Papers. Typewritten sheets of stark white, scrawling notes on green-lined yellow sheets, faded with age; neatly organized lists and notations on blue-lined sheets torn from a notebook. Yellowed newsprint and old magazine clippings. Stottlemeyer pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and began lifting folders from the box.
"Trudy's handwriting," Monk said softly, his eyes scanning the sheets. "All of it."
"Looks like she was using Janice's box," Stottlemeyer said, looking at the label of one of the folders. "Was Trudy doing a story on the military?"
Monk looked blank. "I... if she was, she... she didn't tell me," he said, slowly. "But she sometimes didn't tell me, if a story was hot and she was using confidential sources."
"Makes sense. A lot of CIs wouldn't want to work with a reporter married to a cop, so she probably kept those stories close," Stottlemeyer mused. He scanned one of the papers in the folder she held. "Trudy has some notes in here about an informant in the military named 'Matt.' She ever mention a 'Matt'?"
Again, Monk shook his head.
Stottlemeyer held out the folder to him. "Lots of notes here about military operations in Kosovo."
Natalie had been studying the contents of the box, but at the word her head jerked up. "Kosovo?" she whispered.
Just then, Disher drew something out of the box that caught all of their attention. It was a small cassette tape, generic brand, in a plain container. Monk recognized it as the type of tape Trudy had used in her small handheld tape recorder, the one she'd used for interviews. The label said, simply, "Adrian."
Back at the station, Stottlemeyer removed the tape from its box and gently inserted it into the small tape player he'd unearthed from the bowels of his desk drawer. He pushed "Play" and held his breath, desperately hoping the tape hadn't degraded over time and was still playable.
Disher, Monk, and Natalie all leaned forward at the faint rustling sound that came from the tiny speaker.
"Adrian," came Trudy's voice, clear as a bell. Stottlemeyer breathed out a sigh of relief. "If you're listening to this, I think I know why. I opened this box in Janice's name, using her information; I guess that's technically a crime, but I wanted to be sure it wasn't traceable to me if anyone else came looking. And if you've found it, it means you found the key, too."
Monk closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Twelve years later, he'd finally found the key. His stomach roiled with guilt and sadness.
"I'm working on a story right now, and it's hot. It's really hot. This is huge, Adrian. International. I have an informant in the military who's cooperating with me because he's afraid to go to his superiors; he doesn't know who might be involved. He thinks that if the media break the story, it'll be so out in the open that even they won't be able to hush it up. But Adrian, I'm worried. I've had the oddest feeling that someone's been following me the last few weeks. And we've been getting some hangup calls at home - usually while you've been at work - it's been strange. I wanted to tell you but I swore to my informant that I wouldn't talk to anyone else, not even you. "
As he listened, Monk gripped the table so hard his knuckles turned white. His eyes were fixed on the tape player. Natalie made a movement as if to place her hand on his shoulder, but drew back.
"Adrian, I need you to help my informant," Trudy's voice continued. "If they knew I was working on the story, then they must know that he's helping me. He's overseas right now, and he's got a wife and a little girl here in the States. I've been trying to reach him but I can't. I think he's on a mission right now so I don't know if – well, if something happens to me before I can reach him, he might be in danger too. You have to warn him. I don't know how; ask Leland. Maybe he has some military contacts he can trust. I hope it's not too late."
Paper rustled, and Trudy's voice spoke again. "Adrian, I never called him by name in my notes. Too risky. But I'm going to say it here, and hope that this tape doesn't fall into the wrong hands. His name is Lieutenant Commander Mitchell Teeger."
Monk's eyes flew open, and he stared in shock at the slowly-turning spindles of the cassette.
"He's a Navy pilot, in Kosovo. Warn him, tell him he needs to get home and go into hiding with his family, and he'll have to find someone else to break the story. Maybe Janice."
"I love you, Adrian, and I'm so sorry. Tell my parents, too. Goodbye."
Silence. The tape kept playing but there was nothing further but dead air.
"Matt," Natalie whispered into the silence. "Mitchell Aaron Teeger." She rose, shakily, to her feet.
One look at her bone-white face and Stottlemeyer jumped out of his seat. "Natalie - "
"I have to go," she said, her voice strangled, and bolted from the room as if the devil were on her heels.
"Randy," was all Stottlemeyer had to say, and the lieutenant was in hot pursuit.
"Monk," Stottlemeyer said, putting a hand on his friend's rigid shoulder. He was still staring at the whirling spindles of the cassette, his eyes wide and horror-filled. The captain reached over and pressed the stop button on the machine. "Monk," he said, louder.
Adrian jerked as if coming out of a trance. "It's too late," he whispered, turning his gaze to Stottlemeyer. "I didn't find the key - and now it's too late. It's twelve years too late." He buried his face in his hands. "Oh my God, what have I done?"
Natalie bolted down the hall to a small washroom, nothing more than a closet with a sink and a toilet. She rushed inside, slammed the door shut, and was hideously, violently ill. When her stomach was empty and her throat was raw, she rested her flushed face against the dirty white porcelain of the toilet and struggled to come to terms with what she'd just heard.
The door opened and she felt a strong, warm hand on her shoulder.
"Natalie." Randy Disher knelt next to her, his usually jovial face somber. He wet a paper towel and pressed the cloth against her face. "C'mon, now, come with me. Let's go sit down." He helped her to her feet and led her to a metal bench in the hallway.
"Take me home, Randy, please. Take me home," she begged. "I just want to go home."
Disher hesitated, then took out his cell phone and made a call. "Captain, I'm going to take Natalie home. Can you - " he listened for a few moments. "Okay. Okay. Thanks." Putting the phone back in his pocket, he helped Natalie to her feet. "Give me your keys. I'll take you home."
In the car, she leaned her head against the backrest and closed her eyes. Disher shot her a worried look. "Do you want me to call Julie? Your parents?" Julie, he knew, had left that morning to spend the remainder of her Christmas break from Berkley with the Davenports.
Natalie shook her head. "No - no. Not yet. I don't want them to know until - until there's more to know."
"I can stay, at your house," he offered. "If it'll help."
Natalie smiled, wanly, her eyes still closed. "You're a good friend, Randy, but I just want to be alone for a while."
"Are you going to be okay?" he asked, dubiously. She was still white as a sheet, and he could see that her hands, gripping the strap of her purse, were trembling.
"Yeah. I'll be fine. I just need - " She took a deep breath that ended on a choked sob. "I just need to work thorough this," she managed, her eyes welling with tears.
"Okay," he said, pulling into her driveway. "You need anything, you call me, all right?"
She fumbled for the door handle. "Yeah, yeah. I will. Thanks, Randy." She took the keys he held out and, after giving him a wavery smile, dashed up her front steps.
He watched her let herself into the house, noted that it took her three tries to get the key in the lock. Once she'd closed the door he started the long walk back to the station house.
"Monk, this wasn't your fault," Sottlemeyer said.
"The hell it wasn't," Adrian retorted, pacing around the small office. He fiddled with the window blind until it was perfectly horizontal, and straightened the photos on the desk. "If I had found that key – the tape – I could've – "
"You were a mess after Trudy died," the captain said, rising to his feet. His voice had taken on an edge of impatience. "You could barely function. Opening the damn Christmas presents was the last thing on your mind. Trudy should have known that you'd fall to pieces if anything happened to her. She should've - "
Monk whirled. "Don't talk like that about her!" he shouted. "You don't know – you don't - " He broke off, the color rising in his cheeks, and abruptly kicked the desk with such violence that the pictures he had just straightened clattered over.
"Trudy made a mistake," Stottlemeyer said quietly, meeting Monk's furious eyes squarely. "She was a good woman, a great woman, but she made a mistake. She should have trusted you, and me, enough to tell us what was going on so we could help her."
Instead of answering, Adrian leaned against the window ledge, resting his forehead against the cold glass of the window. "I don't know what to do now," he said at length. "I don't know what to do with this. I don't – I don't know how to face Natalie again."
"Natalie understands that you had nothing to do with this."
"Does she?" Monk shook his head. "You saw her face before she went running out of here."
The captain sighed. "I recognized that look," he said, joining Monk at the window and staring at their joint reflections. "I've seen it dozens of times. I see it every time I have to go tell someone that their loved one was killed." He glanced over. "I saw it on your face when I told you about Trudy."
"She has every right to hate me," Adrian said, almost absently. His face was ravaged with grief and guilt.
Stottlemeyer put a hand on Monk's shoulder. "Here's what we're going to do, Monk," he said, speaking quietly and firmly. "We're going to find out who killed Trudy, and we're going to find out who killed Mitch. We're going to get justice for you and for Natalie. Until then we don't have time for self-pity."
Monk pivoted to face him, and for a minute Stottlemeyer thought he might actually take a swing at him. Instead, the detective's spine straightened and his eyes steeled. He took his wallet out of his pocket and pulled out a thin white card. Crossing to the captain's desk, he grabbed the phone – not bothering to wipe it off first, Stottlemeyer noted with interest – and dialed a number.
"Hello," he said clearly into the receiver a few seconds later. "This is Adrian Monk. I need to speak to the governor."