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

that’s just her way of not facing the future, whatever it is.”
    â€œMost moms would be happy to have their girl stick around a little longer.”
    â€œTrue. But most moms don’t chase down bad guys or sniff out poisons.”
    â€œYou got a point,” said the captain. “I wouldn’t want my kid in law enforcement, either.” He eased himself down onto the edge of a sturdy stone umbrella stand, a body-language signal that he had something more to say.
    â€œWhat is it?” I asked.
    â€œDo you think Monk’s padding the bill? Honestly?”
    â€œIsn’t that what you told him to do? Take four days to give you the answer?”
    â€œI know what I said. But if he knows how the judge was poisoned, that’s pretty important. Once the judge was admitted to the hospital, it’s a different story. The killer had plenty of access. Doctors, nurses, orderlies. Visiting hours. But the initial dose, the one that made him collapse on the courthouse steps, that’s our mystery.”
    â€œWhat about motive?” I asked. “Someone must have wanted Nathaniel Oberlin dead.”
    â€œI have a team working that angle, two of my best. But Nate was a widower. No romantic connections. No enemies. No heirs, except Bethany, who was in Thailand at the time. His murder could be connected to an old criminal case, I guess. That’s what we’re checking into.”
    â€œAre you sure the judge was alone that morning?”
    â€œAs sure as we can be. A neighbor saw him leaving the house alone. The courthouse is a fifteen-minute walk. There were no injection sites on the body, we’re pretty sure of that. So it had to have been ingested.”
    â€œIt’s been weeks, you know. There’s a good possibility we’ll never find the source.”
    â€œI know,” agreed Stottlemeyer. “That’s why I need to know if Monk is stalling.”
    I paused to give it some thought. “I know Adrian pretty well. And he’s a terrible liar, even when it comes to body language. I don’t think he’s stalling or padding the bill. He’s as confused as the rest of us.”
    â€œThat’s too bad,” said the captain. “Nate was an old friend.You don’t get many old friends. I’d hate to see this bastard get away with it.”
    â€œWe’ll do our best. No stalling.”
    â€œThanks,” he said, pulling himself up to his feet. “And I’ll make sure you get paid.”
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    My lunch that day wasn’t with Julie. I’d lied. And it wasn’t even a lunch. It was a progress report to Sue O’Brien.
    I had taken her case. I’d taken it against Monk’s unwritten rule about divorces and perhaps my own better judgment. In my defense, Sue was a sweet woman who really needed help, help that other investigators couldn’t supply. And, don’t forget, her plea had come at a moment when we had just been paid a two-hour rate for solving a complicated homicide.
    During the last few days, while the lab and the guys in the hazmat suits were busy at work, I was skulking around on two fronts, trying to gather as much evidence as possible against Sue’s wayward husband while desperately trying to keep my activities off Monk’s radar, which probably rivals the radar capabilities of O’Hare International.
    When I arrived at the mini-mall, my honey-blond client was waiting on the bench outside the door. I quickly ushered her in and we settled in a far back corner, just in case Monk’s radar was working in high gear.
    â€œAny news?” she asked right off the bat.
    â€œPrecious little,” I had to admit. Then I went on to explain.
    Her husband, Timothy O’Brien, had been easy to find.He was a named partner at Smith, Willard & O’Brien in a high-rise in the Financial District. He did not have a Facebook page or much other Internet presence,