"Who was that?" Adrian asked when Natalie hung up the kitchen phone.

Natalie turned as he came down the stairs. "It was Molly."

Adrian passed her on his way to the living room but paused and turned back. "Molly? Is everything okay?"

"Molly's fine. She called because Tracey Hayes wants to talk to me."

"Ryan Hayes' sister? Do you know what she wants?"

"Molly didn't say. I'm assuming it's about Ryan."

"When does she want to see you?" He crossed to his desk chair and lifted his jacket from the back of it.

"As soon as possible." She followed him to the living room, Timothy on her hip. "What do you think? Should I meet with her?"

Adrian slipped into his jacket but was quiet for a moment while he buttoned it. He smoothed it out and looked up. "I've been thinking. We should go ahead with the paternity test if he still wants it."

"Really?" She handed him his keys.

"I don't know if he'll file for custody, but I think it's the right thing to do. Are you still worried?"

Natalie followed him to the door. "A little, but I think it's for the best if we all know the truth."

Adrian drew her into an embrace and kissed her. "We'll get through this, sweetheart."

She kissed him back. "I know we will."

"I shouldn't be long at the precinct today. Let's go out tonight."

"That sounds great. Julie's coming over today, so she can come with us."

Sophia squeezed between her parents. "Oolie? She come?"

Adrian squatted to hug her. "Yes. Would you like to go eat with her later?"

Sophia nodded.

"Okay, then. We will. Be good for Mommy today." He kissed her cheek. Then, he stood and kissed Timothy's head. "You be good for mommy too."

Timothy smiled and reached for the keys in his father's hand.

Adrian laughed. "Not for a few more years, young man." He hugged his wife and son, then gave Natalie one more kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too. Be safe."

"Always," he said, closing the door behind him.

Natalie retrieved her coffee order from the counter of the local coffee shop, thankful Julie had been available to come to the house early. She found an empty table near the back and sat so she could see Tracey come in. By the description Molly gave, she hoped she would recognize her. She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and tried to calm her nerves. She wasn't sure what to expect from the visit or even why the young woman had asked to meet with her. She thought back over the past week. Had it only been one week since Ryan Hayes knocked on their door that fateful Friday morning? So much had happened. It seemed like it had been much longer. Natalie reflected on how she and Adrian had both ridden the waves of shock and fear. They received assurances from different sources, and now they were moving ahead, accepting the possibility of a new reality. Natalie could hardly believe she was about to meet a young woman who might be her daughter's biological aunt. Luke and Molly seemed to like her, but would she?

Natalie's thoughts were interrupted when she looked up to see a young woman about Julie's age turn her way. Natalie knew in an instant it was Tracey Hayes. She was slender and petite, with long, dark, curly hair and ivory skin. She had the same striking green eyes as her brother … and Sophia. She was beautiful but was not the type of woman to flaunt it. She would probably even deny it if you told her.

Natalie stood as she approached. "You must be Tracey Hayes."

Her smile was shy but kind. "I am. You must be Mrs. Monk."

Natalie extended her hand. "Please call me Natalie." After shaking hands, she returned to her seat and motioned for Tracey to take the one across from her.

Tracey sat down, placing her bag beside her chair. She folded her hands on the table and cleared her throat. "Thank you for meeting me on such short notice."

Natalie smiled, trying to ease the girl's nerves. "I'm glad it worked out. My daughter was free, so she was able to stay with Sophia and her baby brother."

"Oh, I'm glad I didn't inconvenience you." Tracey grabbed hold of her coffee cup. "You … you have an older daughter?"

Natalie took a sip of her drink. "Yes, she's about your age. She's in college at Berkeley."

Tracey smiled. "I'm hoping to transfer there after I finish my AA at the community college."

"You'll love it," Natalie said. "My husband graduated from there, and Julie just finished her Sophomore year. She lives over there now with a couple of friends."

"That's great," Tracey said. She took a sip of her coffee. "My brother is in college too."

"I heard," Natalie said. "Isn't he doing something with medicine?"

Tracey nodded. "Physical Therapy. He was a medic in the army, but he said he's seen enough blood for one lifetime, so he wanted to do something else."

"Molly said you like children. Do you want to work with them after you graduate?"

Tracey set down her cup. "I want to be a primary school teacher."

Natalie smiled again. "That's wonderful. Julie is thinking about teaching music and theater."

Tracey took another sip of her coffee, then returned it to the table, slipping her hands down to rub them on her jeans.

Natalie waited a moment, but when the young woman didn't speak, she set down her own cup. "Tracey, why did you want to talk to me? Is this about your brother?"

Tracey put her hands back around her cup and cleared her throat. "I … I … please don't tell him I did this."

"Of course not," Natalie said. She waited a moment more while Tracey remained quiet, obviously trying to gather the courage to speak. Natalie placed her arms on the table and leaned forward. "Is this about the paternity test?"

Tracey paused, then nodded. "He … he told us—my parents and I—about Hannah and Sophia before he even talked to you and your husband." She paused again. "Mrs. Monk … um, Natalie, I hope you believe that we were all quite shocked by this. He never told us about Hannah because, well, he was ashamed. That wasn't the kind of thing he would normally do. He was a good kid, top of his class. He had a couple of girlfriends before joining the army, but … but nothing like that."

"It's okay," Natalie said. "We all make mistakes."

"Yes. God forgives, and we forgave him. It … it was actually my parents who encouraged him to get a paternity test. They think if he truly is your daughter's biological father, he should live up to that responsibility."

Natalie's brow furrowed. "Responsibility? I don't understand. Sophia is our responsibility now. He doesn't owe her or us anything."

Tracey's brow furrowed. "I know. I'm sorry. I don't want you to think we're trying to take her from you. You're the only parents she's really known, and she should stay there. We … we all feel that way."

Natalie blew out a breath and leaned back. "I can't say I'm not relieved, but I still don't understand what you mean."

Tracey took a sip of coffee, giving herself a moment. "What I mean is, even though you are raising her, and you are her family, should the test prove positive, my brother has the responsibility of being there for her if she wants to meet him in the future. I … I hear many adopted kids do … when they grow up."

Natalie nodded. "Yes, that's true. My husband has a stepdaughter who was adopted at birth. Unfortunately, her birth mother died before she had a chance to meet her, but meeting my husband was a wonderful thing for her, and him. She calls us her second family."

Tracey smiled, "That's so great."

Natalie picked up her cup and looked at it for a moment. "Tracey, we haven't heard any more from your brother since he first contacted us. Does he still want to do the paternity test?"

Tracey's shoulders slumped and she shook her head. "No. That's why I came. He felt really bad dropping the news on you guys as he did. He just wants to forget it and move on with his life. He … he doesn't want to interfere with your family."

"But you don't agree?"

She looked down. When she raised her head, Natalie could tell she was fighting her emotions. "My parents and I would like to be available to Sophia if she wants to meet us someday, but it's more than that. I worry about my brother."

Natalie smiled warmly. "Luke and Molly told us about his background."

"He was doing so well with the recovery group and his PTSD counseling, but since this happened, he barely comes out of his room. His PTSD is back and he's getting depressed. He's really having a hard time dealing with the idea that he might have a child out there—even though she's in good hands. He feels so ashamed for not being more, um, careful. If Hannah had told him, I have no doubt, he would have taken care of her and the baby."

"I can understand that," Natalie said. "Do you think getting the paternity test and knowing for sure, one way or another, would help him?"

Tracey brushed her curls away from her face. "I do. Even if it's positive, he needs that closure in order to move on."

Natalie sighed. "Knowing, even if it's hard, is better than not knowing."

"So, you are hoping we can encourage him to go through with the paternity test."

Tracey nodded.

Natalie touched the young woman's arm. "Tracey, I'm glad you came to me. I know this wasn't easy. My husband and I have talked at length about it, and we've asked for advice. I will tell you it hasn't been an easy decision. We've both dealt with a lot of fear. We love our daughter with all our hearts, and we both worried your brother might want to take her from us."

Tracey looked up, her brow furrowed.

She started to speak, but Natalie continued. "But we recognize, this is a complex issue. We've had to think about what is best for everyone involved, and we've come to the conclusion that we will do the paternity test."

Relief transformed Tracey's countenance as she processed what Natalie said. "You … you're willing to do it?"

"Yes. If your brother wants to, we will too."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you! I think … I hope if he knows you're willing, he will change his mind. And please, believe me, we don't want to interfere one bit with how you're raising her. We just want to be here if she wants to meet us someday."

Natalie patted her arm. "I think she might."

It didn't take long for Monk to find Stottlemeyer once he arrived at the precinct. Before he reached the front doors, the captain passed him with Lieutenant Washington following close behind.

"Hey, Monk, I'm glad you're here," Stottlemeyer said without stopping. "You can ride with us."

Monk turned on the steps. "Aren't you interviewing Barlowe today?"

Stottlemeyer opened his car door and looked up. "We are. This afternoon. But, I've got search warrants for the locations of those three drug seizures we've been looking into. Let's go."

After visits to two of the drug bust locations in question proved futile, the three detectives arrived at the last one, an abandoned house in Hunter's Point. Stottlemeyer parked his police cruiser, and they approached the decrepit house. Many of the windows were boarded up. Those that weren't, were broken. The peeling paint made it look like a giant reptile shedding its skin. Monk shuddered as he looked around. He wondered how much longer the house could stand on its cement supports before it collapsed, and the small yard appeared to have already surrendered to an invasion of weeds. They paused on the front porch.

Washington flipped open his notepad. "This location was approached the evening of Tuesday, June 12th by Narcotics officers, Ross, Barlowe, Gray, and Eastman. They ended up arresting two men without incident and seized fifty grams of cocaine. At least, that was the amount checked into the lab a couple of hours later.

"Okay," Stottlemeyer said, "I know these aren't the kind of crime scenes we're used to working, but let's just see if anything stands out. Out of the three busts we're looking at, this one took the longest and had the largest group of spectators. If any of them were compromised, this would be it."

Washington opened the unlocked front door. It creaked on its rusty hinges, and a rustling sound rose from under the porch, followed by a series of hisses and growls.

Monk jumped. "What was that?"

Stottlemeyer turned in time to see a streak of orange-striped fur followed by a black and white blur. "Just a couple of cats, Monk." He took a step, then turned back. "Are they on your list?"

"Housecats? No … as long as they don't get on me or rub on me or do other cat things." He rolled his shoulder. "Now lions, tigers …"

"And bears, oh my," Stottlemeyer said, holding the door for him. "Come on."

They entered the small, dank house, and Monk was assaulted with the overpowering odors of cigarette smoke, dirt, and mold. He tugged out his clean handkerchief to place over his nose and looked around, forcing himself to concentrate. Thankfully, with the exception of a torn-up old La-Z-Boy and a soiled mattress in the middle of the living room, the place had been mostly emptied. After looking in every filthy nook and cranny, he excused himself. He stepped onto the back porch and sucked in every drop of fresh air his lungs could hold. He took a wipe from the packet in his jacket pocket and thoroughly cleaned his still-clean hands. What a day for Natalie to stay home. He could have used her calming presence, but after a few minutes and feeling more in control, he folded the wipe. While doing so, he surveyed the backyard, if you could call it that. The porch he stood on led down to a cracked concrete walkway bisecting a narrow strip of grass. An ancient chain-link fence surrounded it all. He followed the walkway and the grass strip with his eyes until they settled on a muddy patch beside the porch where water had collected from some unknown source. He placed the wipe in his pocket before descending the steps for a closer examination.

"Hey, Monk," Washington called from around the corner of the house. "You okay?"

Monk squatted on the concrete, getting as close as he could while avoiding the mud. "Yeah. I think I've got something."

Stottlemeyer opened the back door to see his lieutenant looking at the ground over their colleague's shoulder. "What did you find, Monk?"

He pointed with his pen. "Do these prints look the same as the one picked up outside of Gomez's house?"

Stottlemeyer stepped down and also bent over. "Possibly so."

"Looks like the tread on the boots the uniformed guys prefer," Washington said.

"Well, that makes sense," Stottlemeyer said. "I'm sure one or two of them positioned themselves out here before going in for the arrest."

Monk stood up. "That's what I was thinking, but here's what's interesting. Do you see how one print is deeper than the other?"

Washington bent closer. "Yeah. I see that. He favored his right foot over his left."

"Usually when someone stands for a period of time, they shift their weight back and forth, but this guy rested his weight on his right foot the entire time."

"What do you think it means?" Stottlemeyer asked.

Monk rubbed his eyebrow. "I'm not sure, but it seems unusual."

Stottlemeyer sighed. "I can't believe this is the best we can get from all three of these places, but take some pictures, Lieutenant. You never know."

Monk stepped aside for Dwayne to get a clear shot, and something crunched under his foot. He lifted it and realized he had stepped on an empty water bottle. He backed up again and could see a second one just under the back porch. He bent for a better view.

"See something else?" Washington asked.

"These water bottles. It looks like whoever was waiting back here may be the one who left them."

"Washington turned to Stottlemeyer. "Captain, do you want these empty bottles bagged?"

"Go ahead. They probably came from the trash cans over there, but I'm getting desperate."

After the trio, along with the small amount of evidence they had collected, were back in the captain's car, Monk looked at his watch. It was 1:00 p.m. "What time are you expecting Barlowe?"

"We had to change the time to 4:00," Stottlemeyer said. "Sorry. I forgot to tell you."

"Do you think we have time to swing down to San Mateo? I'd like to compare the photographs we just took of that shoe print with the actual cast of the one from the woods."

"Fine with me," Stottlemeyer said. "You okay with that, Dwayne?"

Dwayne rubbed his stomach as it growled. "As long as I can get a cheeseburger on the way, I'm game."

Stottlemeyer chuckled. "You've got it."

All it took was a quick call to Captain Randy Disher, and he had a lab tech waiting for them when they arrived. Randy led them to the lab and introduced them to the tech who would help them compare their cast with the pictures taken at the Hunter's Point location.

"Captain, Monk, Dwayne, this is Mark Young. He's going to help you look at those prints." Randy opened the door to go, then turned back. "Come find me before you leave."

Young led them to a table where he had the cast and the photos taken of the print in the mud waiting for them.

Monk picked up the cast and ran his fingers over it. "It looks like this was his right foot."

"Yes," Young said. "As you can see, there's a bit of wear, but we were able to track down the manufacturer. This is a size ten Under Armour tactical boot. They are very popular among cops, especially the ones who are on their feet for long periods." He picked up the photos of the print. "Captain Disher said you have some photos you just took. Let me print those off so we can compare them side-by-side with these."

After a few minutes, the gray-haired tech returned with newly printed photos retrieved from Washington's camera. He joined the detectives at the table and pulled his reading glasses from the pocket of his lab coat. He slipped them on and held two of the photos up. He laid them back down and traced each with his finger. Then, he took another of the new photos and laid it beside the first one. After studying it, he took off his glasses and looked up. "The right print of the one you brought today is a definite match to the one we have."

Stottlemeyer wiped his hand across his face. "That's not what I wanted to hear."

"What about that left print?" Monk asked. "What do you think of that?"

Young examined the pictures again, then looked up. "Are you sure these came from the same person?"

"We assume so," Washington said. "There was only one set of prints and the area was very muddy, so if two men stood there, it seems there would have been two full sets of prints."

Young scratched his head. "They could be from the same person, but if so, they favor their right foot quite a bit." He turned the photos around for the detectives to see. "Not only is your right print deeper in the mud, but the wear pattern is much more pronounced. If I had seen these prints separately, I would have thought the left was from a newer shoe."

Monk was pacing now, his hands pressed together. He stopped and turned back to his colleagues. "Besides the print and the wig fibers, a couple of glucose testing strips were also found behind Gomez's house, and diabetics use those testing strips. Correct?"

"Yes," Young said. "Usually those with Type 1 Diabetes have to monitor their blood glucose levels."

"Don't diabetics also have a greater tendency to suffer from foot and leg problems?"

Young looked back and forth between Stottlemeyer and Washington. "Yes. If the disease progresses far enough, they can."

"So, if someone was experiencing soreness or pain in one foot, brought on by their condition, they might favor the other foot while walking or standing for long periods."

"Yes, I suppose so," Young said. "That would explain the uneven wear pattern on the prints." He pulled a wrapped butterscotch candy out of his pocket and unwrapped it.

Monk watched him, tilting his head to the side. "What are you doing with that?"

Young furrowed his brow, then relaxed. "Oh? The candy? I'm not diabetic, but if I go too long between meals, my blood sugar drops enough to give me a headache. The candy just helps tie me over."

"So diabetics eat candy?" Stottlemeyer asked. I thought they had to stay away from sugar.

Young popped the butterscotch into his mouth. "Yes and no. If their blood sugar is too high, they need to avoid sugar and simple carbohydrates, but sometimes it can drop too low which is just as dangerous. If that happens, a quick sugar fix can help."

"What other symptoms are evident in someone struggling to control their blood sugar?" Monk asked.

Young gathered up the photos. "Well, you're looking for someone who is experiencing thirst and hunger, but may have lost weight. They might also have frequent headaches and be suffering from fatigue. You also want to be on the lookout for someone who has been showing signs of mental confusion—forgetfulness, disorientation, agitation—that sort of thing."

Stottlemeyer caught Monk's eyes and Monk nodded in response. They thanked Mark Young, then left to find Disher. He was in his office, sitting with his feet propped on his desk when they knocked on his open door.

When he saw them, he swung them down and stood. "Hey, come in. I've got something new on the Gomez murder I wanted to show you."

The three men approached Randy's desk. Stottlemeyer and Monk took their seats in front of it, and Washington perched on the corner. "Whatcha got?" Stottlemeyer asked.

Randy sat back down. "I took Dwayne's description of the man who's been selling drugs and went back out to the Mission. We finally got some of the cholos to admit they've seen him, and Jorge Gomez verified that he saw hoodie guy in the neighborhood around the same time Gomez was there the day he was killed."

Monk rubbed his eyebrow. "So, what if Gomez recognized him and took a picture of him, maybe from his car? Then, what if the man selling the drugs saw him? That would explain why Gomez's camera and laptop were gone. He needed to get rid of the evidence."

Randy leaned forward. "And he made the murder look like another home invasion, so we wouldn't suspect anything."

"But he was interrupted," Monk said, "and that made him sloppy."

Stottlemeyer stood and leaned on the back of his chair. "Okay, so let's review. The man who killed Gomez did so to hide evidence of his side business as a drug dealer. He was seen wearing a police uniform and a brown wig. He's most likely a diabetic, and he made an appearance at the Hunter's Point house at some point. It is likely he also killed Officer Ross since Gomez's watch and wallet were found with Ross's body when it washed up on Alcatraz."

"The glove prints too, Captain," Monk said. "The same brand of glove worn at the Gomez murder were also worn at Gray's."

"Okay," Stottlemeyer said. "I can connect Ross and Gray to one of our officers up in Frisco, but how does he connect to Gomez? Where did Gomez know him from?"

Monk rubbed his eyebrow. "Gomez was incarcerated at Lancaster, right?"

Randy pulled a folder out from a stack on his desk and opened it. "Yeah, that's right."

Monk continued. "What if Gomez recognized him from there? What if our perp was a custody officer at Lancaster before coming here? It's not that uncommon for police officers to be former custody officers at the prisons."

Stottlemeyer stood and rubbed his chin. "Dwayne, give the precinct a call. Have them check into past employers for Barlowe and Eastman." He looked at his watch. "Thanks for your help, Randy. We've got to get back, but I'll keep in touch."

Once in the captain's car headed back to the San Francisco precinct, Monk checked his own watch. He sighed as he pulled out his phone to call Natalie. Once again, he felt pulled in two directions, the familiar tug-of-war between the detective and the family man. He hated to disappoint his family and miss seeing Julie, but he had a feeling they were on the cusp of closing the case. He glanced at his friend as he drove. His gaze was intense, determined, but his flushed cheeks and loosened tie also revealed the stress he was under. This was a case that needed resolving, and a guy who needed to be caught.