Chapter 2

Later that night, Adrian ate a roast beef sandwich alone on a tray table by his television set. His eyes kept drifting towards the newspaper where Trudy's picture still lay, in perfect black and white and smoothly pressed out. He took a bite of his sandwich thoughtfully, watching the news, without being completely focused on it.

"I wonder what other movies she likes." Adrian murmured, flipping the channel without giving it much thought. "Maybe she likes seeing movies."

Adrian paused, realizing he had just changed the channel to Channel 11. Sighing, he picked up his remote again and changed it back to Channel 10. That was much better.

She winked at me. He thought again, pursing his lips tightly. He must've replayed that moment over a hundred times in his head. She had clearly winked at him. Maybe she was trying to be coy...to get pertinent information out of him for her story.

Or maybe she had winked at him.

The sudden ring of the telephone interrupted Adrian from his thoughts. He hesitated for a moment, before finally relenting and picking it up.

"Hello?" He asked, fairly certain he knew who it was that was calling. No one else called him. He didn't know anyone else that personally.

"Adrian—it's Ambrose."

"Ambrose." Adrian nodded, rubbing his temple slightly. "How are you, Ambrose? How's mom doing?"

"You didn't call, Adrian. You said you'd call once a week. You never called last week. Mom was real worried."

"I—I was working on a case." Adrian replied, defensively. He rolled his left shoulder anxiously. "You got the newspaper clippings, right? The newspaper clippings I sent about the case. I—I solved that case."

"Didn't you hear anything I said? Mom's worried about you; she thinks you should come home. She doesn't like you in that apartment all by yourself."

"I like it here." Adrian replied, tersely. "I'm doing fine. I—I solved a big case just last week. I sent you guys the newspaper clippings. They assigned me to another case. I...I think..." Adrian took in a deep breath. "I think they like me there."

There was silence at the other end. Adrian sighed, heavily. He didn't know what his brother was doing, but he assumed that Ambrose was probably too jealous of Adrian's success to be able to congratulate him on the case.

After a few more moments of silence, Adrian spoke. "Is Mom there? I can say hi now. I can talk now."

"I'll get her."

Adrian waited a few moments, running his fingers nervously through his dark, black curls. His shoulder gave another roll as he waited for his mother's voice to answer him on the other end.

"Adrian?"

"Yeah. Yeah—yeah, Mom. I'm here. Listen, Ambrose said you've been worried." Adrian was now standing, pacing back and forth in his living room, careful to stay within the reach of the phone cord. "You...you shouldn't worry. I'm fine here."

"Who's taking care of you, Adrian?"

"Me." Adrian replied, his eyes staring at the mirror at the far end of the wall. He tried to tear his gaze away from that mirror—he hated looking into his own eyes. "I'm taking care of myself, Mom."

"I—I don't like that, Adrian. Someone should be taking care of you. Why don't you come home? You can always come home."

"Mom, I like it here. I—I solved a case." Adrian tried again, desperately, trying to get someone to understand his new passion...a passion that involved something so far away from the dismal walls of his childhood home. "I sent the newspaper clippings."

"Oh, oh the newspaper clippings..."

"You—you got them?" Adrian demanded, eagerly, his fingers drumming on his leg as he walked back and forth.

"Adrian, I'm so worried about you. It's not good for our family to be apart. I—I don't like our family apart."

"Mom...Mom, the newspaper clippings." Adrian pressed, his hand now clenching at his side. "I was in the newspaper! Didn't you read them...any of them?"

"Of course I read them." But her voice sounded so distant, so far away from him, and Adrian knew she was having...one of her moments. "You...why aren't you smiling in the pictures, Adrian? You and Ambrose...I worry you two don't smile enough."

"I'm smiling now, Mom." Adrian whispered, sinking back down on the couch. A heavy lump was now settling in his throat. "You...you're going to sleep now, right?"

"I haven't slept...in days, Adrian." Her voice still maintained its distant quality, as if she were thinking of things that happened a long time ago. "How do you sleep...in that apartment?"

"I sleep." He nodded, his eyes still drifting towards that mirror. He would have to remove that mirror. It was a terrible place to put a mirror. "I sleep."

There was another moment of excruciating silence. Adrian moved uncomfortably on his position on the couch, "Goodnight, Mom. I'll—I'll call this week. I won't forget this time."

"Adrian?" It was Ambrose again, and Adrian only hoped his mother had heard his last message. "You're stopping by for Mom's birthday this weekend, aren't you?"

"Ambrose, I already told you I'd be there...if..." Adrian closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "If I can get the time away."

"Get the time away? It's only an hour on the weekend, Mr. Hotshot Detective." Adrian could hear the sneer in Ambrose's voice.

"I sometimes work on the weekends...I'm trying to impress..." Adrian shook his head, knowing his brother would never understand. "I have to impress the department."

"You be here, Adrian. Mom needs a nice birthday. We promised Mom a nice birthday. You won't miss it, Adrian. You're going to be here. Dad might even stop by..."

Adrian let out a frustrated groan. "Ambrose, please..."

"Well, you don't know. You think you're so smart, up there all by yourself, with your little newspaper clippings. You don't know anything that's been going on here. I've been taking care of Mom. I've been helping her around the house. You haven't done anything here, Adrian, so you don't even know."

"Yeah, you're right, Ambrose." Adrian's jaw tightened angrily. "I've just been solving murder cases for the entire city of San Francisco."

With that, he put the phone back on its hook. He ground his teeth, angrily, furious at himself for thinking he could make them understand, to think that they would actually see what important and impressive work he was now doing with his life. How he had actually been called a hero...a hero!

How Trudy...had winked at him. He would concentrate on that, he decided. He would think about Trudy Ellison, and how pretty she was. How he had made her laugh...somehow.

He let out a small chuckle that slowly drew into a sad whine. Who was he fooling? Trudy was so far out of his league, it wasn't even worth contemplating. It would be like any other pretty girl he had admired...it wouldn't go much further than that. It would end like all the others, with her giving him the friendly wink and a smile, before moving on to some strapping man more worthy of her affections.

His eyes drifted towards the picture in the newspaper...the one that still sat carefully and neatly on his tabletop. It was fun to pretend in his head, but it would be less painful to just accept the reality of the matter. Girls like Trudy did not take an interest in guys like him.

The next morning, Adrian tried to force himself to be slightly more cheerful. It was another day on the case, and he had a chance to really prove himself to both Stottlemeyer and the entire department.

As he made his perfectly square pancakes, (cutting off the sides so that every inch of it was symmetrical), he tried to run over the other clues he had seen at the crime scene...he tried to piece them together in his mind...like playing an extremely complicated jigsaw puzzle.

But somehow his eyes had once more drifted towards that black and white picture of Trudy on his table. He usually recycled the newspaper every morning, only leaving the newest edition neatly folded on his tabletop. But somehow, this morning he couldn't bring himself to throw her picture away. Her smile was too beautiful to be recycled...

He felt his fingers subconsciously move to her business card in his pocket. These were different pants that he had worn yesterday, but he had brought her business card just in case. Just in case, the department needed it, of course...

As it turned out, the department might have needed it more than Adrian had originally imagined that they would. Stottlemeyer was quick to greet him, carrying with him some very interesting information.

"The victim is a woman named Lyla Daniels. Guess what else?" Stottlemeyer placed the case file into Adrian's hands. "She just got a two million dollar payoff from the contracting company she worked with. Said the repairs they did on her house led to a cave in, which, in turn led her to be confined to a wheelchair. Now, five days later she's gunned down in a parking lot in an apparent hit and run. Whattya think?"

"That's certainly a lot of money." Adrian nodded, grimly, his eyes scanning the case file intensely.

"And a whole lotta motive." Stottlemeyer agreed, chewing thoughtfully at the toothpick in his mouth. "But who had the motive?"

"That is the question..." Adrian mused, gazing up at Stottlemeyer intently. "Isn't it?"

Stottlemeyer nodded, his hands placed nonchalantly in his pockets. "Yeah, unfortunately I gotta go to the press with this. The Tribune has been calling nonstop. Apparently your no comment answers did not satisfy their journalistic curiosity."

"Has...has Trudy been calling?" Adrian blurted out; hardly aware of what it was he was saying and who it was he was asking.

"Trudy?" Stottlemeyer asked, his eyebrow cocked in amusement.

"She...she was one of the journalists there yesterday." Adrian shrugged, trying to act as if his curiosity over the matter hadn't been very consequential. "She wanted me to call...if we were going to release the story. I—I mean, I promised to call her first."

"You promised one of those rookie reporters you'd call her first?" Stottlemeyer snorted, now extremely amused. "You got a lot to learn about handling the press, Monk."

Adrian swallowed. He didn't want to press the issue, but still...her hopeful, trusting blue eyes...believing him. "But—but will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Call her first? I—I mean, it's only that I promised...sir."

Stottlemeyer hesitated before giving a small chuckle. He rolled his eyes and threw a hand in the air. "Fine. Call your rookie reporter. Far be it from me to tarnish your unblemished honesty." But his eyes were filled with amusement, and Adrian deducted that he was most likely joking with him. "But after she gets her scoop, I'm contacting the real press for a release, alright?"

"Of course, sir." Adrian nodded, dutifully. As soon as Stottlemeyer was out of range, Adrian reached for the phone that sat on his desk. His hands hesitated inches from it, and he was extremely embarrassed to release that they were slightly trembling. His cheeks flushing red, he quickly picked up the telephone, punching the numbers on the business card from memory.

It rung several times until the familiar, musical voice answered. "San Francisco Tribune, Trudy Ellison speaking."

"Ms...Ms. Ellison. It's me..." Adrian cleared his throat, hoping to make it a little deeper and confident in tone. "It's me...Adrian Monk. We talked yesterday...you probably don't remember..."

"Adrian!" Trudy exclaimed from the other end, and a warm feeling surged into Adrian, when he realized, that she did, in fact, remember their conversation from yesterday. "You got a scoop for me, Adrian?"

"Yes." Adrian replied, finally relieved that there was something he could talk about clearly and confidently. "The victim was a woman named Lyla Daniels. She lived on North Vinton St. She was killed in an apparent hit and run but now we think may have been premeditated."

Adrian went on to explain the rest of the case to Trudy, pausing only to listen to her beautiful "mmms" and "mmm hmmms" as he heard her pencil scribble hurriedly on her notepad paper.

When he finished explaining the case, he paused nervously. He wasn't sure what to say now, as everything he had planned to say had already been explained, and now he dreaded the awkward silence that would follow.

"Thank you so much, Adrian!" Her musical voice intoned, perhaps not noticing his awkward pausing at his end. "I'm going to get on this story right away. I can't even begin to describe how grateful I am. This is my first story."

"You—you deserve it." Adrian replied, his eyes focused on the case folder lying across his desk. "Good...good luck, Ms. Ellison."

"Please," She began, and he could almost see her smiling from her office at the Tribune. "Call me Trudy."

"Trudy." He breathed out, and he was only slightly aware of the heartbeat drumming in his ears as he gripped tighter onto the phone.

"Well...take care, Adrian."

"Yeah...bye." Adrian placed the phone back down, his head tilting slightly to one side. He noticed that his breathing had become subconsciously shallower. She even sounded beautiful over the phone. And she had asked him to call her Trudy...

What a beautiful name. Trudy.

Adrian shuffled the paperwork on his desk, thoughtfully, still remembering how truly grateful she had sounded to him...how she had asked him to call her Trudy...

"You actually are going to handle the paperwork today?" Joe asked, drawing Adrian out of his swirling thoughts and back to reality.

"No..." Adrian murmured, half to himself, placing the paperwork over in Joe's hands without much thought. "Trudy." He mused, still in awe that he had been deemed worthy to call her by her first name...her beautiful first name...

"Who?" Joe demanded, looking over the paperwork that Adrian had handed him.

"Oh...nothing..." He shrugged, his fingers now nervously drumming on the table. "Just the journalist..."

"Oh, the blond." Joe nodded, knowingly. "She was pretty cute. Trudy, right?"

Adrian nodded, his eyes now focused on the opposite corner of the room. "Yeah...yeah...her name is Trudy."

"I never seen you worked up about a girl before, Monk." Joe grinned, slapping his partner across the back. "Any girl, now that I think about it."

Adrian gave a small smile in return but gave his head a small shake. "I'm not...worked up." He explained, giving his shoulders a small, fidgety roll. "I'm—I'm not worked up."

"Yeah, okay." Joe smiled, giving him another pat on the back. "You should ask her out, buddy. Really. Girls that cute don't stay on the market very long."

"Yeah. Me ask her out." Adrian gave a grimace before shaking his head. He cocked his head towards Joe. "That might be one of the worst ideas you've ever had."

"Monk!" Stottlemeyer called from across the room of the police station, causing several officers to stop what they were doing to listen. "You done calling your girl reporter so that I can make a real press release?"

"Yes, sir." Adrian mumbled, sinking lower into his chair. He could feel the eyes watching him from around the room and he knew exactly what they were thinking. How could he, Adrian Monk, have any girl even remotely interested in him?

And perhaps the most upsetting thing was that he knew they were right.

It was a couple of hours later, and the homicide unit was back at the crime scene, to inspect some of the more suspicious areas as well as try and narrow down the suspects that would have the motive to kill Lyla Daniels.

Adrian bent down, noticing where the wheelchair had been marked as falling. He shook his head; something was definitely not right with that piece of evidence.

Stottlemeyer cocked his head to one side. "You got something, Monk?"

"Do you see where the wheelchair had fallen? The trajectory angle is all wrong..." Something seemed to dawn on Adrian, as he lifted his head slowly towards his watch commander. "I think...I think she didn't really need that wheelchair at all. Unless I'm wrong...and, you know, I'm not...I think she left it here...left it here and ran...trying to avoid being hit by the Volvo."

"What? Monk...there's documented evidence...we have a doctor's note. Mrs. Daniels did need that wheelchair." Stottlemeyer replied, briskly.

Adrian shook his head, still not pleased with this answer. He could feel his mind working clearly, some of the rare times it did not feel fogged with frustration and obsessive compulsions, which is why he so loved working these cases. "She was married...I noticed a wedding ring."

"Yeah, she was married. Her husband's a suspect, but he has a pretty airtight alibi. He was out bowling all night; there were tons of witnesses."

"Well, maybe she had an accomplice." Adrian mumbled, holding his hands out in front of him as he studied the crime scene with intense brown eyes.

"An accomplice? In what?"

"In staging her accident...and taking the two million dollar lawsuit money..." Adrian replied, his eyes glancing up to meet Stottlemeyer's.

Stottlemeyer shook his head. "No, no, Monk, forget it. Look, I gave you some leeway on this case because of the whole Patterson thing, but you gotta stop saying that. That is not a remotely reasonable conclusion."

"But—but isn't this why you brought me along?" Adrian pressed, trying to get him to understand. That he was right, he was always right, it was part of his gift...and curse. "To find things the others couldn't?"

Stottlemeyer gave a short laugh and shook his head. "I brought you along because you got potential, Monk. I wanted you to get your feet wet on a pretty tough case. But you can't keep going in that direction, okay? We have facts. We have facts laid out in front of us. Let's follow the facts, right. Right?"

Adrian nodded his head slowly. Then he slowly lifted his gaze, and for one of the rare times in his life, he felt a bit of confidence surge through him. "I'm—I'm...I really think I'm right this time, sir."

"I'm sorry, Monk." Stottlemeyer shook his head. "There's just too much conclusive evidence showing that Mrs. Daniels was legitimately injured. That's it now. Don't—don't bring it up again. We already got the press involved, we don't have margin for error now. You understand me, Monk?"

"Yes...sir." Adrian replied, his eyes still intently focused on where the wheelchair had fallen. It was impossible...impossible...