She slammed her car door shut and headed toward the front door of her house. She had just dropped her son off at school and finished some errands, and she was more than ready to crash in bed. It had been a long night at the hospital, and all she wanted was her head on a pillow. She paused when someone called her name.

"Sharona Fleming," Disher called after her. She turned and saw the two men approaching her. She knew enough cops to know they were cops. Detectives, out of uniform.

"That's me," she said. "What can I do for two policemen at…" She looked at her watch. "…8:30 in the morning?"

"How did you know we were policemen?" Monk asked, his brilliant mind even baffled by her apparent lucky guess.

"You've got that look," she said. "The suits, the car. It all screams police." She pointed at Disher. "Plus, your badge is on your belt."

The two of them smiled as Disher glanced down at his badge. Monk introduced them. "I'm Inspector Monk. This is Inspector Disher. We're with the San Francisco PD, homicide."

"We'd like to ask you some questions," Disher added.

"About what?"

"Mitchell Vernon," Monk replied. "He died about two hours ago of a morphine overdose."

"What? Impossible," Sharona said, shocked. She didn't like the guy, but she was still surprised that he was dead. He struck her as the type who would outlive everyone.

"Apparently it's not impossible," Disher replied. "Can we come in?"

Sharona shook away her daze and turned. "Uh, sure. Come on."

She led them into her house and gestured to the sofa in the living room. "Have a seat." Then she went into the kitchen. There was coffee that Gail had made for herself still sitting in the coffee pot. Sharona cringed. She knew from experience that Gail's coffee wasn't suitable to give to anybody other than…well, Gail.

"Can I get either of you anything to drink?" she asked, hoping they wouldn't say coffee. She noticed Monk was looking around the disarray of her living room in disgust. With her career and her son, she didn't have much time for cleaning. "Sorry about the mess," she said sheepishly.

"Uh, that's okay," Monk replied. "And no thanks on the drink. Hopefully we won't be long."

Sharona returned to the living room with her own glass of juice and sat in an armchair opposite the sofa.

"What time did you leave the hospital, Ms. Fleming?" Disher asked, pulling out his notepad and pen.

"Please, call me Sharona. And my shift ends at 6:30, but I wasn't out till 6:45. Got held up with a patient."

"Do you recall the name of the patient?" Monk asked.

"Uh…it was room 12 East, a new patient," she said, working her memory. There were so many patients it was hard to keep track of names sometimes. Finally it came to her. "Nick Parks. He had knee surgery."

"When was the last time you saw Mr. Vernon?" Disher asked.

"I think I checked in on him last at 5:30. He was asleep finally."

"Finally? Did he have trouble sleeping?" Monk inquired.

Sharona nodded her head. "Seems like every night since he was there he couldn't sleep. I think one of his kids said he was a chronic insomniac. He seemed to always be awake on my shift, and he would complain non-stop."

"Sounds like he was a difficult patient." Disher was fishing now. Any dislike for Mr. Vernon could lead to motive.

"Understatement of the year," Sharona said with a smirk. "He always gave me a hard time. It's like his mission in life was to piss people off, or maybe just me."

"Did he succeed?" Monk prodded. Sharona saw the looks on their faces and laughed.

"Oh please, if I were in the habit of killing patients because they were difficult or they pissed me off you'd have a lot more dead patients on your hands," she said. "Fifty percent of the time our patients hate us. People hate hospitals and they hate doctors and nurses right along with it."

"And that doesn't bother you?" Disher asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Not really. I would hate me if I was in the hospital, too. It's part of the job."

"Do you know of anybody else who didn't like Mr. Vernon?" Monk asked, moving away from suspecting Sharona. She wasn't totally in the clear, but she didn't seem like the killing type to him.

"Not really," she said. "On the night shift there aren't any visitors there for me to see. It's basically just nurses and patients and orderlies. Sometimes doctors will come around, but they're usually busy with more important things on the night shift."

"Did he mention anybody to you that might want to hurt him?" Monk continued.

"I got the impression he wasn't on good terms with his son. Complained about him being a worthless bum a lot."

"Did he mention anything more specific?" Monk noted the 'worthless bum' bit for when he met Mr. Vernon's son. That was certainly important.

"No, not really."

"Were you the only nurse to deal with Mr. Vernon while he was there?" Disher asked.

"On night shift, yeah. There's only two of us on nights right now. Me and Whitney," she explained. "I do the east wing and she does the west."

"Did you see anybody else go into Mr. Vernon's room during your shift?" Monk asked.

"There was an orderly who went in at about five in the morning," she replied. "I think he was a new guy. I didn't recognize him."

"All right, well I think that's all we need for now, Sharona," Monk said. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small card with his name and number on it. He handed it to her. "If you think of anything else that might help, give us a call."

"Sure," she said. "Good luck."

Monk and Disher let themselves out and headed back out to their car. Disher pocketed his notepad.

"So, she's on our suspect list," he commented.

"For now," Monk said reluctantly. He had seen the pictures of Sharona with her son in the living room, and he truly hoped she would be off their suspect list quickly. "We also need to find out who that new orderly is who went into Vernon's room at five in the morning."

"If he even exists," Disher shot back. "She might have made him up."

"Don't pick your suspect too soon, Randy," Monk scolded. Disher just shrugged his shoulders as they got in the car, with Monk still hoping to find a different suspect.

* * *

Monk felt it would be more efficient to split up after they had spoken to Sharona. Disher went to question the other night nurse while Monk went to speak to Vernon's daughter. After that they would meet to speak to Vernon's son, the one Sharona had mentioned as the "worthless bum."

Kathleen Vernon Shaw lived in an old Victorian manor that was in the process of being restored. Workers were currently pulling off the roof shingles and tossing them down to the yard. Monk carefully walked off to the side, trying to avoid being hit by a falling shingle as he walked to the front door.

She opened the door and Monk could instantly tell that she must not be much like her brother, if what Sharona had said was true. Her cheeks were flushed, making it apparent that she had been crying. She had had at least some sort of relationship with her father.

"Mrs. Shaw?" She nodded her head, and he pulled out his badge. "My name is Adrian Monk. I'm a homicide inspector with the San Francisco Police Department.  I'm investigating your father's death. I understand this is a hard time for you, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

She nodded her head and stepped aside, still not uttering a word. Monk followed her into the living room where a man Monk assumed was her husband sat. The man stood to greet Monk.

"I assume you're Mr. Shaw?" he asked.

The man nodded his head.  "You can call me Michael."

"I'm Adrian Monk. I'm a homicide inspector, and I'm investigating your father-in-law's death."

"Homicide?" Michael asked, gesturing for Monk to sit in a nearby armchair. He and his wife sat on a sofa directly across from Monk.  "So, you think it wasn't just malpractice?"

"It's not completely ruled out, but this does appear to be a murder," Monk said. He noticed Kathleen was watching him intently. Apparently Michael noticed Monk's confused look.

"She's staring because she's a deaf-mute, Inspector," he said with an apologetic smile. "I should have told you up front. She's reading your lips."

"Oh, I see," he said, starting to be more conscious about enunciating clearly. "Were you very close to your father, Mrs. Shaw?"

She nodded her head and began signing. Her husband shifted a little so he could interpret the signs for Monk.

"Dad and I were extremely close. I'm a stereotypical daddy's girl. Everybody would say that when they met us."

"Are you close to your brother?"

"Not really. We talk occasionally and send cards on birthdays and holidays. But that's about it."

"I've been told that your father also wasn't very close to him either," Monk said.

"Yes, Richard and dad never got along. Richard moved out of the house as soon as he got the chance," she signed, with her husband interpreting.

"Is there a particular reason that the two of them didn't get along?"

"Dad didn't like Richard because he felt he never truly worked for what he got. Richard didn't like dad because he felt he was always too hard on him." She paused for a moment and then continued signing. "I guess they were both right. I think dad expected too much from Richard."

"What does Richard do for a living?"

"He doesn't do anything." Monk raised an eyebrow, and she just shook her head. Michael continued to explain on his own.

"Richard married a rich divorcee who died two years ago and left him as a rich widower," he said. "That was the last straw for Mitch. He sometimes half-seriously thought Rich caused his wife's heart attack. But the doctors confirmed that Karen's heart attack was natural. He became rich out of no work of his own."

"Did your father mention anything out of the ordinary about his stay in the hospital? Or perhaps anything about the hospital staff?"

"He talked about a nurse on the night shift a lot. I think her name's Sharon or something," Michael replied.

"Sharona?" Monk offered. Both of them nodded. "What did he say about her?"

"He said he liked her," Kathleen signed. "He said she was his favorite nurse."

"Really? I was under the impression that the two of them didn't get along," Monk said. "He gave her a hard time."

"That was his way of showing affection," Kathleen replied. "If he didn't like someone, he wouldn't talk to them at all. If he gave her a hard time, she was definitely in his good graces."

"I don't think she realized that," Monk said with a smile. "Do you know of anyone who would want your father dead?"

"Not really. I mean, Richard hated him, but I don't see Richard being a killer," she replied. "He's not ambitious enough for that."

Monk stood, and Michael stood with him to show him out. "I think that's all I have for now." He pulled out one of his cards. "If you think of anything that might be important, please call me."

Kathleen stayed in the living room as Monk and Michael walked to the door. They paused for a moment in the doorway.

"Kathleen loved her father. As it is, she's already consulted a lawyer about malpractice lawsuits. If somebody murdered Mitch, you must find that person."

"I'll do everything I can," Monk replied, as sincere as he was meticulous. Michael nodded his head and shut the door. As he walked down the porch steps, some dust and roofing particles landed on his shoulder. He looked up to see one of the workers up there about to throw some old shingles down to a dumpster.

"Heads up!" the worker called. Monk quickly walked down to his car, repeatedly brushing at his shoulder to get all the dust off. Once he was satisfied that all the dust was gone he got into his car and sat there for a moment.

He thought about the suspects. His bet was on Richard Vernon. His motive was strong, but he didn't have the means. Disher suspected Sharona. She had the means, but to Monk her motive wasn't as strong. Immediately a new question crossed his mind. Did Richard Vernon and Sharona Fleming know each other? That was certainly a question he would ask when he spoke to Richard Vernon. He started the car and drove off to meet his partner to question the son Mitchell Vernon apparently wished he never had.