The ride over to Oakland was quicker than Stottlemeyer had predicted; in fact, it only took them about twenty minutes. They soon found themselves in front of a tall, narrow blue house surrounded by police cruisers. "I'm Captain Leland Stottlemeyer," he introduced himself to a deputy, "We talked on the phone."

"Right this way then," the deputy waved them into the house, "I hope you can help us here, Captain, this one has us stumped. He was all right last night, and now he's flat dead."

"Was he poisoned?" Natalie inquired as they entered the living room to see the body of the police chief sprawled across an armchair.

"Maybe. Once the coroner gets a good look at him," the deputy said, shaking his head, "I don't see how, though. He keeps everything in this house locked at all times since this is a bad neighborhood."

"Did he ever mention any cases he was working on lately?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"To be honest, Captain, a couple of us overheard him on the phone saying he was working on something big and was close to a breakthrough of some kind, but he never said exactly what it was," the deputy admitted.

Adrian examined a glass lying on the floor. "Milk?" he inquired after he sniffed it.

"Chief Taylor had a sort of thing for it," the deputy explained, "According to the date on the bottle, he only bought it two nights ago."

"There's something in here that doesn't taste like milk," Adrian sniffed harder, "It smells exactly like the punch did at the dance." The detective looked at the table next to the chair. "It was here," he pointed to a circle of moisture in the middle of it, "Judging by the water concentration, it was sitting here all day. You're sure no one else entered this house all day yesterday?"

"Like I said, all the doors and windows in this place are locked tight at all times when he's not home," the deputy said, "We had to break in ourselves when we didn't hear from him all day. He's almost always punctual."

"Very interesting," Adrian walked around the room making several more hand gestures. "How'd they get the poison into the milk, then? There's clearly no signs of sawing on the floorboards, and…" he felt around the walls, then wiped his hands off once he was done, "No secret panels in the wall."

"Maybe he snuck inside and let himself out?" Natalie suggested, checking the stairs for a sign of a secret entrance.

"No," Adrian produced his tweezers and withdrew the chief's keys from the dead man's shirt pocket, "If he had, these would be with the murderer. There'd be no point in putting them back on the body in that case."

"I've got a theory," Disher spoke up, "But you'll have to promise not to laugh."

"Now why would I laugh?" Stottlemeyer told him, "Just say it."

"You promise?"

"I will not laugh, Randy."

"Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters?" Stottlemeyer, true to his word, did not laugh. Rather, he nearly had a stroke.

"A splinter cell of American Death Eaters," Disher said tentatively, "They Apparated in, blew him away, then Apparated back out."

"Oh sure, and I suppose we should ask the Wicked Witch of the West if any of her Winged Monkeys have been going around carrying poison at night!" the captain thundered, "That is the stupidest theory I ever heard, Lieutenant!"

"I was only joking, sir," Disher said quickly, "I wasn't really considering it, actually."

"What are you doing now, Monk?" Stottlemeyer asked his go-to guy, who was standing near Chief Taylor's Christmas tree. "The balls," Adrian explained, pointing to them, "I'm putting them in sequence: red, blue, yellow, green, red, blue, yellow, green. It makes sense."

"This is not your tree, Monk!" yelled the captain.

"Well, he's dead, I don't he'd mind," Adrian pointed to the dead chief.

"Excuse me," the deputy ran back in, "It looks like we may have a witness. He says he saw something strange going on last night here."

"Oh good, maybe we can now…Manny?" Adrian was surprised to once again see his asylum-mate being led in. Manny, on the other hand, seemed rather happy. "I saw him!" he gushed, "This time I really saw him!"

"Who's him?" Natalie asked.

"Santa," Manny said matter of factually, "He was here last night."

"He was?" Adrian had a feeling of déjà vu, "What did you see him doing?"

"Last night I was reading the newspaper across the street…" Manny began.

"You live right across the street?" Disher asked.

'Yeah, the company gave it to me; my old house was repossessed," Manny said, "Anyway, I heard a thumping sound. I ran to the window, and there he was, right on the roof."

"What was he doing?" Stottlemeyer inquired.

"He was sort of sitting by the chimney, bent over, like he was looking at something," Manny explained, "I figure he was checking his list to make sure Mr. Taylor deserved presents. Anyway, I ran over to get my camera, but by the time I got back he was gone. I searched in the alley, but there was no sign of him. I'm guessing he parked the sleigh around the back in mid-air so he could hop back in with having to land. I'll bet he's starting early so the big night won't be too much of a hassle for him this year."

"So you did approach Mr. Taylor's house?" the Captain asked him.

"Yeah, I did, so?"

"Mr. Taylor is dead," Stottlemeyer told him, "Your friend Mr. Claus…" he had to strain himself to avoid a snigger," …may have been responsible."

"Oh no, not Santa!" Manny gasped, "He'd never hurt a flea!" He grew thoughtful. "Unless it was his evil twin Stanley Claus."

"Hey," the deputy ran back over, "We just checked this guy's house. He's got some strange looking cylinders inside this safe behind a painting."

"With yellow radiation symbols?" the captain asked.

"Exactly. Mr. Nast," the deputy looked Manny in the eye, "Do you have an explanation as to why they got there?"

"I didn't bring any of my work home with me!" Manny said nervously, "I only keep my money inside that safe!"

"Well there's nothing but radiation inside that safe now," the deputy said, "Would you like to revise your story?"

"I told you everything!" Manny was desperate.

"Would you mind stepping this way?" the Oakland cops led him off. "Well, that was even easier than I thought," Stottlemeyer confessed.

"I don't think it was him, Captain," Adrian admitted slowly.

"When they've got concrete evidence against the guy? Monk, we caught him," his boss told him.

"He was right about Santa the last time, though," the detective said, "I don't think he'd make it up again. I need to take a closer look at things here."

He walked outside before Stottlemeyer could protest. The detective walked around to the side of the house. "So what are we looking for?" Natalie joined him.

"Anything that can show there was someone up there on the roof," Adrian looked up at it, "And I can see proof now."

"And that is…?"

Check out the lights around the edge of the roof; the bulbs in that strand there look like they've been crushed ," Adrian pointed. Without warning, he climbed up on Natalie's shoulders. 'Mr. Monk!" she protested, trying hard to maintain her balance.

"You'll thank me later," he called down, "Just try and hold steady. Wait, OK, I see, let me get that."

"Now what are you doing?" she demanded.

"His icicle lights, some of them are twisted around, I'm fixing them so they alternate, left side of the strand, right side of the…"

"Mr. Monk, do you see any other evidence or not!" she couldn't hide her distaste for the situation.

"OK, yeah, I can see some," Adrian looked up at the roof, "There's at least fifteen footprints up here, and it looks like something was set down by the chimney."

"Why can't you send me up there?" Natalie complained as her boss accidentally stepped on her nose.

"Because you've been walking around in the mud most of the day, and I'm, well, me," Adrian told her, "The chimney. That table the glass of milk was on was right next to the chimney."

"So what does that mean, the sent it doooooowwwww….!" Natalie could longer keep her balance. Both she and Adrian toppled backwards into the bushes. The detective quickly jumped up and brushed himself off like there was no tomorrow. "We'll need to check the other roofs," he said, taking hold of her arm and helping her up, "They're close enough so he could have jumped from rooftop to rooftop."

Natalie opened her mouth to protest against more roof searches, but then her gaze came across something shining against the house. "Now what's this?" she wondered out loud, walking over and picking it up, "Who would want a miniature bear trap?"

"Interesting," Adrian examined the small steel jaws carefully—without actually touching them. "It broke off from something; you can see the metal's jagged on the back here. The question is, what did it break off from?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Adrian," Sharona told them back at the station afterwards, "I'm not a mechanic. I think you're right, though, he's being framed."

"What makes you so certain of that?" Natalie had to know.

'Because I've met his doctor before!" Sharona's response was less than cordial, "Manny Nast is completely harmless and innocent. I don't believe he'd steal nuclear waste for anything!"

"I want to believe him too, but then how come it got in his safe?" Natalie pointed out, "I looked afterwards; the safe was perfectly intact. No one cracked it open."

"Yeah, you're really quite the detective, aren't you?" the nurse grumbled.

"She really is," Adrian said, "She's starting to catch on really good; she found the evidence that…"

He abruptly stopped as he noticed that a dismal expression was crossing Sharona's face. He recognized it immediately: suppressed jealousy. "So, did Benjy and Julie like the movie?" he asked quickly to get off the dangerous subject.

"They did," Sharona's tone remained distant and hostile, "I dropped them off at Gail's and came down to see if I could be of some help, but I guess I won't be needed."

Stottlemeyer and Disher entered before things could get worse. "Well, if you're still bent on protecting your pal Manny Nast, Monk, we checked the vials for fingerprints, and his is the only ones on them," the captain told him.

"What about the footprints on the roof?" Adrian pointed out, fiddling with the flower on the wreath hung on the office door, "Somebody WAS up there, Captain."

"Look, Monk, he's delusional," was Stottlemeyer's rebuttal, "For all we know, he could have put on a Santa suit and climbed up there himself to act out his fantasies."

"He doesn't act out fantasies," Sharona interrupted curtly, "That's not what people with his specific diagnosis do. But I guess my word isn't gold."

There was a knock on the office door at that moment. Disher opened it a crack. "Yes?" he asked to someone outside the others couldn't see, as the office blinds were drawn, "Oh thanks. Captain, did you order some dynamite?" he asked, holding up a lit stick. He did a massive double take when he realized what he'd said. "Uh, I think it's for you, sir!" he cried, tossing the dynamite to the captain.

"Tell him thanks but no thanks!" Stottlemeyer yelped, tossing it back to Disher.

"Uh, you're the captain, you should sign off on it!" Disher threw it back to him.

"I'm not taking responsibility; Monk, you take it!" Stottlemeyer tossed it to the detective.

"Explosives aren't in my consultant contract; Natalie!" Adrian threw it to her.

"I don't want to…Sharona!" she threw it to the nurse.

"Don't give it to me, I'm not even part of this team anymore; Lieutenant!" Sharona hurled it at Disher.

"Captain!" Disher tossed it back to Stottlemeyer.

"Monk!"
"Natalie!"
"Sharona!"

"Lieutenant!"

"Captain!"

"Monk!"

"Natalie!"

"Sharona!"

"Lieutenant!"

"I've got an idea; Monk hold this!" Disher gave the detective the dynamite, then picked up Stottlemeyer's chair and started smacking the window with it. "No, not the window Randy!" Stottlemeyer yelled at him, to no avail.

"Hey what's going on in here?" Officer Joe Christie stuck his head in the door.

"BOMB!" everyone else yelled at him. Christie took the stick off Adrian and doused it in Stottlemeyer's coffee just as the fuse was starting to run out. This coincided with a loud crash as Disher broke the window open. The lieutenant, too caught up in the thrill of the moment to notice the danger was now past, grabbed the coffee cup and dynamite, threw them out the window, and dove to the floor with his hands over his ears. After a minute, he slowly rose up. "Is it over?" he asked.

"YES!" Stottlemeyer pulled his adjutant's hand off his ear and screamed into it, "It was over a LOOOOOOOONG time ago, Randy!"

Disher took a look out the window. "OOOOOOOhh," he said slowly and sheepishly, "I'll…I'll go tell the maintenance man he's got a new job."

He hurried out of the office. "Thanks Joe, nice heads-up," Stottlemeyer congratulated Christie.

"Anytime," Christie said, "I heard the shouting and had a feeling something was wrong."

"You didn't see anything, did you?" Sharona asked him.

"Well, I caught a glimpse of a guy dressed in a long gray coat and dark glasses walk up to the office door and knock," Christie admitted, "I thought he was some undercover guy."

"He's probably halfway to Fisherman's Wharf by now," Stottlemeyer grumbled, "Could you describe him to a sketch artist, Joe?"

"I could give it a try," Christie said.

"Good, good, let's do that," Stottlemeyer led him out of the office. "There's no way Manny could have orchestrated this," Adrian said out loud when they'd left, "He wasn't under suspicion until this afternoon; he wouldn't have had time to hire anyone."

"Then who is responsible?" Natalie looked like she had no idea.

"Like I said, I think there's something else at work here," Adrian looked out the shattered window at San Francisco, "Something too close for comfort."