Chapter 3

"This is how," stated Monk, "you, Mrs. Clanton, killed your husband and tried to make it look like a suicide."

"Captain! I'm insulted and demand an apology!" cried Mrs. Clanton, outraged.

Looking at the outraged woman, Stottlemeyer drug Monk aside.

"Monk, are you certain?" questioned Stottlemeyer, eyeing Mrs. Clanton, nervously.

"Yes, sir, absolutely," stated Monk, confidently.

Rolling his eyes and hoping he wouldn't be signing a death warrant on his career, Stottlemeyer turned back towards Mrs. Clanton.

"Mrs. Clanton, I am going to allow Monk to explain to me why he feels you murdered your husband," explained Stottlemeyer, as calmly as he could.

Monk begins his dissertation on how James Clanton was killed.

"Your husband was a hard working man. You have a beautiful house, raised two children and have a lifestyle some could only imagine. However, there was something missing from your love life. You've tried to gain his attention; tried to ignite the spark of passion that you once had before your children were born. You spent many a lonely night, eating at home by yourself, because your husband was always working late. Finally, a few nights ago, your husband's excuse was the last straw. You were tired of James' excuses for not coming home and you decided to bring dinner to the office. You walked into the building, carrying his favorite dinner. As you approached his closed office door, you could hear voices coming from within. One was female; the other belonged distinctly to your husband. After reaching the door, you cracked it open, silently, and the sight that you beheld shocked you. Your husband was having an affair with his secretary. Shock turned quickly to anger and anger to rage. You quietly stole out of the building and drove around, aimlessly, thinking of how to exact your revenge. It took you a while, but you finally came up with a solution.

You knew, from rifling through paperwork, that James' company was facing some legal matter that had him concerned. You decided to make his murder look like a suicide. After all, who would blame him once the legal problems came out in the open. After he had eaten breakfast, he went upstairs to get ready for work. You had spiked his coffee with percocet, a pain killer that you had been prescribed for an injury. You knew it would take at least a half hour to take effect, so you prolonged making breakfast. By the time he got into the shower, the percocet was making him sleepy. James always locked the bathroom door, it was habit, so before he finished eating, you went upstairs and placed clear tape over the doorframe, so that the door couldn't latch and therefore lock. After waiting five minutes, you quietly entered the bathroom and taking a baseball bat, you whacked your husband over the head, causing him to fall facedown in the water. You plugged the tub stopper, removed the tape from the door and closed it behind you. Twenty minutes later, you came upstairs to check on him and then called 911."

"H-h-h-how did you know?" stammered Mrs. Clanton.

"Simple, you made some mistakes," answered Monk, " I noticed the tape residue on the doorframe, when I came in. The autopsy revealed that there was a trace amount of percocet in your husband's system. I asked myself why? Why would he put percocet in his drink before he went to take a shower and why would someone put tape over the doorframe? The answer was simple, for easy access when the door was locked. The real question was, why would someone want easy access to a locked door? The answer was for revenge. I did some checking into the secretary. She admitted that she and James had been secret lovers for some months now."

"I gave him the best years of my life and how does repay me? He goes and sleeps with that trollop!" screamed Mrs. Clanton, "He deserved what he got!"

"Just as you will deserve what you get," stated Stottlemeyer, "Lieutenant, read her her rights."

"You have the right to remain silent," began Randy, as he handcuffed her, "anything you say or do will be held against you in a court of law." His voice trailed off as he led Mrs. Clanton out to the waiting patrol car.

"Wow, she murdered him because he didn't want her anymore," said Sharona.

"Yeah," said Monk, "I wouldn't have stayed with her either."

"Why?" asked Sharona.

"Sharona, just look at this house! It's a mess! She's a lousy housekeeper!" exclaimed Monk.

Glancing around at the immaculate house, Sharona looked bewildered. "What do you mean she's a lousy housekeeper?"

"Just look at the way everything is so, so---jumbled," cried Monk.

"Adrian," said Sharona, impatiently, "to you, everyone is a lousy housekeeper!"

With that, Sharona walked out of the Clanton residence and to her beat up Volvo.

Back at the station, Randy sat at his desk and was thinking of Joy's case. Frustrated, he threw his pen on the desk, grabs his jacket and heads for home. On the way home, his mind constantly reverted back to Joy's scrapbook and what he could do to help.

As he pulled up into his driveway, Randy gave a quick tap on the horn. He sat and waited for Joy to come out so he could take her to Walmart. When she didn't appear, he honked the horn a little longer but, still no Joy. Randy grumbled as he turned off the ignition to his car and walked into his house.

The living room looked off to him, so instinct told him to draw his gun. Walking cautiously, he cleared each room before proceeding to the next room. Finally, Randy made his way to the back of the house, towards his and Joy's rooms. Stopping at the bathroom, Randy toed open the door. There he found Joy, lying in a pool of blood. Reaching for his cell phone, he dialed 911.

"This is Lieutenant Randall Disher. I have a suicide attempt at 125 Lakeside Avenue. I need an ambulance here, stat"

Randy closed his cell phone and ran to the hall closet to get towels to stem the flow of blood. While pressing on her wrist, Randy thought to himself, 'Joy, what the hell did you do?'

The ambulance came within five minutes of Randy's call and carried Joy away to Frisco General. Randy followed, with his lights and siren on, unaware of the sight he presented. On the way there, he speedialed Stottlemeyer and told him of his discovery. Stottlemeyer told Randy that he would meet him there.

Joy was rushed into the emergency room, where a young resident took charge of her. Randy quickly followed, ignoring where he had parked. Security tried to stop him as he rushed into the hospital, but Randy just pulled out his badge and flashed it at the man. The security officer backed down after seeing Randy's credentials.

Rushing in, Randy skidded to a stop, in front of the nurse's station, much to the chagrin of the nurse behind the desk. Glaring disapprovingly at Randy, the nurse said, "This is a hospital, not a racetrack. May I help you?"

Out of breath, Randy tried to speak but all he could do was place his hands on his thighs until his breath returned. The nurse looked at Randy as if he was wasting her time.

"Young man, do you need medical attention?" said the nurse, taking note of his blood soaked shirt.

"No, it's not me. A girl, thirteen, was just brought in here," said Randy, still wheezing.

"What's her name?" questioned the nurse.

"Joy. Joy Robertson. She tried to commit suicide," said Randy.

"Are you family?" asked the nurse.

"No", stated Randy.

"Then I'm sorry. I can't disclose that information. Family only," stated the nurse, firmly.

Exasperated, Randy said, "Look, Nurse…."

"Miller," supplied Nurse Miller.

"Look, Nurse Miller, I'm all the family she has. You will tell me where she is or else," said Randy, as his threat trailed off.

"Hmph! Well, I never! Why didn't you say so in the first place," declared an indignant Nurse Miller, as she handed Randy a clipboard full of papers. "She's currently in the OR. She's being treated for her injuries. Before you can see her, you must fill these out."

Tired from running, Randy flopped into a waiting chair, just as Stottlemeyer walked into the emergency room. Upon seeing his boss, Randy jumped to his feet and said, "Sir!"

Stottlemeyer glanced over at Randy, taking in his state of being. Randy's hair was skewered every which way, there was blood on his jacket and even more on his shirt. His tie had been removed from his neck, with the top button of his shirt unbuttoned. His pants had bloody handprints from where he had unconsciously placed them. In all, Randy looked like someone who had been through hell and back.

"Randy, how's she doing?" questioned Stottlemeyer, concerned for Joy's well being, as well as Randy's.

"I don't know, sir," said Randy, "Attila the Hun over there won't let me see her until I fill out all this paperwork."

Patting Randy's shoulder reassuringly, Stottlemeyer went to talk to "Attila".

Randy started to sit down again and fill out the paperwork. Glancing at the forms, Randy couldn't answer all the questions. The most he was able to answer was her name. Was she allergic to anything? Has she ever been hospitalized before? If so, when and how long? Was she on any medications? All these questions overwhelmed poor Randy. He felt like he was going to collapse when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Expecting to see his boss, he was surprised to look up into the blue eyes of Sharona Fleming. She and Adrian Monk had arrived, after Stottlemeyer called them, while Randy was trying to dig through the forms.

"How are you doing?" asked Sharona, concern for Randy showing through her eyes.

"Not too well," said Randy, his voice threatening to break.

"What happened?" asked Sharona, on the verge of crying herself.

"I don't know, Sharona. I came home to take her shopping and I found her this way," said Randy, distraught.

Edging towards Randy, Adrian said, "I, I think I know."