Mr. Monk and the New Lieutenant (22 page)

“WHERE WERE YOU ON THURSDAY?” he shouted right in my ear.

I yelped, jumped about a foot, then settled back and typed. “I was sitting at a bar waiting for Sue. DON'T SHOUT. I know. She lured me away so she could come here and pull
her prank on the hippies. DON'T SHOUT. What a jerk. You were right about her. DON'T SHOUT.”

Monk didn't shout any more. He just sat there behind my shoulder, his brows furrowed, thinking. It was what he did best, the thing he felt most comfortable doing in the world. I could almost feel his nervous energy draining away.

I was just sitting there, deep in my own thoughts, when the office phone rang. I picked it up, just on reflex. “You said you'd call this morning, although I don't know why I expected you to.”

“Daniela, hello. Adrian and I were just talking about your case.” I put the phone on speaker, in case I needed to type something for Monk.

“Well, that's an unfortunate waste of time because you're fired.”

“Fired?” I don't know why people repeat words that they've obviously heard. It may have something to do with shock or to give us time to process. “Did you say fired?”

“That's right, dear. We have that little retainer agreement we're going to let expire. It was a bad fit.”

“No, it wasn't. Daniela, please.” I won't say I've never been fired before (one bartending job, a waitress job, and a gig as the California Lottery Girl). But this was something I cared about.

“Your firm is young and small,” Daniela went on. “Your first loyalty is to the police, I get that. Old ties. Life and death—blah, blah, blah. But it makes it hard for you to give me the dedication I need. I'm wondering how we ever got
involved in the first place.” Her laugh was light and cheery, as if she'd just told a joke.

I'll tell you how we got involved,
I wanted to say.
Because Adrian caught you trying to kill someone and I talked him into giving you a pass.

It was a painful conversation. Grace, Winters, and Weingart had been our first corporate client, our only one. We'd done good work for them and I was hoping they'd turn out to be a gateway to more clients and a higher profile. Instead it would be the opposite. Getting fired doesn't make for a good reference.

I did my best to argue my case, but of course it was too late. “How are you going to handle the leak in your office?”

“I made several calls this morning, the top notch, all with vast experience in corporate espionage, which is not your strong suit, I'm afraid. All except one said they could take us on immediately. Devote their top people today and guarantee results. I went with Elliot Brown. I'm having lunch with Elliot himself at the Fairmont at noon.”

“Who turned you down?”

“Mr. Monk, is that you?”

It was indeed Mr. Monk. He was speaking at a normal volume and seemed to be able to hear just fine. “It's me,” he confirmed into the speaker. “Adrian Monk.”

“I'm sorry about the news, dearest one. But I had no choice. You should talk to Natalie about handling clients and returning calls.”

“Don't blame Natalie. She's the very best”—he cleared his throat and I felt great for a second—“I can do, given the
circumstances. You said all the firms except one were able to take your case. Which one wasn't?”

“I'm not sure what concern that is. But I'll check my notes.” She paused, then came back on. “It's West Bay Investigators. They're supposed to be the best. Unfortunately, they were busy.”

“Yes, they have a good reputation. So does Elliot Brown. You'll be in good hands. Sorry it didn't work out. I apologize for Natalie.” Without another word, he started pressing buttons on the phone until he managed to disconnect the call.

“You apologize for Natalie?” I asked. “What was that about?”

“Those were just words. I wanted to hang up without her being mad.” Monk opened his mouth wide and wiggled his jaw. “I'm feeling better, thanks for asking. There's still the ringing, but if I think about other things . . .”

I didn't care. I was so angry and hurt. “I can't believe Daniela fired us. Do you know how hard that makes it? No one's going to hire us but the police. And A.J. is cutting back our fees. He's also a Neanderthal jerk you can't work with. What are we going to do?”

“I can fix this.”

“You? And how can you fix it?” I might have been close to tears. “How?”

“Natalie . . .” Monk looked me in the eyes, about to say something serious and heartfelt. Then he popped his jaw again and wiggled it. “I can't believe how much better I feel.”

“You were going to say something. What?”

He closed his jaw. “I was going to say I haven't been the
best partner. I know that. I make you responsible for everything and maybe I complain more than I should.”

I was taken aback by what, for him, amounted to a full-throated apology. “Well, it's nice to hear you admit it.”

“I'll make it up to you. I can fix this thing with Daniela.”

“You? What are you going to do?”

“I'll take care of it. I know how. All I need you to do is be ready to have lunch today at noon. Can you do that? We'll be eating at the Fairmont Hotel.”

“Where at the Fairmont? You mean the restaurant where Daniela's having lunch? Please don't say we're going there to blackmail her about her murder attempt. That would be cruel.”

“I didn't even think of that. But no. Just leave it to me.”

I wasn't so sure. “Does this involve Luther again? No more pranks with Luther. Promise?”

Monk promised.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Mr. Monk Takes Control

I
left everything in Monk's hands.

Those might be the scariest six words I've ever written.

But scary doesn't always mean bad. Sure, there was the possibility of disaster, or of being led into a moment of embarrassment that would haunt my dreams. His OCD and/or his limited knowledge of human behavior might ruin our business in a dozen different ways. On the other hand, Adrian is the world's best at what he does, pulling sense out of a world of chaos. I could only hope this was one of those times. And, let's be honest, I had nowhere else to turn. That's what I meant by scary.

I did my part, going home, puttering around, changing into something presentable—a navy shirtdress, belted, with a turned-up collar—then picking up Monk and getting to the Fairmont. At a few minutes past noon, we walked through the lobby to the Laurel Court Restaurant, an immense circular room that's actually made up of several intersecting circles, with faux-marble pillars and domes and chandeliers and landscape murals on the curved walls.

Monk avoided the hostess station. “Do we have a reservation?” I whispered.

“Nope,” he said, and began to look around, all the while humming the opening bars to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

“Why are you humming that?” I asked.

“Because you're humming it,” he said.

“Oh.” I had to pay attention and stop myself. “Sorry. Still some problem with the ringing ears.”

“Mine's much better. You need to focus on something, Natalie. It's mind over matter.”

The restaurant's multiple circles gave the illusion of openness while preserving a surprising amount of privacy. I followed Monk as he wandered from space to space and finally headed in one direction. I'd known Daniela was going to be there, but I didn't expect to see her alone at a table for two, nursing an iced tea and looking impatient.

“Natalie. Mr. Monk.” She wasn't pleased. “I'm not about to change my mind. Elliot Brown is going to be here any moment and—”

“Elliot won't be here until twelve thirty,” said Monk. “I had my assistant call and postpone your lunch.”

“What assistant?” I blurted out. “It wasn't me. Daniela, I'm so sorry. I have no idea what he's doing.”

“And yet you're here, enabling whatever nonsense he's up to.”

“True. I suppose I trust him,” I said. That was my excuse. “He's trusted me dozens of times—well, more than once. And I probably should trust him more often.”

Monk smiled. “Have a seat, Natalie. We don't want Daniela uncomfortable.” I lowered myself into the wingback chair opposite the steely-eyed lawyer. Monk remained
standing between us, his eyes flitting out to the circles of the Laurel Court. “How is Booker Sessums, your paralegal?”

“Booker is fine. He's a hard worker and very loyal.”

“He's quitting as soon as I solve this case. Going to another firm.”

“Adrian,” I hissed. “We promised to keep it secret.”

“You know I can't keep a secret. Anyway, I'm solving the case right now, so he can leave.”

“Booker?” Daniela looked stunned. “Are you saying the leak was Booker?”

“No,” said Monk, eyes still flitting over my shoulder. Had he seen something? “It wasn't Booker or the guy in your finance department or the fourth-year associate who wants to be partner. I'll give you a hint. It's someone in this room. And I don't mean Natalie.”

“What?” A ridge of lines popped up between Daniela's brows. Time for more Botox. “Are you accusing me, Mr. Monk? Are you saying I purposely sabotaged an IPO worth over a million to our firm? Unbelievable.”

“Adrian? That's kind of far-fetched. Not that I don't trust you.”

“Did I say Daniela? No, I think I said someone in this room.” The fact that Monk was so bold and sure of himself was a good sign. He gets this way only when he's vacuuming or solving a case. “Under normal circumstances I'd just tell you. But my partner has a business to run.”

I shrugged, trying to look helpless. “It's true, Daniela. We do have a business to run.”

Daniela didn't know Monk the way I did. But she'd been part of two cases. She knew something was up. Instinctively,
she stood and glanced behind her, just in case the perpetrator might be obvious—like a Wall Street investor wearing a little burglar mask. Instead it looked just like the Laurel Court with a Monday lunch crowd.

“All right,” she said, settling back down. “Our conversation this morning didn't happen. And Elliot Brown. He's not hired. And we'll renew your retainer, if this all pans out.”

“And how about an apology to Natalie? For doubting her. She always makes me apologize.”

“Let's not press our luck,” I said, and held out my hand to Daniela. “Deal?”

“Deal,” said Daniela, shaking the offered hand. “And if it makes him get to the point any faster, I do apologize.”

“Deal,” echoed Monk. “Let's go.”

Just like that, we were all on our feet, crossing through the curves of the dining room, with Monk in the lead and at least two of us softly humming “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Monk slowed as we rounded another bend and a table for two came into view. He stopped and we stopped. So did the humming.

A very attractive young woman in a business suit sat in a wingback chair facing us. My first reaction was that she was in her late twenties with too much makeup and an unflattering hairdo. My second reaction was that she was my daughter in disguise. “Julie?” I whispered.

“Julie, your daughter?” said Daniela. Her eyes went wide. “Your daughter is our spy? I take back the apology.”

“Adrian?” I looked at him pleadingly. “What the hell does this mean? What is Julie doing here?”

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Yes, I trust you,” I said. “But . . .”

“No buts.”

Julie looked up from her iced tea, saw us, and allowed herself a smile. It was just a hint, but enough to make the person sitting opposite her stand up and turn.

It was Sue Suzanne Puskedra O'Brien, minus the open, warm smile and the infectious laugh. She did not look happy to see us.

“Sue?”

At first it seemed like she wanted to run. I could almost see the options going through her mind. How much danger was she actually in? What would be the consequences? And how fast could she go, given the maze of the restaurant and her four-inch heels?

“Her name is Claudia Collins,” Monk informed us. “She's an investigator at West Bay. You know, the PI firm experienced in corporate espionage, the one too busy to consider your case? This is why they were too busy. They were working the other side.”

“You can prosecute if you like,” said Claudia/Sue/Suzanne, her voice even and cold. “But I'm not sure you want to, given the circumstances.”

“That's not my call,” said Monk. “My job was to track you down. You're down.”

“I've never seen her before in my life,” said Daniela. “How could she . . .”

“She was hired by the competition,” said Monk. “I have no idea what these telephone applications do. But someone cared enough to try to disrupt your stock going on sale.”

“My client's identity is confidential,” said Claudia/Sue/Suzanne. Heck, I'll just call her Claudia.

“Every secret has a weak link,” Monk explained. “And when Ms. Collins heard you were going to a commercial printer for your documents . . .”

“You mean . . . That's why you were hanging out in front of the mini-mall,” I realized out loud. “It was Paisley Printing you were staring at, not Monk and Teeger.”

“You came outside and invited me in.” Claudia smiled, all teeth. “What was I going to say? I have a dozen business cards with aliases. I used the Sue O'Brien card and was lucky enough to remember Timothy from a divorce case we did for his firm six months ago. The fact that Timothy is gay and single didn't seem to be a problem.”

“So you made it up? On the spur of the moment?” asked Julie. “All the stuff about the high-powered husband and the mistress?” My little girl sounded impressed.

“It wasn't hard,” said Claudia, “especially when your target is sympathetic. Natalie practically did it for me. On my first visit, I checked for a Wi-Fi signal from the printing shop next door.”

“I warned you about those thin-walled hippies,” said Monk. “But no, you wouldn't listen.”

“On my second visit, I got Natalie to leave me alone for half an hour. Altogether too trusting for someone who's supposed to be a trained investigator.”

“You leave my mom out of this,” said Julie. “She's twice the investigator you are.”

“She's your mom?” Claudia looked back and forth
between us and finally laughed. “Touché. I should have known by the fake name. Yamilla Applethorne, coming to me for a divorce. It beats the hell out of Sue Puskedra O'Brien.”

“I used to know a girl named Yamilla Applethorne,” Monk confided. “She looked quite a bit like Julie, just not as tall or thin or as attractive. She was also half-Hispanic.”

Julie couldn't wait to tell her part of the story. “Adrian got in touch this morning and asked me to help. When I walked into West Bay about divorcing my husband, Trevor, I insisted they assign a woman to my case. I knew from the second I saw Claudia, she was the one. From your photo.”

“Photo?” asked Claudia.

“Security camera,” I explained to her. “From the pawnshop.”

“Of course.” Claudia shook her head. “I should have been more careful.”

A waiter tried to pass by with a tray full of salads and we all had to rearrange ourselves. Claudia settled back into her chair while the three of us spaced ourselves around the small circular table. On his way past us again, the waiter avoided us and wisely refrained from asking, “How is everything?”

Monk pulled a piece of scrap paper out of his jacket pocket. It was the page of cryptic codes he had rescued from my trash, the one I'd taped up beside Sue's photo: 0-0, 1-2, A-B, etc. “You were trying out passwords to get into their system. Being shiftless, drugged-out hippies, they probably used something simple.”

Claudia smirked. “Their Wi-Fi signal was unprotected, and the password to their files was the most common in the
world: “password.” It took me thirty seconds, even with a weak signal.”

“And a few days later,” said Monk, “when you found out they'd changed the documents, you couldn't go back to Natalie. So you sent her on a wild-goose chase and walked right into the hippies' lair.”

“While they were mocking up my newspaper ad, I was ten feet away, downloading the new version of the IPO.”

“Excuse me.” Julie raised a timid hand, like a student in a criminal law class. “Did you just admit to a crime?”

“Don't get too excited. No one's going to prosecute,” said Claudia.

“She's right,” said Daniela. “Unfortunately.”

Claudia smiled. “Grace, Winters, and Weingart would be admitting their negligence. So would Joyful App. And my God, Monk and Teeger? For them to admit corporate spying under their own roof? If this hits the news, it would hurt them much more than it would hurt me or my client.”

“But that isn't fair,” said Julie.

“Welcome to the world,” said Claudia, still smiling.

“No, Julie, this is good. We can mitigate the damage,” said Daniela. “As long as the leak is plugged, I can advise my client to proceed. The IPO isn't until Wednesday.”

“No harm, no foul,” agreed Claudia, turning up her palms in surrender. “I tried my best.”

Julie couldn't understand any of this. And I couldn't have been prouder of her. “Wait. You're the one who did something wrong. Adrian and my mother . . .”

“Adrian and your mother don't have the first clue about
running a business. No offense, Natalie. You're a lovely person. But it's not about being a sympathetic listener or working cheap on a police case. It's about knowing how hard you can push things and getting results.”

“Well, that's not how I want to do business,” I protested. “Even if we aren't successful. Look, I broke our rule about divorce cases because I liked you. I cared.”

“We all gain people's trust. Usually it's a bad guy; sometimes a good guy. It's the business we're in, nothing personal. You can't be ruled by emotion.” Claudia checked her watch, then wiped the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin. “Well, Ms. Yamilla Applethorne, since you don't have a divorce, I should probably skip lunch and get back to work. You're a good little actress. It's been a pleasure.”

One thing about Claudia/Sue/Suzanne, she didn't lack confidence. Or nerve. She took her time, pulling herself together and making her exit. She even pushed in her chair before adjusting her scarf and heading for the door.

“She didn't leave money for the iced tea,” said Monk. “One criminal act after another.”