By the time, Monk and Randy left the San Mateo police precinct, it was nearly 1:00 pm, but their visit with Jorge Gomez would have to be delayed. No address for the correct Jorge Gomez was available in the system, so a preliminary visit to Ana and Carlos Gomez, the victim's aunt and uncle, would be necessary. Randy offered Monk half of his bologna sandwich, but he declined, accepting a bottle of Summit Creek water instead.

While stopped for a red light, Randy turned to his passenger who was more quiet than usual. He sat staring at the unopened water bottle, which rested on his knee. "Something wrong with your water, Monk?"

"What do you think about Hayes? Did anything strike you as odd about him?"

"Not really. He's typical of a lot of military veterans. His story isn't that unusual."

"I know," Monk said, squeezing the water bottle, "but don't you think something was a little off. I think he's hiding something."

"Hiding something? I didn't get that from his interview. What did he say outside my office?"

Monk looked up but stared out the window. "Nothing. It's probably nothing."

"You seem awfully bothered for nothing. What is it?"

Monk rubbed his eyebrow, deciding how to answer. "He saw a picture on Molly's phone. Then he started asking questions about Sophia."

Randy turned his head abruptly. "Sophia? What did he want to know about her?"

"He asked if she was adopted. I guess he knew Hannah, her birth mother. He looked like he'd seen a ghost when he found out she was dead."

"So, he could tell Sophia was her daughter just by looking at her?"

Monk hitched his shoulder, growing increasingly agitated by the encounter. "I … I don't know. I guess so."

"Well, if she was his friend and he's just now hearing about her death two years later, I can see why he would be upset."

"No. It was more than that."

"We'll do a thorough search on him, Monk. Don't worry." He glanced back at his friend before making a turn. "Drink your water. We're turning onto the Gomez's street now."

Monk's expression didn't change, but he did as Randy said and took a few big gulps. He screwed the bottle cap back into place just as the captain parked his police cruiser. They were only a few blocks from the former home of Eddie Gomez.

Monk stepped out of the car and took in his surroundings. Well-maintained homes sat on pristinely manicured lawns while large oaks stretched their limbs across the sidewalks. Monk's concerns faded as he listened to the sounds of children's laughter and breathed in the faint scent of roses on the summer breeze.

"A nice neighborhood to raise kids," Randy said as he locked his door. "Wholesome."

"I can see why the Gomez's chose it."

After knocking on the door, they were greeted by a small man with dark, thinning hair. Monk thought he was in his early sixties, but the grief he bore had temporarily aged him, making him seem much older.

Randy flashed his badge then held out his hand. "I'm Captain Randy Disher of the San Mateo PD and this is Adrian Monk. We're sorry to bother you at this time, but we need to ask you a few questions regarding your nephew's homicide."

The man sniffed and mopped his brow. "Is this really necessary? We already spoke to the police last night."

"I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Gomez, but this is important … please."

Monk thought they would be turned away but Carlos relented. With a wave of his hand, he stood back and gestured for them to enter his home. He felt for the man. He could still remember the seemingly endless interviews and piles of paperwork after Trudy's murder, wanting to die with her, but knowing he needed to find her killer. He and Randy followed their host to his living room where an even smaller woman about the same age sat in a floral armchair. She pushed her graying hair out of her face and looked up from the papers she held in her lap. Her dark eyes were red and puffy, dried of recent tears by the tissue in her hand.

"Ana," said her husband. "This is Captain Disher and Mr. Monk from the police department. They want to ask us a few questions."

Ana forced a polite smile as she looked at the men. "Please sit down." She moved the papers to the end table and started to rise. "Would you like some coffee or water?"

"No, thank you. We're fine," both men said.

She settled back into her seat.

Carlos sat in a well-loved La-Z-Boy next to his wife's chair. "Did you find who killed our Eddie?"

Randy joined Monk on the matching floral couch, "Not yet, but we will. I promise."

"What can we tell you that we didn't tell your detectives last night?" Carlos asked.

Monk leaned forward. "Mr. and Mrs. Gomez, you may have already been asked this, but could you tell us when you last saw your nephew?"

"Sunday," said Carlos. "Sunday after church. Eddie always joined us for lunch on Sundays after church."

"What about your son, Jorge? When did you see him last?"

"Jorge?" Carlos ran his hand through what hair he had left. "What does he have to do with this?"

"Did you know Eddie planned to see him on Thursday, the day of his murder?"

Mr. and Mrs. Gomez exchanged a glance before Carlos answered Monk's question. "No. Eddie didn't mention it. We talked to Jorge last night, but that was the first time in a couple of weeks."

"He's busy, Mr. Monk," Ana said. "He works hard as a landscaper in San Francisco. He didn't want to go into business with his father. He likes to be outside."

Monk turned to Carlos. "You are a custodial worker?"

"I own a commercial custodial support business," Carlos said with a lift of his chin. "We contract with other businesses to do their cleaning."

"A very noble profession," Monk said. "Thank you for your service."

Carlos looked from Monk to Randy and back again with an expression of surprised pleasure. "Thank you, Mr. Monk. We are proud of our work."

Randy cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Back to your son, Jorge. You said he works in San Francisco. Does he live there too?"

"Yes," Ana said, fear rising in her voice. "He isn't in trouble, is he? Jorge is a good boy, Captain."

"No, Mrs. Gomez. He isn't in trouble. We just want to talk to him since he may have been the last person to see your nephew alive. We need an address. Could you provide that for us?"

"Of course." She sniffled as she picked up the papers she had laid on the end table. "Do you know what these are?"

Monk and Randy shook their heads.

"These are letters Eddie wrote to us from prison. He was transformed during his time there, transformed by the grace of God. It … It's so unfair." Her voice caught in her throat as her tears flowed again. "Why did he go to prison and come out a better person just to be shot down in the prime of life? Why?"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Gomez," Monk said. "We can never know why. We … we just have to believe their lives meant something."

By the time Monk and Randy were on the road again, Monk was more relaxed, his mind returned to the homicide case they were investigating. He pulled out the scrap paper Ana Gomez gave him and read the address for Jorge Gomez."21st Street," he said. "No wonder Eddie Gomez was worried about him. That's the same influence he was under back in East L.A. He was trying to keep his cousin from ending up where he did."

At the next light, Randy turned to his friend. "Okay, Monk, listen. You let me do the talking and don't touch anything. You got it?"

"Got it."

"Nothing, okay?"

"Okay," he said with an undertone of irritation.

They turned the corner, and even though the cruiser was unmarked, it got the attention of a group of men hanging around a low rider parked on the street. One of them raised his head and lifted the red bandana hanging close to his eyes. After some excited whispering, they stuffed their hands into their pockets and dispersed. Randy found an empty space on the street and parked the car.

Monk stepped out and recoiled from the overflowing trash can no more than two feet in front of him. The air reeked of days-old fast food, beer, and something disconcertingly undiscernible. If he could have stepped into a hot shower fully dressed, he would have. One not being available, he stepped away as far as he could but still within sight of Randy, who was scanning the numbers on the buildings. Aging brick covered in combinations of artful murals and scrawled graffiti formed multi-story apartment buildings with narrow alleyways between them. A few clotheslines stretched across the rooflines, and loud music could be heard through open windows. Out of the corner of his eye, Monk spied something small and furry scamper out of the closest dumpster, tiny claws scratching against the metal. He adjusted his neck against the shudder moving through it and backed into the car parked in front of Randy's. He turned his head, and that's when he saw it.

"Monk," Randy yelled. "I told you not to touch anything."

"I was just straightening it," Monk said, referring to the previously bent car antennae. "He'll thank me later."

"Yo, homes," came a voice from the stairwell of the building in front of them. "Hands off my ride. 'kay?"

"I was just …" Monk pointed, lost for words as he found himself standing face-to-face with a rather muscular young man in a wife-beater and hair net.

Randy stepped to his side, pushing his jacket back to expose the badge and Beretta 9mm on his hip. "My friend didn't mean any harm, ese. Now, could you tell us where we might find Jorge Gomez?"

The man smirked. "Hey, I don't keep track of him. Let me get his heina."

The man disappeared back up the stairwell. Randy leaned over to Monk and whispered, "Heina means girlfriend."

"Thank you, Randy," he said with a dose of sarcasm. He had grown up in the Bay Area. He knew the lingo.

A few minutes later, the man in the wife-beater descended the stairs with a girl behind him. Her jet black hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail and she wore a too-small tank top with her short shorts. The man stayed back while she stepped forward.

"You la jura or something?" she asked with a tone of disdain.

"Yes, we're the police," said Randy. "I'm Captain Randy Disher of the San Mateo PD, and this is Adrian Monk. Is Jorge Gomez home?"

"He's out." She lifted a cigarette to her glossy lips.

Randy shifted under her gaze. "Is he at work?"

She laughed and her friend joined in. "Yeah, work. That's where he is."

"Can you tell me when he'll be back?"

"Didn't say." She crossed her arms. "What did he do? We don't have no business in San Mateo."

Randy held up his hands. "Look, we're not here to arrest anyone. We just want to ask some questions."

The girl turned to look at her friend who was now sitting on the concrete stairs. He nodded.

"Do you know his cousin, Eddie?" Randy asked when she turned back to him.

She blew out a puff of smoke. "Yeah, I know him."

"Did you see him a couple of days ago, on Thursday? Was he here?"

Another drag on the cigarette. "Yeah, he came by, wanted to talk to Jorge."

"What time did he come by?" Randy pulled out his notepad.

"I don't know, homes. Afternoon, I guess."

"Was everything okay between him and Jorge? Did they fight?"

She shrugged. "They always argue. Eddie keeps trying to get him to move back home, but Jorge doesn't want to."

Randy glanced at Monk who made a gesture to keep going.

"Did Eddie talk to anyone else while he was here?"

"Other than me?" she said with a smirk. "I wasn't paying that much attention, but I don't think so."

"Then he just drove away? No problems?"

With her hands on her hips, she gave Randy a look that communicated what she thought of his question. "You got a thing or two to learn about us. No one here causes problems for Eddie because he's family. No one causes problems for family."

Randy sighed and turned to Monk who shook his head.

Randy poised his pencil on the notepad. "Okay, that will be all, Miss …"

When her only answer was a puff of smoke, Randy looked up. "Your name?"

"Rosa," she said with a roll of her eyes. "The name's Rosa."

"Okay, Miss Rosa, do you have a last name?"

"Just Rosa," she said, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under her sneaker.

She turned, and once she was out of sight, her friend in the wife-beater stood. "You best be going back where you came from, hombres."

"If you see Jorge, have him give us a call," Randy said.

"Yeah. I'll do that." He disappeared back up the stairs.

Randy checked his mirrors as he pulled out of his parking space and back into traffic. "What do you think, Monk? Do you think we'll ever hear from Jorge Gomez?"

Monk just shrugged.

"So, what do you think about Rosa? Do you think she was telling the truth?"

Monk shrugged again.

"Talk to me, Monk. What's the matter?"

He finished his water and screwed the cap back on. "You said not to talk."

Randy sighed and rubbed his cheek. "I meant out there. You have to be careful in that neighborhood. They're not exactly fond of cops."

Monk turned to his colleague. "I hadn't noticed ... but, I think she's telling the truth."

"Who? Rosa?"

"Yes, except for Jorge being at work. I don't think he's a landscaper."

Randy's mirrored sunglasses reflected his passenger. "So, if she lied about that, what makes you think she answered the other questions truthfully?"

"She's right. No one there would hurt Eddie. Even though he isn't in their gang, he's family. Family trumps everything else for them. You protect family."

"So you don't think the perpetrator was anyone associated with Jorge Gomez?"

Monk shook his head. "No. I think we need to look elsewhere."

Arriving back in San Mateo, Randy parked outside the precinct and walked with Monk back to his car. "Hey, man, thanks again for coming down."

"Glad to help out. Let me know if you need anything else."

"I will." Randy started to walk away but turned back. "Hey, you going to the Stottlemeyer's tonight?"

"We'll be there," Monk said with a wave goodbye.

"Monk!" came Leland Stottlemeyer's unmistakable greeting when he and his family entered the Stottlemeyer home. His friend of nearly three decades thumped him on the back while Natalie was enveloped in a hug by his wife. Before Natalie could react, T.K. had taken Timothy from her arms and had hold of Sophia's hand.

"Let me see these godchildren of mine," T.K. said, taking them to the living room.

Natalie followed her while Monk and Leland went to the back patio where Randy was already seated at a large table.

Randy cracked open his can of beer. "Have a seat, Monk."

Monk took a seat next to Randy and accepted the bottle of water he offered while admiring the view. The Stottlemeyers had recently completed a year-long backyard project. A new privacy fence enclosed a beautifully landscaped yard boasting lush, green grass, and shrubs. Bright flowers in new beds were set off by fresh mulch. Along the back fence, between the bird feeders, a water feature bubbled soothingly. The old concrete patio had been replaced with brick pavers and a wooden pergola filtering the sun overhead. Along with the table and chairs, a shiny, new outdoor kitchen completed the space while a fire pit surrounded by comfortable chairs beckoned a few feet away. The Stottlemeyers had invited their friends to a cook-out, eager to share the fruits of their labor.

Monk took a sip of his water. "This is really nice."

"Thanks," Leland said. "It's good to have it done." He picked up a large platter piled high with food ready for the grill. "Would you like a hamburger or a hot dog?"

"A hamburger please," Monk said.

"And your family?"

"A hamburger for Natalie, a hot dog without the bun for Sophia, and Timothy …"

"Not quite ready for this stuff," Leland said with a knowing smile. "Give it a few years. If he's like my boys, he'll be wanting two of each."

"You're probably right," Monk said with a laugh. He tried to imagine his young son as a gangly teenager raiding the fridge and shook his head.

"So, I hear Randy had you helping him out with one of his cases today." He added a few hot dogs to the grill.

"Doing what I can," Monk said.

"And Luke Christensen is involved?" Leland asked. "How is it that your family members keep finding murder victims?"

Monk shrugged. "Natalie asked the same thing."

Leland began flipping the first batch of burgers. "Doesn't seem normal."

"He was a friend of Luke's." Monk accepted the bowl of potato chips Randy handed him. "Too bad. He sounded like a good guy."

Randy held a chip mid-air. "Hey, that reminds me. Do you know somebody over in narcotics named Adam Gray?"

Leland closed the lid of the grill and took off his rubber mitt. "Sergeant Gray? Yeah, I've met him once or twice, can't say I know him well."

Randy swallowed the chip. "How long has he been on the force?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't think more than two years."

"That's why I don't know him."

"Why?" Leland gave the burgers another flip. "Is he involved in your case?"

"Not directly," Randy said, "but he knew our victim. He and the victim were both members of an addiction recovery group led by Luke."

"Addiction recovery? How has he remained on the force with a drug addiction?"

"His wasn't a drug addiction," Monk said. "It was a gambling problem."

Leland removed the first batch of burgers and dogs from the grill. "Well, that's interesting. Let me know if you need me to talk to him."

A moment later, a familiar voice said, "Hello, hello. What's up, guys?"

Monk looked up and smiled at the big police lieutenant who had so quickly become one of their friends. Dwayne Washington set a saran-wrapped platter on the table and took a seat next to Monk, giving him a fist bump. His three children: son Trey, and twin girls, Jana and Jada quickly followed with a large, red ball they took to the side yard to play with.

Randy leaned forward to look at the platter Dwayne set down. "Barbecued wings? You did know the captain was grilling burgers and dogs …"

Dwayne stretched out his long legs. "Hey, wings go with anything, right?"

Back inside the house, Nicole Washington helped T.K. with the finishing touches on a bowl of potato salad and a colorful fruit platter. Natalie sat at the kitchen table, Timothy on her lap and Sophia next to her, coloring in one of the coloring books T.K. kept on hand for her. Sharona Disher sat on the other side of Sophia and was trying to prevent her daughter, Lilly from chewing on the crayons. While Sophia tried to teach Lilly how to color, Timothy quietly watched the ladies in the kitchen.

"Look at him watching us," Nicole said. "He's so observant."

Natalie smiled before she kissed her son's head. "He doesn't miss a thing. I think we might have another detective in the family someday."

Sharona added another chewed crayon to the stack on the other side of the table. Once they were all safely out of her daughter's reach, she looked up. "Hey, I've got some news. Guess what?"

The other three ladies looked at each other but shook their heads. "What?" T.K. asked.

"Benjy is coming to visit," Sharona said with a smile, and …" she drew it out as her smile grew. "He might be staying."

"Staying?" Natalie asked. "Permanently?"

"Well, at least through college if he can get accepted out here," Sharona shifted Lilly to her other leg. "He's thinking about changing his major."

Nicole added slices of pineapple to the fruit platter. "Is his dad okay with it?"

"Eh." She lifted one shoulder. "He doesn't care, probably glad to have him out of the house."

T.K. moved the used cutting board and utensils to the sink, "So, Natalie, how is Julie doing in her new apartment and job?"

"She loves her new job at the art institute assisting with the kids," said Natalie. "I think she's considering using her degree to teach theater and music."

"And she's all settled into her apartment?" Nicole asked while she filled a pitcher with iced tea.

Natalie's smile slipped into the slightest of frowns. "Yes, she loves living there." She sighed. "It's still hard to say goodbye after she visits, but I know it's what's best for her."

"What about the rest of the family?" T.K. asked. "Is Ambrose still seeing that lady he brought to Molly's wedding?"

Natalie's smile returned bigger than before. "Oh, yes, and actually I have big news. "They're getting married next month."

"Married?" Sharona said, her mouth agape. "Ambrose?"

"Yes," Natalie said. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Sharona shook her head. "Never would've thought it."

After finishing the meal outside, the adults sat around the fire pit while the children played in the yard. Leland held Timothy, who had fallen asleep, in his arms.

"My boys need to hurry up and give me a few of these," he said, rubbing his godson's warm back.

"You can borrow my kids any time you want," Dwayne said after Trey asked him once again if dessert was ready.

T.K. laughed. "He can't wait to retire and hold grandchildren all day."

Randy turned from watching Lilly try and keep up with Dwayne's girls. "You retiring?"

Leland sighed. "No, I've got a while to go. Why? Do you want my job?"

Sharona passed a plate of brownies. "He's chomping at the bit to get back to San Francisco."

Nicole called the children to the firepit so they could roast marshmallows. "Why don't you? The guys would love to have you back."

"There's a position open," Dwayne added.

"We'd love to have you back," Natalie said. She took Adrian's hand, who nodded in agreement.

Randy rubbed the back of his neck. "Well …"

"He doesn't want to give up being captain," Sharona said, "and those don't come up too often."

T.K. popped a marshmallow on a stick for Sophia. "Well, if Leland takes the promotion he was offered, his position will be open."

Leland cleared his throat as all eyes turned to him. Then, he raised his eyebrows at his wife.

"Oops," T.K. said. "I forgot I wasn't supposed to say anything yet."

Adrian folded his napkin and leaned forward. "You were offered a promotion?"

Leland sighed and nodded. "The commissioner wants to move me up to commander."

A series of congratulations went around the circle before Timothy woke up and started to fuss. When Leland couldn't settle him, he handed him to Natalie, who reached for his unfinished bottle. Adrian then took baby and bottle and paced with him behind Natalie's chair until he quieted.

Leland rose from his chair. "Well, I think I better clean up that grill."

The rest of the group looked back and forth, surprised expressions still on each face.

"When do you start?" Dwayne asked.

"Start what?" Leland asked.

Natalie lifted a sleepy Sophia into her lap. "You're going to take the job, aren't you?"

Leland picked up a wire brush and turned to the grill. "I don't know."

"Why wouldn't you?" Randy asked.

Leland opened the grill lid, then closed it again. "Look, guys, I know you're all excited for me and I appreciate it, but I just don't know if I want the job. I mean, it's mainly a desk job, and I don't want to be stuck behind a desk. You know me. I like the work. I like being out on the case—part of the action." Then, he lifted the lid back up, signaling the end of the conversation.

T.K. looked at their friends. "He's got to make up his own mind."

The children's mouths were rimmed in chocolate, having finished their smores, and the babies were falling asleep in their parents' arms. No one wanted to leave, but all knew it was time. The Stottlemeyers' guests gathered their children and their things and began to say their goodbyes just as a flash of light lit up the night. A loud crack followed, and within seconds, they were dashing for the back door to avoid being soaked. They completed their goodbyes inside.

Natalie hugged T.K. "Thank you for doing this. We had a great time."

T.K. bent to hug Sophia who had her arms outstretched. "We loved doing it … and any excuse to see these kiddos is a good one."

Leland patted Adrian's shoulder as they approached the front door. "Thanks for coming, Monk."

His friend smiled. "Thanks for inviting us." Adrian placed his hand on the doorknob as his family prepared to make a run through the rain, but he released it and turned back. "Leland, that position you were offered … that's not offered to just anyone. It's an honor to be asked. I think you should consider it."

Leland allowed himself a lopsided smile. "I'll consider it. I just don't know if it's for me yet."