Ah yes, the longest chapter, where Shit Goes Down lmao. I hope you enjoy!
xXx
Sure enough, Monk and Sharona were the ones at the door. Monk was still wearing the same brown suit from earlier in the day, but Sharona had changed into a black jacket and deep magenta top paired with her usual gold 'S' necklace and blue bootcut jeans. Her ever-present black purse hung over her right shoulder.
"Hi, Allison, I'm so sorry we're here early," Sharona said while Monk, exasperated, rolled his eyes behind her. "I tried to explain to Adrian the concept of fashionably late, but—"
"There's no such thing!" Monk protested. "Being late is bad, there's nothing fashionable about it. In fact, 'fashionable' doesn't even make sense as a modifier to 'late'—"
Sharona cut him off with a sigh. "It's a figure of speech, Adrian."
Allison decided that was her cue to stem the tide before more waves could come crashing in. "Don't worry, we're just about ready. Come inside!" She held the door open. "Dinner's already prepared. Once I gather my crew, we can eat."
"Perfect," Sharona said as she stepped through the threshold, Monk a few feet behind her. She took a deep inhale. "Wow, it smells incredible! I feel like you're about to spoil us, Allison."
"Well, there's a lot of pressure on my shoulders," Allison teased as she closed and locked the front door. "This is your first non-hotel meal in Phoenix—I have to make it count."
"Oh, I'm sure it'll be amazing," Sharona said. "The bar's so low it's practically in hell."
Allison laughed. Fair enough—most hotels weren't of luxury quality, and certainly not one Phoenix PD was paying for. "Our dining room is right over here," she said, stepping in front of the two and gesturing to her left. "You can sit—"
Allison was abruptly cut off as she ran face-first into a men's navy blue dress shirt.
"You can meet my husband, actually," Allison corrected with a wide grin, turning around to extend introductions. "Sharona, Mr. Monk, this is my husband, Joe. Joe, this is Adrian Monk and Sharona Fleming."
"I have heard great things about you both," Joe said, shaking Sharona's hand and then Monk's. "Allison says that without you two on the case…" He trailed off, brow furrowing as Monk snapped for a wipe.
"Don't worry, it's not personal," Sharona reassured Joe as she handed Monk a towelette from a fresh pack in her purse. "Adrian has a thing about germs. He's like this with everyone."
"It's true, I am," Monk said, wiping his hands. Sharona dropped the used wipe back into her purse when he was done.
There was a momentary pause, but Joe shook off his confusion and continued. "Allison tells me your help has been instrumental with the current case."
"Well, I wouldn't say we—" Monk was interrupted by a snicker from Sharona, who waved her hand apologetically when he frowned at her.
"Sorry, sorry. I just"—she snickered again—"instrumental. Y'know, they're all musicians?"
A laugh escaped Allison's lips, too, while Monk's frown only deepened.
"I don't understand."
Sharona sighed, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, boss. Your funny bone will heal eventually."
Monk shifted his shoulders at her touch. "Doubtful."
Allison didn't need to be psychic to know an awkward silence was about to fall, so she took the initiative before said silence had a chance to set in. "Joe, why don't you go round up the girls?" she suggested. "I'll sit Mr. Monk and Sharona at the table."
"Great idea," Joe said, retreating into the hallway before he raised his voice to call for their daughters. "Girls! Dinner!"
"This way," Allison said to her guests, leading them into the dining room. "Mr. Monk, you're at this end of the table, that way you'll have enough room for all your plates. And I know you're a little uncomfortable around kids, so Sharona will be on your right and I'll be on your left." She hesitated. "Is that okay?"
Monk slowly lowered himself into his chair, and the closest thing Allison had seen to a smile on him yet pulled at his lips. "This is perfect, Mrs. Dubois," he said, straightening the silverware next to the largest of his plates. "Thank you."
Allison smiled, too. "I'm glad you like it."
Soon, Joe herded the girls into the dining room, Allison served everyone's plates, and they all began enjoying the hot meal. Bridgette initially watched Monk adjust his food on his separate plates with unnerving intensity, but an exaggerated cough and meaningful look from Allison helped tone down her daughter's curiosity.
"So, I know Allison works for the district attorney's office," Sharona said, wiping her mouth with her napkin, "but what do you do, Mr. Dubois?"
"I'm an engineer," Joe said. "My degrees are in aeronautics, but right now I'm working on a design for a solar cell I invented. It uses mirrors to reflect light and amplify the amount of energy produced in a way that's almost 10% more efficient."
"You designed an entire solar cell? That's incredible! How did you come up with the idea?"
"Well…" Joe grinned, tilting his head towards Bridgette. "Bridge, you want to do the honors?"
The question snapped Bridgette's attention fully away from Monk, who, Allison noticed with quiet amusement, seemed relieved by the loss of her attention. At least based on the way tension eased from his shoulders.
"He was helping me with a science project!" Bridgette exclaimed with pride, beaming at Sharona. "I was supposed to complete a circuit so a light bulb would turn on, but I thought that was boring, so Daddy created the solar cell to turn on an entire boombox instead! It was super cool."
"I bet it was," Sharona said, a genuine grin stretching across her lips. "All the other kids must have been jealous of your awesome project, huh?"
A satisfied smirk bloomed on Bridgette's face. "Yeah, they sure were."
Allison couldn't help but notice the ease with which Sharona spoke to her girls. She maintained a natural conversation with each of them and demonstrated genuine interest in whatever subjects they raised, from Ariel complimenting her style to Marie wanting to know her second favorite type of lizard.
"Sharona," Allison said once the conversation hit a lull, folding her napkin in her lap, "do you have kids?"
Sharona had no ring on her left hand, so Allison had assumed she was unwed without children, but she realized now that had been highly presumptuous of her. As a psychic, she of all people should have known better.
A soft smile graced Sharona's lips. "Just one. My son, Benjy." She pulled her wallet out of her bag hanging on the back of her chair, removing a small photo and showing it around the table. The boy was young—somewhere between Ariel and Bridgette's age, if Allison had to guess. "He's staying with my sister right now."
"He looks just like you," Allison said warmly, and Sharona laughed as she tucked the photo away.
"That's sweet of you to say, but Benjy gets most of his looks from my no-good ex-husband."
Allison winced. "I take it the separation wasn't amicable?"
"Far from it. The lazy bast—" Sharona stopped herself with an awkward cough, glancing at Marie as if to confirm the youngest at the table hadn't understood where she was originally taking that sentence. "Sorry. The lazy bum doesn't even pay child support. Adrian is pretty much the only positive male influence in Benjy's life."
"Unfortunately for Benjy," Monk muttered, and Sharona rolled her eyes.
"Please. Benjy loves you, Adrian. He looks up to you."
"And I keep telling you he shouldn't." Monk cut himself a piece of salmon, ignoring the look of disapproval Sharona sent him.
"Don't say that. Just because you're persnickety doesn't mean Benjy can't admire your good qualities."
Monk didn't respond, instead shaping his piece of salmon into a cube. "Benjy may look like Trevor," he continued after a pause, not-so-subtly shifting the subject away from himself, "doesn't mean he acts like him. Benjy gets his heart and intelligence from his mother."
Sharona blinked, surprised, before a soft smile turned the corners of her lips upward. "Thank you, Adrian. That means a lot."
Allison would be lying if she said a warm feeling hadn't blossomed in her chest at their interaction. While Monk's greatest talent might have been working Sharona's nerves, and Sharona more often than not seemed to care for Monk with tough love, it was clear they'd been with each other through thick and thin.
That kind of bond was unbreakable.
The conversation shifted again after that. Bridgette began rambling about her day at school and Marie eventually piped in with a story of her own, too. Allison was pleased to note that Monk seemed to grow more comfortable with each passing minute, even asking the girls a question about their classes. The pride in Sharona's eyes told her it was as big an accomplishment as she'd suspected, and truth be told, Allison couldn't help but feel rather proud of Monk, too.
As everyone was wrapping up their meal, Ariel—on Sharona's right—turned in her seat so she could face both Monk and Sharona.
"So, I know you're a detective, Mr. Monk," she said, tucking her long blonde hair behind her ear, "and I know you're his assistant, Ms. Fleming, but I was kind of wondering… well, how did you guys first meet? For Mr. Monk to hire you?"
Sharona hesitated, giving Allison an uncertain glance. "I don't know if your mom wants me to—"
"It's okay," Allison reassured her. She remembered the gist of the article detailing how Sharona came to be in Monk's life, and the story was appropriate enough for her kids to know. Especially since Ariel had been the one to take the initiative with her curiosity. "You can tell them. Just… go lighter on the heavier details."
Sharona chuckled at the oxymoron, giving Allison a quick nod before she returned her attention to Ariel. "Well, I was actually hired to be Mr. Monk's nurse by his best friend, Captain Stottlemeyer."
Ariel frowned. "A nurse? Was Mr. Monk sick?"
"In a way. He was—"
"I was catatonic," Monk said, and Allison blanched at his bluntness. He fidgeted with his silverware. Monk had finished off the food on all three of his plates and was now lining up the utensils side by side, perfectly straight columns. "After my wife was killed, I didn't leave my house for three years."
He looked up, meeting Ariel's eyes. "Sharona saved me."
"He's giving me too much credit," Sharona said once she'd recovered from Monk's upfront explanation to the three girls. "Adrian's therapist, Dr. Kroger, helped him more than I ever could. But it was really Mr. Monk who made the choice to get back out there."
When attention at the table returned to Monk, he shrugged. "I can't quit," he said, voice low. "I can't quit until I know who killed her."
Allison hesitated. The mention of Trudy's murder reminded her of the moments she'd shared with Monk's late wife that morning, but further discussion into Trudy's death wasn't exactly a conversation Allison wanted to have in front of her girls. Them knowing Trudy had been killed—rather than simply 'died' or 'passed away'—was quite enough for their age, if not too much.
Allison shifted to face her husband, who was seated at the other end of the table. "Joe, can you and the girls take the dishes into the kitchen?"
That was as close to speaking to Monk in private as she could get in her bustling home. While Trudy had seemed adamant that the way Allison could help Monk had nothing to do with her unsolved murder… Allison had to be sure.
"Yeah, of course." Joe stood, stacking up plates and gesturing for the girls to follow suit. Soon, they'd all left the dining room, leaving Allison alone with Monk and Sharona.
"I understand if it's too difficult for you to talk about, Mr. Monk," Allison said, trying to keep her voice low and tone gentle, "but would you mind telling me about your wife's murder? Everything you know about the case? I don't—I don't know if there'll be anything I can do to help, but I'd feel worse knowing that I didn't try."
When Monk hesitated, Sharona spoke. "It can't hurt, Adrian. You never know—it might be good just to hear what someone outside it all thinks."
'Outside it all.'
If only Sharona knew.
A beat passed, and Monk nodded. "Okay." He met Allison's eyes. "Okay."
And so he began, recounting even the most minute details of the horrific crime. Where the parking garage was located in downtown San Francisco, the exact spot Trudy's car had been situated within it, what she'd been out doing that day, the major criminal threats in the area, even the case Monk had been working that morning—a missing midwife. Apparently he'd been at the birthing center where the missing midwife had last been seen when Captain Stottlemeyer received the call about Trudy's death.
Monk told her about the bomb itself, too, how it used a magnesium charge, and how no one had seen a bomb like that before or since. He told her of his suspicions that Trudy may have been meeting an anonymous source for a new story, and how he feared he might never learn the truth because of that anonymity. It was more detail than Allison could have ever hoped to receive.
And it broke her heart.
Because her dreams, the dreams had Trudy sent to her, included nothing that would be of any help to Mr. Monk. No information that he didn't already know. Allison had no visions, either, as Monk finished telling her all he knew with the same painstaking specificity.
Sharona must have noticed the helplessness weighing over her, because she reached across the table to place her hand on top of Allison's.
"Hey, no one's expecting you to crack the case right away," she said gently, offering Allison a soft smile. "Even Adrian Monk, the best detective in the world, is stuck. Sit with it a while. You have my number, so you can call us the second you think of anything, alright? Even if that's 10 years from now."
Allison hesitated, but nodded. "Yes. You're right." Her gaze flickered over to Monk. "I'm still sorry I can't be more help, though."
"Allison, it's okay," Sharona reassured her. "You listened. That's more than most people do."
"She would have liked you," Monk said after a pause. "Trudy. You would have… You would have gotten along well." A soft smile flickered across his lips, and Allison found herself smiling, too.
"Tell me about her. Tell me about Trudy." She tilted her head. "What was she like?"
Monk laughed—brief, quiet, but a laugh all the same. "She was everything. She wasn't perfect, she knew she wasn't perfect, and that's what made her perfect."
Bread and butter. Trudy Monk's last words.
Allison had no idea what they meant.
Then again, did she need to know to understand?
"I realize I'm in no place to say this," Allison said, her right fingertips unwittingly touching her own gold wedding band, "but your wife loved you, Mr. Monk. So much. She loved you more than anything in the world."
Monk chuckled. "Trudy would always tell me that. And I'd say, 'Can't imagine why.'"
Allison laughed, too. "'Just because,' right?" Joe liked to say that to her. "That must have been her answer."
"It usually was. But other times, she would pull out the poems she'd written for me. Every single one." The smile on Monk's face grew wider. "She'd hand the stack to me and say that if I read them and still couldn't figure out why she loved me, then I wasn't much of a detective at all."
He shook his head, chuckling. "People always made a point about my—my gift of observation, but I knew Trudy was the smarter of us. Any of her writing was proof."
"Her writing?" Allison asked, puzzled. Had Trudy been a full-time poet?
"She was a journalist," Sharona explained. "Adrian has a copy of every story she wrote."
"Trudy wasn't just any journalist. She was the best," Monk corrected. "No one compared."
Allison made a mental note to search for Trudy's papers online. Maybe that would help her understand why Trudy believed she was someone who could help Monk. And even if they didn't… Well, Allison still wanted to know more about Trudy. Her life before her death.
"But even though her career was important to her, she never let it consume all of her time." Monk stared at the tops of his hands, slowly flexing them. "I tried to do the same with my cases. I can't say if I succeeded, but she never let on if I didn't." He closed his hands. "I don't understand how, but Trudy… She loved all of me."
His words made Allison's mind drift to Joe. He loved her, she'd never doubted that. But her psychic sensitivities—they were a gift and a curse, not unlike Monk's powers of observation. Allison knew how frustrating they could be.
Did… Joe love all of her, too?
Allison supposed she couldn't blame him if he didn't.
"Allison?"
Allison blinked upon hearing her name, turning in her seat to see Joe standing beneath the doorway of the dining room.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, holding out her cell phone, "but Scanlon's on the line and he says it's important."
"Excuse me," Allison said to her guests, standing from the table and stepping into the hallway to take the call. "Hello?"
"Allison, glad I caught you. We just arrested Marcus Jackson for the murder of Louise Boudreaux. Manny is meeting me at the station to question him."
"You what?" Allison shook her head in disbelief. "No, that can't be right. Marcus Jackson is innocent."
"The paint from his Nissan matches the red flecks we found on Louise Boudreaux's Toyota. There were corresponding silver flecks on the passenger side of his car, too."
"You already impounded his car?"
"No, that's first on the list for tomorrow. Forensics conducted a preliminary analysis at the repair shop he brought it to off West Van Buren." Lee sighed. "Look. I know you don't want to hear this, but they also found a wallet in his glove compartment. It was covered in Louise Boudreaux's blood."
Allison's stomach sank. Impossible. She'd seen Vanessa Sawyer take that wallet. How on Earth had it ended up in Marcus Jackson's car? "Someone must have planted it."
"I didn't call to spite you, Allison. I'm inviting you to come down and watch us question him. Maybe you'll have one of your visions. See something to clear or condemn him."
"Damn right I'm coming," she muttered, already grabbing her keys from the edge of the kitchen counter. "And I'm bringing Monk and Sharona, too. They came to my house for dinner, so we'll all drive down together."
"Fine by me. Can't hurt to hear Monk's thoughts."
"Good. We'll be there in 15, tops."
"See you then."
Allison snapped her phone shut, shoving it into her back pocket before returning to the dining room. "Mr. Monk, Sharona, we have to go." The urgency of her tone made them both jump to their feet.
"What's going on?" Sharona asked, grabbing her purse off the back of her chair.
"Lee—Detective Scanlon—just arrested Marcus Jackson for the murder of Louise Boudreaux. They're about to question him."
"But he's not the guy," Monk said, and Allison nodded.
"I know he's not. That's why we need to get down to the station, watch that interrogation, and figure out what the hell's going on." Allison glanced at the clock on the wall. "If we leave now, we'll be there by 8."
"What are we waiting for?" Monk said, pushing his chair beneath the table. He hesitated, then proceeded to start straightening all seven chairs. He removed one from the right side, presumably to make it an even six.
"For you, apparently," Sharona said dryly, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Wait, you're leaving?"
Allison turned around to see Joe staring at her, concern permeating his features.
"Yes," she said, joining him on the wooden threshold. "We have to go to the station for a little while. They've arrested a suspect in the Louise Boudreaux case and are about to interview him. I promise, I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Before 9:30?" Joe asked, and Allison grimaced. He sighed. "Okay, after 10. Don't worry, I'll get the girls to bed."
"Thank you," she said, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Much to her relief, he reciprocated. "I will be back by 10. Hold me to that." Allison reached down to give one of his hands a gentle squeeze. "I love you."
A soft smile inched onto Joe's lips. "I love you."
All of you, she heard him say without words. All of you, all the time, no matter what.
Allison lingered in the moment a few seconds longer before extracting her hand from his, turning to see that Sharona had at last managed to pull Monk away from straightening the chairs around the table. "Are you guys ready?"
"Yes, we are," Sharona confirmed, ignoring Monk's discontented mutter about leaving a task only halfway finished. But their trio was only a step out the front door when—
"Oh, crap," Allison muttered. Sharona's car was parked directly behind hers on the driveway. Or would be once the garage was opened, anyway. Did they have the time to pull each car out individually, not to mention deal with Sharona having to drive somewhere she'd never been more than once before? God, and it was getting dark, too.
"Allison, you drive my car," Sharona said without a second's hesitation, fishing her keys out of her purse and tossing them to Allison, who caught them with her right hand. "Adrian, you either have to sit in the back with me—"
"I can't sit in the back!"
"—or sit in the front without me."
Monk paled. "I can't sit without you."
Sharona cursed under her breath. "Right, I should've known better than to give you an option. Adrian, passenger seat. Now."
In less than a minute, everyone was settled—or as settled as they could be, in Monk's case—and Allison began driving to the police station. On the way, she filled Monk and Sharona in about the evidence collected from Marcus Jackson's Nissan that had served as the basis of his arrest warrant. As with Allison, something felt off to Monk, but neither of them could put a finger on what, exactly, that 'something' was.
Allison prayed watching the interrogation would reveal something—anything—useful.
Devalos met them at the door, sparing only a few seconds for basic pleasantries before he led them all into the back.
"Detective Scanlon is already with our suspect. You three"—he pushed open the door adjacent to the interrogation room, behind the one-way glass—"will watch from in here. There's a few notepads and pens if you feel the need to write anything down."
"Thank you, Mr. District Attorney," Allison said with a nod as Monk immediately began lining up the pencils and separating the ones that weren't the same height. "Where do you want to reconvene afterwards?"
"Lee and I will join you all here." Devalos chuckled. "Let's hope this doesn't take too long. Lily is miffed I got called in just before we started a movie."
A half-smile pulled at Allison's lips, seeing as Joe was in a not dissimilar scenario.
Devalos checked one final time that they were all set. Upon receiving three nods of confirmation, he left them before soon reappearing on the other side of the glass, where Lee was already sitting across from Marcus Jackson. Once Devalos had taken his chair, Lee began the interrogation.
"Adrian, pay attention," Sharona hissed as Lee proceeded with the recording—his name, the suspect's name, the time and date, and the room in which they were in. Monk continued fiddling with the pencils, repeatedly reaching and retracting his hand, until Sharona let out an exasperated huff.
"Pay. Attention," she repeated, grabbing all the pencils and stuffing them into her purse. "You need to prove this man's innocence, remember?"
Monk winced, tilting his head. "Okay. Okay, fine."
"Did you really have to drag me out my house at 8 o'clock at night, Mr. District Attorney?" Marcus snapped, drawing Allison's attention back to the interrogation at hand. "Maybe you've forgotten, but my girlfriend is dead. Her father and I are in the middle of funeral preparations."
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Jackson," Devalos said, "but you know as well as I do why we brought you here tonight."
Marcus glared at them. "Yeah, because you're crazy. I didn't kill Louise! I couldn't—I couldn't even yell at her when we fought, how can you believe I killed her?"
"Mr. Jackson, the arrest warrant would not have been issued had we not had substantial evidence connecting you to the crime," Lee said, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands atop the table. "And that evidence is what we'd like to speak to you about."
"Before we begin, Mr. Jackson, I want to remind you that you have a right to an attorney," Devalos said. "If you still intend to waive that right, I assure you we will—"
"I told you I don't want a lawyer," Marcus said through gritted teeth. "I don't need one, because I did not hurt Louise. I'm innocent!"
"Poor guy," Sharona murmured, and Allison nodded sympathetically.
"Mr. Jackson, the paint from your Nissan matches the red flecks on Louise Boudreaux's Toyota," Lee said. "Likewise, the paint on her car matches the silver flecks on yours. We will be impounding your car tomorrow morning to conduct a more thorough forensic analysis, but the preliminary suggests the dents on her car are consistent with the damage on yours, too."
"I don't know why your forensics are saying that, but they're wrong," Marcus insisted. "I swear to God, I didn't kill her! Maybe—Maybe someone stole my car."
Monk's gaze sharpened at Marcus's words, his fingers fluttering at his sides.
"We also found the victim's wallet in the glove box of your car, Mr. Jackson," Devalos said, tapping a plastic bag that contained said bloody wallet. "Can you explain that?"
"Obviously I can't. I just know I didn't put it there!" Marcus sighed, exasperated and exhausted. "Look, my car keys were taken a couple weeks ago. I mean, I thought I'd just misplaced them, but maybe someone stole them so they could use my car to frame me."
"That's possible, right?" Sharona asked, but Monk hushed them both before Allison could answer.
It was the most forward action Allison had ever seen from him.
"You were in possession of your keys the night of the murder, weren't you?" Lee said.
Marcus winced, but nodded. "Yes, I was. But—maybe whoever took them a few weeks ago made a copy!"
"Mr. Jackson, it would be time-consuming but not impossible for the Phoenix police department to check the records of every key duplicator in the vicinity of your and Louise Boudreaux's homes," Devalos said. "Such a task would require a tremendous amount of resources. Are you sure this is a theory you wish to pursue? The consequences would reflect very poorly on you if nothing came of the search."
Marcus grimaced, closing his eyes. "I don't…" He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what to do." He opened his eyes, his pleading expression a knife to Allison's stomach.
"I just want you to understand that I could never hurt Louise. She was my everything."
"Wait," Monk murmured, snapping Allison's attention away from the interrogation. He tilted his head, hands splayed outward as he slowly turned to face Sharona. "Wait…"
Sharona's eyes lit up, a brilliant grin stretching across her lips. "You did it, didn't you?" She glanced at Allison, still grinning. "Adrian just solved the case."
Allison's eyes widened. "You did?" She took a step towards him, heart pounding out of her chest. "Did Marcus do it?"
Monk slowly shook his head, and relief flooded Allison's body, her shoulders falling as one hand came to rest on her heart. "Oh, thank God."
"Then who killed her?" Sharona asked. "Was it the roommate?"
Monk frowned, holding up his right index finger. "Mrs. Dubois… Do you know what time the repair shop Mr. Jackson brought his car to will close tonight?"
Allison frowned, too. "The one off West Van Buren?" She shrugged. "It probably closed at 8. Why?"
Monk glanced at the clock on the wall to their right. "8:15. We need to go, before we're too late!"
"Wait, why?" Sharona asked as she followed a sprinting Monk out the door, Allison only a few paces behind her. "Adrian, what's going on?"
"Don't we need to talk to Devalos first?" Allison added. If they were off to confront Vanessa, there was one major problem: none of them had any arresting power.
"No, there's no time!" Monk insisted, darting to Sharona's car the second his feet hit the pavement of the parking lot outside the police station. "We need to get to that auto shop! She's probably destroying the evidence!"
"What evidence?" Sharona said incredulously. "Adrian, you can't keep us in the dark!"
Monk frantically pulled at the locked passenger handle. "Talk and drive. Talk and drive!"
Allison blinked—"Oops"—as she realized she still had Sharona's keys, practically flying over to the driver's side to unlock the car for all of them.
"Drive faster!" Monk urged as Allison began pulling out of the parking lot. "But—not too fast."
"Adrian, why don't you tell us about the case?" Sharona suggested, a task Allison knew would both keep his attention off her driving and fill herself and Sharona in.
Monk shook his head. "Right. Okay." He turned in his seat, giving them a confident smile. "Here's what happened."
Sharona grinned at Allison. "I love this part."
"Mrs. Dubois, you and I were right all along. Vanessa Sawyer killed Louise Boudreaux. Not only that, but she framed Marcus Jackson for Louise's murder."
"I knew it," Allison muttered, unable to keep a hint of triumph out of her voice as she pressed down on the accelerator to speed through a yellow light. "I knew it! She wanted to be first chair violinist in the Phoenix Symphony, right?"
Monk was clutching the armrest of his seat so tightly his knuckles were white, but he managed a nod. "Yes. With a spot open, and with talent like hers, she was almost guaranteed to get the position. She probably became roommates with Louise intending to one day kill her."
"But how did she do it?" Sharona asked. "How did she make all the evidence point to Marcus Jackson?"
"It was about the key," Monk said. "The whole time, it was about the key. I just didn't realize it until I heard Marcus Jackson say that for a few days, his keys had gone missing."
As Allison slowed to take a left turn across an intersection, Monk's vice grip on his seat slackened, and color returned to his hands. "Vanessa Sawyer had a key for a Nissan Altima, the same kind of car Marcus Jackson drives. Only the key wasn't for any Nissan—it was for his car! That's why she had a key for a Nissan but didn't own a Nissan herself!"
Allison sped up to move into the left lane, ignoring Monk's desperate reminder for her to use her turn signal.
"So, wait," Sharona said, shaking her head in confusion, "did Vanessa make a copy of Marcus Jackson's key? That way she could use his car to kill Louise?"
"Not just any copy. An untraceable one. Or it would have been, had everything gone the way Vanessa planned." Monk lifted one hand, gesturing more emphatically as he got further into his explanation. "Vanessa Sawyer had a 3D printer in her apartment. I think she stole Marcus Jackson's key and made a plastic copy of it. She probably even painted it so Louise wouldn't notice anything off if she happened to stumble across the fake."
"Damn," Sharona muttered. "She's smart."
"It was a brilliant plan—there'd be no record of that copy anywhere in the city, and a plastic key would be much easier to dispose of than a metal one."
"Wait, wouldn't she have thrown it away already?" Allison asked, a puzzled frown pulling down the corners of her lips. "How are we supposed to tie her to the crime without it?" She took a sharp right off the main highway. "Five minutes until we're at the repair shop. I know a shortcut."
Monk squeezed his eyes shut as she made the turn, not continuing his explanation until the car was once again moving in a straight line. "The key Vanessa Sawyer printed was an exact copy of Marcus Jackson's in every way, except for one—the material. When we were in her apartment, I remember her mentioning that the plastic she'd bought for her printer had issues of brittleness, which was why she planned to throw it out. In other words, her key was made from a weaker plastic!"
"Okay, but what does that have to do with Louise Boudreaux's murder?" Sharona asked, and Monk shot her a dirty look.
"I'm getting there, Sharona," he said, earning an eye roll from his assistant. "See, I also remember that when it was on the desk, Vanessa's key ring was mostly covered by some kind of rag. I only saw the top of the Nissan key. I didn't understand what that meant until we were at the station, when I remembered what Marcus Jackson said during the interview at his office—the morning of the murder, his car had been completely wrecked!"
"Right," Sharona said. "Slashed tires, broken windows, the whole shebang."
"Exactly! It was so destroyed that he didn't even try to drive it. Instead, he had it towed straight to the shop, which was exactly what Vanessa was counting on."
Allison turned onto a side road. "You're saying Vanessa trashed his car?"
"She had no choice. If Marcus Jackson had tried to drive his car, his key wouldn't have worked, and he would have known something was up."
"So Vanessa's fake key somehow screwed up Marcus's real lock, like how Allison and I's keys didn't work when we accidentally tried to drive each other's cars?"
"Yes." Monk grimaced. "Well, sort of. Remember the brittle plastic? I think when Vanessa was trying to return Marcus's car, her key broke in the lock. That explains why Vanessa had her key ring covered with a rag in her apartment that day—the bottom of the Nissan's key wasn't there. When it broke, she panicked. The plastic in the lock could tie her to the crime! At the very least, it would have called Marcus's guilt into question, which Vanessa couldn't afford."
Realization dawned for Allison. "So she completely destroyed his car, that way Marcus wouldn't try to drive it."
"Because if he had, his key would have jammed on the broken plastic!" Sharona exclaimed. "Adrian, you're a genius!"
Monk flushed at the praise. "None of that matters now. Tomorrow morning, the police are impounding Marcus Jackson's car, which means tonight is Vanessa's last chance to get that plastic out of the lock. If the shop closed at 8, I'm betting she's already there."
Allison turned onto West Van Buren. "Less than a minute now."
"How do we know she didn't get it yesterday after the shop closed?" Sharona pointed out, and Monk winced, fidgeting with the buttons of his jacket beneath his seatbelt.
"We don't know for sure. But I don't think she did, because yesterday was so soon after the murder. Vanessa hasn't killed before and likely won't again, so she may have needed a day to collect herself after killing her friend in cold blood."
Allison remembered the satisfaction with which Vanessa Sawyer had approached Louise Boudreaux's dying form in her dream. "I hope you're right."
As she parked Sharona's car at the edge of the auto shop's lot, a new voice spoke.
"Well, that was a roller coaster."
Allison turned around to see Sharona holding up her cell phone, a smirk stretched across her face.
"I took the liberty of calling Detective Scanlon when Adrian started explaining who really killed Louise Boudreaux."
"And I listened in, too," another voice said, one Allison recognized as Devalos. "We're sending backup to the repair shop, but they won't arrive for at least 10 minutes. Do not engage with Vanessa Sawyer—if what you claim happened did indeed occur, Mr. Monk, and I have no doubt it did, that woman is dangerous. Stay put."
"Understood, sir," Allison said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "See you in 15."
She motioned for Sharona to snap the phone shut, and Sharona did so without hesitation.
Monk was practically vibrating with nervous energy. "15 minutes is too much time! She'll have destroyed the evidence by then!"
Allison placed a hand on his forearm, startling him into sitting still. "I know. That's why we have to go in."
Monk and Sharona both nodded, and soon all three of them were approaching the repair shop. By the time they were within a few feet of the entrance, they could hear clanging and rattling from inside. Allison's eyes widened.
"Vanessa," she whispered, urgency hastening her speech. "It has to be! We need to stop her!"
"I've got an idea," Sharona said. She pulled a bobby pin out of her curls. "I'll pick the lock and go in from the back. You two will enter through the front. Talk her down or whatever. While she's distracted, I'll get the broken key out of the car."
"Good plan," Allison agreed, but Monk shook his head.
"There is a less than 7% chance everything will work out that smoothly," he hissed. "It's too dangerous!"
Sharona sighed, exasperated. "You have a better plan?"
Monk opened and closed his mouth. His shoulders fell in defeat. "No."
"That's what I thought. We just have to be careful. I mean, it's not like she has a reason to kill us, right?"
"Not unless you count getting away with murder," Allison murmured, which she promptly realized was not at all reassuring. She winced. "Sorry."
"Adrian, stick with Allison," Sharona ordered. "I'll see you guys in a minute." With that, she began creeping around to the back entrance of the shop.
Allison and Monk headed toward the front. The door was open a few inches, and upon peering inside, Allison saw exactly what Monk had predicted: Vanessa Sawyer frantically jimmying the lock on the driver's side of a red Nissan Altima.
"For fuck's sake!" Vanessa hissed, kicking the tire in frustration. "You stupid car!"
Allison glanced around the rest of the garage, biting her tongue to hold back a horrified gasp as she caught sight of a man on the ground behind the red car. "Mr. Monk, look," she whispered, pointing toward the collapsed body. He was facedown, either unconscious or…
Allison didn't want to consider the other option.
"I knew this was a bad plan," Monk muttered, his face pale.
A loud clatter echoed from the back of the garage, and Vanessa immediately spun on her heel, drawing a gun from her belt. "Who's there?" she shouted with a desperate glance around her. "Don't do anything stupid!"
"Sharona," Monk whispered. "That must have been Sharona!"
Allison inhaled a deep breath. Looked like now was the perfect time to begin distracting Vanessa. Which would have been a lot less nerve-wracking if the woman hadn't revealed herself to be armed and willing to fire.
"Ms. Sawyer," she called, stepping through the door with her hands held up in surrender. Though her heart was pounding, Allison somehow managed to avoid crumpling to her knees when Vanessa turned the gun on her. "My name is Allison Dubois. I work for the district attorney's office."
"I remember you," Vanessa growled, gripping the gun with both hands. "You came to my apartment on Thursday." Her eyes flickered behind Allison. "And so did he, Mr. I-Ask-Too-Many-Questions."
"Actually my name is Adrian… Monk." Monk awkwardly shuffled to Allison's left, about a foot behind her. "I'm just a consultant. I don't even live here."
"Shut up!" Vanessa snapped, her grip tightening around the gun. "I don't give a damn where you're from. If you're here now, you must know what really happened to Louise." The index finger of her left hand curled around the trigger. "Which means you know exactly what I'm capable of."
She levelled the gun at Allison. "Come any closer and I'll blow your head off, bitch."
Allison slowed her pace, though she didn't stop taking careful steps toward Vanessa. "Ms. Sawyer, the police are on their way." Right foot. "Please don't make this any worse for yourself." Left foot. "Like I said, I work for the DA's office. If you surrender peacefully, if you confess to what you've done and clear Marcus Jackson's name, I'm sure there's a deal in it for you. We can—"
"Allison, stop!"
Allison froze at Monk's words, sparing the briefest of glances over her shoulder toward him. "What?"
He groaned, gesturing to her feet with both hands. "It's too late. You've already stepped in it."
Allison looked at the ground beneath her, where she had indeed stepped in a pool of motor oil that emerged from beneath Marcus Jackson's car. But how, how was that critical for Monk to point out when there was a gun aimed at her head?!
Confusion flickered across Vanessa's face, too, though the expression was still tempered by panic and rage. "Look, lady. I'm not interested in turning myself in. Either you let me leave with the plastic out this damn lock and maybe I'll think about letting you live, or you keep dragging out this conversation and I kill you. Take your pick."
"I can't die in a garage!" Monk cried, staunchly staying away from the puddle of motor oil. "I can't—I can't die in a garage…"
"Then shut the fuck up!" Vanessa snapped, pointing the gun at Monk before shifting it back to Allison. "Neither of you move a muscle. If you do, you're dead."
Allison swallowed a panicked lump in her throat. "Okay. We won't move."
Vanessa hesitated, then freed one of her hands from around the gun to continue fighting with the car lock. She kept her body facing Allison and Monk, however, and didn't notice—
Yes!
Allison was certain her eyes lit up like a kid's on Christmas when she saw Sharona inching toward Vanessa from behind. She'd taken her heeled boots off, presumably because sneaking around in only her socks helped eliminate the risk of echo.
Distraction. Allison needed to keep distracting her.
"Ms. Sawyer," she said, flinching as Vanessa reasserted the gun towards her head. "Vanessa—"
"I told you not to speak."
"Actually," Monk mumbled, shifting his shoulders, "you told us not to move—"
A harsh laugh escaped Vanessa's lips. "Fine! Don't talk or move!"
Sharona was a few yards behind her. Allison needed Vanessa's attention for just a split second longer.
"How—How do we even know that gun is loaded?" she forced herself to stammer, though she was unable to keep the edge of desperation out of her tone. "You might be bluffing."
Vanessa scoffed. "You're insane, lady." She fired a round into the right wall of the garage, the echoing bang making Allison wince and cover her ears with both hands. "Believe me now?"
Allison somehow ignored the brazen question, as Vanessa hadn't yet re-aimed the weapon at her head. "Sharona!" she yelled, and confusion flashed across Vanessa's face. The expression was short-lived, however, as Sharona tackled her from behind.
"Allison, get the key!" Sharona fought tooth and nail to tear the gun out of Vanessa's vice grip. "Get it now!"
Allison wasted no time, her hands shaking with fear as she tried to finish what Vanessa had started and wiggle the rest of the plastic out the lock. "Come on, come on!"
"Adrian!" Sharona screamed. "Adrian, help me!"
Monk ran forward, only to freeze at the edge of the pool of motor oil. "I can't."
"Adrian!"
"I can't do it! There's—There's oil, Sharona! Oil! On the ground! I can't touch it!"
"Get off me!" Vanessa growled, waving the gun wildly as she tried to shove Sharona away. "I'm going to kill all of you!"
"Adrian, forget the damn oil and help me!"
Allison jerked the plastic harder. She was so close, so close to getting it free—
"I got it!" she cried, triumphantly pulling the broken key out of the lock. Allison turned around with a victorious smile just in time to see Vanessa throw Sharona off her back, regain her balance, and level the gun directly at—
"Allison, watch out!" Sharona screamed, but the warning came too late.
Vanessa pulled the trigger.
Time slowed. Allison's feet were glued to the floor, eyes widening in horror as she watched the bullet travel in a direct path towards her heart.
Why couldn't she move?
She couldn't die here, not now, not when Joe and the girls were waiting for her at home. She wanted to watch her daughters graduate, watch them find love, watch her husband grow old at her side, and now…
Now she'd never get the chance.
"No!"
Monk's shout snapped time to normal speed, and next thing Allison knew her back had been slammed down into the hard concrete. Her left shoulder burned like someone had tattooed it with lava. Every nerve in her body was boiling, but Allison didn't let the pain bubble over. Instead, she channelled all her energy into clutching the plastic key in her right hand tighter.
Though the world began to grow hazy, Allison forced herself to focus on the fight continuing before her.
Sharona had—Sharona had gotten back up and was once again trying to wrangle the gun from Vanessa, kicking and shouting and tearing at the woman's brilliant red hair. Just as it looked like Vanessa was going to break free a second time, Monk joined the fray, the side of his jacket completely drenched in…
Motor oil?
Allison belatedly realized that she, too, was partially lying in a pool of the dark oil. Despite the fog of pain she was in, the previous events finally clicked.
Monk had tackled her. The bullet hit her shoulder instead of going through her heart.
Allison tried to drag herself away from the oil, knowing she couldn't risk contaminating the wound. Only—"Fuck!"—it hurt like hell to move, and hot tears trickled down her face.
"I've got the gun!" Monk shouted, followed by a crack that echoed through the garage. There was a beat, and— "I think she's unconscious."
"You should've shot that bitch," Sharona groaned, getting to her feet. "Using just the handle was too kind."
Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Allison, still on the ground. "Oh my God!" She ran over to her, pulling off her jacket as she dropped down to Allison's left. "Adrian, help me sit her up."
"No, 'm fine," Allison murmured. She tried to push herself upward and immediately regret the decision. A string of curses interlaced with a suppressed sob escaped her lips. Who knew getting shot would hurt so fucking bad?
Monk threw Vanessa's gun aside, helping Sharona sit Allison against the side of Marcus Jackson's car. "Oh, God," he said, grimacing. "The oil—if I wasn't so—you would be—"
"It's okay, Mr. Monk," Allison managed to get out as Sharona pressed her jacket against Allison's wound. "I would've… I would've died if you hadn't pushed me aside."
She inhaled a shuddering breath—Christ, how did breathing hurt?—and gave him a tiny smile. "I'm here because of you."
And as Monk pushed her hair out of her face with a shaking hand and tears slipping down his cheeks, Allison had to wonder if he was seeing a different blonde woman before him.
"You're a lucky gal, Allison," Sharona said, offering her a relieved smile. "The bullet grazed you, so no ligaments or tendons were severed. I doubt you'll have any lasting injuries, although your arm will hurt like hell for a while."
The laugh Allison gave Monk was weary but genuine. "See? Minimal damage, Mr. Monk. I'll take a take across the shoulder over one through the heart any day."
She hissed in pain as Sharona began to bind her injury. Allison supposed she should have been grateful her friend was a nurse, and she wasn't not grateful, but proper treatment of the wound was far from sunshine and rainbows.
Monk still didn't appear convinced by her reassurance, but before he could speak, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of piercing sirens and a dozen officers rushing into the garage.
"What happened to staying put, huh?" Lee said, raising an amused eyebrow in an attempt to hide his concern for Allison's injured state as he ran over to them. He stuck his gun in its holster as he knelt at her side. "Someone get a paramedic over here!"
"They're three minutes out, sir," a uniformed officer informed him, and Lee nodded.
"Good." He opened his mouth, presumably to address her, Allison realized, but no words left his lips as Vanessa's limp body caught his eye.
"Don't worry, she's just unconscious," Sharona said as she finished tying off Allison's wound. "There you go, Allison. That will keep you stable until we can get you to a hospital."
Lee snapped his fingers, gesturing for a few other uniforms to deal with Vanessa as she started to stir. Within seconds, she was handcuffed, yanked to her feet, and held between two officers until paramedics could arrive to look her over, too.
"Lee," Allison said weakly. She used all of the remaining strength in her body to raise her right arm and uncurl her fist, revealing the bottom half of the plastic key. "Here's that physical evidence you wanted."
Lee shook his head, chuckling. "You never cease to amaze me, Allison." Careful not to jostle her wound, he took the plastic from her palm and handed it off to another detective.
A frown pulled at Allison's lips. "Hey… What time is it?"
"Uh." Lee checked his watch. "Not quite 9. Why?"
Allison groaned, thudding her head against the car behind her. It was a decision she promptly regretted, what with the stars that started flickering in front of her eyes. "Dammit. If I have to go to the hospital, there's no way I'll be back before 10. Joe's gonna kill me."
"That reminds me." Lee pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, nodding to the paramedics as they at last arrived and moved Allison onto a stretcher. "I need to tell your husband to meet us at the hospital."
"No, don't do that," she protested as the EMTs lifted her into the back of the ambulance. The last thing she saw was Lee's two-finger salute and Monk and Sharona's concerned faces before the ambulance door closed before her.
The rest of the night passed in a blur.
Allison was never unconscious, at least not that she could discern, but her memories of the events following her injury were… hazy. Her arm was treated at some point, she knew that. The doctor had commented on the adept nature of her makeshift binding, and Allison recalled feeling pride on Sharona's behalf despite the fact that her friend was a certified RN and easily capable of tying off a wound.
Allison was pretty sure Joe arrived at some point, too, but he wasn't in her room for longer than a few minutes before someone ushered him out. He hadn't been allowed to return until the nurse was prepping Allison to leave.
"Mrs. Dubois, you were struck by a miracle bullet," they said as they looked over her fresh bandages. "Completely minimal damage. The doctor's okay with sending you home as long as you change your bandages every day and promise to take it easy for a while."
Satisfied with their inspection, they helped Allison off the bed. "Your husband is picking up your painkiller prescription now."
"Actually, I already got them."
Allison's head turned, and a smile broke out on her lips to see Joe entering her room—the most lucid she'd felt since Vanessa pulled the trigger. "Joe."
Relief shone in his eyes as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Hey, honey." He placed a hand on her lower back, shifting his attention to the nurse. "You're absolutely sure she doesn't need to be admitted for the night?"
"Yes sir. We're short-staffed tonight, anyways, so admitting her might do more harm than good. Trust me, the best place she can be is home."
Joe hesitated, but nodded. "Okay. Then we'll be on our way."
Allison tried to apologize to Joe on their way out to the car, but he shushed her, so she bit her tongue and waited until they were buckled in and Joe had begun the drive back to their house. "Joe, I'm so sorry."
Joe sighed. "Al, you have nothing to be sorry for."
"Yes, I do!" She winced as her ferocity made her shoulder twinge, though she ignored the look of concern Joe shot her. "I acted stupid. I was so worried about clearing Marcus Jackson's name that I—I left our dinner early, left you and the girls alone, and then I got shot and you had to drop everything just to come get me from the hospital in the middle of the night—"
"Allison, stop."
Allison snapped her jaw shut with a painful clack at his interruption, and Joe sighed as he brought his Jeep to a stop at a red light. He turned towards her, exhaustion weighing down his features. "You don't need to apologize for wanting to help an innocent man." He reached out to cup her face, thumb gently stroking beneath her eye. "I'm just glad you're okay."
"But—"
"Al, you have no idea how terrifying it was to receive a call in the middle of putting the girls to bed that you'd gotten shot and were en route to the hospital." Joe exhaled slowly, grip on the wheel slackening. "I hope to God I never have to take that call again."
Allison winced. "Joe…"
Joe shook his head. "You're alive. You're safe. You're with me." Joe glanced at her again, tucking her hair behind her ear the same way Adrian Monk had done only a short while ago.
The light turned green, forcing Joe to look back at the road. "That's all that matters."
Allison blinked back tears, rubbing at her eyes with her right hand. "I love you."
"I love you, too." Joe managed a small smile. "Now go to sleep. I'll wake you up when we get home."
Allison was tempted to argue, but truth be told, her eyelids were already drooping. It had been a hell of a day, and the last few hours alone had lasted a week. Within seconds, her eyes were fluttering shut. But just as she was beginning to drift off—
"Wait," Allison mumbled, forcing her sleepy eyes open. She'd have to stay awake a little longer. "What happened with the case? Mr. Monk, Sharona—are they okay?"
Joe shook his head, a smile both amused and exasperated twitching at his lips. "I should have known you wouldn't be able to sleep until I filled you in." He turned left across an empty intersection. "Scanlon told me the case is closed. Vanessa Sawyer confessed in custody, and Marcus Jackson is a free man."
"Oh, thank God," Allison exhaled. Tension eased from her too-tight shoulders, though her body's relaxation did little to abate the stinging sensation of her wound. "I was so worried."
"Mr. Monk and Ms. Fleming are heading back to San Francisco tomorrow. Neither of them are hurt beyond a few cuts and bruises." Joe paused at a stop sign. "I asked them to drop by tomorrow before they leave Phoenix so you can say a proper goodbye, and so I can thank them again for saving your life."
Allison nodded. "Thank you." She'd only known the unlikely partners for two days, but after all they'd been through in that time, it might as well have been two years.
A frown pulled at her lips. "Hey, wait." She shifted in her seat so she could look more directly at Joe. "I still don't know how I'm supposed to help Mr. Monk. Trudy asked—she told me I was the only one who could help him, but they're leaving tomorrow and I still haven't done anything."
"You helped him with the case," Joe said, and Allison laughed.
"Hardly. He solved it pretty much on his own."
Joe shrugged. "Well, maybe you helped him by letting him save you."
Allison's brow furrowed. "What?"
"It's probably a stretch, but…" He shrugged again. "Monk couldn't save his wife, but he was able to save someone else's." Joe's gaze flickered over to meet hers. "That might be his next step to healing. Knowing there are still people he can save."
Allison hummed, tilting her head. "Maybe."
Joe reached over to squeeze her knee. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. We could both be overthinking it. I mean, you've become his friend, right? That's helping him, too." He winked at her. "And if we're wrong with all of these theories, hey, you've still got one more night to dream."
Allison couldn't stop herself from smiling. "You always know what to say."
Joe chuckled. "It's just part of the service." He glanced at her again before refocusing on the road as he drove through a yellow light. "Now seriously, Al. Go to sleep. You got shot, and you need to rest."
"I was barely shot," Allison protested, but she closed her eyes without complaint. This time, she had no trouble slipping into the sweet embrace of sleep, a content smile still dancing on her lips.
xXx
I loved writing the "Here's what happened" scene in this chapter; I think it's a level of spot-on characterization for Monk I will probably never again achieve ajdskdjks anyways I hope you enjoyed! So, our actual crime has been resolved, b u t how does Trudy want Allison to help Monk? Any theories? (Also, did you enjoy the way Vanessa committed the crime? I was pretty pleased with my idea, lol.)
As always, if you wanna chat, I'm on Tumblr thinkingisadangerouspastime :) See you next week!