Mr. Monk and the Blue Flu by Lee Goldberg Read Free Book Online

files,” I said.
    “I don’t think so,” Monk said.
    “There are things you need to know about these detectives the mayor has assigned to you.”
    “I already know everything I need to know. They’re police officers.”
    “You don’t understand. These are some deeply troubled people. They were thrown off the force because they were incapable of functioning in their jobs.”
    “So was I,” Monk said.
    He gave his badge one more fond look, then slipped it into his inside jacket pocket.
    Sure, he was happy, but the giddy glee had waned, and I saw a hint in his downcast eyes of the sadness he always carried with him. That was when I realized that although he didn’t know any of these detectives, he probably understood them better than anyone else.
    And maybe, just maybe, he was exactly the right person to lead them.
     
    The homicide division was almost empty and surprisingly quiet when we arrived. A couple of uniformed officers were answering phones, but that was all that was happening. Take away the uniforms and the guns, and it could have been lunch hour in an accountant’s office.
    Monk touched each desk lamp he passed as he made his way to the captain’s office. I’ve never understood why he needed to tap a row of identical objects, like parking meters and streetlights, and keep a running count. Maybe it calmed him down. Maybe it created the illusion that there was actually some order in the chaotic world around him.
    He stopped in the doorway to the captain’s office and gazed at the clutter—the stacks of files (of cases past and present), the assorted coffee mugs (some used as pencil holders), the photographs (of Stottlemeyer’s family and fellow cops), the knick-knacks (like the acrylic paperweight that held a bullet taken from the captain’s shoulder), and the spare overcoat, jacket, shirt, and tie Stottlemeyer always kept on the coatrack.
    The clutter had increased in recent months. Since the captain’s marriage had crumbled, the office had become his home. I was surprised he hadn’t moved his bedroom set in.
    “I can’t work in here,” Monk said.
    I nodded. It was going to be a monumental chore to organize the office to Monk’s liking. It could take months and every available officer on the force working twenty-four/seven to make it happen. It might even require the complete demolition of the building.
    “I’m sure it can be straightened up,” I said.
    He shook his head. “No, this is the captain’s office.”
    “You’re the captain now.”
    Monk walked away, heading across the squad room and down the corridor to the interrogation rooms. He entered the first one he came to. I followed him inside.
    The room was stark and cold and dimly lit. The walls were the same gunmetal gray as the metal desk and the matching stiff-backed metal chairs.
    Monk sat down in one of the chairs and faced the mirror, which, of course, hid the observation room.
    “This will do,” he said.
    “Do as what?”
    “My office,” he said.
    “Don’t you think it’s a little sterile?”
    He smiled. “Yes, I do.”
    A young female officer stepped into the room. “Excuse me, Captain Monk?”
    Monk looked up, an expression of disbelief on his face. “Captain Monk?”
    “You are Captain Monk, aren’t you?” the officer asked.
    “I’m not sure,” he said.
    “He is,” I said, and introduced myself as his assistant.
    “I’m Officer Susan Curtis,” she said. “I’ve been temporarily assigned to clerical duties in the homicide division.”
    “How unusual that they’d pick a female officer for that,” I said.
    “Yeah, what a surprise,” she said ruefully. “A real incentive not to catch the flu.”
    It was a bonding moment between the two of us. Well, I hoped it was. We needed to have an officer on our side, or, at the very least, one who didn’t loathe us for being scabs.
    “Is there anything you need, sir?”
    “I need a hundred-page, spiral-bound notepad with exactly forty-two spirals. The pages