Mr. Monk Goes to Germany

by Lee Goldberg

  “I still don’t know what you want from me.”

  “Don’t you see the significance?”

  “I’m not even sure I am having this conversation,” Stottlemeyer said.

  “If Dr. Rahner is the one who killed Trudy Monk, then he could have been using Dr. Kroger to keep Mr. Monk too messed up to ever solve the case.”

  “That’s pretty far-fetched,” Stottlemeyer said.

  “Or if they aren’t in cahoots, it’s the biggest coincidence in the history of coincidences.”

  “Did you just say ‘cahoots’?”

  “Whether it’s a conspiracy or a coincidence, it’s still hard to believe. That’s why we need you to run a background check on Dr. Rahner to see if he has any connection to Dr. Kroger, Mr. Monk, and Trudy Monk.”

  “Would you like me to also stop by your house, maybe water your plants, collect your newspapers, or wash your car?”

  “I know that I’m intruding on your sleep—”

  “Again,” he interrupted.

  “—and that what I’m asking is an imposition—”

  “Again,” he interrupted.

  “But think of what it means to Mr. Monk.”

  “You’ve already used that as leverage with me before tonight, ” Stottlemeyer said.

  “Did it work?”

  “I’ll call you when I have something,” Stottlemeyer said. “No matter what time it is.”

  “You just want to get even by waking me up, too.”

  “Brilliant deduction,” he said as he hung up.

  I put my phone back in my purse and that was when I spotted Monk, huddled under a tree, hugging his knees to his chest. He looked like a frightened child.

  I sat down next to him and put my hand on the back of his head.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I just found out that my psychiatrist has been conspiring with the man who killed my wife to keep me off the police force,” Monk said. “I’m dandy.”

  “What if it’s all just a cruel coincidence?”

  “And dogs can talk, the earth is flat, and granola won’t kill you.”

  “Granola isn’t dangerous,” I said.

  “The last few years of my life have been a complete illusion, ” Monk said. “I may not be who I think I am.”

  “You are still Adrian Monk,” I said.

  “But I might not have any psychological problems at all. I could be the most together person in San Francisco,” Monk said. “We’ve only got Dr. Kroger’s word that I need counseling. Maybe I don’t need any help at all.”

  “Maybe you don’t,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Monk said. “I can’t concentrate.”

  “Because you don’t know what to believe anymore or who to trust.”

  “Because of that rock wall over there,” he said. “Not a single rock is the same shape. Who can think with all of that going on?”

  I followed his gaze. There was a low rock wall along one end of the hotel property made up of hundreds of different stones. They weren’t making any kind of ruckus that I could hear.

  “So stop looking at it,” I said.

  “I can still feel them,” Monk said.

  “Then let’s go somewhere else,” I suggested.

  “You can’t run from something like that,” he said. “It haunts you.”

  I think that statement pretty much answered the question of whether or not Monk still needed psychological counseling, but I let it go. Instead, I shared with Monk everything that Dr. Kroger had told me about Dr. Rahner and the “perfect storm” of coincidences.

  “Dr. Kroger insists that there’s no connection between this eleven-fingered guy and the one responsible for Trudy’s murder,” I said. “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Neither do I,” Monk said. “About Dr. Kroger or about myself.”

  “I called Captain Stottlemeyer and asked him to look into Dr. Kroger’s story. Whatever he digs up should help us determine the truth,” I said. “But what you believe about yourself is entirely up to you, Mr. Monk. It always has been. You decide who you are. No one else has that power.”

  “Ever since Trudy was killed, I’ve been told that I’m not psychologically or emotionally capable of functioning on my own or being a police officer anymore. I believed what they told me.”

  “You think it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy,” I said. “They tell you that you’re a certain person and you become that person.”

  “It could be a conspiracy to make me think I’m crazy when, in fact, I’m the epitome of sanity.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.

  “It was Dr. Kroger who said I couldn’t take care of myself, who said I needed a nurse,” Monk said. “What if Sharona was in on it, too? That way they could brainwash me day and night.”

  “Sharona would never do anything to hurt you,” I said. “She cares about you, just like I do.”

  Monk looked at me, scrambled to his feet, and backed a good three feet away from me as if I was contagious. I knew what was coming next.

  “Maybe you’re in on it, too,” he said, pointing his finger accusingly.

  “You found me, Mr. Monk. Remember?”

  “No, Captain Stottlemeyer did,” Monk said. “Come to think of it, he also won’t support my reinstatement. Maybe he’s in on this, too. Maybe you all are.”

  “Okay, now you’re just being paranoid,” I said.

  “Am I?” Monk said. “Did Dr. Kroger tell you to say that? Does he want to add paranoia to the crippling self-image he’s crafted for me?”

  “Mr. Monk, listen to yourself,” I said. “You’re becoming unhinged.”

  “I’ve solved every murder I’ve ever investigated except the killing of my wife. And now I know why. Everyone has been working against me, clouding my mind with lies and illusions so I wouldn’t see the truth.”

  “If I am in cahoots with Dr. Kroger, why did I help you to come to Germany?” I said. “Why would I risk exposing our conspiracy? I’d have to be incompetent to do that.”

  Monk mulled that over for a moment. “You’ve got a point.”

  “And you would have asked yourself those same questions if you’d given it one moment of thought,” I said. “You have to calm down and think things through.”

  “If you were part of it, you would have found a way to stop me from getting on that plane,” Monk said. “At the very least, you would have tipped Dr. Rahner off that I was coming so he wouldn’t be here when I arrived.”

  “That’s right. Now think about Captain Stottlemeyer,” I said. “If he was on their side, would he have hired you as a consultant to the police, let you build up your confidence, hone your skills, and reestablish your reputation and credibility as a detective?”

  Monk nodded. “No, he wouldn’t. He would have shut me out and made me think I’d lost my mojo.”

  “I agree with you that something very strange is going on here, Mr. Monk, but you can’t let paranoia cloud your judgment.”

  “I have to clear my mind and concentrate only on the facts.”

  “Now you’re talking,” I said.

  “Because if I give in to paranoia, they win.”

  “They?” I asked.

  “Everyone who is out to get me,” he said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mr. Monk and the Stakeout

  We trudged back down the hill to Vigg’s house. The police were gone but they’d left the property surrounded by the single strip of crime scene tape. It was the only sign that a double murder might have taken place on that quiet street.

  We continued on towards the center of the village, using the church spires and the watchtower to guide us.

  “So what’s the plan?” I asked.

  “I’m going to ask Hauptkriminalkommissar Stoffmacher to arrest Dr. Rahner and send him to San Francisco to stand trial for murder,” Monk said.

  “Don’t you think they’re going to need more evidence than his extra finger and the wor
d of a dead bomber?”

  “It’s obvious that he’s guilty of something,” Monk said.

  “Because you say so?”

  “Because he has eleven fingers,” Monk said. “All you have to do is look at him to see that he’s unbalanced.”

  “It’s a physical abnormality,” I said. “It doesn’t mean anything. ”

  “Who knows what other ways he might also be unbalanced? ”

  “His finger isn’t a physical manifestation of deeper problems. ”

  “Of course it is. It’s nature’s way of warning you,” Monk said. “Would you eat a chicken that had two heads or a fish with three eyes?”

  “Probably not,” I said. “But we’re talking about a person’s character, not edibility. You can’t judge somebody on the basis of a physical defect. That’s unfair and insensitive.”

  “You know what they say. If you wouldn’t eat a person, you shouldn’t trust them.”

  “Who says that?”

  “My new neighbor,” Monk said.

  “You’ve only spoken to him once, and I was there,” I said. “He didn’t say that.”

  “It’s common cannibal wisdom.”

  “Since when are you an expert on cannibals?”

  “Since one of them moved into my building,” he said.

  Even if there was a conspiracy against Monk, I was fairly certain that Dr. Kroger’s diagnosis of his mental health was absolutely accurate.

  We found Stoffmacher at his desk in the police station, holding a mirror up to his face and examining his mustache, touching it up with a tiny comb. He didn’t seem too pleased to see us standing at the front counter.

  “I have no news to share,” Stoffmacher said without getting up from his desk. “We haven’t found Bruno Leupolz or your eleven-fingered suspect.”

  “We have,” Monk said. “He’s at the hotel on the hill.”

  “Leupolz?”

  “The other guy,” I said.

  Monk said, “His name is Dr. Martin Rahner and he’s attending the same seminar as my psychiatrist. What do you think of that?”

  “It’s not uncommon for psychiatrists to attend psychiatric conferences,” Stoffmacher said. “Regardless of how many fingers they have.”

  “I think it’s a conspiracy,” Monk said. “My shrink has been helping my wife’s killer evade capture all of these years.”

  Stoffmacher set down his mirror and his comb. “That sounds crazy.”

  “That’s exactly what my psychiatrist wants you to think,” Monk said.

  “Especially coming from a patient who followed his psychiatrist here from the United States,” Stoffmacher said.

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Monk said. “Who would believe me?”

  “It’s a convincing argument,” Stoffmacher said.

  “His or mine?”

  “His,” Stoffmacher said. “And he hasn’t even made it yet.”

  “But you aren’t falling for it,” Monk said. “Because I’ve already proven to you at the Leupolz crime scene that I’m thoughtful, intelligent, and rational.”

  “Do you expect me to arrest them?” Stoffmacher asked.

  “That would be nice,” Monk said.

  “Do you have evidence of their guilt or any outstanding warrants for their arrest?”

  “Are those necessary in Germany?” Monk asked.

  “We follow the rule of law here,” Stoffmacher said. “We are a civilized country.”

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t have cobblestone streets,” Monk said.

  “What?” Stoffmacher said.

  I spoke up quickly before Monk could make himself look any crazier. “Mr. Monk would appreciate it if you would do a background check on Dr. Rahner and keep an eye on him.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Stoffmacher said. “But I’m afraid the homicide investigation is taxing our resources as it is. All my officers are occupied right now looking for Bruno Leupolz.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “I don’t,” Monk said. “Leupolz is dead.”

  “We don’t know that,” Stoffmacher said.

  “I do,” Monk said. “Don’t worry—bodies have a way of turning up. So you can investigate Dr. Rahner and watch his every move until someone finds the corpse.”

  “If there is a corpse to be found, we’d like to be the ones to do it,” Stoffmacher said. “Good day, Mr. Monk.”

  “The hell it is,” Monk said and walked out.

  I followed after him.

  Monk stepped carefully from stone to stone, almost as if he was playing hopscotch.

  “Do you really think it’s a good idea to irritate Stoffmacher? ” I said. “We need his help.”

  “He’s hiding something,” Monk said.

  “His irritation,” I said.

  “What if he’s in on it too?”

  “I thought you weren’t going to let paranoia overwhelm you,” I said.

  “I’m not,” Monk said. “But this entire town is twisted. Look around.”

  “Good idea,” I said.

  “What is?”

  “Let’s look around,” I said. “We can’t do anything until we hear from the police in San Francisco or the police here. We might as well get a sense of the place in the meantime.”

  “I have the sense,” Monk said. “It’s nausea.”

  “So do you have a better idea?”

  Monk motioned to the hills. “I’ve spent years looking for my wife’s killer. He may be up in that hotel right now. I am not letting him get away.”

  “What are you going to do?” I said.

  “I’m going to keep watch outside the hotel,” Monk said. “If he tries to leave, I’ll be on him like his shadow, if his shadow had ten fingers instead of eleven.”

  I couldn’t go sightseeing while he maintained his vigil, so I reluctantly went along with him. We walked up the road to the Franziskushohe, stopping at the bridge that crossed the tiny stream. The low walls on either side of the bridge gave us a place to sit.

  “This is the only way to drive into or out of the property,” Monk said.

  “Actually, it’s not,” I said. “There’s a logging road at the far end of the parking lot and a dozen hiking trails. If he wanted to leave, we’d never know it.”