Mr. Monk and the New Lieutenant by Hy Conrad Read Free Book Online

run across the fingernails and are a clear indication of heavy-metal poisoning.
    We all stared down at the corpse with its hands folded reverently across its chest. “That’s why I wanted to compare his nails with the ones in the photo,” said Monk. “You see the difference?”
    The difference was obvious, but only when you have a genius right there pointing it out to you. In the formal portrait, the smiling judge had his hands cradled over his gavel. The nails showed no milky white ridges. In real life—or I should say real death—the lines were there in the pink portion of the nail, the same color as the white half-moons we all have at the bottom of our nails. Those half-moons are called lunules, by the way. I also had to look that up.
    â€œFrom their position and intensity, I’d say he was exposed to a heavy dose a couple of weeks before his death.” Monk shrugged a shoulder. “Of course, I’m no poison expert, but I do have a list.”
    â€œTwo weeks,” Stottlemeyer mused. “That’s around the time he collapsed on the street, heading into work.”
    â€œExactly,” said Monk. “There may have been additionaldoses afterward. But the initial one is probably what caused his collapse.”
    â€œLet me get this straight,” said Lieutenant A.J. Thurman. “You’re saying that when the judge was in the hospital being treated for dengue fever—”
    â€œDengue is a virus,” Monk interrupted. “There is no treatment except to relieve the pain and wait it out.”
    â€œWhatever. So you’re saying that all this time he was being poisoned and no one in the hospital knew? Unbelievable.”
    â€œVery believable,” said Monk. “A heavy metal won’t show up in your standard blood test. And the doctors already knew what was wrong with him: dengue fever. I assume the family didn’t request an autopsy.”
    The captain glanced over to the far corner, where Bethany Oberlin was seated in her straight-backed chair. An Episcopal priest was bending close, gently preparing her for the short service that would take place in a few minutes, right before the casket would be closed and the long journey to the Colma cemetery would begin. “She’s the only immediate family,” said Stottlemeyer. “There was no reason for her or anyone to request an autopsy.”
    â€œThere is now,” said Monk.
    â€œWait a minute.” Lieutenant A.J. shook his head in disbelief. “You’re really going to interrupt a funeral? You’re going to tell that poor girl her father was murdered and that you have to take his body out of the coffin, put it on a cold slab, cut it open, and then have another funeral in a week? Put her through the whole thing again? All because you see a fewweird ridges? For all we know, the embalmer might have done something to make it look like that.”
    â€œIt’s not the embalmer,” said Monk. “It’s the poison.”
    â€œSo, you’re going to go up to her now and tell her this?”
    â€œNo, I’m not,” said Monk. “You are. You’re a homicide officer.”
    â€œHe’s right,” agreed the captain. “Do your job, A.J.”
    â€œMe?” A.J. recoiled. “Why me? Why not you, Captain?”
    â€œBecause the judge was an old friend and I’d rather not.”
    â€œThe judge was my friend, too. My dad and him were tight from the old days.” A.J. dug into his pocket. “Tell you what. I’ll flip you for it.”
    â€œWe are not flipping coins in the middle of a funeral,” said Stottlemeyer. “Go over to Ms. Oberlin and inform her, as sympathetically as possible, that the service is being postponed while the SFPD gets a court order and takes custody of her father’s remains in a criminal death investigation. Do it.”
    The junior officer really had no choice. He stared daggers back at