by Lee Goldberg
The truth of his words sank into her skin like needles. Mine, too.
Wurzel shook her head slowly. “You’re a bastard, Nick.”
“Maybe so, but you’re stuck with me,” Slade said.
“Until he kills you,” I said.
Wurzel knew I was right. Her face was as white as a freshly applied geisha facial. But she had no choice. She had to play along with him tonight and worry later about the danger he posed to her. She had enough money to hire a dozen bodyguards to protect her or a hit man to take Slade down.
He had to know that, too.
“I’ve had a change of heart,” Slade said. “But whether I have or not, neither one of us wants to go to prison and if we both keep our mouths shut, we never will.”
I only had to look at Monk to know that Slade was right. Monk was crestfallen, his shoulders slumped, his head lowered. This was going to be the first time that he’d been beaten by a murderer cleverer than he was.
I couldn’t bear to see Monk suffer for another second.
“You’re both going to prison tonight,” I said.
Slade shook his head as if he were deeply disappointed in me. “You haven’t been listening, Natalie.”
“Yes, I have.” I reached into my pocket with my free hand and pulled out my cell phone. “And so has my voice mail.”
That was the speed-dial number I hit when we came into the warehouse.
Slade’s cocky smile evaporated.
Monk looked at me with astonishment. “Really?”
“Really,” I said.
“And so has the nine-one-one operator,” Danielle said in a raspy voice, picking up her cell phone from the pile of bricks where she’d left it. “I kept the line open while I kicked your ass.”
Wurzel leaned against her Maybach for support and began to cry. Soon she’d be living in a cell half the size of her car and a lot less sumptuous.
Monk straightened up and nodded to himself, obviously pleased and proud of his two assistants. The case was solved. The bad guys were going to pay for their crimes. Balance had been restored.
For him, it was as close to perfect as things could ever get.
Behind us, three black-and-white police cars roared into the warehouse.
I glanced at Slade, who glared at me with such murderous intent that I was tempted to shoot him just to be safe.
“You’re fired,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Mr. Monk Changes the World
I hated to lose the Lexus, the expense account, and the health plan, but at least we were still alive.
While the police handcuffed Slade and Wurzel, and Monk was briefing Disher, I called Julie and told her to get her fanny back home and warned her that I probably wouldn’t be back until morning.
“Who’s the lucky guy?” she asked.
“Lieutenant Disher,” I said.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said with true horror in her voice.
“It’s not what you think. He’s going to be taking my statement,” I said. “We caught a murderer tonight.”
“Cool,” she said.
I wished her sweet dreams and hung up. I didn’t tell her that I’d nearly been killed and I never would. There are some things she doesn’t need to know.
I slipped my phone in my purse and saw that the back door of the Maybach was open. Danielle sat in the backseat of Wurzel’s car, watching me and sipping a bottle of water.
“Comfy?” I asked.
“I figure this is as close as I will ever get to a car like this, so I should take advantage of the opportunity,” she said. “And the minifridge. She’s got Godiva chocolate, grapes, and six different kinds of cheese in there.”
“You saved our lives tonight,” I said. “Thank you.”
She dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “You returned the favor.”
“About that,” I said, hesitating. “You know that was all just talk, right? I mean, I wouldn’t have done anything to hurt you.”
“That’s not what Nick thought. I could feel his heart pounding against my back.”
“I don’t know if I would have taken the shot or not,” I said.
“I do,” Danielle said.
That gave her an edge on me. I still wasn’t sure what I would have done.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Look for a job,” she said. “Maybe one in a less dangerous line of work.”
“But you’re good at this,” I said.
“I’m not sure that I want to be,” she said. “I’m going to take some time off and think about it.”
Monk and Disher came over to us.
“Congratulations,” Disher said. “You did some amazing detective work. Monk has filled me in on everything. But I’ll still need you to come downtown and give me your official statements.”
“Can you make the charges stick?” I asked.
“The nine-one-one recording and the voice mail are as good as signed confessions,” Disher said. “Slade and Wurzel know it, too. They’re already competing to see who can roll over on the other one first in exchange for a lesser sentence.”
“When will the captain be released?” Monk asked.
“As soon as the DA can wake up a judge,” Disher said. “But in the meantime, he’s relaxing in the officers’ break room with some coffee and doughnuts.”
“So for the time being you’re still Acting Captain Disher,” I said.
“Yes, I am.” He smiled at Danielle and offered his hand. “We haven’t been introduced. As Natalie said, I’m Acting Captain Disher. But everybody calls me Bullitt.”
“They do?” Monk asked.
“Yes, they do,” Disher stated.
“I don’t,” Monk said.
“That’s because you’re out of the loop,” Disher said. “I’m in the loop. You could say the loop loops around me.”
She shook Disher’s hand. “Why do they call you that?”
He puffed out his chest a bit and hiked up his pants. “It’s obvious once you see me in action on the streets. I’m basically fearless.”
“Excuse me, Bullitt,” I said. “Where do you think Stottlemeyer will go once he’s released?”
“He’ll probably swing by the station to thank you before he goes home,” Disher said, turning back to Danielle. “After your statement, how would you like a tour of police headquarters?”
“You could start by showing her your acting captain’s office,” I said. “I’m sure she’d like that.”
“Oh my God.” Disher suddenly froze. “All my stuff is still in there.”
He spun around and ran back to his car.
“What’s his problem?” Danielle asked.
I shrugged. “You never know with Bullitt.”
***
It was nearly sunrise by the time we finished up with our statements. Danielle went home but we hung around so we could see Stottlemeyer when he came back.
Monk used the time to wash the windows, dust the shelves, and mop the floors in Stottlemeyer’s office. He offered to let me help him but I declined. I knew how much he enjoyed doing it on his own without having to worry about me doing it wrong.
Yes, there is a right way and a wrong way to mop. It involves a highly elaborate technique, which, if not done exactly right, could cause a plague and the demise of entire civilizations.
Rather than risk that, I got myself a cup of coffee, sat at Lansdale ’s desk, and watched Monk work and Disher fill out his reports. I didn’t even realize that Stottlemeyer had come in, and neither did they, until he was standing right in front of me. He was back in his rumpled clothes, and looked bone-tired, but there was a smile on his face.
“‘If I’m lucky the bullet will go through her and into you,’” Stottlemeyer said. “We’re going to have to start calling you Dirty Natalie.”
Disher grimaced. It would kill him if that nickname caught on. I was tempted to encourage it just to get back at him for arresting Captain Stottlemeyer.
“How did you know I said that?” I asked the captain.
“They’ve been playing excerpts of your 911 tape all over the building,” Stottlemeyer said. “You’re one tough broad.”
“This is news to you?” I said.
“Nope,” he said. “I’ve been on the receiving end before.”
Monk came out of the captain’s office, his hands still in rubber gloves.
“Welcome back, Leland,” he said. “Your office is clean and disinfected. You don’t want to know what it was like before.”
Stottlemeyer grabbed Monk, pulled him into a bear hug, and clapped him on the back. “I knew I could count on you, Monk. Thank you.”
“It’s what I do,” Monk said, his body stiff, his arms flush against his sides.
“Better than anybody,” Stottlemeyer said, clapping him hard on the back again before letting him go. “And no matter what anybody says, that doesn’t bother me one bit, especially right now.”
He looked past Monk to Disher, who stood there nervously, unable to meet Stottlemeyer’s eye.
The captain sighed and held out his hand to Disher. “I’ve got no hard feelings, Randy. You were just doing your job and doing it well.”
Disher grabbed the captain’s outstretched hand and pulled him into a big hug.
“Thank you,” Disher said. “I’m so glad it’s all over.”
“Me, too,” the captain said.
But Disher wouldn’t let go. “It was a living hell for me.”
“Yeah, you had it rough,” Stottlemeyer said, trying to pull free. But Disher held tight. “I need to go now.”
Monk and I headed for the door. Stottlemeyer turned to look at us pleadingly.
“I could use some help here,” he said.
“We’re helped out,” I said, and opened the door for Monk.
“It’s the burden of the badge,” Disher said. “It has no soul. But I’ve got a soul.”
“I know you do,” Stottlemeyer said, patting Disher on the back. “I know.”
I closed the door behind us.
***
Julie was waiting up for me when I got home shortly after sunrise. She was sitting on the couch, facing the door, her arms folded under her chest.
“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” I said.
As I got closer, I could see that her eyes were red and her cheeks were tear-streaked.
I sat down beside her, put my arm around her shoulders, and drew her to me. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“There was a message waiting on our voice mail,” she said. “I listened to it.”
I closed my eyes and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”
“You could have been killed, Mom.”
“I wasn’t,” I said.
“What were you thinking, going into an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the night?”
“I was doing my job,” I said.
“Going after murderers,” she said.
“I think maybe it’s what I’m good at,” I said.
“You are,” Julie said.
“You think so?”
“‘I’m capable of killing and a gun just makes it easier,’” she said, quoting me verbatim.
I winced. “That wasn’t what I was referring to.”
“Dad was a great fighter pilot but that didn’t stop him from being shot down. I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“Maybe I should quit and do something safer.”
“You could get killed crossing the street. This job makes you happy,” she said. “Happier than I have ever seen you doing anything else. But you have to promise me that you will be more careful.”
“Hey, I’m the one who is supposed to do the worrying in this relationship.”
“That changed when people started pointing guns at you,” she said. “Do you promise?”
“I promise,” I said.
It had been so long since I’d held my daughter. Once she became a teenager, the last thing she wanted was her mother’s affection. She didn’t want to feel like a baby. But she didn’t care now and I was thankful for it.
We held each other, safe and loved, until we both fell asleep.
I took the next day off to catch up on my sleep and decompress from all the excitement. The arrests and Stottlemeyer’s release happened too late to make the morning paper and I didn’t turn on the TV.
I spent the day puttering around the house and taking it easy. I finished the Murder, She Wrote book, though. I don’t know how that old lady can handle it. I was a good thirty years younger than her and solving murders and facing down killers wiped me out.
The Wurzel case was front-page news the next morning. The story laid out exactly what Slade and Wurzel had done, and how it led to the murders of Peschel and Braddock, but otherwise it was thin on details of how the case was cracked. Monk was mentioned only in passing and I wasn’t referred to at all (which was no surprise, since nobody from the media had tried to call me the previous day). The implication was that the police had doggedly pursued the case, spurred by their belief that Captain Stottlemeyer had to be innocent.
I didn’t care that the story was inaccurate. I wasn’t looking for publicity or recognition. It was enough for me that we’d come out of it alive and the captain was exonerated.
I went to Monk’s at nine a.m. the next morning, ready to face the issue of our unemployment head-on. I was still driving the Lexus and would continue doing so until someone showed up to repossess it. Intertect owed me at least that much for what Slade put me through.
My plan was to start contacting local police departments to see if any of them were interested in our services.
Monk’s plan was to contact the Diaper Genie people and see if he could become their West Coast sales rep in charge of developing and encouraging broader use of the gizmo. The living room was filled with the extra Diaper Genies that he’d bought.
Before either one of us could dive into our pursuits, there was a knock at the front door. It was Captain Stottlemeyer. He looked surprisingly rested and relaxed, considering what the last few days had been like for him.
“I’ve got some good news for you,” he said.
“The police department has agreed to replace all of their trash cans with Diaper Genies,” Monk said.
“Almost as good,” Stottlemeyer said. “You’re back on the payroll as a consultant.”
“It’s a pleasure to be working with you again,” Monk said.
“The feeling is mutual,” Stottlemeyer said.
“How did you get the chief to change his mind?” I asked.
“Blackmail,” he said.
“That’s illegal,” Monk said.
“Not this kind,” Stottlemeyer said. “It’s called political blackmail. I told the chief if he didn’t restore my budget to what it was before, I’d go to every TV station and reporter in town and tell them how I was falsely arrested for a murder by an incompetent police department and freed by the efforts of a consultant they fired. I would also remind the reporters that one of the mayor’s biggest campaign contributors was Linda Wurzel.”
“Ouch,” I said. “Speaking of lovable Linda, how’s the case going against her and Slade?”
“They’re each trying to cut a deal with the DA to testify against the other in return for taking the death penalty off the table. I think Slade’s got the edge. Turns out he was wearing a wire when he met with Wurzel ten years ago and he kept the tape of their conversation as insurance.”
“Slade wouldn’t have taped the meeting if he’d gone into it intending to take the job,” Monk said. “He was going to arrest her but something must have changed when he heard her proposal.”
“It’s called greed, Monk. He saw a way to bankroll his dreams.”
“Why did she want her husband killed?”
“Remember all those women who came forward demanding a piece of Steve Wurzel’s estate because they claimed that he’d knocked them up?” Stottlemeyer said. “Well, he did.”
&nb
sp; “I could see why that would make her furious,” I said. “But why did she go shopping for a hit man at Peschel’s tavern of all places?”
“She didn’t know where else to go. She picked the slea ziest, most dangerous bar in the seediest neighborhood she could find and figured there was bound to be someone inside who was desperate and immoral enough to take the job.”
“It’s hard to believe that a police officer would ever fit that description,” Monk said.
“It’s an ugly world out there,” Stottlemeyer said.
“I know,” Monk said, and handed the captain a Diaper Genie. “We can change that.”
“With this?” Stottlemeyer asked.
“Every revolution has to start somewhere,” Monk said.
Lee Goldberg
***
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