DISCLAIMER: Rating - PG13 (it's a murder mystery after all), for a little cussing & swearing and a body count. and Simon & Simon are not owned by me, they are owned by USA Network and CBS. This is just a stupid fan fiction and I won't make any money off of it. Minor spoilers for Mr. Monk Goes to the Theater. Enjoy!


Chapter 1


10:35pm, Saturday night. Captain Stottlemeyer slowly exited his unmarked police car. He and Lt. Randy Disher had just arrived on the scene of the brutal murder that had shattered a peaceful evening in one of San Francisco's upper-income suburban neighborhoods. The house Leland saw looked like almost every other house in this community, but this house was the exception - something terrible had happened inside. Forensics was already on the scene, and he watched the team's most experienced photographer load his camera and enter the house. The Captain took a deep breath, then said Ok Randy, let's see what we've got this time.

The two officers made their way past the police barricade tape that held back the curious neighbors, and started up the front sidewalk. Flashes from the crime scene photographer's camera could be seen through the bay window overlooking the front lawn. Stottlemeyer approached the Sergeant temporarily controlling the scene and received a brief run-down; Susan Hopkins, a single, 38 year old human resources consultant, had been strangled to death in her brand new suburban home. Approximately one hour ago, someone walking their dog phoned in a report of suspicious activity in the house, saying that he thought he'd heard the sounds of a struggle taking place inside. Two marked units were immediately dispatched to the scene, and the officers broke into the house to find the woman dead on the living room floor. They then immediately locked down the house as a crime scene and called it in.

Captain Stottlemeyer thanked the Sergeant for doing a good job and officially took over the scene. He and Lt. Disher carefully threaded their way through the house, being mindful of every step, until they reached the living room. As Leland stepped onto the cream-colored carpet, he slowly shook his head. Damn......I hate these...., he said under his breath. One look told the veteran officer that this was no ordinary homicide. The woman's body had been stripped naked, and her clothes had been neatly folded and placed on the seat of a dining room chair sitting only a few feet from where she lay. Her body had been carefully arranged by her killer after strangling her to death; placed on her left side with her head pointed towards the bay window, legs together, knees bent, and hands together in front of her face mimicking a position. Her hands and feet were tightly bound with white nylon rope. Disher and the Captain leaned over the body to take a closer look at the bindings. Randy said Wow, look at that. What kind of knots did he tie?, and indeed the knots the killer had used were highly unusual. One loop protruded from the top of the tight knot, and the two ends of the rope, each end being almost exactly the same length, emerged from the bottom. Neither officer had ever seen a knot like this before.

The Captain stood to survey the rest of the scene. There were signs of a struggle;a burgundy throw-rug was wrinkled, a few pillows from a nearby couch were strewn about the floor, a lamp on one of the two end tables was lying on it's side. Then Leland's gaze came to rest on the pile of clothes on the chair. Something small and shiny had been placed on top of the clothes. Pointing to the chair, he asked the photographer, Did you photograph this yet? He had, so Stottlemeyer pulled a ball point pen out of his pocket and bent down to examine the object closer. Randy, get your flashlight over here. Take a look at this. Lt. Disher pulled a small flashlight from his belt and moved next to the Captain.

What is it, sir? he asked, bathing the small metal object in light.

The Captain turned it over with his pen. It looks like a woman's cameo....there's an inscription on the back. It says, To my daughter Jenna, with all my love.'....what is our victim's name?

Her name is Susan Hopkins.

Did she have a daughter named Jenna?

Disher looked through the pages of his note pad. No sir, she didn't have any kids, and she was single. None of her female family members are named Jenna, either.

Captain Stottlemeyer's face darkened. He stood up, turned to Lt. Disher, and said, Why in the hell would a killer do - he motioned towards the chair - THIS? I mean, why fold her clothes, stack them on the chair, then put the cameo on top of it? It just doesn't make any sense!

I don't know, sir. The Lieutenant's face brightened in sudden inspiration. Maybe it's not her cameo?

Disher waited for his mentor to scold him for voicing another of his half-baked ideas, but instead, the Captain was silent, his brow furrowed in thought. Eventually, he turned to Disher, who was completely astounded when Stottlemeyer finally said, Maybe you're right. He paused. Nothing about this crime scene seems right to me. Something....very strange is going on here, I can feel it. And I don't like it one bit. He put his hand to his chin, and with a worried look in his eyes, said, Lieutenant, go call Adrian Monk. NOW. I want him down here immediately, while the scene is still fresh.

Disher was surprised. The Captain HATED having to call in Monk in on a case, but this time there was a definite sense of urgency in his voice. Randy was starting to get a bad feeling about this case. I think this is the start of something awful, Randy. This guy, he's definitely killed before..... the Captain's voice trailed off for a moment, then he continued, This is gonna get worse. We have to stop this immediately. And I think we're gonna need all the help we can get. We need Monk.




Adrian Monk and Sharona Fleming arrived on the scene approximately one hour later. The Captain and Lt. Disher were waiting for them on the front sidewalk. Monk exited the car quickly, clearly excited to be working on a new case, and approached the two officers. Sharona followed her boss.

Hello Captain, Lieutenant. What do we have?

This is a weird one, Monk the Captain said. Sharona, maybe you'd like to wait out here?

No thanks Captain, I can take it.

Stottlemeyer sighed, Ok, your call. He turned, motioned for them to follow him, and he led them into the living room. At exactly 9:38pm, someone passing by the house called 911 to report they thought there was a fight going on inside. The cops show up, break in, and find our victim as is. Nothing's been touched, the scene is pristine.

Monk slowly walked into the living room and looked around. He focused on the rumpled throw rug, wanting to straighten it out, but restraining himself from doing so. The couch had a small table by either end, each table with a lamp sitting on it, but the lamp on the table nearest the body was laying on it's side. Three of the couch's throw pillows were on the floor. Monk reached out to touch the lamp shade, feeling the urge to set it upright, then twitched his shoulders and nervously worked his jaw as he forced himself to ignore the displaced lamp. He moved over to the body and stood at her feet, kneeling down to take a closer look. He carefully studied the knots the killer had tied, then he rose and examined the chair, clothing and mysterious cameo. He pulled a silver pen out of his pocket, using it to poke at the piece of jewelry, then turning it over. Stottlemeyer, Disher, and Sharona patiently watched and waited for Monk to finish his thing.

Finally, Monk finished his observations and approached them. Captain, I see why you called me in. He looked at the lamp again, fighting the urge to fix it.

I told you it was a weird one. So......what do you think?

Monk looked back at the body. Has the forensics team processed this scene yet?

Disher piped up, Just the photographer, and the Medical Examiner getting the body's temp. They touched nothing.

You're SURE they haven't collected any evidence?

YES, we're sure the Captain stated firmly, obviously starting to get annoyed.

Show me exactly where he was standing, Captain.

Stottlemeyer pointed to an area of the carpet around the woman's feet. He was right here....see?, he pointed to some oval shapes imprinted on the rug. That's where he knelt down while using the thermometer.

Monk's brows pulled together. That's strange, then.



This carpet....it's been vacuumed.....there are no footprints, or other marks on the carpet around the body, except here, where the M.E. was taking the temperature. Everyone looked at the carpet. The killer had to have been standing over here, near her head, to position the body like this.....he vacuumed the rug AFTER moving her.

Captain Stottlemeyer was glad that he had called in Monk.

Disher offered one of his unique theories. Maybe he's a neat-freak, like Monk?
I mean, maybe he has OCD?

No, no, he was removing as much trace evidence from the scene as possible. Monk replied. Check her vacuum. I'm sure you'll find the bag is missing.

Lieutenant, find the vacuum and check the bag. Be careful of prints.

Yes sir! Disher ran off to find the vacuum.

The Captain shook his head in disbelief as Disher left the room. Monk, what do you think about the clothes on the chair? And the knots he used to tie up his victim?

This is his signature, his ritual. He tied her up after he killed her. If you look into other recent murders, in surrounding areas, I'm sure you'll find more cases with these hallmarks. I'm not sure exactly what it means to him personally, but it's obvious that he's done this before. I think we're dealing with a serial killer.

And the Cameo?

He deliberately put it in an obvious place, to make sure we saw it. He WANTED us to find it, Captain.

Monk's words filled Captain Stottlemeyer with a sense of dread. He heard them again them in his head - serial killer - that was the last thing he wanted to hear. His worst fears had just been confirmed. Disher returned with the news that the vacuum's bag was, indeed, gone.

Monk looked at the lamp again, desperately trying to resist the rising compulsion to set it upright. He rubbed his temple with his index finger. Sharona sensed his distress and immediately appeared by his side. What's wrong?

That lamp.....it's bothering me....

Sharona placed her hand on his arm. Just calm down, and try to concentrate.

But it's out of place!

Remember, the Captain said he really needed you on this one. She gently patted his shoulder, then smiled reassuringly. You can do it. You're the best, remember?

Monk nodded, the slight hint of a smile crossing his face. He turned to the Captain again, and asked, What was the time of death?



Disher flipped through his notepad. The M.E. says she's been dead since......this can't be right.....about 8:45pm.

Monk looked at Disher. The Captain frowned at his Lieutenant.

He says the body's temperature indicates that she's been dead since 8:45. It's right here, sir.

Monk hurried over to the body and looked at it again.

Damn it Randy, the Captain bellowed, Get that idiot back in here to do it right! We can't afford ANY mistakes on this one!

, Monk interrupted, I think the time of death is correct!

Stottlemeyer stopped yelling and looked at Monk. What did you say?

The time of death is correct, she was killed at 8:45pm.

And why do you say that, Monk? We have the 911 call, on tape, saying there was a struggle here at 9:38.

Captain, THINK! If the killer really was attacking her at the time the call was made, he wouldn't have been able to tie her up, arrange her body, and fold these clothes like this. And THEN he vacuumed the carpet.....he wouldn't have had enough time before the officers arrived on the scene. And besides, she wasn't in any condition to put up a fight..... Monk then bent down and sniffed near the dead woman's face....he used chloroform to subdue her.

Stottlemeyer was stunned.

Disher looked confused. Well then, who called 911?

Adrian looked at Disher. I think the killer called, to make sure we found her when HE wanted us to find her. And it also means that there was no struggle. So the question is, WHY did he leave the room exactly like this? He must be telling us something, leaving some sort of message. Monk looked around the room again, saw the pillows on the floor, rumpled rug, and the overturned lamp. That lamp.....he hurried over to examine it again. The bulb was still intact. Adrian crouched down to take a closer look, and that's when he saw it. There was a single strand of very fine fishing line tied to one of the support bars inside the lamp shade. The thread went out of the top of the shade and disappeared underneath the edge of the wooden table. Monk followed it, careful not to disturb anything. He cautiously peered under the table's edge.

Stottlemeyer asked Well? Did you find something?

Yes, I did. Monk motioned for the Captain to come over and take a look.

He crossed the room, crouched down on the floor next to Adrian, and looked underneath the table.

Monk looked at the Captain. There's your message, Captain. He's saying he doesn't want me on this case. He knows I'll catch him.

The other end of the fishing line was tied to the pin of a hand grenade, taped into place underneath the table.




Adrian and Sharona arrived at Captain Stottlemeyer's office at around 10:00am the following Monday. Sharona lightly knocked on the door, then she and Adrian walked inside. Stottlemeyer sat at his desk, and Disher sat in a chair across from him. The Hopkins case file was spread out over the Captain's desk. Both officers appeared worn and haggard, and it became obvious to Adrian that neither of them had slept much, if at all, since Saturday night. They had been working almost nonstop on the case, and both men looked exhausted. Sharona picked up on this as well.

The Captain leaned back in his chair, rubbed his eyes, and grumbled Mornin' Monk, Sharona. Disher rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his head around to loosen up. Sharona walked over to the coffee pot, poured two cups of fresh coffee, and set one down on the desk in front of each officer.

Looks like you guys need this. They thanked her and started drinking the coffee.

Monk waited for them to take a few sips, then asked Well? What do you have?

The Captain was clearly not happy with the way this case was progressing. Not one usable print, not even from the underside of the tape he used on the grenade. No trace evidence, no footprints outside, the rope he used can be bought from any hardware store. The scene was clean. So far, everyone she knew has an alibi that checks out, even ex-boyfriends.

And I've been scouring local, state, and national databases almost nonstop since Saturday night. Disher lamented. I even checked with the FBI's Behavioral Sciences Unit. Nothing matches this case.

That doesn't mean that other similar murders aren't out there, the Captain added, a lot of precincts don't put cases like this on the database, afraid someone else will beat them to the punch. It just means we haven't found anything.

Sharona decided to sit in the other chair in front of the Captain's desk. Monk continued to stand. He fidgeted with the wedding band on his left hand, thinking about the events of yesterday morning. As he and Sharona were walking to the grocery store, someone in a brown Honda Accord had screeched to a halt in the street next to them and fired three shots out of the passenger window. Fortunately, Adrian heard the car's tires squealing and looked over his shoulder in time to see the car approaching fast. He reacted instantly and pulled Sharona down to the ground behind a parked car. The bullets hit the car and the side of a building, then the driver sped off. They were both shaken up, but no one was hurt. Monk felt certain that both the shooting and the Hopkins murder the night before were connected.

What about the drive-by shooting yesterday morning? Any leads on the car?

Dished finished the last of his coffee, then spoke up. The car was stolen, Monk. We found it abandoned on the south side of town. Inside was clean, hardly a speck of dust to be found. Not even dust on the dashboard. Looked brand new.

Had the carpet and seats been vacuumed?

Disher pulled out his notepad, flipped through a few pages, and scanned the pages for a minute. Looks like it. Well, at least forensics thinks so. There wasn't any dirt on the floors at all, not even between the seats, and this car was five years old.

Monk looked at Stottlemeyer. Two attempts on my life in two days. Both crime scenes vacuumed to remove evidence. It has to be the same guy, Captain.

Monk, I know you think this serial killer is after you, but how do you know that the grenade at the Hopkins scene was meant for you specifically? Maybe the guy just wanted to kill a few cops?

Captain, remember that article the Los Angeles Times did about me three months ago? After I solved the murder at the theater and cleared Sharona's sister Gail?



Well, here's the picture they ran with that article. He pulled a copy of the picture out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the Captain. Stottlemeyer leaned forward in his chair, took the picture and examined it closely. The photo showed Monk in his signature brown suit standing in the middle of a disorganized crime scene, a wipe in his right hand, picking up a lamp that had been knocked over on an end table. I think he saw this article. He KNEW I would want to pick up that lamp, Captain. And the drive-by? I mean, come on-

Save it, Monk. You've convinced me. He handed the picture back to Adrian, who draped a wipe over his hand before retrieving it. The Captain leaned back in his chair again and rubbed his forehead, looking like the weight of the world was bearing down upon him. Monk actually felt sorry for the guy. He and Lt. Disher had pushed themselves near the brink of exhaustion trying to break this case, and so far they had nothing but dead ends. With a heavy sigh, Captain Stottlemeyer proclaimed his defeat. He looked at Monk, and asked, with a hint of hope in his voice, Well Monk? Any Ideas?

Adrian was silent, thinking as he looked around Stottlemeyer's office. He focused on the map of the city that hung on the wall. Lieutenant, exactly where was that stolen car abandoned?

Disher pulled himself out of his chair, walked over to the map, and pointed to a spot near the bottom. Right here, in the parking lot of a gas station.

He left it here? Monk looked at the map closely. This station is on the southbound side of the highway, right on the southern edge of town.

What are you thinking, Monk? the Captain asked, anticipation creeping into his voice.

Pointing to the spot on the map, he said Well, this gas station....it's right by the highway. He probably drove the stolen car here immediately after the shooting, abandoned it for his own vehicle that he had parked there, then drove straight out of town on I-95. Monk moved his finger down the map, being careful not to actually touch it, tracing the path of the major highway. He turned to look first at the Captain, then Disher. He was going back home.

And where do you think he lives?

I don't know. Maybe Los Angeles, or some other major metropolitan area, where he could operate unnoticed for a long time. He looked at the map again. There are a lot of major cities along this highway, could be any of them. But I'm absolutely certain that you will find more murders like this one.

Captain Stottlemeyer arched his bushy eyebrows, and looked over at Disher. Lieutenant, have several extra copies of this case file ready for me by tomorrow afternoon. I'm going to take it to the California Law Enforcement Conference this Wednesday and ask if anyone else has similar cases.

Disher looked surprised. But sir, I thought you said you hated those things?

Well I WAS going to skip it, because they are boring as hell. But, in light of recent events, he motioned towards the crime scene photos spread across his desk, and the fact that we have no hits on the databases and almost no leads, I think I should attend. Besides, cops are more willing to share case information over a good cup of coffee. A little face time might just pay off.