Adrian Monk was in the process of cleaning his apartment, with his nurse
Sharona watching every move. She'd decided to make her own house a little
cleaner, and figured her boss was the best person to teach her.
"How's it going?" she asked, as it had been a while since he had started, and she couldn't see any more that needed to be done. "About halfway there," was the reply. "I think I'm making progress. The monkey smell isn't nearly as strong as it was last week." "That smell has been gone for months," Sharona said with an expression half exasperated, half accepting. Monk said to that, "You can't smell that? You must be conditioned with the way your house smells." "My house does not smell!" "Trust me, it does."
Just then, the phone rang and Monk picked it up. "Hello? Captain, hi." Sharona perked up. This was probably about one thing: the cops had a case they couldn't figure out, and were turning to Monk. She'd seen these conversations many times before, but this one was different. First Monk said, "What?" in a tone of utter disbelief. Then he recovered and asked, "You're sure?" A brief pause and the, "You're sure you're sure?" Then, "You're sure you're sure you're sure? All right, I'll be right over."
Monk hung up and turned to Sharona. "We have to go to the police station. Now." As they headed out the door Sharona said, "Must be pretty big to stop in the middle of cleaning, huh?" "Yes, it is." "What's up?" "I'll explain in the car. You're driving." "Adrian, I'm always driving." "Then you can drive this time too." Something was really up, she could tell.
At the police station, Sharona had since been filled in. She was very excited that they may have finally found the six-fingered man Warrick Tennyson had spoken about.
"Hey, Monk," said Stottlemeyer as they approached. "We brought the woman in, she's sitting over there." Monk took a seat next to Carolyn. "Ms. Burningham?" "Yes?" "My name is Adrian Monk, and I have a particular interest in your case. It's similar to another one I've been working on for a while. Can you tell me anything besides what you already told the Lieutenant? What kind of mask was it?" "Kind of like the one that guy in Halloween wore, except it was black." Monk sighed. "That won't give us much to go on. Did he say anything to you?"
"Just 'Give me your purse, lady.'" Monk looked her straight in the eye. "Can you remember what his voice sounded like?" "Kind of high pitched, really. Like he was young." "How young?" "Fourteen, fifteen maybe." Adrian took some time to absorb the information, then simply said, "Thank you for your time."
As he walked over to Sharona, she could tell something was wrong. "What?" she asked. "She said the guy was in his teens going by his voice. He would have been a little kid in 1997." Sharona took her own time to realize the truth. "Oh, Adrian, I'm so sorry." "It's fine. Stupid of me to think I could just stumble across the guy like this. I mean, he's probably on the other side of the world now." Sharona saw the tears forming in his eyes. He truly had pinned all his hopes on this incident. Monk turned to Stottlemeyer and said, "I don't think you'll be needing my help on this one. Call me if you run into trouble, but for now I'm going home." Stottlemeyer watched them leave, heartbroken himself.
That night, Monk looked around his house, satisfied at the day's cleaning. Tomorrow wouldn't be as hard. Then the phone rang. He glanced at it; maybe the case did require his services after all. "Captain?" he said as he picked it up. "No, it's me," Sharona's voice came back. She sounded excited, too much so considering the day's events. "Today in school Benjy learned something rather interesting. I think you'll want to know it." "Okay, go ahead." "All right, here goes. The gene for six fingers is dominant to the gene for five fingers. If a person with six fingers has a child, even with someone with five fingers, the child will have six fingers too."
Monk was confused; he had convinced himself never to buy into such a possibility of finding the six-fingered man again. "So what does this mean?" "Don't you see? That mugger may not have been the man who hired Tennyson, but he could be related to him. His son or his grandson, something." Monk sat down, hard. "All right. My hopes might not be up, but if this is all true, I'm going to be down where it happened first thing tomorrow. Meet me there."
"How's it going?" she asked, as it had been a while since he had started, and she couldn't see any more that needed to be done. "About halfway there," was the reply. "I think I'm making progress. The monkey smell isn't nearly as strong as it was last week." "That smell has been gone for months," Sharona said with an expression half exasperated, half accepting. Monk said to that, "You can't smell that? You must be conditioned with the way your house smells." "My house does not smell!" "Trust me, it does."
Just then, the phone rang and Monk picked it up. "Hello? Captain, hi." Sharona perked up. This was probably about one thing: the cops had a case they couldn't figure out, and were turning to Monk. She'd seen these conversations many times before, but this one was different. First Monk said, "What?" in a tone of utter disbelief. Then he recovered and asked, "You're sure?" A brief pause and the, "You're sure you're sure?" Then, "You're sure you're sure you're sure? All right, I'll be right over."
Monk hung up and turned to Sharona. "We have to go to the police station. Now." As they headed out the door Sharona said, "Must be pretty big to stop in the middle of cleaning, huh?" "Yes, it is." "What's up?" "I'll explain in the car. You're driving." "Adrian, I'm always driving." "Then you can drive this time too." Something was really up, she could tell.
At the police station, Sharona had since been filled in. She was very excited that they may have finally found the six-fingered man Warrick Tennyson had spoken about.
"Hey, Monk," said Stottlemeyer as they approached. "We brought the woman in, she's sitting over there." Monk took a seat next to Carolyn. "Ms. Burningham?" "Yes?" "My name is Adrian Monk, and I have a particular interest in your case. It's similar to another one I've been working on for a while. Can you tell me anything besides what you already told the Lieutenant? What kind of mask was it?" "Kind of like the one that guy in Halloween wore, except it was black." Monk sighed. "That won't give us much to go on. Did he say anything to you?"
"Just 'Give me your purse, lady.'" Monk looked her straight in the eye. "Can you remember what his voice sounded like?" "Kind of high pitched, really. Like he was young." "How young?" "Fourteen, fifteen maybe." Adrian took some time to absorb the information, then simply said, "Thank you for your time."
As he walked over to Sharona, she could tell something was wrong. "What?" she asked. "She said the guy was in his teens going by his voice. He would have been a little kid in 1997." Sharona took her own time to realize the truth. "Oh, Adrian, I'm so sorry." "It's fine. Stupid of me to think I could just stumble across the guy like this. I mean, he's probably on the other side of the world now." Sharona saw the tears forming in his eyes. He truly had pinned all his hopes on this incident. Monk turned to Stottlemeyer and said, "I don't think you'll be needing my help on this one. Call me if you run into trouble, but for now I'm going home." Stottlemeyer watched them leave, heartbroken himself.
That night, Monk looked around his house, satisfied at the day's cleaning. Tomorrow wouldn't be as hard. Then the phone rang. He glanced at it; maybe the case did require his services after all. "Captain?" he said as he picked it up. "No, it's me," Sharona's voice came back. She sounded excited, too much so considering the day's events. "Today in school Benjy learned something rather interesting. I think you'll want to know it." "Okay, go ahead." "All right, here goes. The gene for six fingers is dominant to the gene for five fingers. If a person with six fingers has a child, even with someone with five fingers, the child will have six fingers too."
Monk was confused; he had convinced himself never to buy into such a possibility of finding the six-fingered man again. "So what does this mean?" "Don't you see? That mugger may not have been the man who hired Tennyson, but he could be related to him. His son or his grandson, something." Monk sat down, hard. "All right. My hopes might not be up, but if this is all true, I'm going to be down where it happened first thing tomorrow. Meet me there."