Mr. Monk and the Two Assistants

by Goldberg, Lee

  “What a moron,” Sharona said.

  “He didn’t expect anyone to ever consider him as a suspect,” Monk said. “So he didn’t think he was taking a chance. Not that he could have stopped himself anyway.”

  “I would say that arrogance was another personality quirk that betrayed him,” I said.

  “Imagine having a compulsion like that,” Monk said. “How did he manage to function in life?”

  Sharona gave him a look. “You have a thousand compulsions like that.”

  “Yes,” Monk said. “But I have you two to help me.”

  He had a point.

  In the weeks immediately following Ian Ludlow’s arrest, Trevor was released from prison and so were the five inmates who’d been convicted of the murders that had “inspired” Ludlow’s last five books.

  Monk was able to show prosecutors how Ludlow had framed those others in the same way that he’d framed Sharona and me. The pattern of evidence against all of the wrongly convicted people was strikingly similar, mirroring the structure of the mystery novels Ludlow wrote before he started killing people for his plots and to make his draconian deadlines.

  Lieutenant Dozier also pointed out exactly how Ludlow had steered the investigations in the direction he wanted them to go. Aiding the prosecutors was a selfless act on Lieutenant Dozier’s part, because it meant conceding his role in the injustices that occurred. He resigned from the force rather than be made a scapegoat by the LAPD and the city, which was facing the likelihood of paying out millions of dollars in settlements to the people who’d been falsely imprisoned.

  All six of the people framed by Ludlow were immediately offered book deals, of course. And so was Ludlow, for the story behind the murders he’d committed.

  Trevor was the only one who declined the offers from publishers. He also turned away all the lawyers who wanted to sue the city for him.

  For the first time in Trevor’s life, not just one but two surefire get-rich-quick schemes had come his way and he’d ignored them both.

  And Sharona loved him for it.

  Trevor told me it was an easy decision. Pursuing the book or the lawsuit would have made a career out of reliving the nightmare his family and he had endured, and there was no amount of money that was worth that.

  If Sharona didn’t know it before, she knew it then: Trevor really had changed. I had a feeling that this time, the marriage was going to last.

  There was still one mystery that Monk hadn’t solved, and that was who Ronald Webster really was and where all his money had come from.

  Monk wasn’t interested. He’d found Webster’s killer. His job was done.

  I wondered why the mystery didn’t eat at him in the same way that a murder or a robbery might. And after some thought, I think I’ve figured it out.

  Ronald Webster’s life wasn’t a mystery. It was secret. Finding the answer wouldn’t restore order, right an injustice or reestablish some kind of balance. It would simply satisfy Stottlemeyer’s curiosity. And mine. And probably yours.

  But Monk didn’t care.

  I wish I could tell you that I knew the answer to Webster’s secret, but so far, nobody has found out.

  If you figure it out, let me know.

  It took Monk a full week to hang his dental poster. First, he had to pick the right spot on the wall in the right room. Then he had to center the poster and make sure that it was level and that the rest of the room was balanced around it. That’s no easy feat.

  Take it from me, feng shui is nothing compared to Monk shui.

  He finished hanging his poster just in time for the pizza party we threw at his house in honor of Sharona, Trevor and Benji on their last day in San Francisco. They were going back to Los Angeles, where Trevor was going to re-launch his landscaping business.

  The only other guests at the party were me, Julie and Monk. Stottlemeyer and Disher weren’t invited. Sharona and I still hadn’t quite forgiven them for arresting us. We knew they had to do it, but they could have fought against it a little harder.

  The pizza was courtesy of Sorrento’s, which was enjoying a lot of publicity and business in the wake of Ian Ludlow’s highly publicized arrest. Julie was out of her cast, but her cast-vertising concept had really taken off. Every kid with a cast in her school was advertising something and Julie was getting her percentage. She even wore her Velcro cast now and then to make a few extra dollars.

  Monk insisted on ordering the pizza “uncut” from Sorrento’s so he could measure and cut the slices himself to assure they were each the same size and true triangles.

  He almost returned the whole pie, though, when his measurements indicated that it wasn’t a perfect circle.

  Sharona and I managed to talk him out of ditching the pizza by reminding him that it was free.

  “That’s because it’s defective,” Monk said.

  “Probably,” I said, “but it still tastes good.”

  “It doesn’t taste very circular,” Monk said.

  “You can taste that?” Trevor asked.

  “Can’t you?” Monk said.

  “No, but I suppose it’s just one more way I can’t compare to you,” Trevor said. “You’ve taken real good care of my family. Better than me.”

  “That’s not true,” Sharona said.

  Trevor held up his hand to stop her. “I want you to know, Mr. Monk, that’s one area where I intend to outshine you. I’m going to make it my lifework.”

  “It sounds like a good job to me,” Monk said.

  Trevor shook Monk’s hand and went outside, where Julie and Benji were kicking around a soccer ball.

  Sharona gave Monk a wipe before he even asked for it. “I guess this is good-bye again.”

  “This is good-bye for the first time,” Monk said. “You skipped that part before.”

  “I wish I hadn’t,” Sharona said. “Thank you for giving me my life back, Adrian.”

  “You did it for me once,” Monk said.

  Sharona nodded. “I guess this makes us even.”

  Monk’s eyes lit up. “Even. I like that.”

  “It’s the way everything should be,” Sharona said.

  She kissed him on each cheek, just to keep things even, and walked away to join her husband and son outside.

  I offered him a wipe for his cheeks but he declined it. That was progress.

  Or maybe it was love.

  “I’m going to miss her,” I said.

  “Me, too,” Monk said. “All over again.”

  I nodded. “I have to admit, though, that it’s sure nice to have my job back.”

  “You never lost it,” Monk said. “It’s yours for life.”

  “That long?” I said.

  “Whether you like it or not,” Monk answered me.