Mr. Monk Goes to Germany Lee Goldberg (my reading book .txt) 📖

The officer’s name was Schust. To say he was unsympathetic to Monk’s request would be an understatement.

I could understand that, but I was on Monk’s side. Because when it comes down to it, despite whatever reservations I may have, my job is to support and assist Monk in any way I can.

“Perhaps Mr. Monk hasn’t made the situation clear,” I said. “He is a special consultant to the San Francisco Police Department and he’s investigating a murder.”

Officer Schust looked skeptically at Monk. “He’s a detective?”

“The best in America,” I said.

I didn’t believe Monk was right, but I had to do whatever I could to help his cause. Besides, I figured the sooner I could prove to him that either he was delusional or the six-fingered man he saw wasn’t the killer, the sooner we could get back to enjoying our vacation.

“He’s afraid of cobblestones,” Schust said.

“If you were smart, you would be, too,” Monk said. “One wrong move and you could break your neck. Those streets should be paved.”

“We aren’t going to pave the streets,” Schust said. “And we aren’t going to do a door-to-door search for an eleven-fingered man either.”

“I want to see whoever is in charge here,” I said.

“You’ll have to come back another time,” Schust said. “Hauptkriminalkommissar Stoffmacher is unavailable.”

“We’ll wait,” Monk said.

“He could be gone all day,” the officer said. “He’s investigating a homicide.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Point us to the crime scene so Mr. Monk can solve the murder and the Hauptkriminalkommissar can focus all of his attention on finding our man.”

“A crime scene is not a tourist attraction,” Schust said. “We’re done here, Fräulein Teeger.”

The officer turned and went back to his desk. When Monk looked at me, his expression of steely determination was back.

“This isn’t such a big town. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the crime scene,” Monk said. “We’ll just drive around until we find a bunch of police cars.”

“They still won’t let us cross the police line,” I said. “What we need is an introduction. Wait here.”

I stepped outside, took out my cell phone, and called Captain Stottlemeyer. I hadn’t forgotten that we were nine hours ahead of San Francisco, but this was an emergency.

Stottlemeyer answered groggily. “Yeah.”

“It’s Natalie, Captain. I need a favor.”

“Do you know what time it is here?”

“Let me ask you a question,” I said. “Did you arrest that crazy woman for murdering her sleazy son-in-law?”

“Yeah, we did,” Stottlemeyer said. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“I need more details,” I said.

“Monk was right. Her fingerprints were all over the iron. When she was confronted with the evidence, she spilled the whole thing. We couldn’t shut her up. Satisfied?”

“So you’re in Mr. Monk’s debt,” I said.

“Yeah, I owe him one,” Stottlemeyer said. “When he gets back, I’ll let him organize my desk.”

“That’s not going to be enough,” I said.

“He gets paid for this,” Stottlemeyer said.

“You fired him, remember? He did this out of the kindness of his heart and a deep, abiding sense of public service.”

“He did it because he’s compulsive and he can’t let go of this stuff.”

“That doesn’t matter. The fact is, you’d still be heading nowhere on this case if he hadn’t taken time out of his dream vacation to help you. Now all he’s asking for is a small favor in return.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“We need you to call the police in Lohr, Germany, and convince them that Mr. Monk is a very important and respected member of the San Francisco Police Department.”

“Why do they have to know that?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, because a call like that makes whatever Monk is doing official and a reflection on our department. And second, if you’re hesitating to tell me why you need me to vouch for him, it must be something big. Has he stumbled on a dead body already?”

I sighed. “Mr. Monk caught a glimpse of a man in a crowd today and then lost him. We need the police to help us find the guy.”

“What has the guy done? Was he missing a button on his shirt? Was he only wearing one earring? Was his shoe untied?”

“He had six fingers on his right hand.”

“Oh hell,” Stottlemeyer said.

“You see my predicament.”

“Do you really believe that’s what Monk saw?”

“What’s important is that he believes it,” I said. “Nothing means more to him than finding Trudy’s killer. Even if there’s only a one-in-a-billion chance that he’s right, we have to support him, no matter what.”

“This could end up being a tragic embarrassment for him and for us,” Stottlemeyer said.

“I know,” I said. “But what choice do we have? We’re his friends.”

“Where are you again?”

“Lohr, Germany,” I said. “Snow White’s hometown.”

“I thought her hometown was Disneyland.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Next you’re going to tell me Sleeping Beauty didn’t live there either,” Stottlemeyer said. “Give me a few minutes. I have to wake some people up.”

I went back into the police station and sat down next to Monk in one of the two chairs in the lobby.

“What did you do?” Monk asked.

“I called Captain Stottlemeyer,” I said.

“Is he going to help us?”

I gave Monk a look. “Has he ever let you down?”

A half hour passed. The officer and the dispatcher were clearly annoyed to have us sitting there, but they couldn’t really throw us out.

I told Monk that Betty had