EIGHT
Adrian took a sip from his cup of tea. He glanced around the brightly lit room and smiled at Trudy. "This was a very nice idea," he told her warmly.
"I knew you'd like it," she said warmly, "It's right up your alley."
"Adrian," came Sharona's voice from the kitchen. She and Benjy walked out carrying a gigantic bottle of Sierra Springs water. "I thought you'd like some of this," she said, pouring him a neat cup.
"Yes, I would," her former employer nodded, "I don't know why I'm even drinking this tea."
"Probably because I made it," Trudy touched his hand.
"Yes, that probably explains it," Adrian smiled.
"Mr. Monk, here's my first draft," Benjy handed him a thick script, "They say they might want to publish it. I think they really like your cases. You might get lucky and land a movie or TV show."
"TV show or movie? I don't think I'm that entertaining," Adrian said, but he was still smiling. He nodded as he leafed through the manuscript. "This is perfect, everything is just absolutely perfect," he said, putting his arms around all three of them, "This is heaven on earth. I never want it to end."
They all smiled at him. That was when Adrian felt the cold breeze against the back of his neck. He turned around. A gigantic shadowy hand was snaking in through the door. A hand with six fingers. "Oh no!" he gasped, jumping to his feet, "It's coming! We've got to get out of here!"
He started running, but looked back when he realized no one else was joining him. They in fact seemed unaware of the danger. They were in. "Come on, run!" Adrian screamed, gesturing for them to follow him, "Please, run; he'll get you!"
But it was too late. The hand grabbed all three of them and dragged them screaming out the door. "No!" Adrian tried running after them, but the faster he ran, the farther away they got, "Come back! Don't leave me, don't…Trudy!"
And then he woke up with a start. Breathing heavily, he glanced out the window. It was still dark. The lantern blazed on. "Are you all right, Adrian?" a concerned Fraser asked him. The Mountie was upright and had clearly been awake for some time. "You've been talking in your sleep for exactly thirty-eight minutes."
"Oh, just a nightmare, that's all," Adrian said. He lovingly stroked Trudy's picture. "I'm sorry," he told her.
"Do you have nightmares often about your wife dying a lot?" Fraser inquired.
"How'd you know?" Adrian was impressed.
"Since you ended you nightmare screaming her name, it was a safe assumption," Fraser leaned up against the bed. "You can't keep lingering on how you could or couldn't have saved her, Adrian," he told him, "What has passed is past, and we cannot change the decisions of the Fates. Tis best to be as Shakespeare: 'When the wind is southerly, I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw.'"
"Well sometimes the hawk looks a lot like the handsaw," Adrian admitted, "Especially when the wind's from another direction."
"Understandable," Fraser mused, "Letting go in regards to a lot of things is hard. But I sense there's more haunting you than that."
"Yes, actually," Adrian nodded, "I really want to solve this one for Sharona. Just to say thanks, you know, for everything she's done for me. I never did get a chance to ask what I mean to her."
"And you want to know if she really has feelings for you other than that of nurse to patient and boss to employee?"
"I don't know, really," Adrian looked quite torn, "I mean, nobody ever really tells me how they feel. So I don't know if they really appreciate my company or not."
"And it's that important to your psychic well being?"
"To me, yes."
"Well, that's also understandable, but my advice would be not to dwell too much on that thought," Fraser told him, "One thing my grandmother taught me is that if we spend our lives trying to concentrate on what others think of us, we end up being an empty shell of ourselves. I'm sure Mrs. Fleming appreciates all you've done for her."
"But what if something goes wrong and she…joins Trudy?" Adrian wasn't quite at peace yet, "And I never get to say anything?"
"She'll know, trust me," Fraser patted him on the shoulder, "Now don't worry about it. You've made great strides in assisting us to solve this case, and I know in my heart you're going to make a breakthrough in the near future."
"You do?" Adrian was impressed for once.
"Yes, I do," Fraser smiled, "You should try and think more highly of yourself. You're a good man, and should give yourself the symbolic pat on the shoulder more often."
He yawned. "Well, I suppose that should put you at ease for the moment," he said, lying back down, "Feel free to arouse me, though, if more concerns become you."
"I will," Adrian nodded as Fraser blew out the lantern. He inhaled deeply. He had a LOAD of other concerns that he didn't feel like saddling Fraser with. For the moment, however, his primary worries had been put to rest, and he was grateful for that.
"That's a stop sign, you went through a stop sign," Adrian told Vecchio as they drove toward Frank Zuko's house the next morning.
"Hey pal, if you think you can drive any better, why don't you come up here and do it yourself?" Vecchio snapped.
"That's a bad idea," Natalie interceded, "We'd never go anywhere if he drove."
"Yeah, good point," Vecchio realized.
"Now you're going three miles over the speed…" Adrian pointed to the odometer.
"Monk, it's OK," Stottlemeyer looked him right in the eye, "Let the man drive—or else he might do something that would cost him his shield."
"And you don't want me to do that," Vecchio flexed his wrists. Adrian nodded and fell silent. They pulled into Zuko's driveway.
"Wow," Disher exclaimed as they hopped out of the car, "I'm seriously impressed. They have great houses here in Chicago."
"You don't want this one," Vecchio said, leading them up to the door, "It was built on illegal money." The Chicago cop knocked hard on the door. A haggard-looking Frank Zuko opened it. "Ray," the mob boss exclaimed at the sight of his longtime acquaintance, "Long time no see. I thought you'd moved out west."
"Yeah, well I still have business here," Vecchio said sharply, "You know my pal the Mountie, this is Captain Stottlemeyer, Lieutenant Disher, Detective Monk, Miss Teeger. They're all from San Francisco on a case we think you might have something to do with."
"So you're the famous Adrian Monk?" Zuko shook both of Adrian's hands, "Your reputation proceeds you. I've heard much about your exploits out in San Francisco. Won't you come in?"
"We'd like to, thanks," Adrian gestured to Natalie, who handed him a wipe. They walked into the foyer. "Mr. Zuko, have you ever seen this woman or her son?" Fraser asked Zuko, handing him a photograph of Sharona and Benjy—specifically the one taken while they had been on vacation with Adrian at the hotel where Lupe Olivencia had been murdered.
"No, I can't say I have," Zuko said, handing the photo back. He sat down at his office desk and pulled a packet of gum out of the drawer. "Gum, anyone?" he asked, offering it around.
"We're not taking anything from you, Zuko," Vecchio said roughly, "Last night your pal Timmy Garbani tried to kill Constable Fraser and Detective Monk. He didn't say anything under interrogation, but I'm willing to bet any amount of dough you told him to. So why don't you save yourself a lot of trouble and tell me what your role in the kidnapping is?"
"Well I would if I was part of it, but you're barking up the wrong tree, Ray," Zuko said, reclining confidently in his chair, "You know I don't do kidnapping, and if you…"
He was cut off by a clinking sound. Adrian was touching the center of the chandelier over the room. "Is there a problem, Detective Monk?" the mob boss asked.
"Oh nothing, I just have to do it with everyone's chandeliers," Adrian said. He walked over to the wall and straightened a crooked picture of the Zuko family. "Mr. Zuko, where were you three days ago?" he inquired.
"Ah, that's the thing," Zuko said, "I was down in Florida. Me and the whole family—and extended family too," he shot a knowing glance at Vecchio, who looked like he didn't believe a word his old enemy was saying, "We spent the last two weeks at the Grand Floridian at Disney World. You need proof?"
"That would be greatly appreciated," Stottlemeyer said.
"Well, here you are," Zuko opened another desk drawer and handed the captain several photographs. "There, you see, that's us at the Magic Kingdom," he said as Stottlemeyer examined them, "I also have receipts if you need to look at them too."
Stottlemeyer nodded. Zuko handed him several of the receipts in question. "These do look pretty legitimate, what do you think, Monk?" he asked, only to find his go-to man examining the curtains. Fraser looked at the receipts instead. "Yes, these are authentic, Captain," the Mountie nodded, "You can see the imprint of the Disney World logo here in the center; that's practically impossible to forge."
"You'll also notice how tan I am," Zuko pointed to his face, which indeed showed signs of having been in a warm sun for a long period of time, "You can't get a tan like this in Chicago at this time of year."
"That's quite true," Fraser nodded, "On the surface at least your story appears to check out, Mr. Zuko."
"What are you saying Constable, that you can't trust the obvious truth?" Zuko chided him, "You can call the airlines for all I care; it was Delta flight 893 down and 3992 coming back. They'll vouch for me that I was there."
"Maybe you called your friends and orchestrated the abduction from Florida?" Disher suggested, "That's how Al Capone did the St. Valentine's Day Massacre."
"Maybe I could if my cell phone was working," Zuko pulled it out of his pocket and showed it to Disher, "As you can see, it's out of service. Some internal function failed before I left for Orlando. The phone at the hotel room was broken, too. There was no way I could have called back here to Chicago."
"And you really expect us to believe you?" Vecchio snapped, "I know you, Zuko; that story's just a little too convenient for me. If you think…"
"Ray," Zuko said abruptly, "I know you want to bring this woman and her son home safely, and really, I'd like to help any way I can. Anyone who tries to ransom someone for half a billion dollars when their family has no money to begin with deserves the chair. You've seen the evidence, gentlemen…and Miss Teeger; I am not involved. There is no way I could have been involved. Now if you don't have any further questions…"
"I, I have one," Adrian spoke up, "When was the last time you cleaned the curtains here?"
He pointed at the ones hung in the window behind the desk. "I don't know, probably about seven months, I guess," Zuko told him.
"You wouldn't mind if we took them with us and cleaned them for you, would you?" Adrian asked, "I mean, a lot of people have clearly been smoking in here, and…"
"Monk!" Stottlemeyer raised both eyebrows at him. "Or maybe we'll come back later," Adrian said quickly, backing away from the window.
"As I was saying, if you don't have any further questions concerning your thoughts of my involvement in this little kidnapping of yours, I'll show you to the door," Zuko gestured toward it.
"Well, thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Zuko," Stottlemeyer shook hands with him, "We'll call again if we need to come back. Just don't leave town."
"Oh I won't," Zuko smiled at him as he and the others walked toward the door. Vecchio, however, hung behind. "Zuko," he told his foe, "I'm telling you right now, if I find you're involved with this, I'm going to nail you to the wall."
"Oh come on Ray, don't tell me you're still that obsessed with Irene," Zuko half-scolded him, "You know it was an accident as much as I do."
"It was an accident, yeah, but you should count yourself lucky I still didn't hammer you for it!" Vecchio said threateningly, "Not one but two kids' lives are in danger in this 'little kidnapping of ours,' and if you make another attempt on our lives, you're going down harder than you can possibly imagine."
"Really Ray? Well then, why don't you prove I did it?" Zuko dared him. Vecchio was silent, knowing he couldn't at the moment. He did, however, whisper, "I'll be keeping my eye on you!" before he walked out after the others. "We've got to nail him, I just know he did it," he confided in them, "Didn't he, Detective Monk?"
"Yeah, what do you think, Monk?" Stottlemeyer asked as they stepped outside.
"He's not THE the guy, but he is the guy," Adrian told him.
"Huh?" the Chicago cop frowned, "Don't be teaching him how to speak Canadian, Benny; I can barely understand you when you speak it," he told the Mountie.
"Ray, I believe Detective Monk said that although Mr. Zuko did not plan the abduction, he is the one who executed it," Fraser told him.
"Yes, great!" Vecchio pumped his fists in the air in delight at the thought of his longtime nemesis finally going to jail, "Now how do we know it's him, so that we call tell his grand jury when we book him?"
"I got a good look inside his desk drawer when he was getting out the photos for us; one of the things he has in there are the keys to Amanda Graystone's car," Adrian said, "Plus he knew the exact ransom figure; that hasn't been made public yet, so how could he know unless he was in on it? And he's using an elephant to keep Sharona prisoner both actually and psychologically."
"An elephant? How can you tell that?" Disher asked.
"He's got a permit for one on his windowsill; from the looks of it, it was issued only about ten days ago," the former detective said, "Since her fear of elephants—which I must admit, I still find rather silly—is something she doesn't tell a lot of people about, we can assume whoever ordered him to kidnap her and Benjy is someone she knew personally. Someone she would trust telling she doesn't like elephants."
"It's not Gail, is it?" Disher asked, concerned.
"No Randy, it's not Gail, I can say that now," Adrian reassured him, "She has zero motive for wanting her sister to disappear. I called her up last month, in fact—just to keep the old times going in a way—and she told me how much she misses her too."
"But that doesn't explain the suntan or how the receipts match up," Natalie pointed out as they climbed into the Riviera, "How could he have done it when he was in a hotel room in Orlando during the abduction—without a phone?"
"I know, it seems impossible," Adrian conceded, "But he's the guy."
Inside, Zuko was dialing his phone. "It's me," he told the person on the other end as he watched the Riviera drive away, "I just got visited by your friend Adrian Monk. No, he hasn't figured it out yet, but I can tell just by looking at him he's as good as you'd said he'd be. I know, I said I'd take care of it, and I will. You just make sure you hold up your end of our bargain. Yeah, that's a threat. I'm just saying, if you try to cut me out of my share, I'll happily tell the cops everything and bring you down. Right, I'll get on it. Adrian Monk won't be a threat much longer."