We notice that even though the partying seems to have died down, all the expensive vehicles are still sitting in the driveway. There is an excited silence in the air, and it is obvious that Monk has won a small victory today.
Right when he gets into the vehicle though, Monk's expression changes to one of thoughtfulness, as it usually is. We get in the Cherokee, and proceed to reenter the highway, which is only a few blocks from the gorgeous home. I keep quiet, not wanting to break his concentration. I can almost hear the wheels in his head turning.
After we've driven for about half an hour, I can't stand the silence anymore, and I ask him what his opinion is. "So, did Mrs. Newburn do it?"
"Nah…." He shakes his head slowly. "She didn't have anything to do with his supposed suicide. And he's most definitely still alive."
"Well, how do you know that?" I ask, trying to uncover his reasoning.
"She has moved out of the house and continued her life without him. She is plenty rich, so she doesn't need his money. She doesn't care about him at all. And as she said, he didn't wear false teeth." He pauses as if finished.
"That's it?" I am shocked at his short number of reasons.
"No…." he seems agitated at me for interrupting him. "When you and I called her 'Mrs. Newburn' on different occasions, she didn't respond in the kind of uncomfortable way that a… guilty person might respond. She didn't correct us, either. She couldn't have had anything to do with this. She doesn't care enough about him."
"That's all well and good, but why would Dave Newburn fake his own suicide?" I blurt out.
"I've been trying to figure that out myself," he responds. "Wipe."
"Wipe," he says again, after an awkward pause. At first I'm completely thrown off, but then I remember that he had shaken the woman's hand before we left the house. I consider asking him why he had made the first move to do such a thing, but I realize that maybe he felt daring, if you could actually call it that, after getting a much-needed break in the case now.
I hand him the wipe, and he speaks up again. "He burned down his own house, with all his possessions in it. Seems like a stupid move, if he's expecting any kind of advantage to what he did. He must have one hell of an insur—"
He's got it now. I can see his eyes light up and his whole body switching into solved-the-case mode. A huge smile crosses his lips and he looks right at me, a childlike excitement dancing across his face.
"What is it, Mr. Monk? Did you solve the case?"
"Yes." I'm so happy for him that I'm feeling giddy too. He doesn't elaborate, though; a troubled look takes the place of his grin.
"Do you have your cell phone with you?" he asks, seemingly out of the blue.
"Yes," I mumble, reaching for my purse on the console. "I don't think there's reception here though…."
He gets a panicky look now.
"We have to hurry to the police station. They have to know—"
"Know what, Mr. Monk?"
He puts his hand on the console and pales noticeably. "Cindy Newburn is in danger."
Again, he chooses not to elaborate. It's kind of like Disher, walking into a room saying, "You won't believe what I heard," then just standing there with a stupid smile on his face. It's quite annoying to have to actually ask him to continue, but I do anyway, after waiting for what seems like five minutes.
"How so?" I ask.
"Dave Newburn faked his own suicide so that she would get all his money. He knew that she would keep it hidden in the house, just like she had always done. Somehow he had known, probably by speaking with her father, that she would be alone for a few days. He figured being dead would get him off the hook of being a suspect, and so he could steal the money, making it look like a robbery and getting away cleanly."
I don't say anything for a half a minute, completely startled at how he could have possibly come up with this from a few measly clues and an informal interview.
In complete admiration of this investigative genius, I reach over and pat him on the shoulder. "You truly amaze me, Mr. Monk. You're a genius."
I can see him beginning to blush, and he scoffs at my comment. "No, I'm not," he says. How can he remain so humble? He's a great detective, but he's so humble about it that it's hard to fathom how he could keep the pride of it inside of him.
As we continue along the crowded highway with more urgency than before, I can hear my stomach growling, but I choose to ignore it. If Dave Newburn really is going to rob her soon, I'd feel awful if something ended up happening to her on account of my hunger. Even so, Monk has heard it and is now studying me up and down as if I had just spit up on my shirt. I try to ignore him.
We reach the police station in about a half an hour, although I had hoped that my constant little bursts of speed to get around semis would cut the time. I'll have to remember that next time I am 'risking my life,' as Monk puts it so kindly.
Upon parallel parking in front of the building, I shut off the car and Monk immediately unbuckles his seat belt and leaps out onto the sidewalk. He shuts the door with a soft click, and I hit the lock button on my keyless entry so that we can proceed in.
I can tell that Monk doesn't really want to do this because this will most certainly upset Stottlemeyer, but if a person's life is on the line, then screw his feelings. He'll get over it soon enough. He was ready to rub his ass-umptions in Monk's face when he thought he had known what had happened yesterday.
Now Monk is wringing his hands, and it seems as if we're walking in slow motion. He stops momentarily to straighten some Wanted poster on the wall, and I continue walking a few more steps. I did all that quick driving for what? So he could rearrange the hallways?
I'm sorry, I'm just a little fed up by the big deal he made of this. It's like he's forgotten a life may be at stake here, and he had said it himself.
"Come on, Mr. Monk; didn't you say this was urgent?" I whine, grabbing his arm and tugging him away from his fix-it job. He tries to fight my hold, leaning his body back towards the wall. I continue to pull, and angle my feet for a stronger foothold on the floor.
Soon enough, he comes stumbling towards me, and I let him run into me.
"Are you trying to pull my arm out of its socket? Geez…." he rubs his shoulder, glaring at me the whole time.
"You can't be such a wimp all the time," I respond flatly. I know this will tick him off, but he really needs to get his mind off of the stupid posters.
"H-how can you say that? Do you think you're stronger than me or something? Well…" He fixes his sleeves. "I'll tell you, I'm stronger than Sharona, and she weighs more than you do."
"That's very nice and all, but we have to tell the captain something very important? Remember?" I start to walk away, and decide to tease him a bit. "You're still a wimp," I add coyly, speeding my pace up.
He scoffs and I can tell he is putting his hands on his hips in disbelief of what I just said. Even so, his concentration is off the wall now, and I am satisfied. Maybe we'll actually get to Stottlemeyer's office tonight.
I can hear the rapid thumping of shoes behind me, and the detective appears beside me, walking so close to me and so in my face that it's as if he's trying to count my eyelashes.
"Wh-what are you doing?" I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of how we must look right now.
"Take back what you said," he says in a dangerous yet surprisingly timid tone of voice, if you can possibly imagine that combination, but this just puts me over the edge, and I double over as I burst out laughing.
He watches me from his higher vantage point, with hands on hips again. He's leaning more to one side, showing me the impatience that he is feeling right now.
"Why is this so amusing to you?" he demands. I continue laughing. I don't know what's keeping me going so long, but now my eyes are watering.
"Is that your 'tough guy' stance?" I blurt out, still cracking up and bent over.
He hasn't moved. He watches me for a few more moments then heads back over to the wall.
"No!" I yell, standing back up. My laughing jag is done. No way am I going to let him fix more posters.
He is ignoring me now, pouting like a little kid in the corner. He is completely facing the wall now, so that I can't pull his arm to pull him back into the center of the hallway.
"I demand you stop pouting," I order, crossing my arms. "I don't know what your problem is, but we have work to do."
He doesn't even acknowledge me! He remains in the same position, now lifting his arm to straighten a corner of a missing children poster. I know what'll get him to move, but it's a risky move for me indeed. He'll probably be so embarrassed by it that he'll forget to get angry.
Cautiously, I avoid grabbing hold of the blazer fabric, and I affix my hand to the waistline of the back of his pants. I yank very quickly, and he doubles over at the waist at the initial shock of the sudden jerk, and is easily pulled back into the center of the hallway.
After I let go of him and cross my arms once more, in a defiant way this time, he finds it hard to look me in the eye for a few seconds, remaining slightly bent forward. When he straightens back up to look at me, I'm not sure what to think of how he's looking at me. I'm kind of scared though and I search his face for clues at to what he could possibly say or do next.
Just then, Stottlemeyer opens a door and greets us as we stand in our awkward positioning in the hallway. "What the hell are you doing, Monk?" he asks in his deep voice.
Monk jumps at his voice, apparently not noticing anything else, other than whatever he was thinking after I pulled him by his pants.
"Oh, uhmm… nothing, Captain," he says. "Although I came here to tell you something."
He's pulling a Disher, because he doesn't elaborate any further. Maybe he feels bad just blurting it out.
"What is it then?"
"Well, I visited Dave Newburn's wife, and I solved the case. However, there is a problem…."
He is purposely avoiding looking at me! He stares at his feet, in embarrassment maybe? In shame? I don't know, but he continues.
"Mrs. Newburn is in danger. And there is one aspect I still don't understand about the case…." He seems scatterbrained right now, and I'm not sure what Stottlemeyer is thinking of his limited explanations.
"Okay, let's go back to my office. Tell me the whole story then, and I'll then understand whatever you are talking about." He puts a hand on Monk's shoulder, and begins to walk him down the hallway towards the door of the offices.
"The suicide!" Monk exclaims. "The—fire right across from this police station!"
"Ohh…." The captain winks at me from behind the detective. "Just kidding with ya, Monk." He nudges his ribs with a fist, and after Monk flinches, we head into the heart of the police department.
Once we enter Stottlemeyer's office, I take a seat in front of his desk and the captain proceeds to sit behind his desk. Monk is still standing. I tug his jacket, and he slaps my hand away.
"When I went to talk to Mrs. Newburn today, I had thought that maybe she had something to do with this all. She invited us in, and answered all of my questions." He takes a pause to fix a figurine that is crooked on Stottlemeyer's mini fridge, and the captain speaks up. I proceed to slap Monk's hand, and he jerks it away from the crooked item.
"Is that all you got, Monk?" the captain asks.
"No….." Monk crosses his arms awkwardly in front of him, not used to keeping his hands away from things. He's still mad at me, I can tell, but there are more pressing matters at hand.
"So you solved the case, did ya?" Stottlemeyer is ready to cut to the chase. He's used to this kind of thing, I guess, having Monk around.
"Y-yes, I did…." He pauses for a moment, and prepares to explain.
"Okay…." He is now going to put the whole picture together for everyone, and I am glad. As he begins to speak, he moves his hands to convey things, yet somehow avoids seeing or touching the sloppy stack of papers in front of him on the captain's desk.
"David Newburn's wife had been having an affair on him for several months. He eventually caught on to it, but thought maybe it was just a phase, and so he let her continue…. When she moved out of the house a month or so ago to live with the guy, he couldn't stand it any more… and thought of a way to get his revenge on her. He then came up with the idea of faking his own suicide, which would automatically eliminate himself as a suspect in anything that became of her."
Stottlemeyer wants to say something. I can see it in his eyes. Monk continues before he can interrupt him again.
"He knew that her father was a dentist, so he began to visit him at his office all the time…. He… then used his father-in-law's supplies to make molds of his own teeth to use as the teeth in the body that would be found in his home." At this point Monk sees the stack, and leans forward to straighten it, and I sigh quite loudly at his time-wasting. He continues to speak as he taps the sides of the papers together to line them up.
"The next part of this is not very clear to me…." he adds quietly. "He either… kills somebody or…. Well, I'm not sure… but the point is that he replaces the man's teeth with replicas of his own, and decides to set the place on fire, to reduce the body to a skeleton so fingerprints can't be taken. He then… writes his own suicide note, and, wanting to ensure that it doesn't get destroyed, he sticks it in a fireproof box, and leaves the key on the body to connect it to the note."
Things are beginning to click with me, and I can tell Stottlemeyer is definitely convinced by this, but Monk continues.
"However, he runs into trouble after this. He has to make sure that someone can get to the body and see that that person had written the note. He figures that he can prevent the stairs and the floor from burning by soaking it with water. Being right across from the police station, he doesn't realize the firefighters will arrive as quickly as they do." He looks over at me. "Remember that man we saw who was walking out of the house? The man with the… underclothes on?"
"Oh yes," I say, completely forgiving him for his childlike behavior earlier. He has actually acknowledged my presence. "He looked like he was drunk or something…."
"Well… I think that Mr. Newburn was hiding out in the house when the firefighters arrived. When the lead firefighter came in to investigate the… state of the building, he knocked him out and put on his uniform and gas mask, so that no one would recognize him. He had to convince the cops to check out the body…." He begins to wobble, and seems almost on the verge of falling over. "Oh my God, we even met him!" he exclaims.
"Which one?" Stottlemeyer asks.
"The-the first one! The one who didn't take off his mask, even though he was well away from the building. The one who… spit…. He couldn't let the other firefighters carry the body out of the building, because it would have been separated from the box with the note. The… suicide idea wouldn't have held up as well, with that in mind."
He paces across the room.
"He is going to rob his wife at some point. That's why he didn't divorce her even though she clearly deserved a divorce. He wanted her to get the cash when he 'died', so she'd hide it in her home because that's what she says she's always done and he'd know just where to find it. It'd be in cash, so there'd be no loose ends, and he'd get away scot-free. Because he had 'killed himself,' he wouldn't even be considered a suspect."
Stottlemeyer stands up. "Well, we'd better get on it then. Where does she live?"
Monk starts to open his mouth, but I know better than to let him get the captain lost. "I'll explain it to you, Captain," I say quietly. The detective frowns.
We walk into the main office space of the police station, and Stottlemeyer approaches Disher, who is chatting happily on the phone… probably with some female friend.
"Disher," he says. "I was wrong about the case. Monk is—as usual—correct, but someone is in danger. We need the men to get ready." He turns to me. "So, what's the lady's number?"
I glare at Monk. "He didn't get her number off of her," I state.
The detective speaks up. "I… know the name of the man who owns the house, so we can call the operator, or something, right? His name is John…" his eyes are now downcast, and he kicks the floor. "Smith…."
"Great!" Stottlemeyer exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air. "Only the most common name in the United States! Do you have an address?"
Monk's eyes light up, but soon fade. "Yes… but it's such a recent address; they just moved in this past month…."
"Well," the captain grumbles. "I guess that means we drive all our men down there and have a little weekend stakeout."
