Monk found Disher ordering a hot dog at a food vendor across the street from the police department. As Monk approached Disher nodded a hello.

"Want one?" he asked, his mouth full of hot dog. Monk cringed.

"No thank you," Monk replied. "Did you find out anything significant from the other night nurse?"

"Just what we already know. Sharona didn't get along with Vernon," Disher replied. "What about his daughter?"

"She confirmed what Sharona said about Vernon not getting along with his son," Monk said.  "He's definitely worth talking to."

"The results are in from the lab on the medical waste and the prints. As well as the autopsy report," Disher said. "Should we check that out first?"

Monk nodded his head and the two of them headed inside. The results from the lab and the autopsy were waiting on Monk's desk. Disher picked the folder up and looked at it.

"The morphine was injected directly into a vein in his arm with a syringe found in the medical waste," he read from the report. An enthusiastic smile lit up his face. "Prints on the syringe match those of Sharona Fleming."

"Couldn't it have been a different syringe?" Monk asked, a look of disbelief filling his eyes.

"It was the only one in medical waste and it had Vernon's blood on it," Disher explained.

"It doesn't make sense," Monk said. Every instinct he had was telling Sharona wasn't the killer. "Why wouldn't she use the IV to inject the morphine?"

"Going directly to the vein works faster," Disher said. "The IV would take too long."

"Still, she's worked in that hospital for 6 years. Certainly she's had more difficult patients than Mitchell Vernon," Monk said. Disher shook his head.

"Why can't you just see what's simple?" Disher asked. For once he was right, and he wasn't going to let Monk talk him out of it. "Sharona Fleming's prints are on the murder weapon. What other explanation is there for that?"

As skeptical as he was, Monk couldn't deny evidence. He could never deny evidence. Usually he found it, from the obvious to the obscure. And the evidence always led to the truth. But he didn't want to believe it. Before he could say anything else, Captain Stottlemeyer approached them.

"Is that the evidence report?" he asked. Disher nodded his head.

"And we've got a match for the prints on the syringe used to give Vernon the morphine," Disher said. He paused, for what he believed was dramatic effect. He tended to do it when sharing big news. Stottlemeyer shook his head and sighed in frustration.

"Who, Randy?" he asked sharply.

"Sharona Fleming. She's a night nurse at the hospital. She admitted to not getting along with Mr. Vernon."

"And we're certain that they're her prints and that syringe is the one that was used to inject the morphine?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"Got the prints from her employment file, and the blood on the needle matches Vernon's," Disher continued.

"What about you Monk? What do you say about this?"

Monk thought for a moment and shook his head. "We can't deny the evidence."

Stottlemeyer took that as an endorsement from his star inspector. "Pick her up and bring her in. I'll get a warrant from Judge Wallace by the time you get her to the station."

* * *

Sharona got out of the car, slamming the door angrily. Benjy got out of the passenger side, hanging his head. He, of course, was the reason his mother was angry. She stopped by the front right fender, glared at him and pointed to the door.

"Get in the house. Now!"

He moved quickly and she followed. She wasn't exactly pleased, having picked him up from school early. He had been suspended for a day for fighting. Once inside she slammed the front door. He was on his way to his room when she called after him.

"Hold it right there, mister," she said sharply. He stopped and turned, looking at her through one good eye and one swollen one. "Sit down."

Benjy sat on the living room sofa while she walked into the kitchen and retrieved an ice pack from the freezer. She returned and handed it to him and then paced in front of him, one hand on her hip and the other massaging her throbbing temples.

"What have I told you about fighting? How many times have I told you that I do not tolerate fighting?" she asked. He didn't answer. "What were you thinking? Huh?" He looked down at the floor, not sure what to say. She laughed in frustration and shook her head. "You know, forget it. Go to your room. You're grounded for a month. No television, no video games, no friends outside of school unless I need you to stay at their house."

There was a knock at the door and Sharona went to answer it. She pointed down the hallway toward the bedrooms. "Go work on your schoolwork."

He picked up his book bag and was about to head down the hallway as she opened the door, but he stopped out of curiosity to see who it was.

"You're back," Sharona said. "Did you have more questions?"

"No, Ms. Fleming," Disher said. He pulled out his handcuffs.

"You're under arrest for the murder of Mitchell Vernon," Monk said reluctantly. Sharona backed up a little as Disher tried to take her arm to cuff her.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Mom?" Ben said, stepping forward into view. "What's going on?"

"Ms. Fleming it would be best if you cooperate," Disher said, holding up the handcuffs.

"I don't understand," she said in shock. She didn't resist as Disher grabbed her left arm and began locking the cuffs around her wrists. "I didn't murder anybody."

"Murder? Mom?"

"You have the right to remain silent," Monk said, reluctantly beginning to read her the Miranda warning. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed by the court. Do you understand your rights, Ms. Fleming?"

"Yeah," she said and then quickly turned to Benjy as Disher led her toward the door. "Benjy, go to Brian's house and call your Aunt Gail. Tell her what's happened."

"What's going on, mom?" Benjy asked, completely confused as to why his mother was being led off in handcuffs.

"It's going to be okay," she said, not answering him. "Just do as I say."

Benjy followed them out door and watched as Disher led Sharona to the car and held her head down as she got in the back. Monk looked back to Benjy sympathetically. They made eye contact and Monk couldn't hide his regret. He watched as Benjy hurried next door to call his aunt, and then he got in the car to escort Sharona to the police station.

* * *

Sharona sat in the interrogation room, her head resting in her hands, which were cuffed in front of her now. The metal clattered as she dropped her hands to the table.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" she asked angrily. "I didn't murder Mr. Vernon."

"How do you explain your prints on the murder weapon?" Disher asked. He was standing across the table from her, his arms folded across his chest.

"I used it to give Mr. Vernon sleep medication that was prescribed by Dr. Morgan," she explained. Disher looked skeptical. Monk was pensive.

"Did anybody witness you doing this?" Monk asked.

"Only Mr. Vernon," she said, her voice filled with frustration. There was a brief pause. "I'm a nurse. I use syringes. Of course my prints are going to be on one. How does that make me a murderer?"

"Vernon's blood was on the needle," Disher replied. "How do you explain that?"

"Impossible," she replied, confused. "I injected the sleep medication through his IV. That needle never touched his skin."

"Why don't you start telling us the truth?" Disher asked angrily.

"That is the truth!" Sharona exclaimed. She leaned back in her chair and glared at him. "If you're not going to believe me, there's no point in talking to you."

"Do you understand just how serious this is?" Disher asked, leaning on the table and making eye contact with her. "The evidence was good enough to get a warrant. It'll be good enough to get a conviction."

"You know, you really aren't good at this bad cop thing," she said. Her dig got Disher to back up and return to standing with his arms folded across his chest. "I'm through talking. I want my lawyer."

Disher glared at her, not moving an inch until Monk grabbed his arm. "Come on, Randy. Let's go."

As they left Sharona sat forward again, resting her head in her hands and closing her eyes. She didn't know how this could be possible. How could anybody suspect her of murder? Sure, she wasn't an angel. She had even committed a federal crime once. She had stolen a car when she was sixteen. But she wasn't a murderer. Things had changed since she was sixteen. She had been married and divorced. She had a career. She had a son.

God, I can't lose him, she thought, wondering what would happen to Benjy if she was convicted. Would he stay with her sister or her mother? Would the government shuttle him off into foster care? She was so worried about Benjy that the thought didn't even enter her mind that she might not be convicted at trial. She wondered if he was confused or scared or just worried. She hoped that he wasn't being fed bogus stories about her. The last thing she wanted was for her son to think she was a murderer. She didn't care what other people thought. The only one that mattered to her was him.

* * *

Sharona was moved to a different room without an observation mirror and her handcuffs were removed. She sat and waited for twenty minutes before a man in a suit walked in and sat across the table from her. He appeared to be in his late thirties with sandy blonde hair, blue eyes and a year-round tan. He had a medium, athletic build, and it was obvious that he exercised regularly.  His suit looked extremely expensive, perhaps Armani, and his deep blue silk tie was tied in a loose knot at his neck. He offered her a sympathetic smile, and Sharona knew under other circumstances she would have been flirting with him in two seconds, after noticing no wedding ring on his left hand. But she didn't have time for flirting now.

"Ms. Fleming, my name is Maxwell Roberts. I'm a criminal defense attorney," he introduced himself. "Your sister, Gail, is a friend of one of my colleagues."

"From the looks of that suit, your services don't come cheap," Sharona said flatly. "I'm a single mother, Mr. Roberts. I can't afford an expensive defense attorney."

"My colleague's exact words I believe were, 'I owe Gail a huge favor. This one's on me,'" he responded with a smirk. "You don't have to worry about money. The only thing you have to worry about is your defense, Ms. Fleming."

"Call me Sharona," she said, unable to stop a wry smile from curling on her lips. Leave it to Gail to curry favor with lawyers. She made a mental note to buy Gail a present if she wasn't convicted.

"Sharona it is," he said. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a file folder. "Just to go over the basics before we start, everything you say to me is confidential under attorney-client privilege. I cannot be forced to reveal anything you say here." He pulled out a pen and notepad next, ready to get every detail of Sharona's side of the story. "So, let's start from the beginning of your shift at the hospital last night."

"I came on and made my first rounds at about 9:30 to give out medication. Mr. Vernon was my last stop on my rounds. I gave him a sleeping aid through his IV, and then I went to the nurse's station just down the hall," she explained.

"Mr. Vernon was awake when you were in his room at that time?" Maxwell asked, taking notes on his notepad.

"Yeah, he was."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"He told me his hip hurt from sitting in bed all day and that we weren't giving him enough morphine," she recalled.

"And what did you say to that?"

"I, uh, told him anymore morphine would kill him." She watched him nod his head and take notes, wondering what he was thinking. Obviously the last thing she had told him didn't sound good.

"What else did he say?"

"He said he didn't like Dr. Morgan. He called him a quack. Then he asked me to go get his newspaper, which he had thrown across the room at the television earlier in the day," she explained. "He said that the television pissed him off. I said everything pissed him off. He threatened to throw his newspaper at me, and I left the room."

"When did you next go to check on him?"

"About midnight," she replied. "He was asleep. I checked on him two more times at 3 a.m. and 5:30. He was asleep both those times, too."

"What did you do when you checked on him?"

"I just checked his vitals. As long as he was asleep there wasn't much to do," she explained.

"And you never gave him morphine on your shift?"

"None," she replied. "I don't know how that needle got his blood on it."

"Okay," Maxwell said. "Your arraignment is tomorrow. You'll plead 'not guilty' I'm assuming." He made eye contact and she nodded her head. "Okay. If the judge allows bail, I can hook you up with a bail bondsman so you can be out of jail during the trial."

"Can I talk to my son?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, no," Maxwell explained. He put his things back in his briefcase and closed it. "You're not allowed visitors before the arraignment. I can take a message to him, if you'd like."

"Uh, just tell him…that I love him and not to worry," she said quietly, upset that she wouldn't be able to even talk to Benjy. Maxwell stood, ready to head back to his office to work on the case. He noticed the dejected look on Sharona's face, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him.

"Sharona, I'm very good at what I do," he said. "The evidence they have may be enough to arrest you, but it won't be enough to convict." She nodded her head and forced a small smile. "I'm going back to the office to work on getting ready for the arraignment. Don't talk to anyone about the case. Not the police, not anyone else in the jail. Nobody. I'll see you tomorrow."

Maxwell left and moments later an officer came in, cuffed Sharona and led her to the prison where she would be spending her first night as a suspected murderer.