Mr. Monk Helps Himself by Hy Conrad Read Free Book Online

Monk ignored the sarcasm, but he probably didn’t realize it was there. Instead, he held out his hands and framed the scene. “So the EMTs lied. They must have touched something. And it had to be something serious enough to risk their lives over.”
    Okay. Sure, when you phrase it that way and you’re looking at a bed covered with money . . . “Money,” I said before anyone could beat me to it.
    “The poison’s on the money,” Stottlemeyer added. “Of course. Guess they couldn’t resist a little fringe benefit.” He turned to a CSI. “Bag a handful from the bed and take it in. Now. Devlin!”
    The lieutenant appeared in the doorway, ready for action.
    “Call the ER at St. Mary’s. Have them isolate the EMTs, their clothing and equipment. Also the ambulance. We’re looking for contaminated currency the guys may have filched from the crime scene. Also, anyone who may have come in contact with the bills.”
    “You think the poison’s on the money?” Devlin asked, staring down at all the tempting cash.
    “I do,” said Stottlemeyer. “More important, Monk does.”
    “Good enough for me. Do you want me to make an arrest?” Devlin always seemed eager to slap on the cuffs.
    “No, but keep them separated. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
    “I can question them.” Devlin volunteered. She was stopped by one of Stottlemeyer’s patented glares.
    “Also, we need to clear this with the Secret Service and the Postal Inspection Service.”
    The lieutenant eyed the corpse and shook her head. “They’re not going to want this one.”
    “Maybe not. But we need to inform them and keep them in the loop. I’ll take care of it.”
    “I can do it,” said Devlin, only to be met with another glare. “Okay,” she said, and turned and walked away.
    “What is that under the bed?” Monk was pointing to a pair of large bright yellow objects barely visible under the dust ruffle.
    “Shoes,” the captain said. “Our guy has big feet, huh? Look, Monk, our priority is finding out where this money came from.”
    “What did you say Smith did for a living?” I could hear his throat getting a little constricted.
    “He’s an entertainer. Small stuff.”
    Monk was suddenly alert. His hands went up again, framing bits of the room. “What’s that?” He pointed to a shiny piece of tin sticking out of a bookcase shelf.
    “Looks like a bike horn,” Stottlemeyer said. “Our friend must have taken up biking. Now, Monk . . .”
    “And that?” He pointed to what resembled a red rubber ball on the dresser behind the captain.
    “That? Looks like a rubber ball.”
    “It’s not a rubber ball.” He was hyperventilating again. “It’s a rubber nose.”
    Monk can move fast when he wants to. Within a second, he was out of the room. Within five, he was probably out of the house and across the street.
    So much for being a professional.
    “Dudley Smith was a clown?” I asked Stottlemeyer, dumbfounded. He shrugged yes. “You know Monk is afraid of clowns. It’s a real condition. Coulrophobia.”
    “What?” Stottlemeyer chuckled. “You know the names of all his phobias?”
    “Not all,” I had to admit. “Some of them don’t have official names.”
    “Because he invented them. What about his fear of milk?”
    “That has a name. It’s lactaphobia. And don’t try to distract me. His fear of clowns is a real affliction. You knew that. You knew and you didn’t warn him.”
    “Then he wouldn’t have come in and we wouldn’t have gotten to the money so fast.”
    “Well, now he’s gone and is not coming back. Congratulations.”
    The captain seemed unfazed. “You can make it work, Natalie. Isn’t that what you do? Monk is brilliant and you keep him controlled.”
    “Wrong. That’s what I did when I was his assistant. Now I’m an ex-cop. I’m a week away from getting my PI license. I’m not his babysitter. If you want to fix the mess you made, do it yourself.” I was almost ready to follow Monk into the