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

a week away from seeking multiple indictments against the DeSantini family,” Walker said. “The Clayson murders last night torpedo the entire case. You don’t see the connection?”

“The Claysons weren’t murdered last night,” Monk said.

I jumped in before Walker could shoot Monk where he stood.

“I think what Mr. Monk means is that, technically, itwas this morning,” I said. “The ME says they died after midnight.”

“It was dark out,” Walker said. “In my book that makes it night.”

“They weren’t murdered this morning either,” Monk said.

Walker turned to Stottlemeyer. “This imbecile is the best detective you’ve got? That doesn’t say much for law enforcement in Frisco.” He turned to Monk. “I see two dead people on the floor. What do you see?”

“I see two people who were murdered a year ago,” Monk said.

“Don’t you think they’d be a little more ripe? Besides, I was at their wedding a year ago, posing as one of the bar-tenders, and they were very much alive.”

Stottlemeyer rubbed his temples. “Monk, do you think you could be a little less cryptic and get to the point?”

Of course not. Monk had to have his fun. I knew it and Stottlemeyer knew it, but Walker didn’t, and his face was turning an ominous shade of red. Ominous for Monk, not for Walker.

“The whole story is right here,” Monk said, and hit PLAY on the DVD machine.

It was a wedding video. An attractive couple were taking their vows in front of a dour-faced judge in what appeared to be a grand banquet hall in an old hotel. I assumed, since we were talking about a wedding, that the couple were the Claysons before they got their new faces. Their old faces weren’t so bad either.

“What the hell were they doing with their wedding video?” Walker said. “It’s a major security breach. If anybody saw that, it would have blown their cover.”

They were romantics at heart, so of course they kept the video, regardless of the risk, which didn’t seem too high to me.

“I don’t see how,” I said. “It could have been the video of a friend or relative’s wedding.”

“It got them killed, didn’t it?” Walker snapped at me. At least his teeth didn’t break my skin.

“No, it didn’t,” Monk said. “But it does show the murder being committed.”

“How could it?” Walker said. “That video was shot a year ago.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Monk said.

“I’m not getting a damn thing,” Walker said.

“Just spit it out, Monk,” Stottlemeyer said. “Who killed them?”

“I don’t know who did it.” Monk looked at Walker. “But you do.”

Walker marched up to Monk and got nearly nose to nose with him. “I ought to kick your ass right here, right now. Are you accusing me of being the leak? Or are you saying that I murdered them myself?”

Monk took a step back to put some space between them and bumped into the TV. “Neither. Here’s what happened. Somehow the DeSantini family discovered that the Claysons, or whatever their names were before, were going to cooperate with the authorities and that they would be entering the witness protection program that night. The couple would soon have new names and faces and would be next to impossible to find. So the wedding was the DeSantinis’ last chance to kill them, but the couple was too well protected.”

“You’re damn right they were,” Walker said. “All the guests were thoroughly checked out, there was security at all the entrances and exits, and all the servers were U.S. Marshals. Not even a mosquito could get in that room and bite them.”

“But the DeSantinis got to them anyway,” Monk said and skipped the DVD forward, freezing the video on the happy couple cutting the wedding cake. “It’s traditional for newly-weds to save a piece of cake and put it in the freezer to eat on their first anniversary. So someone poisoned the piece of cake, knowing that wherever they were, and whoever they’d become, the couple would eat it in twelve months, which happened to be how long it took the Justice Department to prepare their case. The cake was a time bomb. The Claysons were dead before they left the wedding. They just didn’t know it.”

I looked back at the couple, and at the cake on the table. They were celebrating their anniversary last night. That was why the wedding video DVD was in the player and the TV was still on. They were probably watching it when they died.

Until death do us part. It was a tragic romance that was doomed from the start.

“It was the best man,” Walker said. “He was the one who saved the piece of cake and wrapped it for them. The DeSantinis must have gotten to him. But I was the stupid sonofabitch who kept the cake frozen and made sure it was in their freezer here when they arrived. So you were right, Monk. I was the one who killed them.”

“You were being thoughtful,” Stottlemeyer said. “You didn’t know the cake was poisoned.”

“I knew they shouldn’t take anything with them from their old lives, not even a piece of cake,” Walker said. “I’m turning in my badge and taking early retirement.”

“Over this?” Stottlemeyer said.

Walker gestured to Monk. “And him. I completely underestimated his abilities. That kind of mistake could get someone killed.”

I have to admit I took pleasure in Walker’s misery and pride in Monk’s success. Walker was a jerk and deserved to be knocked down a peg. And I was pleased, and relieved, that Monk’s incredible roll was continuing. I was losing count of how many murders he’d solved lately right at the scene.

“Can