DISCLAIMER: Rating - PG13 (it's a murder mystery after all), for a little cussing & swearing and a body count. and Simon & Simon are not owned by me, they are owned by USA Network and CBS. This is just a stupid fan fiction and I won't make any money off of it.








Monk, Sharona, and the Simon brothers sat in the living room of A.J.'s house, waiting for Captain Brown. It was 5:30 pm, and Brown was due to arrive any minute. They had to postpone their meeting until after the Captain left work at the usual time in order to avoid suspicion. Sharona and A.J. sat on the couch drinking hot tea, and Rick sat in the matching cushioned chair across from them, draping himself across the seat so his legs hung over the armrest. Adrian sat at the dining table, having changed into a fresh shirt and slacks, reading the case files yet again. Captain Brown finally arrived a few minutes later. He walked in through the unlocked front door, grabbed a coke from the fridge, and sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. He did not look happy.

Brown scowled at Monk, then at Rick and A.J. You guys had better be right about this.

Adrian rose from his seat at the dining table and moved next to Brown. Captain, it's the only explanation that makes any sense. The killer hired that gunman just one hour before the interview. He even told him exactly where we would be, and when.

The driver was telling the truth, Town. Rick interrupted. I was watching their backs. No one followed them to the site of the attack. The gunman was already parked on the street, just waiting for them to show up. He knew where they were gonna be.

Adrian continued presenting his case to Captain Brown. What about the traps the killer left in our hotel rooms? He knew which rooms we were in well in advance. And look...... Adrian handed Brown the picture given to them by the unsuccessful assassin a few hours earlier. He even took my picture as soon as we pulled up in front of the police station - from inside the police station. The killer was waiting for us before we even stepped out of the car! Now just how is that possible?

The Captain took the photo from Monk and studied it closely. His expression darkened as he realized Monk had to be right. Damn...........all right, from now on, we keep a tight lid on everything. Talk only to me, or sergeant Nixon. I know he's clean.

Got it, Town. The Simon brothers answered in unison.

Brown popped open his soda and took a swig. I'll have Nixon start checking the payroll records to see which officers were off duty on the nights of the murders. That should narrow down our search pretty damn quick. He'll have to do it on the sly to avoid tipping off our suspect, so It will take him a couple of days.

Adrian turned abruptly and fixed his gaze on the case files sitting on the dining table. All of the murders occurred on a weekend.

Brown swallowed another mouthful soda. That's right. Every woman was killed on either Friday or Saturday night.

How often do your officers have the weekends off?

Not often, we rotate weekend shifts. Most cops only get one weekend off every month.

Adrian thought for a moment, then looked back at Brown. Expand your search to include civilian personnel working for the department. Secretaries, mechanics, computer technicians.......anyone who works in the building. And remember to check their backgrounds for any experience with horses. Maybe the killer grew up on a ranch, or a farm, or worked at a stable.......

Brown nodded in acknowledgment, then finished his soda and got up to leave. He looked dispirited.

Don't worry, Captain. Adrian said. It's only a matter of time, now. We're closing in on him. With a decisive tone, he added, We'll catch him. Soon.







Saturday was fairly uneventful. The entire day was spent interviewing witnesses and visiting crime scenes without any new leads being discovered. The group eventually gave up for the day, and headed back to A.J.'s house at around 6:00 pm to eat dinner and relax for the rest of the evening. Adrian was frustrated after an entire day of detective work failed to pay off, and instead of dining with his companions, he decided to continue reading over the case files, hoping to find anything he might have missed.

By 9:00 pm, Monk was still scrutinizing the files. Sharona sat on the couch next to Rick, who slumped in his seat and rested his boots on the coffee table as usual, and A.J. sat in the chair across from them. They were busy swapping 'war stories' about their unusual experiences in a friendly and casual manner.

Sharona had amazed her two companions with tales of some of Monk's most difficult cases, and now she wanted to hear more about the bizarre lives of Rick and A.J. Simon. Sharona inquired, what is the sneakiest thing you've ever done to complete a job?

A.J. rolled his eyes. Oh good Lord, where do we start?

Rick began, our lawyer friend had hired us to bust this guy for insurance fraud. He was faking a spinal injury and we were trying to take pictures of him walking around, but we just couldn't get him out of the damn wheelchair.

Ugh, I remember that one. A.J. lamented. He was holed up in this lake house trying to stay out of sight. We tried just about everything we could think of to get him out of that chair. He was the best hack we had ever seen.

Rick spoke around the cigar he was chewing on. I mean we faked a fire in the chimney, let a rattlesnake loose in his living room, we even threw a concussion grenade at him and he didn't even flinch! So we finally just grabbed him, rolled his wheelchair down to the dock, and dumped him in the lake. We figured he'd have to swim.

A.J. smiled, remembering the scene. But what we didn't know was that he was faking paralysis by having his physician accomplice give him a spinal block. He really was temporarily paralyzed. We had to jump in and save him from drowning!

Oh my God! Sharona was laughing hard. You two are so evil!

Hey A.J., Rick chimed in, what about the time you posed as a runner to serve a subpoena?

He laughed. Oh yeah, I remember that. A.J. turned to Sharona and continued. We were hired to serve a subpoena to this guy that we just could not catch, and we happened to find out he was running in a relay race at some local amateur track and field event. So we showed up, with Rick posing as a coach and me dressed as a runner. After the gun sounded, I just ran out onto the track, wrapped the subpoena around the runner's baton, handed it off to him, yelled Warren Smith, you've been served!' and we ran like hell!

Sharona started laughing. I'll bet he was pissed!

A.J. laughed as well. He chased us all the way to the car!

Oh yeah, speaking of cars, Rick interrupted, one time, we were using our mom's car on a stake out at a miniature golf course for this divorce case, and -

Oh Rick, don't you dare! A.J. warned.

Rick ignored him. Anyway, this huge security guard caught A.J. snooping around. So he roughs up A.J. and stuffs him in the trunk of the car. Unfortunately, he had the keys in his pocket. So I had to call our mom at 3:00 am to bring a spare key and rescue A.J. from the trunk.

Oh yeah, Rick? Well what about the time we busted that female shoplifter for the department store and she beat the crap out of you?

Rick suddenly turned defensive. That woman was Godzilla!

But she wasn't as big as that security guard!

The house phone rang and interrupted their jocular conversation. A.J. got up to answer it, while Sharona decided to go check on Monk. She rose from her seat on the couch and moved over to stand next to Adrian at the dining table. He was still completely occupied with the case files. Looking weary and frustrated, he rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand, and leaned forward to look closely at some of the crime scene photos yet again. Sharona rubbed his back and said, Hey, it's getting late. You look tired. Why don't you quit for the night?

Adrian leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. Maybe you're right, I should just come back to it tomorrow morning. He stared at the files spread out on the table. I'm still missing something, though, I know it. And if I don't see it soon, this guy is going to kill someone else.

Thanks, Town. We'll be right there. Everyone looked at A.J. as he hung up the phone. Mr. Monk, Sharona, put your vests back on and get your coats. We have another body.

Oh, no....... A despondent Adrian slumped in his chair and put his head in his hands, looking like the weight of the world had just descended upon his shoulders.







This was murder number ten for their elusive serial killer. The latest victim lived in a very upscale suburban neighborhood, complete with well-manicured front lawns, occupied almost exclusively by the upper middle class. Rick, A.J., Sharona, and Monk drove past the squad cars blocking the street, and pulled up to the crime scene in the Camaro just as the bomb squad finished clearing the house. Brown was afraid the killer might have left another trap like the one at the San Francisco scene, so he called in a bomb sniffing dog to make sure there were no lethal surprises waiting for them. Finding nothing, they exited the house, and pronounced it safe for entry.

Monk was eager to work the scene, but Captain Brown was making him wait until the department's crime scene photographer could document everything first. The photographer and the lab technicians, collectively known as the forensics unit', stood in the street clustered around Captain Brown, listening to his instructions.

Adrian had segregated himself from everyone else, saying he needed some time alone so he could think. He stood on the sidewalk in front of the house, with his long brown coat buttoned to protect him from the cool night air, absentmindedly fiddling with the ever present wedding band on his left ring finger. His gaze was fixed on the large bay window in the front of the house. From his vantage point, he could barely see the mass of disheveled blonde hair of victim number ten, who was lying on the carpet just behind the window. Adrian momentarily shifted his focus to the crime scene photographer as he prepared to go to work. He pulled an expensive 35 mm camera out of his camera case, clipped the electronic flash into it's mount, handed the case to one of the other forensic technicians, then entered the house and immediately began taking pictures. Adrian hoped he would hurry, because he would not be allowed into the house to start working until the photographer finished documenting the untouched crime scene. As soon as the photographer disappeared inside, Adrian once again returned his attention to the deceased.

Sharona, Rick, and A.J. were standing next to the Camaro, quietly drinking hot coffee. Sharona looked over at her boss, who was still standing there in front of the window, staring at the victim. She decided that she should go talk to him. Monk told her that he wanted to be alone for a while, but she had been working with him long enough to know that what he actually needed right now was his friend. Sharona excused herself and moved across the lawn to stand next to him. The anguished look on his face told her that he blamed himself for not catching the killer quickly enough.

Sharona placed her hand on his arm. Adrian seemed unaware of her presence. Adrian, look at me. He finally turned to face her. Sharona stared into his sorrowful eyes and said, It's not your fault. He looked down at his polished shoes, saying nothing. She gently rubbed his back, trying to reassure him, knowing it did little good. Adrian, you can't let this guy get to you like this. You have to concentrate so you can catch him, ok?

After a few moments of silence, Adrian finally looked up at her. He seemed to be much more focused and alert, as he usually was when working a scene. You're right, Sharona. You're absolutely right. I'm ok now, thanks. Sharona smiled and patted his back, then went back to finish her coffee with Rick and A.J.

Adrian decided he needed to busy himself, so he began counting the bricks in the front wall of the house while the photographer processed the scene. He was about half way through when the photographer started photographing the corpse. The blinding, intermittent light from his flash shone right in his eyes and momentarily blinded Monk, causing him to lose count of the bricks. He cursed the glaring distraction and started over. A few minutes later, Captain Brown interrupted him again. Mr. Monk, we're ready to go in.

Sharona, Monk, and Captain Brown covered their shoes with plastic booties and carefully entered the house, being careful not to disturb anything. Rick and A.J. ditched their coffee cups and quickly followed them inside. Adrian immediately noticed that the carpet was freshly vacuumed. He also smelled traces of chloroform in the bedroom curtains where the killer had secretly waited to surprise his victim. The phone in the bedroom was off the hook because the killer, wanting the police to find the body, dialed 911 right before he left and let them trace the call. Adrian continued to move throughout the house, carefully examining everything in each room, until he finally reached the carpeted living area where their victim lay underneath the large bay window.

She was naked, lying on her stomach parallel to the window, with her head turned to the left and her legs straight. The killer had used his trademark knots and white nylon rope to tie her feet together and her hands behind her back. A small footstool had been placed next to her feet, and as usual, the killer had neatly folded her clothes and placed them on top of the stool. A wallet-sized photograph of Susan Hopkins, the San Francisco murder victim, was sitting in plain view on top of the clothing. The carpet underneath and around the body had been vacuumed. It was the typical crime scene for this serial killer, except for one crucial difference - this time, he left a message for detective Monk.

Before leaving the scene, the killer took an 8 x 10 copy of the picture he had taken the day Monk and Sharona arrived at the police station, and placed it over the face of the corpse. He had sliced open the tip of the victim's left index finger, and used her hand to write two words across the photograph in her blood:

WORK FASTER