Monk and Natalie waited on the pier while another police boat arrived with Captain Stottlemeyer and Lieutenant Washington. They walked back to the garage where they both parked, but before they left, Monk called out to Stottlemeyer, his voice echoing in the multi-level building.

"Captain." At the sound of Monk's voice, Stottlemeyer and Washington turned on their heels. "If someone dumped Officer Ross's body in the water last night, where do you think he would have launched his boat?"

"I don't have the slightest idea, Monk," Stottlemeyer said. " Do you know how many places there are around here to put a boat in the water?"

"There's a boat launch at Pier 52," Monk said. "It's not far from here."

Stottlemeyer and Washington walked back to where he stood.

"What's your interest in that one?" Washington asked.

It's public, and it's free. If I needed to dump a body and evidence in the water, I would want the anonymity of going somewhere public. Unless of course, I lived on the water and had a personal dock or knew someone who does."

Stottlemeyer placed his hands on his hips and turned to his lieutenant. "Investigating all the launch sites was going to be Washington's job, but since we're here, we might as well."

Washington groaned as he rubbed his hand over his short, black hair. "Well, at least I can check this one off the list."

They drove south along the waterfront, toward the Pier 52 boat launch. They found a public parking lot adjacent to it and waited behind a row of trucks with boat trailers. Despite the previous night's storm, the boating enthusiasts and fishermen were eager to get back on the water.

Leaving their cars, they walked across the lot to a small booth with a parking attendant on duty. He was a young man in his early twenties and had just lifted the gate for a car to pass through. They waited for a break in paying customers and took a step closer to the open window.

The attendant looked up as they approached. "May I help you?"

Stottlemeyer brushed his jacket aside to reveal his badge. "I'm Captain Stottlemeyer, San Francisco police department. My associates and I would like to ask you a few questions."

The young man paled a little as he set down his cell phone. "Okay, sure. What's going on?"

"Were you here yesterday evening?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"Yeah, I had the 2:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. shift yesterday." His voice was noticeably shaky.

"Did you notice any suspicious activity here during that time?" Stottlemeyer asked.

The attendant knit his brow together. "What do you mean by suspicious?"

"Anything unusual or out of the ordinary," Monk explained. "anything that stands out to you?"

He removed a white cap that had seen better days and ran his hand through long, unkempt hair. "Not that I can recall."

Monk laced his fingers in front of himself. "Did you see many people launching boats yesterday after 5:00 p.m.?"

"Yesterday evening? With the storm that came through, most people were bringing boats back in … there were a few who went out. I tried to warn them, but there's always a few thrill-seekers."

"Did you notice how many boats went out?" Monk asked.

"I think there were three. Like I said, every storm brings the thrill-seekers."

"The people who went out on those boats," Monk said. "Do you remember anything about them?"

The attendant crumpled a bag of potato chips and wiped his hands on his t-shirt. "Well, two of the boats had groups of about four or five people. I think they were partying together."

Monk rubbed his own hands on his jacket, trying to rid them of imaginary grease. "And the third?"

"It was just one guy."

"He was by himself and didn't talk to anyone else?"

The attendant narrowed his eyes at the detective. "Like I said, it was just one guy, at least in the truck. There could have been someone in the boat, I suppose. It's not like I inspect them."

"Can you tell us much about this guy?" Monk asked, undeterred. "What did he look like?"

The attendant rubbed his chin which sported a few days' beard growth. "I didn't look that closely, but I think he had dark hair. He was wearing sunglasses and a ball cap. I think he was white, but I can't tell you much else. If we didn't have so few boaters go out last night, I couldn't even tell you that much. I only remember because I thought he was crazy for putting a boat in the water with that storm out there."

"Did he seem drunk or anything?"

"Not that I could tell. He didn't say anything. Wasn't really the typical partyer or thrill-seeker now that I think about it."

"Did he pay with a debit or credit card?" Monk asked.

He shook his head. "Nope. Paid with cash. The other people did too."

Monk rubbed his brow. "I don't suppose you still have that cash, do you?"

He shook his head as he took a swig from his bottle of Mountain Dew. "Nope. All the cash and receipts get picked up at the end of the day."

Stottlemeyer leaned forward, placing his hand on the side of the booth. "Could you describe the boat he had or what kind of vehicle he was hauling it with?"

At that, the attendant smiled. "Newer, black, four-door truck. Don't know the make, but I always remember the boats. It was a cabin cruiser, white Bayliner 285. A brand new 2012 model." He whistled. "It was sweet, twenty-eight-footer, navy blue stripe down the side …"

Monk cut in. "Did you catch the name? Did the boat have a name?"

"No," the attendant said with a shake of his head. "Didn't see it. Had too many other people trying to get out of here."

"Do you remember what time he parked?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"Don't know exactly." The man looked over their shoulders at an approaching vehicle. "I think it was after 6:00."

The team moved aside to let the vehicle pull up to the booth. Once it passed through the gate, Stottlemeyer and Monk went back to the window. "Did he leave while you were still on duty?"

"Yep," the attendant said. "Left about 9:00, just as the storm was moving inland."

Stottlemeyer thanked the young man, but before they started back to the vehicles, Monk spoke up again. "Do you happen to remember where this man parked his truck and trailer?"

"Couldn't tell you which space, but I think he was in the last row." The attendant pointed to the back of the lot.

They thanked him again and walked to where he directed them.

"What are you looking for?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"I don't know," Monk said. "I'll know it when I find it."

Stottlemeyer, Washington, and Natalie dodged traffic pulling in and out while Monk walked methodically around each space in the row, occupied or not. After about thirty minutes and a few unpleasantries from a driver who felt they were in his way, he picked up an object with his tweezers.

Natalie followed his gaze to the small piece of plastic in his tweezer's grip. "What did you find?"

"It's a wrapper of some kind." He turned the red and green cellophane. It reminded him of a …

"Strawberry!" She bounced on her toes. "It's a wrapper from one of those strawberry-filled bonbons. I loved those things when I was a kid."

"I need a bag," Monk instructed. "This could have DNA."

"You found a candy wrapper in a parking lot," Stottlemeyer said. "You don't know that came from our perp. Heck, we don't even know if our perp was here."

"But it may have." Monk stared at him, unflinching

Stottlemeyer sighed and turned to Washington. "Bag it."

The candy wrapper bagged and logged, Monk returned his gaze to the asphalt. A moment later, he squatted and procured something else with his tweezers. He stood and lifted the object.

Washington stepped closer. "Is that a coin?"

"It's not a coin." Monk turned the blue and white striped object back and forth. "I think it's a casino chip. It's stamped: Peppermill, $1.00."

Stottlemeyer took the chip and held it up. "Peppermill Hotel and Casino, Reno, Nevada."

"Did Elliott Ross gamble?" Natalie asked.

"Not that I know of," Washington said. "Doesn't sound like him."

"Again," Stottlemeyer said. "This could have come from anywhere at any time. Probably fell out of someone's car or possibly a pocket."

Monk rubbed his eyebrow. "I think it might mean something."

Stottlemeyer turned to his lieutenant and gestured for another evidence bag, which Monk dropped the chip into. "All right, Monk. I trust your instincts, but unless we can get a fingerprint or DNA off those, it's all circumstantial."

The team parted as they headed to separate vehicles, Stottlemeyer answering a call on his cell as he walked. "Hey, Monk," he said after hanging up. "I've got Ross's home address. Let's head over there and see what we can find."

Monk and Natalie followed the captain and lieutenant to Elliott Ross's neighborhood south of the city. It was a quiet ride as Monk's mood turned somber.

Natalie reached across the center console to put her hand on his knee. "You okay, babe?"

He nodded but his expression didn't change.

"Losing a fellow police officer is hard. Do you want to talk about it?"

He blinked before his frown deepened. "You're right. It's always hard, but when one goes down in the line of duty, at least you feel like it meant something. Their death had meaning and purpose. Natalie, this was so senseless. Why did someone kill him? I didn't know him very well, but by what I hear, he was a good cop, a genuine guy."

She gave his knee a gentle squeeze. "I agree it was senseless. Murders always are, but that's why you're here. You're going to find who did it, and Ross will get the justice he deserves."

"I hope so. We have so little to go on this time." His lips were now a thin line.

She brushed her fingertips across his cheek. "You will, babe."

He stole the quickest of glances her way. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because you're the best, that's why."

Against perhaps his better judgment, he abandoned the 3:00 position on the steering wheel to take her slender hand in his. He caressed the top of it with his thumb. "I love you."

Arriving at Elliott Ross's house, Monk parked behind Stottlemeyer's police cruiser along the street. The first thing he noticed was what appeared to be a boat resting on a trailer, protected by a canvas cover. By the time he and Natalie could reach the object, Stottlemeyer was already there, lifting the canvas.

"Is it…?" Monk started.

Stottlemeyer shook his head. "It's an aluminum fishing boat of some kind. Definitely not a Bayliner."

Monk followed the captain to the front door, which Washington deftly unlocked, but before he set a foot inside, he bent to the floor just past the threshold. He stood back up holding three white envelopes and a collection of store flyers. He held up the flyers. "These always come in Saturday's mail. Either Ross didn't make it home yesterday, or he didn't bother to pick up the mail."

Stottlemeyer took the mail from Monk and slapped it against his other hand. "All right, we may not find the crime scene we were hoping for, but let's split up and see if there's anything else that might tell us what happened last night."

Monk and Natalie took the front of the house. The place could've stood a dusting and a sweep of the floors, but at least it was tidy, and Monk was thankful for that. With his hands held out in front of him, he searched a small living room and dining room. By what Monk had seen before, the place was typical of an unmarried cop. The furniture was comfortable but well-used. He had a nice TV and stereo but hadn't bothered much with decorations. Except for what appeared to be a few family photos on a bookshelf, what was there was meant to be used, not merely admired. His fruitless search led him to the kitchen which was much of the same. He was almost ready to find the captain and lieutenant when Natalie called his name.

He turned and she pointed to the blinking light on the answering machine to the right of the coffee maker. "Looks like he has some unanswered messages."

Monk smiled and joined her in front of the machine. "Good catch." He pressed a button and listened to four new messages. None seemed significant. One was Ross's dentist reminding him he was due for a cleaning, two sounded like phone solicitors, and one caller hung up without speaking. He pressed another couple of buttons to see if the machine contained any saved messages. While waiting to hear them, Monk picked up a yellow, lined notepad, turning it to catch the light.

With nothing more from the answering machine, he turned to Natalie. "Do you see a pencil around here?"

Natalie eyed the kitchen drawers and chose one to the left of the sink. She pulled it open and grinned when she pulled out a pencil. "The junk drawer. Everyone … well, almost everyone has one."

Monk rubbed the pencil across the notepad to reveal what had been written on the previous page before it was torn off. He picked it up and rubbed his eyebrow, but looked up as Stottlemeyer and Washington approached. "Captain, what do you make of this?"

Stottlemeyer took the pad and squinted in an attempt to focus on the jumble of letters and numbers which appeared through the pencil rubbing. "06/11: HER: 20g, 06/12: CO: 50g, 06/13: MAR: 2 lb. … well, I'm guessing those are dates and lb. usually stands for pounds. The gs could be grams …"

"Drugs," Washington said, stepping closer. "Heroin, Cocaine, and Marijuana." The team turned curious looks his way. "I started in narcotics."

"That would make some sense," Monk said, "with Ross being a narcotics officer, but what does it mean? Is this a list of drugs seized in arrests on those days?"

"Sounds like it," Washington said.

Stottlemeyer held up the notepad. "Was this by the phone?"

"Yes," Monk said. "I think he was taking notes while talking to someone."

Stottlemeyer tapped the pad with his finger. "He tore the page off. He wanted to show it to someone. Someone at the precinct?"

"That would be my guess," Monk said, "but why was he working on that at home?"

"I can't think of a reason," Washington said. "I never took that work home, that's for sure."

Monk rubbed his brow. "Did you find anything that can tell us where he went after leaving the precinct yesterday?"

Stottlemeyer took a step toward the front door. "Unfortunately, no. The best I can figure is he didn't make it home last night. There's no vehicle outside or in the garage, and we couldn't find keys. Couldn't find his wallet, cell phone, or his sidearm either, all things he would normally bring to work."

Monk took Natalie's hand as they followed the captain and lieutenant outside. "Okay, what now?"

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Stottlemeyer pulled out his cell phone and held it up. "We're not far from the San Mateo Precinct. With the possible connection here to the Gomez murder, let's see if the captain is available."

As they entered the San Mateo precinct, Monk observed Randy leaning over one of his detective's desks in the bullpen. It reminded him of a younger Leland Stottlemeyer interacting with the guys back at their precinct. It made him happy to see his colleague gaining some respect and doing well.

Randy looked up and smiled. "Hey, guys. What brings you my way?"

Stottlemeyer held up a large evidence bag. "We have something you might be interested in."

A few minutes later, the San Francisco team gathered in Randy's office. Washington perched on the corner of the desk and Stottlemeyer took one of the chairs in front of it. Natalie settled into the other while Monk stood behind her.

Randy spun around in his chair and leaned his forearms on his desk, his expression as eager as a kid at Christmas. "So, what did you bring me?"

Stottlemeyer opened the evidence bag and emptied the items onto the desk. Randy's nose wrinkled as the briny scent rose from the leather wallet and watchband saturated with bay water.

"Open the wallet," Stottlemeyer said.

Randy did as his former captain instructed. Finding the driver's license within, his eyebrows shot up at the same time his mouth dropped open. "Eddie Gomez? Where did you find these?"

Stottlemeyer held up the damp, cloth bag. "They were in here which was tangled on the foot of our newest homicide victim, Elliott Ross."

Randy's eyes grew wider. "Ross? Officer Ross from Narcotics?"

Stottlemeyer nodded. "His body washed up on Alcatraz last night. We think he was the victim of blunt force trauma before his body was dumped in the bay."

"Someone went out on the bay last night? The perp must've been desperate to get rid of the body." The lines in Randy's forehead deepened. "But why did Ross have Gomez's things?"

Monk placed his hands on the back of Natalie's chair. "I don't think Ross had them before he was dumped. It's most likely his killer had them and tried to dispose of them at the same time he killed Ross. Instead of sinking, as intended, the bag got tangled on Ross's foot."

"Wait," Randy said, "do you think the same guy who killed Gomez also killed Ross?"

"That's what we think," Stottlemeyer said.

Randy picked up the sodden wallet. "Is everything here? Monk and I didn't think he was robbed, but is it possible?"

Stottlemeyer leaned forward. "As far as we can tell, everything's there, even the cash. It was the same with Ross. His wallet was on him—cash, credit cards and all."

Washington scratched his cheek. "So, if they weren't robbed, what's the connection between an ex-con from L.A. and a narcotics officer from San Francisco?"

"Could drugs be the connection?" Stottlemeyer asked. "Wasn't Gomez in prison for drug-related crimes?"

"Everyone who knew Gomez insists he was clean," Randy said.

"Did you do a tox report on him?" Monk asked.

Randy leaned back in his chair and adjusted his tie. "It was clean, not even a prescription drug."

"What about his cousin?" Monk asked. "Did you ever hear back from him?"

"His cousin?" Randy surprised them with a chuckle. "Yeah, we heard from him. He came charging in here earlier today angry that we hadn't found his cousin's killer. He confirmed he saw Gomez the afternoon before his murder, but Gomez didn't talk to anyone else. He also insisted, like his girlfriend, that no one in his 'hood would hurt him. Still, we're trying to talk to the gang leaders out there—the ones willing to talk."

Monk turned to Stottlemeyer. "Captain, do you know if Ross worked that neighborhood?"

"I'm not sure. I'll find out."

Monk began pacing, his hands laced in front of him. "Were you able to reach the other members of Luke's recovery group?"

"We've talked to them and just about everyone else who knew Gomez. There's no motivation, and most have alibis."

Monk stopped pacing and glanced at the evidence laying on the desk, tilting his head as he did. He leaned between Natalie and Stottlemeyer's chairs and picked up the drawstring bag which had held Gomez's wallet and watch. He stretched it out between his hands, crinkling his brow as he did. After a moment, he looked up and a slow smile spread on his lips.

Natalie recognized the look. "What Adrian? What are you thinking?"

"This bag," Monk said, laying it back on the desk for all to see. "Do you see these letters?"

Washington looked closer. "What about them?"

"There are an E and two Ps here and two Ls over here," Monk said as he pointed. "Those letters by themselves don't mean anything, but what if there were once more letters which have worn off? What if there was another P here, then an ER, and an M and I following those."

Stottlemeyer leaned over the desk. "Pe … pp … er … mill…"

"Peppermill?" Randy said.

"Like the chip," Natalie said, almost jumping out of her seat. "The Peppermill Casino in Reno."

Monk nodded. Washington grinned and thumped him on the back.

"Well, I'll be," Stottlemeyer said. "I guess we can enter that little chip into evidence after all."

Monk's face turned more serious. "Randy, wasn't there someone in Luke's recovery group who was there for a gambling addiction?"

"Yeah, that was Adam …" Randy paused and swallowed before turning his gaze to Stottlemeyer. "Sergeant Adam Gray … San Francisco Narcotics Unit."

Stottlemeyer turned his head sharply toward Monk, his eyes narrowed. "Oh, no. You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

Monk shrugged. "He had a problem with gambling, and he knew both victims."

Stottlemeyer stood and placed a hand on Monk's shoulder. "Look, Monk. I see where you're going with this and it's logical. I'll give you that, but this isn't the first time we've been over this. Before you go accusing another cop, you better have some hard evidence, and so far, all we've got is a bag and a casino chip. It's not enough. Maybe Gray has been to the Peppermill, but so have hundreds of other people from San Francisco."

Randy also stood. "He had an alibi, Monk. He was on duty the night of Gomez's murder. I'm sure the captain can confirm that."

Later that evening, Adrian could be found in Sophia's room. He sat in a child-sized chair at a child-sized table pretending to drink tea out of a tiny cup. To his right, sat Mr. Bear, the large, brown teddy bear the Stottlemeyers had given Sophia when Timothy was born. To his left, sat Flopsy, the yellow bunny with the blue bow which rarely left her side. All three of them wore colorful hats matching the strings of beads around their necks. Sophia was dressed in a pink dress, the skirt bedecked in rows of ruffles, along with her own hat and beads. She pushed a long curl out of her face and took a sip of her imaginary tea. She set the cup down and picked up the plastic teapot in the middle of the table.

"Want more tea, Daddy?" Adrian dutifully nodded and Sophia poured the imaginary tea into his cup. "Do you want sugar? Mr. Bear wikes sugar, but Flopsy doesn't. Flopsy wikes milk in her tea, but I don't wike milk in mine. I know you don't wike milk, Daddy."

Adrian was having a hard time staying focused. His daughter had been carrying on about tea and bears and bunnies, but his mind kept drifting to the death of Elliott Ross. The events of the day floated in his mind, demanding his attention, demanding he make sense of it all. He continued to battle with it until he felt a small hand on his arm.

"What wong, Daddy? You don't wike my tea?"

He turned to see the frown on Sophia's face, instantly regretting he had not been paying more attention to her. He touched her cheek. "I'm sorry, baby. The tea is … is good. Daddy's just had a long day."

She tilted her head. "You tired?"

He pulled her into his lap. "A little, but I have a bit of a puzzle to solve."

"Puzzle? I wike puzzles. I help you."

Adrian chuckled. "I'm afraid this is a much more difficult puzzle, one you're not ready for." He looked at the scene in front of them as if seeing it for the first time and had to smile. He kissed her cheek. "So, tell me. Where did you learn to throw a tea party?"

"Gwanma!" She said with a grin.

"Grandma drinks tea?"

Sophia nodded, making her hat shift to the side. "With me and Mommy and Oolie … and Gwanma fwiends."

"Oh … when Julie visited last week and you went to Grandma and Grandpa's house?"

She nodded again.

Adrian envisioned Peggy Davenport showing off her daughter and granddaughters to her high society friends at a garden party. It was not an event he would have imagined taking place a year earlier, but it was something good that came out of Natalie's close call with Pneumonia. He wasn't sure what exactly took place between her and her mother during that awful time, but it seemed they had buried the hatchet. Peggy also apologized to Adrian for her unkind words, and if it wasn't his imagination, she seemed to be easing off the booze. He was thankful. It didn't matter so much for his sake, but he was glad to have the Davenports involved in their lives. Natalie benefitted, and so did their children.

Sophia scooted off Adrian's lap and returned to the party. She was in the process of refilling Mr. Bear's cup when she looked up. "Are you coming to our party, Mommy?"

Adrian turned to see Natalie standing in the doorway with Timothy on her hip. He was freshly bathed and wearing his footed pajamas.

"I wish I could, but it's time for my bath now." Natalie gave her daughter a hug. "Are you having fun?"

Sophia nodded. "Can Timody stay?"

"Yes, he can." She turned to Adrian. "Can you watch him? He got all off schedule with the storm last night, and now he doesn't want to sleep."

"Come here, buddy." Adrian took the baby in his arms. He ran a finger through his golden-brown waves and breathed in his clean scent.

Timothy returned his father's smile and kicked his legs with excitement before reaching for the colorful beads hanging around Adrian's neck.

Natalie kissed Timothy's soft cheek, then kissed her husband's, rough with a day's beard growth. "Thanks." A twinkle appeared in her green eyes. "You look awfully cute by the way."

Adrian heard the laugh she couldn't suppress as she walked down the hall. He straightened his purple hat with the pink and white flowers and tried to stretch the leg cramps he was getting from sitting in the too-small chair. Cute was not how he imagined he looked, but as he watched his happy daughter and listened to his son's sweet coos, he knew he wouldn't trade it for anything. They, along with Natalie and Julie were his world, and his world was just about perfect.