Mr. Monk on Patrol

by Lee Goldberg

  Stottlemeyer had asked Monk and me to stick around, so we were waiting in his office while he was off doing some business or other. Monk was busy organizing the files on the captain’s desk and I sat on his couch, reading back issues of American Police Beat.

  Ordinarily, the police trade paper wouldn’t have attracted my interest, but the last few issues had had our friend Randy Disher’s face all over the front page.

  That’s because Randy was the police chief of Summit, New Jersey, a town in the midst of a major corruption scandal. A low-level accountant for the city spotted what he thought were mathematical errors in the salaries paid to city council members for their work on various commissions. But the more the accountant dug, the more irregularities he found, and he took his discoveries to Randy.

  It turned out that the mayor and the city council had been pillaging the city treasury, secretly paying themselves outrageously high salaries for serving on commissions that never even met.

  But the corruption went deeper than that, involving loans to the councilmen from the city, kickbacks from developers, and scores of other swindles.

  So Randy notified the state attorney general, who swooped in and arrested just about everyone in city government—except for that lowly accountant and Randy Disher.

  “I see you’ve been reading up on the mess that Randy has found himself in,” Stottlemeyer said as he came in.

  “Poor Randy,” I said. “It must be hard enough coming into a town as the new police chief without having to deal with a local government that’s crippled by a corruption scandal.”

  “That’s nothing compared to living with Sharona,” Monk said.

  “You think living with her is harder than being the police chief of a town where all the city leaders are in jail?” I asked.

  “Hell yes,” Monk said, stepping aside to allow Stottlemeyer to take his seat behind the desk.

  Sharona Fleming was the nurse who preceded me in my job as Monk’s assistant. She left Monk to remarry her ex-husband—but that didn’t work out. When she came back to San Francisco for a visit, she hooked up with Randy, and now they were living together in Summit.

  She was opinionated, strong-willed, and didn’t take crap from anyone, least of all Monk. We didn’t always get along, but I liked her.

  “She’s not so bad,” I said.

  “That’s because you’ve only seen her around me,” Monk said. “I was a calming influence.”

  Stottlemeyer coughed. “You were?”

  “She’s a hard woman to keep under control,” he said. “I don’t think Randy is capable of dealing with her as effectively as I can.”

  “I think he’s got some leverage that you don’t,” I said.

  “You mean he’s armed,” Monk said.

  “They love each other, Mr. Monk. Love is a powerful influence.”

  “Love is the leading cause of murder,” he said.

  “Randy’s got bigger problems than either of you realize,” Stottlemeyer said. “That’s actually why I asked you to stick around, so I could have a word with you about him. He called me last night. He’s not Summit’s police chief anymore.”

  “He’s been fired?” I asked. “After what he’s done for that city?”

  “Worse,” Stottlemeyer said. “He’s the acting mayor.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said.

  “Nope. According to the city charter, with everyone in authority behind bars, he’s the next in line of succession until new elections can be held. And that’s months away,” Stottlemeyer said. “So now it’s just him, that accountant, and a skeleton staff running the city.”

  “Who is the police chief?” Monk asked.

  “Randy is juggling both jobs. He’s completely overwhelmed. It’s a small town, and although there’s not much major crime to speak of, he still needs someone he can depend on to handle the detective work while his six officers roll on the emergency calls.”

  Monk nodded. “So you want us to keep an eye on Lieutenant Devlin and make sure things run smoothly here while you’re away.”

  I glanced at Devlin, who may have been a great actress when she was an undercover cop, but was doing a lousy job at hiding her alarm at Monk’s suggestion.

  “Not exactly,” Stottlemeyer said. “Randy wanted me to go out there for a week or so, but I can’t. I used up all my vacation and sick days on my honeymoon.”

  Devlin sighed with relief and turned back to her report, but now I was the one who was alarmed. I had a very bad feeling about where this conversation was headed.

  “So what’s he going to do?” Monk asked.

  Stottlemeyer turned to him. “He’s going to call you, Monk.”

  That’s what I was afraid of.

  “What for?” Monk asked.

  “To go out there for a while and solve crimes,” Stottlemeyer said. “You’re the best detective he’s ever known. He’s not going to find anyone he trusts more or who can do a better job.”

  Monk shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Stottlemeyer asked.

  “I have commitments here,” Monk said.

  “Like what?”

  “Consulting for you,” he said.

  “We’ll get by without you for a week or two,” Stottlemeyer said and glanced out the door at Devlin, who was working on her report but already seemed to be in a much better mood. “I can think of at least one detective who’d appreciate the extra work.”

  “I have two appointments a week with Dr. Bell,” Monk said, referring to his psychiatrist.

  “He’ll survive without you, too.”

  “You don’t know how much he needs me,” Monk said. “Not just financially, but emotionally. He thrives on routine.”

  “You can keep your appointments over the phone,” he said. “Problem solved.”

  Monk shifted his weight between his feet.

  “I have to dust every morning,” he said. “I can’t do that over the phone.”

  “Dust when you get back,” Stottlemeyer said.

  “Dust accumulates,” Monk said.

  “Great. That will give you something to clean when you get back. We both know how much you love cleaning, so the dust thing is actually a perk.”

  Monk rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight between his feet again. The idea of jetting off to New Jersey had knocked him off balance and he was trying to even things out in his mind.

  I could imagine the issue that Monk was wrestling with.

  If he went, it would mean taking enough food, water, linens, dishes, silverware, and cleansers to last for weeks.

  He’d need a moving van.

  And once he got there, he’d find himself in unfamiliar surroundings, which meant he’d feel lost and unbalanced, which made him panic.

  It was already starting. He was shifting his weight more often now, like he was standing barefoot on hot coals.

  “What about Natalie?” Monk said. “She depends on me for her livelihood.”

  “She’ll go with you,” Stottlemeyer said.

  “I will?” I said. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

  “Of course you do,” Stottlemeyer said.

  It didn’t sound like it to me.

  But I had even fewer commitments than Monk. His life of shrink appointments and dusting seemed busy compared to mine lately. Even so, I didn’t appreciate that Stottlemeyer assumed that I would drop everything—not that there was anything to drop—and run off to New Jersey simply because he thought I should.

  The phone rang. Captain Stottlemeyer snatched the receiver, identified himself, then listened. “How’s it going?” He listened some more. “I see.” He glanced at Monk, then at me. “As a matter of fact, they are both right here. Let me put you on speaker.” He clicked a button on his phone and placed the receiver on the cradle. “Go ahead, Chief.”

  “Hey, Monk, Natalie, it’s me, Police Chief Randy Disher.” Despite the pressure he was under, Disher still had that happy-go-lucky cheer in his voice.

&nbs
p; “Shouldn’t we be calling you Mr. Mayor?” I said.

  “So you’ve heard about what’s happened out here.”

  “Captain Stottlemeyer was just filling us in,” I said.

  “They’ve got me running the city, which is an enormous honor, but to be honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’m a cop, not a politician.”

  “You’ve got to be both when you’re chief,” Stottlemeyer said. “Or a lowly captain.”

  “The thing is, city business is taking up so much of my time, it’s hard for me to stay on top of police work, and that’s really what I was hired to do. I’m afraid the criminal element is taking advantage of the situation.”

  “What do you mean?” Stottlemeyer asked.

  “We’ve had a string of residential robberies lately. I don’t have the manpower for extra patrols and I don’t have anybody with the investigative skills to figure out who the bad guys are. I need help.”

  Stottlemeyer looked pointedly at Monk, who avoided his gaze.

  “Can’t you ask the state police to step in?” Monk asked.

  “Sure I could,” Disher said. “But then when things settle down here politically, everyone in town will remember that I couldn’t do the job I was hired for and I’ll be booted. I really need this to work, Monk. Not just for me, but for Sharona, too. Our life is good here and I want it to last.”

  “It will,” Monk said.

  “Only if you’ll do me a big favor and come out here for a week or two and be my consultant,” Disher said. “This is a small town. You could solve the cases we get here in five minutes. We’ll pay your expenses, provide you with a car and all the disinfectant wipes you need. It would almost be a vacation for you.”

  But it sure as hell wouldn’t be for me.

  Monk rolled his shoulders. “I’ll think about it.”

  “I appreciate that, Monk,” Disher said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  He hung up. Monk turned to me. “I can’t go to New Jersey.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not here,” he said.

  “You’ve traveled before,” Stottlemeyer said. “You went all the way to Germany a couple of years ago.”

  The captain had a good point.

  “That was an emergency situation,” Monk said. “My psychiatrist was over there and the man who took his place here was missing an arm. I had no choice.”

  “You don’t have one now, either,” said someone with a distinctly New Jersey accent.

  The three of us turned to see a woman standing in the doorway wearing a cheetah-pattern V-neck, a tight denim miniskirt, knee-high boots, and hoop earrings large enough to throw tennis balls through.

  “You’re coming, Adrian, if I have to tie you up, throw you in a crate, and ship you there by FedEx.”

  4

  Mr. Monk Goes Through Security

  Amy Devlin got up from her desk with a big grin on her face and approached the woman in the doorway. “I don’t know who you are, lady, but I like you already. I’m Lieutenant Amy Devlin.”

  They shook hands, the woman’s charm bracelets rattling.

  “I’m Sharona Fleming. I’m the reason you and Natalie both have your jobs.”

  “She’s Randy Disher’s girlfriend,” Stottlemeyer explained.

  “I’m the love of his life,” Sharona said.

  “I stand corrected,” he said. “She was also Monk’s first assistant.”

  “I’m the nurse who saw him through a total mental breakdown, made him face his fear of everything, get out of the house, and start solving murders again.”

  “Right, that’s what I meant,” Stottlemeyer said.

  Devlin’s grin got even bigger. She was getting a kick out of seeing Stottlemeyer and Monk thrown by a woman.

  “What are you doing here?” Monk asked Sharona.

  “I flew here on the red-eye to remind you, in person, of how much you owe me.”

  Monk rolled his shoulders. “I still have all the accounting ledgers for the years that you worked for me. I can prove that I paid you every cent that you were due.”

  “I am not talking about my salary,” Sharona said.

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “Everything I did for you, Adrian!”

  “You mean your job. For which you were handsomely paid.”

  “It was a pittance and I went above and beyond what I signed on for.”

  “Oh really? As I recall, whenever I asked you to do a little light cleaning, you always said, and I quote, ‘I am your nurse, not your maid.’”

  “When Captain Stottlemeyer proposed hiring you as a consultant, I was the one who convinced the department that you could do it, because I would be at your side at all times to guarantee you wouldn’t have another breakdown. I told them they had a moral obligation to you after you’d dedicated your life to them. You have that same obligation to me. So you are going to get on a plane back to New Jersey with me tonight.”

  “I’d rather not,” Monk said.

  “I’m not asking, Adrian,” she said, and turned to me. “I’ve got a ticket for you, too, Natalie, and we hope you’ll come along. We’ve heard from Captain Stottlemeyer that you’ve got real chops as a detective yourself.”

  I was floored. I looked over at the captain. “I do?”

  “You do,” he said.

  The frown on Amy Devlin’s face, however, indicated that she didn’t think I had chops, not that I particularly sought her validation. I’m not even sure what chops are, unless we’re talking about lamb or pork. But no one had ever told me I had chops in anything before, so I was pretty flattered.

  “Randy has been my friend for a long time,” I said. “If Mr. Monk goes to New Jersey, I’ll go with him.”

  “Then you better go home and start packing,” she said. “You, too, Adrian. We don’t have much time. The flight leaves at six.”

  Sharona turned on her heels, rather high ones at that, and marched out of the office. I got up from the couch and looked at Monk, whose face was ashen.

  “You’re right, you really are a calming influence on her,” I said and followed Sharona out.

  Since I didn’t know how long we’d be gone, I stuffed a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries into a suitcase, locked up my house, and drove over to Monk’s apartment, calling Julie on my way to let her know that I was leaving town for a while. Her response surprised me.

  “You’re an adult, Mom. You don’t have to clear your travel arrangements with me.”

  “I thought you might be worried if you didn’t hear from me,” I said.

  “It would be a relief,” she said.

  “Why? It’s not like I pester you all the time with phone calls.”

  “No, of course you don’t,” she said. “You’d prefer to characterize it as ‘responsible mothering.’”

  I felt this sudden, powerful sensation of déjà vu. That’s because I’d actually had the same conversation once before.

  But not with Julie. I had it with my own mother. I was about Julie’s age, and off at school, when my mom called to inform me that she and my dad were going on a short vacation.

  My nightmare had finally come true. I’d become my mother. She would be thrilled, assuming I ever told her, which I never would.

  At least now I didn’t have to worry about Julie missing me. I could worry instead about why she wouldn’t.

  With that out of the way, I started to think about the trip ahead. I wasn’t wild about the way everybody had ganged up on Monk, shaming and threatening him into going on a trip he didn’t want to take. I would have preferred that they’d been nicer about it and at least pretended that he had a choice in the matter.

  On the other hand, there was no question that he owed it to Randy and Sharona to help them out, and there was nothing keeping him in San Francisco except his love of routine, his discomfort with change, and his crippling fears about traveling.

  So I was glad that Sharona would be going with us. I’d flown with
Monk a few times before and it was always difficult. He’s got phobias about germs, recirculated air, seats other people have sat in, confined spaces, not to mention the whole concept of flying, and that’s just for starters.

  There was an experimental drug called Dioxynl that he took before our flights to Hawaii and Germany. The drug relieved his obsessive-compulsive disorder and nullified his phobias, but the flip side was that it ruined him as a detective and transformed him into an overly energetic, self-centered party boy with no internal censor between his thoughts and his mouth.

  The alternative was to endure Monk on phobic overdrive, whining and complaining constantly and obsessing about everything and everyone around him. And that was assuming that we could even get him on the plane.

  Either way, it would be a long, stressful trip for us, the cabin crew, and the passengers.

  When I got to Monk’s place, Monk and Sharona were still arguing over what he should pack. He wanted to bring almost everything he owned, including the furniture. But she talked him into bringing just two suitcases—one for his twelve sets of identical clothes, the other for his linens—on the promise that she would arrange to have the rest packed up and shipped.

  It was a lie, of course, but she was so good at it that she almost had me convinced.

  I got us to the airport three hours before our flight was scheduled to depart to compensate for the increased security and for Monk’s being, well, Monk.

  Check-in went smoothly enough but I knew we were in trouble when I saw the long lines that snaked in front of the security checkpoint. There were lots of people crammed very close together in narrow, roped-off lanes that curled around and around and Monk didn’t like that. He drew into himself as much as he could for fear of brushing against someone else.

  We were all so close together that we could smell the deodorant, the aftershave, the perfume, and the body odor of the people around us. I tried to deduce things about their lives from those smells, their clothes, and their interactions with their fellow travelers.

  For instance, there was one guy in the row beside ours who had a nasty sunburn, smelled of turpentine, and had some tiny flecks of red paint in his hair and on his neck. I immediately deduced from those keen observations that he was a housepainter who worked outdoors.