Mr. Monk Gets Even (23 page)

“You missed a golden opportunity to answer one of the key questions,” Monk said. “Whether they were planning to have dinner at home or go out.”

“What do you care?”

“It’s an unanswered question,” Monk said.

“It’s irrelevant,” Devlin said.

I spoke up before the conversation went completely off the rails. “Did Cleve Dobbs’ autopsy turn up anything that could help you?”

“It hasn’t been done yet. They’re real backed up down there,” Devlin said. “But I got them to scrape under his fingernails, in case his wife killed him in self-defense. But all we got was potting soil.”

“Makes sense,” Monk said. “He’d been gardening when I saw him yesterday.”

“You saw him?” Devlin said. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Monk shifted his weight. “What does it matter now?”

“Everything matters,” she said.

Monk winced. He deserved that. And she obviously took great pleasure in rubbing his own words in his face.

“He wanted to hire me to prove that he was innocent,” Monk said.

“And you don’t think that’s relevant?” Devlin asked, rhetorically, I’m sure.

“He was guilty,” Monk said.

“We don’t know that,” Devlin said. “It’s possible that Jenna killed him for the wrong reasons.”

“Is there a right reason?” I asked.

“How would you feel if you’d discovered your spouse was a serial killer?” Devlin said. “I can see why she’d hack him up with a knife. But what if all his lies weren’t because he was out killing people? What if he had some other, non-homicidal secret? That would mean she was consumed by her own demons and they drove her to kill an innocent man.”

“That’s not likely,” Monk said.

“But we’ll never be sure, will we?” Devlin said. “Because even if she tells us that he confessed, how will we know if she’s telling the truth or just lying to get a lighter sentence?”

“She won’t ever admit to guilt,” Monk said, looking at Jenna, who was staring defiantly at the glass. “She’ll go to prison, her husband’s reputation will remain intact, and three murders will remain open and unsolved forever.”

“What do you care? You’re certain Dobbs did it,” Devlin said. “So the cases will be closed as far as you’re concerned. That would be enough for me.”

“But they won’t actually
be
closed,” Monk said. “The account won’t be balanced in the official record. I can’t live with an imbalance.”

“Well, you’d better learn to,” she said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Mr. Monk Is Less Sad

I
dropped Monk off at home and we settled on a time when Julie and I would pick up him and Ellen and take them to Ambrose’s house for the wedding rehearsal later that day.

I had some time to kill, so I gave Stottlemeyer a call and invited him out for coffee at a dive diner I knew he liked on a side street on the waterfront east of Potrero Hill, not far from the pier where the hearse that Dale escaped in was found.

The place was called Dora’s. The booths and bar stools were upholstered in worn and cracked red vinyl, the tears patched with layers of some kind of red-colored tape. The walls were yellowed by decades of grease, the tablecloths were red and white checkered, the floor was linoleum, and the waitresses wore powder blue uniforms, little hats, and white aprons. There was a selection of pies, most with slices missing, turning in a display case behind the cash register.

There were restaurants that spent a fortune trying to replicate the fifties look that came naturally to Dora’s, which didn’t exactly attract a trendy crowd. Just about everybody who ate and worked there had calluses on their hands and their spirits.

Stottlemeyer was in a booth in the back, nursing a cup of coffee and picking at a slice of banana cream pie when I came in. He wore a polo shirt and jeans and his right arm was in a sling. He looked pretty good, all things considered.

He grinned when he saw me and got up to give me a one-armed hug and a peck on the cheek.

“It’s good to see you, Officer Teeger.”

“You, too, Captain,” I said.

“Ex-captain,” he said.

“Suspended captain,” I said as I slid into the booth across from him. “And that’s only temporary.”

“Not if Fellows has his way,” Stottlemeyer said.

“He won’t,” I said. “We both know that. The case against you isn’t going to stick.”

The waitress came over. She was probably my age but looked as weathered as a merchant seaman. I ordered what Stottlemeyer had and she went off to get it.

“Fellows is right about one thing,” Stottlemeyer said. “It’s my fault that Dale escaped.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I was in charge, so yes, it definitely is. I underestimated the guy and in my eagerness to make up for that blunder, I almost got Monk and your daughter killed. I want you to know how sorry I am for putting Julie in danger.”

“No one is blaming you for that.”

“I am,” he said.

“You and Mr. Monk are both blaming yourselves and it’s ridiculous. Julie made the choice to work for Mr. Monk and we all let her. We all forgot that what we do is dangerous because we do it every day. And she didn’t realize how risky the job is because we take it so casually. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. As her mother, I should have known better. So let’s drop the blame game, okay?”

The waitress brought my pie and coffee. I put enough sugar into the coffee to make it a dessert, too.

I filled him in on what was going on in Summit, how the pressure had eased up on Randy now that he was no longer juggling two jobs—acting mayor and police chief—in the wake of a city hall corruption scandal that broke shortly after he was hired.

He and Sharona were even talking about marriage, so I warned Stottlemeyer that he might soon be making a trip back east for a wedding.

“What about you?” Stottlemeyer said. “Randy tells me you’re a great officer, the community loves you, and that you’re doing a fantastic job.”

“I’m flattered, but what I handle is mostly petty crime and parking tickets,” I said, taking a bite of the pie. It was delicious. “It doesn’t take a whole lot of skill.”

“You’re selling yourself short,” Stottlemeyer said. “You’d be a good cop on any police department. You’ve certainly had the best training possible.”

“Are you fishing for a compliment now?”

“No, I’m stating a fact. The police academy does a good job preparing people, but you’ve spent years working homicides, getting the kind of experience that simply can’t be taught. And let’s face it, as irritating as Monk is, he’s the best damn detective I’ve ever come across and probably ever will. We all can learn from his powers of observation. What you’re doing in Summit seems easy because you’ve been working at a higher level here for so long.”

“That’s kind of my problem,” I said. “I’m bored.”

“Not enough dead bodies for you?”

“It’s not the corpses,” I said. “It’s the cases. I need more of a challenge, higher stakes, a faster pace.”

“Like a triple murder case and hunting down an escaped convict?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he said, lifting his arm in its sling. “You could find yourself blown out of a house on a fireball.”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’d prefer that to chasing Tide bandits.”

“Tide bandits?”

“It’s a long story and, frankly, not that interesting, though Randy assures me I’ve won the everlasting gratitude of the New Jersey Grocers Association.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s bound to be a murder or a robbery or a bloody home invasion out there one of these days.”

“You know what I mean. I like that Summit is a safe, pleasant, and nearly crime-free place to live,” I said. “But I don’t think I’m ready for safe and pleasant yet.”

“But you love being a cop,” Stottlemeyer said.

“I do,” I said. “Besides working for Mr. Monk, it’s the best job I’ve ever had.”

“I can certainly understand that. I’ve put in nearly thirty years on the force and am in no hurry to get out. And yet here I am.” Stottlemeyer took a sip of his coffee. “But enough about me. How is Monk holding up?”

“I take it you heard about Jenna Dobbs’ arrest.”

“Amy couldn’t wait to tell me,” Stottlemeyer said. “She closed the case fast, which impressed the brass. But what matters more to her is that she beat Monk to it. That’s not something even I’ve been able to do.”

“Actually, Mr. Monk says he solved the case last night but kept the solution to himself so Amy could have this win.”

“Baloney,” Stottlemeyer said. “He might have had a hunch it was the wife, but he didn’t have enough evidence, even by his loose standards, to make an accusation stick, so he kept his mouth shut. Meanwhile, Amy built a case the old-fashioned way, not on deductions and observing tiny details but by checking the facts and collecting strong evidence. Her case is airtight and will put Jenna Dobbs in prison for life.”

I couldn’t argue with that, so I didn’t.

“But Cleve Dobbs could get away with murder,” I said.

“The bastard is dead, so he’s not getting away with anything.”

“You know what I mean.”

He waved to the waitress and held up his empty mug of coffee. “You shoot for a win, but sometimes you’ve got to live with a tie. Okay, so maybe we’re the only ones who’ll ever know that Dobbs killed three people, and maybe it will stay that way, but I figure everything balanced out.”

“I wish Mr. Monk could see it that way.”

“He might surprise you,” Stottlemeyer said. “Monk has changed.”

“I know, and he’s not very happy about that.”

The waitress came over, refilled our cups, and walked away.

“He’s never very happy about anything,” Stottlemeyer said. “Only now he’s a little less sad than he used to be.”

“He thinks that having less sadness is costing him some of his detecting skill.”

“So what if it has?” Stottlemeyer said. “Nothing in this world is free.”

“You could make up for what he thinks he’s lost,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Julie has quit and I go back to Summit on Monday,” I said. “Mr. Monk is going to need someone to help him out until he finds someone.”

Stottlemeyer laughed. “You want me to be his assistant?”

“His partner, just until you get your old job back,” I said. “That’s something that could happen real fast if the two of you are working together.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because you two will find Dale,” I said. “Between his genius and your investigative skills, Dale doesn’t stand a chance.”

“I don’t think Fellows, or the brass, would appreciate me tagging along with Monk to crime scenes, or investigating Dale’s escape, especially while I’m under investigation by IA for being in Dale’s pocket and leaving the back door open so he could flee.”

“So don’t go to crime scenes with Mr. Monk,” I said. “You could still help him out in a big way and help yourself at the same time.”

“I’ll think about it,” Stottlemeyer said and took a sip of his coffee. “Okay, I’m done thinking. The answer is no.”

“He’s your best friend,” I said.

“And if I’m his assistant or partner or whatever else you want to call it, I’ll kill him. What kind of friend would I be then? I don’t have your patience, your heart, or whatever it is that allows you to tolerate him day after day. I can walk away, you can’t.”

“I have, remember?” I said. “All the way to the other side of the country.”

“Yeah, but here you are, assisting him again.”

“Temporarily,” I said.

Stottlemeyer smiled and took another sip of coffee.

“What?” I said.

“We’ll see,” he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Mr. Monk Rehearses

W
hen I got home I found Julie at the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her, looking at articles about Deputy Chief Fellows.

“I thought you hated the guy,” I said.

“I’m trying to figure out how he rose to such lofty heights in the department when he’s so dumb.”

“Don’t forget, he’s a trained criminologist.”

“How can I forget? I wonder what two-bit college gave him that degree.”

“I think it was John Jay,” I said. “Or Harvard. Someplace like that.”