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We head back to my house, and immediately Monk heads to the spot where the carrots had spilled. I sigh with relief as I approach the spot, for Julie had cleaned up all the carrots and the bag; even so, I could tell that the detective still saw something.
"What is it, Mr. Monk?"
He straightens back up, for he had been bending at the waist to inspect the carpet. "There's a small… orange… stain…. on the rug…"
As soon as I realize that he has superhuman sight, he runs off into the bathroom, retrieving a spray bottle of carpet stain remover and a rag in less than a minute.
I am stunned. "How did you know where I keep that stuff? Were you nibbing around while you were in there?" I cross my arms, waiting for his explanation.
"No…." he stammers. His modesty is amazing, how he can hold back from blurting out his reasoning. "I figured that… after that night when you killed the intruder… that there'd be blood on the floor and on your couch, a lot of blood." He pauses momentarily as he reaches the microscopic orange mark on the floor, and the suspense in the air hangs heavily as he takes his next breath. "By the box of half-empty baking soda sitting on the kitchen table, I figured that you probably first tried to scrub the blood out… but that didn't work because there was too much blood, and it was staining up the rags. You then decided to use the stain remover with the clean rags you had left. After you were done –because you were so disturbed by the possible contamination with blood – you put it in the scrub bucket with the rags." He sinks to the ground slowly, spraying the tiny spot with a ridiculously large amount of the stain remover, until it is a puddle on the rug.
I can't help but let my jaw drop at his comments, even though he is busy wasting a bottle of my stuff. "Well, how did you know to look in the bathroom for it? I usually keep it and the stain remover in the kitchen…."
He begins to scrub furiously at the stain with the rag, steadying himself with his other hand. "You couldn't stand the thought of bringing the bucket, even though you cleaned it out, back out into the kitchen where you eat and cook, so you left it in there, to hold a plunger, maybe, when you got around to remembering….." After he is satisfied with the thoroughness of the scrubbing job, he checks, and double checks, to make sure the speck is gone. "You left the stain remover bottle in it because you may have thought it was contaminated with blood as well…. Including the… rags that you soaked in the bucket…." He rises to a standing position as he rubs the strong-smelling chemical off of his hands with the rag, and gives me a squinty smile.
I am taken aback, and more strengthened in my resolve to believe his earlier theory that the man in the building did not commit suicide.
"You are truly amazing, Mr. Monk. I… your reasoning just… blows me away."
After staring at him for a minute or so, I head to Julie's room, even though I can hear her laughing at the same annoying T.V. show she had been watching earlier.
"Hey, Julie; we're back!" I exclaim, pushing her door open.
"Hi, Mom," she replies coolly. "Is… Mr. Monk still here?"
I step further into her room to answer, speaking more quietly. "Yes, he is. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," she says, shaking her head, as her pigtails swing back and forth. "I just… wanted to do my homework on the kitchen counter, but he makes me write right on the line."
I reach over and rub the top of her head. "What's so bad about that?" I say, half laughing. "It's important to write neatly."
She gives me an are-you-kidding look which conveys everything she's thinking, and I can't help but smile.
Monk appears in the doorway. "C-could you come out here please, Natalie?" It seems urgent by the way he is 'subtly' motioning with his hands.
I leave Julie to her show, and follow Monk into the living room, where he stops and stands in a trance, it seems, deep in thought.
As I put my hands on my hips, Monk breaks his stare and looks at me. "That man… did not commit suicide," he says. "Why would someone who was planning on dying care whether the steps were intact? That key seals the deal."
I hold back a smile at his use of slang. "Anything else you can think of as further proof?" I ask carefully.
"Well, the bones were unusually white, but… I don't understand how that fits into it. And that strange man…." He pauses for a moment, but I can tell he is going to say more. "Also—did you see how the body was laying? You'd think, in a fire, that one would stay in a corner, or by the window, to breathe—"
"They could always use the excuse that he wanted to die, so avoided doing that."
"Don't you see?" He seems desperate to prove his point. "Anyone, no matter if they want to die or not…. the survival instinct will kick in. That's why you can't hold your breath and suffocate yourself…" He shakes his head in confusion.
I nod in agreement. Suddenly my cell phone rings. I pick it up to find it's Disher.
"Hello, Natalie?" he says, as if unsure of what he's doing. "Is Monk there?"
"Yes, he is," I sigh, and hand the phone to Monk, who wipes the earpiece off with his sleeve first.
"Hello?" the detective timidly asks. He's probably afraid it's Stottlemeyer, calling to brag or something.
I can't hear what Disher is saying, but Monk is changing his stance as if angry or annoyed.
"Could you—tell him to… have a medical examiner look the body over?" he says. "To make sure it's the Dave guy that wrote the suicide note?"
"Dave guy?" I mouth to Monk, wondering if he's actually forgotten the last name. I then remember that the note was signed 'Dave' with no last name.
Monk fidgets, obviously uncomfortable talking to Disher, who seems to be ratting on Stottlemeyer's confidence.
"—What I think? I don't think he committed suicide," he states matter-of-factly.
He then says goodbye and hangs up the phone, handing it back over to me.
"He's going to send it to a medical examiner, and see if it's really 'Dave.'" He says the last word like he's having trouble believing that it is this 'Dave' person.
Unsure of what to do until the results come back, Monk requests to be brought home, to think for awhile. I comply, and as I head back to my apartment, I can feel his anxiousness at finding out this vital clue that will make or break his theory.
After putting the meatloaf in to cook, as a dinner for all of us, I chop up some cucumbers for the salad, but keep missing them with the knife on account of my nervousness. I pray that he is correct on his assumptions, but my stomach is flopping around. He'd feel terrible to be disproved, because he had pointed out some strange coincidences that didn't mesh well with the suicide story.
The call comes four hours later, at about 4:30 pm. I immediately scramble over to the phone while Julie stares up at me from her homework on the counter.
With hands trembling, I pick up the phone and blurt hello into the receiver as if I'm already sure.
"Hello there, Natalie," the voice says. It is Disher. He sounds uneasy. "Is Monk still with you?"
"No," I say. "He's at home, thinking things over. So, does the body belong to a Dave?"
"You won't believe it when I tell ya…" He pauses, and I can't help but roll my eyes at his stupid habit of keeping the suspense.
"Tell me then." This news is urgent to me.
"Well, the body does belong to a Dave Newburn… just moved into the place. He was estranged from his wife Cindy, who had been having an affair on him during the last 6 months or so of their marriage. She had moved out to live with her lover a month ago. He never did sign the divorce papers, even though it's been several months since his wife first gave them to him. Maybe it's because he'd always hoped that she'd return to him. Apparently, though, this move-out was too much for him to bear…."
After his little speech, I can sense that Disher is very proud of himself.
"I guess the case is closed then, Disher," I say, feeling upset for Monk. "Are you going to call him, or do you want me to call him?"
"Well, I'll call him," Disher states. "He's gonna be really let down; I'll break it to him gently."
We then hang up and I go sit next to Julie, and tell her all about what Monk found at the suicide scene.
"I feel bad for Mr. Monk," she says quietly. "Maybe he's not totally wrong."
A few minutes later I get a phone call from Monk.
"Natalie, we have to go to the medical examiner," he states breathlessly. "I have to look at the body again, before it's too late…."
