the trash cart.

I had lousy taste in men.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Mr. Monk Has a Breakthrough

I
called Disher but he was too busy to talk to me. He was at the scene of a murder in Golden Gate Park, so naturally Monk suggested that we stop by to deliver our favor in person.

It was almost dark when we got there. I parked under a wildly overgrown tree and we walked down the long jogging path toward a dense grove that was roped off with yellow crime scene tape. Forensic techs moved carefully through the brush, looking for clues, while others were setting up klieg lights to illuminate the scene in the creeping gloom.

People jogged, biked, and drove past the taped-off area without even stopping for a peek. I guess with three
CSI
shows, three
Law & Order
shows, and two
NCIS
series on TV, they were jaded. They’d seen plenty of crime scenes and with much better lighting and wardrobe than this one.

We went up to the police line and waited to be noticed. Stottlemeyer, Disher, and the medical examiner were huddled around the body of a man in a bright blue jogging suit who was lying in the weeds beside the path.

They seemed very intent on their work and I was in a hurry. I’d rescheduled Monk’s regular appointment with Dr. Bell to early that evening and I didn’t want him to miss it. So I stuck my fingers in my mouth and whistled as loudly as I could. It sounded like a bird being disemboweled.

Stottlemeyer’s face crunched into a particularly nasty scowl and he marched over to us in a fury.

“I told you that you’re off the Sebes case and I meant it,” Stottlemeyer said.

“This murder has something to do with Bob Sebes?” Monk said.

Disher caught up with Stottlemeyer. “This is my fault.”

He glowered at Randy. “You called Monk?”

“No, I didn’t. Natalie called me. I told her that I couldn’t talk to her now because I was busy at a crime scene in Golden Gate Park. I didn’t tell her it was Duncan Dern.”

I knew the name. I’d read all about him in the
Chronicle.
It was no wonder that Stottlemeyer was upset to see us there. “Duncan Dern is dead?”

“Try saying that three times fast,” Disher said. “Someone tackled him on his morning jog, strangled him with their gloved hands, and dragged his body into the brush.”

“Why are you telling these civilians about the case?” Stottlemeyer said, rubbing his temples. “It is none of their business.”

“Sorry,” Disher said. “Force of habit.”

“Who was Duncan Dern?” Monk asked.

“He ran the largest feeder fund that brought new investors into Sebes’ Ponzi scheme,” I said. “He earned millions in fees and all his clients lost everything.”

Monk cocked his head to one side. “Why was he strangled?”

“Maybe because somebody wanted to kill him,” Disher said. “That’s a wild guess on my part.”

“But why not shoot him or stab him or beat him to death with a blunt object, like a rock, a baseball bat, or a crowbar? Strangulation seems like an awfully time-consuming and personal method of killing.”

“We are not having this conversation, Monk,” the captain said. “If Dern wasn’t what brought you down here, what did? We’re kind of busy right now.”

“We just wanted to thank Randy personally for getting us great jobs,” I said. “And to tell him how well our first day went.”

Stottlemeyer raised his eyebrows and faced Disher. “You got them jobs?”

Disher shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to us,” I said.

Stottlemeyer nodded in agreement. “It was a hell of a nice thing you did, Randy. What kind of jobs are you doing?”

“We’re in the fashion industry,” I said.

“I have style,” Monk said.

“You certainly do, Monk,” Stottlemeyer said. “Sorry about hauling off on you like that. I didn’t know about the new jobs. Congratulations.”

“That’s okay, Captain,” Monk said. “You’re under a lot of pressure at work and your home life is a living hell.”

“Actually, things are a lot better at home now. I’ll let you have a minute with Randy.” The captain leaned close to Disher. “Do not say another word to them about this case.”

The captain went back to the body.

“We didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” I said.

“Don’t worry. I thrive under pressure. How did it go at Fashion Frisson?”

“Really well,” I said.

“Except for the man with all the body hair,” Monk said. “And the man who bought a blouse for himself.”

“Isn’t Kiana great?” Disher said. “She has incredible taste in music.”

I let that comment pass unmolested as a courtesy to Disher. “We came down here because Mr. Monk wanted to return the favor you did for us by giving you a present.”

“That’s really thoughtful,” Disher said. “But I have enough Q-tips to last me for a lifetime.”

“You can never have too many Q-tips,” Monk said. “But this is something different. It’s a jewelry heist.”

And then Monk told him everything. Disher couldn’t take the notes down fast enough in his little notebook.

“This is huge,” Disher said. “Thank you so much.”

Monk shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“Maybe for you, Monk, but nobody else would have seen those details and put them together the way you did. And nobody else would have given the bust to me.”

“I’m not a police officer,” Monk said. “You are.”

“This is so much better than the birthday present that you got me that I’m going to say that
this
is the birthday present instead.”

“What was wrong with Q-tips?”

“They’re fabulous,” Disher said. “But this arrest could get me a promotion.”

“I hope so,” I said. “Then you can hire us.”

We walked away. We hadn’t gone two feet before Monk whispered to me.

“Sebes is the guy.”

“I know, Mr. Monk. I just hope you can prove it before anybody else gets killed.”

I regretted the words the instant I’d said them.

“So now I’m responsible for everyone he kills until I solve the case. Just what I needed, added pressure and a healthy dose of guilt. Thanks a lot, Natalie. I wasn’t nearly frustrated and miserable enough.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Monk. I didn’t mean it that way. I know you are doing your best.”

I immediately regretted saying that, too.

“That’s just it. I’m not. Instead of investigating these murders, I’m making pizzas and selling clothes.”

I decided to keep my mouth shut because everything I said was coming out wrong. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault—it was the economy that was the big obstacle. If he was still a police consultant, he’d have access to the crime scenes, the evidence, and the suspects and have a real shot at proving how Sebes committed three murders while under house arrest and constant surveillance.

But now, broke and homeless, working odd jobs, and completely shut out of the case, it was nearly impossible for Monk to prove the impossible was possible.

That wasn’t going to stop him from trying. Monk couldn’t stop if he wanted to. I knew his mind was still churning over the details of every crime scene, of everything he’d seen and heard and that most of us probably missed.

Monk stopped a few feet away from my car, which was stained with bird crap and some kind of berries from the overgrown tree I’d parked under.

“You go on ahead,” he said. “I’ll get a taxi to Dr. Bell’s office.”

“You can’t afford a taxi. Get in the car.”

“I can’t. I’ll walk.”

“Dr. Bell’s office is on the other side of the city. It will take you hours to walk there. You’ll miss your appointment.”

“Okay, I’ll wait here while you buy a new car.”

“I can’t afford a new car. The car may be dirty on the outside but it’s clean on the inside.”

“There’s no such thing. I can’t get into that car. It would be suicide.”

I took out my cell phone and called Randy, even though he was only a few yards away. I didn’t want to provoke Stottlemeyer but I needed a favor from Randy. I apprised him of the situation and reminded him of the big favor Monk had just done for him. Randy agreed to have a patrolman drive Monk to Dr. Bell’s office for me.

While Monk waited for his ride, I went to a quickie drive-thru gas station and car wash and then headed to the McDonald’s near Dr. Bell’s office for a cup of McCheapo McCoffee.

I was just about to walk into the McDonald’s when my cell phone rang. It was Dr. Bell, asking me to come to his office right away.

My first reaction was that Monk had suffered a complete mental breakdown and that Dr. Bell needed my help dealing with him. But when I walked into Dr. Bell’s office, I found them both sitting in their leather easy chairs, looking relaxed and contented.

Dr. Bell motioned to the couch opposite them. “Please, have a seat, Natalie.”

I felt like I’d been called into the principal’s office for disciplinary action.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all,” Dr. Bell said.

“If you don’t count getting fired, losing my life savings, being evicted from my home, and nearly dying of thirst,” Monk said.

“That’s true, Adrian, but now look at all the good that has come out of those setbacks, losses, and challenges.”

“I don’t see the good. Only the no-good.”

“I’m with Mr. Monk on this one,” I said.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk about,” Dr. Bell said. “Adrian told me how you were both on the same wavelength about the mistake Bob Sebes made. That’s a great success.”

“Bob Sebes is still a free man,” Monk said.

“But what happened between you and Natalie represents a major breakthrough, not only in your relationship with her but potentially with other people. You experienced a powerful, intimate connection.”

“I have never had intimate connections with Natalie,” Monk said. “And never will.”

“I second that,” I said.

“Perhaps
intimate
was the wrong choice of words, but you both know that something special happened between you two. Natalie knew what you were thinking and you knew that she did. You told me yourself, Adrian, that you haven’t experienced a connection like that with anyone since Trudy was killed.”

Monk had told me the same thing at the time but we’d both consciously avoided talking about it. Dr. Bell wasn’t letting us get away with it.

“What do you think about men who dress in women’s clothing?” Monk asked him. “It’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Dr. Bell replied. “Unless you’re telling me that you’ve started wearing women’s clothing.”

“Of course I haven’t.”

“Then let’s focus, shall we? You can’t let this moment slip past you without appreciating its significance and how you can build upon it.”

“You’re making too much out of it. Let’s talk about why anyone in their right mind would eat pizza with their hands. Or let their feet be devoured by raging pestilence.”

“I know you’re uncomfortable dealing with intimacy, but I’m not going to let you run away from this. You’ve opened yourself up to another person, and she’s opened herself up to you, so now it’s possible for you to think like each other, to empathize with each other, to connect on a deeper level. That connection not only strengthens a relationship but gives you invaluable emotional support and comfort in times of extreme stress and uncertainty, like what you two are going through right now. It’s nice to be on the same wavelength with someone, isn’t it?”

Monk shifted in his seat, unable to get comfortable. “It cuts down on the explaining that I have to do.”

“You enjoy the explaining,” I said.

“I enjoy being understood,” he said, shifting some more. “There’s a difference.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” Dr. Bell rubbed his hands together. “So what does it feel like to have someone who understands you, Adrian?”

“Like I’m not so alone.”

“But you aren’t alone,” I said. “You have me, Captain Stottlemeyer, Lieutenant Disher, your brother, Ambrose.”

“You could have a lot more people in your life, too, if you use what you’ve learned from this experience,” Dr. Bell said. “Friendships are built on mutual interest and shared intimacy.”

Monk did a full-body cringe.

“You’re misunderstanding me, Adrian,” Dr. Bell continued. “I’m not talking about physical intimacy, I mean sharing personal information about yourself—your history, your hopes, and your fears.”

“My fears are available to anybody who is interested. They are detailed in ten volumes, not including the index. I give all my friends copies.”

“That’s one way of doing it. I’m suggesting a more personal approach. If you allow yourself to be as open with others as you have been with Natalie, I’m sure that you will discover that she isn’t the only person who can be on the same wavelength as you.”

Monk jerked as if zapped by an electrical shock. He cocked his head from side to side, rolled his shoulders, and sat up straight in his seat, staring at nothing and at everything.

I looked at Dr. Bell. “What do you make of that?”

“It’s a strong reaction to something, but I don’t know what it means.”

“I do.” I knew that it meant that everything was about to change for the better.

“There you go, Adrian. Another example of shared intimacy.” Dr. Bell smiled, obviously pleased with how events were unfolding. “So, Natalie, what is his body language telling you?”

“Mr. Monk just figured out how Bob Sebes got out of the house and murdered Russell Haxby, Lincoln Clovis, and Duncan Dern.”

Dr. Bell looked at Monk. “Is she right?”

Monk nodded. “He’s the guy and I can prove it.”

“Well,” Dr. Bell said, clapping his hands, “I think that counts as another breakthrough. What a marvelous session this has been.”

“If you enjoyed it so much, it hardly seems right that I should pay you for it,” Monk said. “This should be a freebie.”

“How do you figure that?” Dr. Bell asked.

“For what I’m paying you, if anyone is having any fun, it should be me and I’m not.”