Mr. Monk Meets Lieutenant Columbo

Envy, Greed And The Criminal Mind

Tuesday afternoon, 4:51 p.m. PDT

Robert Scaribelli's mouth was a tight, thin line of anxiety as he stared across the interrogation room's table at Columbo. Leaning back in the chair his mother had occupied only minutes before, he nervously pinched the top of his nose before wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead. Glancing first to Daniels the attorney and then back again at the Lieutenant, he shook his head angrily. "How can you possibly believe that I would in any way be involved in a murder?" he demanded to know, obviously exasperated. He dropped his face into the palm of his left hand, frustrated and nervous. "If I understand you correctly, the recent killings are linked to a dispute over embezzled money?" Gesturing toward the room's only exit, he glared with disgust at Columbo. "I make six figures working for Handsome Stranger," he snarled, spittle flying from his lips. "And there is a BMW out in your parking lot registered in my name. Do you really think I need money?"

"No sir, I do not think that you need more money, but I believe that you want more of it," replied the Lieutenant somewhat less than tactfully. He reached for the pitcher of ice water still setting on the table top and poured a glass for Scaribelli. Handsome Stranger's general manager held up a hand and waved away the offer. Columbo studied the other man's rugged, middle-aged expression carefully. "I think your primary motive for killing Van Portman was revenge."

Scaribelli leaned forward, eyes wide and blazing fiercely. "What?"

"After," suggested Columbo. "After you heard about his attack on your brother. It all begins with the zoo killing, where it was blatantly obvious even to us that whoever killed Devon Petersen was swiftly becoming a bit of a loose cannon." He pointed at the elder Scaribelli brother. "It must have concerned you greatly, yesterday morning, when your brother announced to everyone at Handsome Stranger's residence that he was going downtown to confront Van Portman. After all, you were scheduled to drive up to Bakersfield and audition a band…" he paused long enough to dig around in his raincoat until he came up with a wrinkled scrap of paper. "The, uhm, 'Spiced Rice', unless I'm mistaken."

"Cinnamon Spiced Rice," snapped Scaribelli tersely. "I auditioned them, signed them for a concert that will take place in a couple of months, and then drove back. I heard about my brother on the news… on the car radio." He shrugged his shoulders. "I admit to speeding a little, but was almost home anyway. If I had heard about Paul sooner, I would have canceled everything and come back immediately."

Monk was sitting across from Scaribelli's attorney, next to Columbo. He scrutinized the Lieutenant curiously, already intrigued by his indirect approach to the situation. Even throughout his time as a former detective, Captain Stottlemeyer had included him as an observer during quite a few interrogations. Over the years, Monk had come to know Stottlemeyer as more of a 'get to the point' kind of guy. Columbo – by comparison – was clearly content to take the slower path toward his ultimate objective and thereby give his subject plenty of time in which to stew. The style was clearly well practiced and the pressure it produced was having a noticeable effect on Robert Scaribelli. He was visibly unsettled.

"Oh, I know much of what you're telling me is true," nodded Columbo by way of reply, taking a sip from the glass that Scaribelli had rejected. "You see, earlier today I phoned this band that you auditioned. I spoke with the lead singer, a very nice young woman. Her name is… her name was…"

"Cynthia."

"Yes, correct sir. Cynthia Rogers, I believe." The Lieutenant nodded in agreement and continued to study his wrinkled piece of paper. "You stated that you auditioned the band. Well, according to… Cynthia, what took place yesterday morning turned out to be one of the shortest auditions in the history of music." He leaned forward and smiled. "You should have heard this woman on the phone, sir. She was ecstatic… claiming that you listened to a song and a half and decided to book them on the spot. She was completely astonished at how quickly you hired them, since her drummer never did get around to making the sample CD they had promised you.

"It's very easy for me, a trained general manger, to recognize talent, Lieutenant."

Columbo ignored the response and continued following his own train of thought. 'We barely started playing, and he just up and offered us the job,' Ms. Rogers told me. The entire band has been celebrating virtually non-stop ever since." He studied Scaribelli's reaction carefully. "Cynthia was, however not too excited to notice that you seemed upset over something the entire time. You left minutes after completing the necessary paperwork to book them, but in an extreme hurry."

Daniels cleared his throat unexpectedly. "Perhaps… perhaps we should take a break," he suggested politely. "My client has been running around for almost a day with no sleep with his schedule completely disrupted. I would appreciate an opportunity to debrief Mr. Scaribelli before continuing."

The pause before Columbo responded was a lengthy one. "You may of course, do that, Mr. Daniels," he said finally. "However, you should know that I have evidence indicating that Mr. Scaribelli has been obstructing a police investigation for quite some time now, simply by not stepping forward with all that he knows. We have also acquired additional details that I believe will lead to a conviction in regards to the death of Michael Van Portman yesterday evening."

"How can you have evidence against me?" wondered Scaribelli irritably. "Your officers were only beginning to execute their search warrant when I left the house to come here. How could they have possibly found anything substantive…?"

Columbo smiled politely at the attorney. "Mr. Daniels, I need a statement from Mr. Scaribelli in order to clear up a few discrepancies regarding statements he has made to us in the past. However, the most important item on my agenda is that he has no alibi during the time Van Portman was murdered. He was, I am told, at Cynthia Roger's home for less than sixty minutes."

Scaribelli harrumphed loudly. "So I have no alibi!" he chuckled darkly. "If I had actually killed someone, don't you think I would have made certain that I had one?"

"That is a valid point Mr. Scaribelli, I will grant you that," agreed Columbo. "Lots of people, who have a motive for a crime but no alibi will often turn out to be completely innocent. It happens all the time." He paused and smiled wryly. "But not, I'm afraid, in this particular case. Not when this act was a revenge killing for the earlier attack on your brother. The two incidents occurred only hours apart, sir, and that simply cannot be a coincidence."

Exhaling with frustration, Daniels placed a hand on Robert Scaribelli's arm. "I am afraid I must insist…"

"No!" shouted Scaribelli, pulling his arm away as though it had been burned. "He has nothing… it's all a bluff. His zoo killer is dead and he's going to look bad with his boss if he doesn't give them someone."

Daniels persisted. "If you're innocent, then what would be the harm…"

Scaribelli silenced his attorney with a glare, his temper flaring dramatically before he gradually managed to calm himself. He attempted to smile reassuringly in Daniels' direction and failed. "I have absolutely no problem with making a statement right here and now," he declared emphatically. "If you and I confer privately for any length of time, the Lieutenant will accuse you of helping me manufacture a cover story." He turned and glared at Columbo. "You want my statement? What do you need to know?"

Monk's compassionate nature got the better of him. "You should listen to your lawyer," he suggested.

Scaribelli shot another dirty look toward Monk. "You're not even a real cop!" he snapped harshly.

"He may not be officially on the police force any longer, but Mr. Monk solved this case," Columbo told him firmly. "And I'm giving you one chance sir," he said, sharply raising an index finger for emphasis. "You have one more chance to admit your part in all of this. If you don't, it will go badly for you in the courts and hurt your mother. And if you put that nice lady through even more emotional turmoil, I sir am going to be very, very angry." His normally cheerful demeanor had evaporated completely. "Lie to me again Mr. Scaribelli, I dare you sir."

Tuesday afternoon, 4:58 p.m. PDT

Captain Leland Stottlemeyer was on the other side of the interrogation room's mirror, watching the interview with interest, when Sergeant Burke ushered Randy Disher into the observation area. "They're really going to arrest Handsome Stranger's general manager?" asked the New Jersey police Chief curiously. "What did he do?"

"Monk and the Lieutenant believe that Robert Scaribelli killed Michael Van Portman," replied Stottlemeyer in his gravely tone of voice. "After hearing their side of the story, I think he did too."

"But I caught Mrs. Scaribelli red-handed with a garbage bag full of evidence…"

Chuckling, Stottlemeyer put an arm around his friend's shoulder. "And it's a good thing that you did, too. We didn't know what time you would be stopping by, so Columbo and Monk were planning to catch her at the dumpster. The Lieutenant knew that someone would try and throw suspicion onto someone else… in fact, he was waiting for it. You can now testify truthfully that you caught her there without knowing anything else beforehand."

"Why is that important?"

Stottlemeyer waved toward the people seated around the table on the other side of the glass. "Watch and listen," he suggested. "We're about to hear everything."

Tuesday afternoon, 5:03 p.m. PDT

The silence in the room for the next ninety seconds or so was deafening. "Okay," nodded Scaribelli, swallowing hard and casting a wary glance at Daniels. He was perspiring noticeably, his expression now dominated almost completely by the anxiety coursing through him. "I won't lie to you. Perhaps there is another part of the truth that needs to be told…" Dropping his head in his hands, he exhaled slowly before glancing back up at Monk. "How did you know?"

Columbo cast an appreciative gaze in Monk's direction. "Tell him, Mr. Monk."

Still stinging somewhat from the 'not even a real cop' comment, Columbo's firm confidence brought Adrian Monk's always vulnerable self-esteem roaring instantly back to normal. "Okay," he began slowly at first and then much more confidently. "Here's what happened. Lieutenant Columbo had most of his people from the L.A.P.D. out canvassing jewelry retail outlets and wholesalers in and around the Blue Skies Plaza business district. Those of us involved have known this search was going on throughout the past weekend. For a while even my friends, Captain Stottlemeyer and Chief Disher, were assisting with the search for a local embezzler whose M.O. has clearly been to convert his stolen cash into diamonds. The diamond purchases were small ones made over a long period of time. Officers investigating these purchases eventually discovered that the buyer was in reality Michael Van Portman in disguise."

The Lieutenant nodded with approval. "The bald man."

Scaribelli raised an eyebrow. "Bald… man?"

"Making multiple diamond purchases, even over a lengthy period of time, can be a risky business these days," Monk continued. "With modern surveillance technology involved, along with computerized record keeping, it's much easier to monitor a buyer's history and track suspicious purchases. We discovered make-up kits – one in Van Portman's office and another in his apartment – which he was using to impersonate a bald man with thick glasses whenever he went out to purchase additional gemstones. Surveillance photos from cooperating jewel dealers revealed that this person was a regular customer who shopped in that particular neighborhood for many years. In fact, many of the sales transactions actually occurred too far in the past for us to track. Footage from camera equipment at most of the businesses was not available for any date older than six to twelve months."

"But we did manage to obtain a few dozen photos and video tapes from the more recent transactions," added Columbo. He pulled a brown envelope out of his raincoat and laid it on the table. Opening it carefully, he pulled aside the top three photographs and passed the rest of them over to Robert Scaribelli. "My lab team printed these up for us."

Scaribelli appeared genuinely confused. "Why are you giving these to me?" he inquired curiously.

Waving a hand casually in response, Columbo smiled. "Take a look and see why."

Glancing apprehensively toward Daniels, who leaned in closer so that he could also see, Robert Scaribelli removed the photographs from the envelope and began to sift through them, one by one. He studied each of them carefully for a few minutes, during which time the room grew ominously silent. "Well, these are pretty grainy images," noted Scaribelli nervously, feeling more than a little trepidation. "You can certainly tell that it's a bald man with dark glasses, but I don't think that you can conclusively prove that they're photographs of Michael Van Portman. This may or may not be a disguise."

"On that note you are correct Mr. Scaribelli," nodded Columbo. "We cannot prove that those are photographs of Michael Van Portman." He slid the other three photographs smoothly across the wooden table top. "However, we can be reasonably certain that these three are photographs of you!"

"What?" gasped Scaribelli, clearly astonished. There was another prolonged silence, but as the seconds ticked by he swiftly grew unnerved again. "Where are you going with this, Lieutenant?"

"The man in these three photographs is you, wearing a similar bald cap and dark glasses," declared Monk, so confidently that Scaribelli's gaze dropped uncomfortably away from his own. "We figure that Van Portman began to get nervous about so many diamond purchases, even when they were made a few at a time. So he asked someone else to help him with the gradual conversion of money to gemstones."

"Now wait just a minute," snapped Scaribelli irritably, handing one of the three photographs back to Monk. "How can you prove that this in fact is me? I can tell you with certainty…"

"I would remind you one more time… don't lie to us, Mr. Scaribelli," Columbo cautioned him while carefully observing the exchange. He used a much less cheerful, more forceful tone of voice and it visibly rattled the man.

"All you have to do is look closely. You can see the fingers on the hand of the bald man in some of the pictures, but most clearly in these three particular photos," noted Monk, holding up the picture Scaribelli had returned to him. "The ring finger is slightly longer than the middle finger – a rare trait of yours that I pointed out to you when Natalie, Julie and I first visited Handsome Stranger's home the other day." He scratched his head nervously. "When I first saw these, I noticed something was odd about them but didn't catch the specifics at first… my brain has been malfunctioning a little… well, ever since the maids at the hotel took away most of my cleaning products. I knew that something was different about these particular pictures, but I couldn't quite…"

"…put your 'finger' on it?" Scaribelli appeared somewhat relieved, and some of his confidence returned. "That's pretty circumstantial evidence Mr. Monk. This is L.A. after all. I'm sure there are lots of people with my particular condition. Are you telling me that you're going to approach a jury with an accusation of murder based on finger length? That's not exactly removing all reasonable doubt."

"How many people with that particular oddity were at Handsome Stranger's home yesterday morning when your brother announced that he was going to confront Van Portman?" asked Columbo inquisitively. "We checked… you are the only one amongst all the staff and guests we've located. Only your fingers match those in these three photos. And you were one of two people presented with a serious motive for murder." He trailed off for a moment, allowing the impact of his words to register. "Your mother is a nice person, even when angered to the point of emotional collapse over a tragedy like the attack on your brother. I could be wrong, but my instincts tell me she would never be capable of murder. And let me tell you, after forty-two years on the force I've become a pretty good judge of character."

"She would never resort to violence," Scaribelli confirmed vehemently. "I can't believe you arrested her."

"We did it to catch you Mr. Scaribelli…" the Lieutenant pointed at the photograph Monk was still holding. "That picture proves that you knew Van Portman and were cooperating with him in the embezzlement of funds from celebrities – even money taken from your own employer." He shrugged both shoulders indifferently. "I really don't care whether you were conspiring with Van Portman from the beginning or whether you caught him stealing somewhere along the line and began to blackmail him. What matters is that you are involved and you killed Michael Van Portman after hearing about the attack on your brother."

Daniels the attorney cleared his throat and shook his head negatively. "Mr. Scaribelli is correct about evidence, Lieutenant. I sincerely hope you're not planning to base an entire murder investigation on a few very blurry photographs," he stated blandly.

Smiling, Columbo's eyes shifted to Daniels. "No sir, I am not," he replied swiftly. "I suspected that whoever was responsible for the crime would try to divert attention onto someone else, and in the end Mr. Scaribelli proved me right in that regard."

Robert Scaribelli's eyes widened. "The gun and the towels?"

"That's right," acknowledged Columbo professionally. "Your mother found them very early this morning, and she immediately called Natalie. Ms. Teeger then phoned me, and I put my team into action."

"They certainly took their time," countered Scaribelli nervously. "Your search warrant wasn't served until just before I left the house to come down here."

"That was the second search warrant of the day," the Lieutenant pointed out bluntly, causing Scaribelli's face to whiten noticeably. "We went over right away and searched the entire house, especially the area where your mother found the planted evidence. All of my people signed off on their assignments, and then we waited. Oh, we were all over the first level of the house during the rest of the day, talking to staff and interviewing people throughout the morning and much of the afternoon. But only your mother and a couple of other housekeepers went upstairs to do laundry. While she was up there, I requested that she take the incriminating items, place them in a garbage bag and then walk them to the dumpster. I specifically recruited her to help me catch her own son… a murderer."

"You knew my mother was innocent?"

"Yes. She was never really under arrest. If you'll remember, Sergeant Burke was speaking to me when you burst into the observation room earlier. He had just informed me that they found several diamonds lying in the carpet of the same room where the other evidence turned up."

"Well there you have it. My mother is innocent, just like she said."

"No one on the staff except your mother and two housekeepers went upstairs all day," replied Columbo curtly. "And those three people were accompanied by people from my forensics team. The diamonds were found after our first search during the execution of the second warrant, which took place after you came home and went upstairs for a half hour or so. My people certified that no gemstones were present in the morning; they used a black light in every room to make certain." He pointed an accusatory finger at Scaribelli. "Only you went upstairs after your mother and the other housekeepers came down, and suddenly we found additional incriminating evidence… diamonds. You planted that additional evidence to prove her innocence and throw suspicion back onto Handsome Stranger."

The expression on Scaribelli's face was that of a beaten man. "Yes, yes I did," he admitted ruefully.

"Robert," cautioned Daniels.

"Forget about it Joe," replied Scaribelli futilely. "Everything they just said is true." He hesitated for a moment, glancing briefly at the attorney before continuing. "Van Portman was trying to establish an alternate identity, but he was terrified that people in the surrounding offices would grow suspicious if they noticed a bald man consistently leaving his office when he wasn't ever there himself. I caught him red-handed one day, and offered to keep his secret in exchange for a percentage. After that, he requested that I put on the same disguise and drop by to visit at least some of the time. That way he could be seen with the bald man and the others working in the building would never suspect him." Pausing for a moment, he harrumphed loudly at the memories. "Eventually I began to wear the disguise more and more often, since I could funnel money out of the office and make most of the diamond purchases while he remained behind and worked to forge the necessary documentation needed to cover our trail."

The Lieutenant nodded with gratitude. "I'm glad you were finally honest with us. Obstruction of an investigation this size tends to consume a lot of taxpayer dollars, especially when you falsely implicate a celebrity. Had you persisted, things would not have gone well for you."

"Yesterday, he actually called me and asked for my help," sneered Scaribelli suddenly and quite heatedly. "After stabbing my brother, he called me while I was on my way to audition that band and begged me to help him skip town." He shrugged at the uncomfortable memory. "I arranged to meet him and then shot him dead before he could even get out of his car. And I would do it again, without remorse."

"I'm truly sorry about your brother," replied Columbo. "But he will recover." He stood up abruptly and opened the room's door, admitting a tall, uniformed officer carrying a handful of official documentation.

Scaribelli glanced uncomfortably toward the newcomer. "We need to get my mother completely out of this. Have your people write up the necessary paperwork. I'll sign a confession and then this whole thing will be over with… for you and Mamma, anyway."

"I would appreciate that sir," acknowledged Columbo politely. "We've wasted a lot of manpower over the past few days chasing bald men. If you had come to us with your suspicions right after the zoo murder, you undoubtedly would have implicated yourself, but to a much lesser degree. And that action probably would have averted the attack on your brother."

"I know," Scaribelli noted sourly with obvious regret. "I know." He exhaled with clear frustration. "I was in too deep… Van Portman and I had embezzled too much."

Columbo leaned forward, his expression quizzical. "May I ask why you would do such a thing?" he asked inquisitively. "You told us yourself about the large salary and nice car…" He paused for a moment and then prompted the man. "Why sir? Why would you willingly participate in all of this?"

Scaribelli's expression soured instantly into a look of pure, unrestrained malice. "My family does most of the work, Handsome Stranger shows up and sings, and then he keeps most of the money." The general manager's internal, pent up anger was palpable. "We pocket pennies in comparison to his income. He has accumulated more money, just on the residuals coming in from his older albums, than most people could ever hope to earn. Why in the world should he get to keep millions and dish out mere thousands to the rest of us when we work just as hard as he does? It isn't fair…"

"Life isn't fair, Mr. Scaribelli," replied the Lieutenant. "Musical ability is his talent."

"Do you know how much work it takes to set up a country-wide tour?" Scaribelli asked acidly. "How about a global tour that passes through multiple foreign countries? My family has given that man everything that he has ever needed to acquire a vast fortune. And in return we get tossed a few peanuts."

"You may not like the system, but that's the way it is," pointed out Monk. "What kind of country would we live in if we all started taking from those we envied?" He ignored the heated glare shot back at him.

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Columbo shook his head. "Do you know how much I make per year, sir?" he inquired curiously. "What you make in a year sure sounds like a vast fortune to me." He studied Scaribelli with genuine puzzlement. "The one thing that I've never been able to figure out, over the years, is why some people never seem able to be content – to be happy with all that they have." He pointed a finger sharply at Handsome Stranger's general manager. "Only a tiny, tiny fraction of the people on this planet will ever have what you have. Only a select few, even in this country, will make the kind of money that you make. Almost everyone else struggles each and every day simply to save enough for their retirement. And yet, for some reason I cannot possibly fathom, people like you are never satisfied no matter how much you make." He appeared to be genuinely confused. "Mr. Scaribelli, you get to live and work in that huge house…"

"You haven't seen Handsome Stranger's bottom line," Scaribelli seethed. "I have."

"Your employer's net worth makes no difference to me," countered Columbo forcefully. "What matters is that what he does is legal and what you have done is not."

"You don't know anything about me."

"With respect, would you really want to change places with Handsome Stranger?" wondered Columbo suddenly. "You are privileged to live the life of luxury with him, protected by iron gates and a security team, yet he is the one who gives up most of his privacy, signs autographs whenever he is recognized and constantly deals with the non-stop efforts of persistent stalkers and paparazzi. I'm just asking the obvious question, sir: given the choice, would you really want to be him? Or is it better to content yourself with a life in the background, making an excellent living off of his talent while his larger-than-life presence diverts the spotlight away from you?"

"It's… not… fair."

"It's not fair that I don't have a nice new car like yours," the Lieutenant snapped back at him. "Is money the most important thing in life? What about the results of your efforts? What about all of the people your work helps to entertain? What about how much more special their lives are because they can listen to the Stranger's music every day or attend his concerts? What ever happened to being part of something better than yourself, about serving your community?" He grew silent for a moment to allow the impact of his words to fully sink in. "I've had many job offers over the years where I could have made much more in terms of salary and benefits. But there would have been a price. My wife and I would have had to move, or perhaps the work that I did wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as what I've always loved to do. So I made a choice, sir. I made a deal with life. In return for an income adequate to support my family, I do the job that my supervisor assigns me to do. I don't envy others or concern myself with how much they make."

"That's you, Lieutenant. That's just who you really are."

"It used to be you, too, Mr. Scaribelli," Columbo stated sincerely. "You could have changed jobs. You could have made changes in your life in an honest way. Instead you decided to give in to temptation and steal. And those actions resulted in the death of two men and severe injury to your brother."

"I know," conceded Scaribelli reluctantly. "Paul reacted so quickly I didn't have time to stop him. Van Portman simply lost focus after trusting those two knuckleheads at the zoo with the vast majority of our fortune. He let his emotions get out of control, and my brother fell victim to his bad judgment."

"And now your family has fallen victim to yours," concluded Columbo.

Tuesday afternoon, 5:33 p.m. PDT

Bernadine Scaribelli was seated in the precinct lobby office when Adrian Monk and Lt. Columbo finally appeared. She stood up, hastily setting down a white foam cup of tepid black coffee in anticipation of what was to come next. The wrinkles on her face had turned into deep creases, betraying the depth of concern she was feeling. Her gaze settled on Robert, who trailed close behind the Lieutenant with his hands cuffed in front of him and flanked by two uniformed officers. Last to arrive was Joe Daniels, the lawyer and his briefcase, looking as though he had at some point developed a severe case of indigestion. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, Bernadine walked defiantly forward and confronted her son.

"Is it true?" she asked her son intensely, her tone of voice demanding an immediate response from him. "Is what they have told me true? Were you involved in what happened to Paul?"

"I… I…" Robert trailed off abruptly, unable to answer his mother immediately. "I have been doing some things that, upon further reflection, seem to have contributed to it."

She slapped him across the face. Hard. Angry red stripes left by her fingers temporarily blossomed on Robert Scaribelli's left cheek. "This is how you honor your family… by associating with disreputable characters and getting your brother stabbed to within an inch of his life?" Bernadine scowled angrily at her son. "This is how you thank Steven for all he has done for us?" Her glare remained fixed on him and Robert looked quickly away. "How could you do this to us… to me?"

Rubbing fatigue from his eyes, Robert shrugged. "It wasn't supposed to work out this way, Mamma. Hindsight is always 20/20. I screwed up, and I'm likely going to have to pay for it."

The gray-haired, elderly woman turned then, with tears spilling uncontrollably down her face and rushed from the room. The color drained from his face as Robert watched her go, and he simply hung his head and stood silently for a moment. Monk stood waiting in the background, completely unsure of what, if anything, to say. Finally, Columbo waved at the uniformed officers and they escorted Robert Scaribelli out of the lobby and into one of the side offices.

Captain Stottlemeyer and Chief Disher had emerged from their half of the interrogation room and were standing near the check-in desk next to Natalie. For her part, Natalie waited a polite moment or two and then turned toward the rest of them. "I'll be back in a minute," she told them softly. "I just want to make sure that Mrs. Scaribelli is okay… she's going through a lot right now."

Columbo nodded and waved a hand at the men. "Come on fellows," the Lieutenant said amiably. "This case is officially in the can, so let's go and get a celebratory cup of coffee."

Monk's eyes were watching the doorway that Mrs. Scaribelli had just vacated. "She's hurting Lieutenant," he pointed out. "Shouldn't we do something else to help her?"

"I think it would be prudent, for now, to let Ms. Teeger speak with her," Columbo suggested softly. "I say we relax over coffee… my treat. It's the very least I can do for you after all the assistance you provided."

"Then let's go out," emphasized Chief Disher. "Because the stuff you serve here… it isn't coffee!"

Author's Notes: We still have one more chapter to go. For example: Where in the world did all those diamonds from the zoo end up? Coming soon, the final Chapter to this story with the answer along with a few surprises!