"Wrong lane, wrong lane!" Adrian pointed at the road ahead of them. It had been a slow go back to his apartment due to traffic clogging the roads. The evacuation was not going as smoothly as Stottlemeyer would have hoped, as all roads out of town were jammed tight, and even the commandeering of the city's buses and trains by the state National Guard to assist those without ready transportation, it was going to be a nightmare getting everyone to safety. ""Stop sign!" he pointed out.

"Who cares?' Natalie didn't. She swerved into a remarkable open space in front of his apartment. No sooner had they left the car than a sleazy-looking man in a worn-out trench coat approached them. "Adrian Monk?" he asked the detective.

"That's me," Adrian had a sinking feeling what was coming next.

"It's my duty to present you with this court order forbidding you to undertake any further activity on the case concerning the death of Clarissa Hart by order of her parents," the man handed him a document.

"This is utterly insane!" Natalie protested, "He's been working harder than you can imagine to try and crack this case for them!"

A squealing of tires indicated Stottlemeyer's arrival. "What's going on here?" he demanded as he jumped to the sidewalk.

"Captain Leland Stottlemeyer?" the man inquired.

"Yes. You're from that slimeball law firm Cess, Poole and Drane, aren't you?"

"You are also ordered to cease and desist in the investigation of Clarissa Hart and…"

"How can they do this?" Stottlemeyer thundered, looking like want to tear the document up in his hands.

"Because you didn't listen to us," came the voice of Eric Hart from around the corner. He and his wife strolled into view, looking triumphant. "I specifically told you we didn't want Monk on this case, Captain, but you didn't listen, so now you're going to have to live with the consequences."

Stottlemeyer sputtered in disgust. "I am investigating a major domestic terrorist threat here!" he growled, "And I couldn't have gotten half of the information I've received without the aid of Detective Monk!"

"The fact remains, you broke your word to us," Rochelle retorted, "As such we have filed this injunction against the two of you."

"So I see," Natalie was now getting rather venomous herself, "You're acting out of self-hatred for Detective Monk, so much so you're blinded by it!"

"Stay out of this Natalie!" Rochelle snapped.

"No I will not!" she roared, "He's been so bent on trying to help you and your husband, and all you can do is spit in his face! Well, you want to take us off this case, that's fine with me! The two of you can live with eternal regret not having closure! I go through it everyday with my husband, and it's a nightmare!" After a moment's pause, she followed this up with, "Quite frankly, Clarissa didn't deserve either of you as parents!"

This stunned the Harts into silence. From upstairs in the apartment came an abrupt crashing sound. Adrian shuddered in distaste. "This is ridiculous!" Stottlemeyer was still ranting. He took a hard look at the injunction document. "Judge Ira Lipton, huh? I know him, I'll set this damn thing straight!"

He started dialing his cell again. Another crash reached the ground. Adrian ran inside and barreled up the stairs. Ambrose was out in the hall, looking quite displeased. "I've been trying to talk some sense into her all day," he said quickly as his brother approached, "She's stoned clean out of her skull, and now she's been rooting through my files for no reason."

"How much?" Adrian asked him.

"At least six bottles, probably more, primarily Pabst; I've been trying to find them so she can't get any worse," Ambrose said, "Good luck."

"Yeah," Adrian took one look inside the apartment and shuddered, "I think I'm going to need it."

He cautiously walked inside. The curtains he'd separated each section with were askew, and most of the furniture had been overturned. The stench of alcohol was ripe in the air. He shook his head sadly. If he'd known it could have come to this…

"Sharona?" he called out. A loud burping sound from the kitchen gave her away. He inched toward it. The nurse was hung over the sink making unpleasant noises. The detective took special dislike in the fact that she'd spread out all the utensils all over the kitchen. "What, what have I told you," he said, unable to make himself truly sound stern, "No drinking when you're grounded, young lady!"

Sharona ever so slowly turned to face him. "How'd you get in?" she asked slurrily.

"This is my house, I have a key," he said, helping her to a chair, "If, if you're going to throw up, we agreed, you'd do so in a double sealed specially designed vomit bag that you'd find in the designated section over there," he pointed to them in the corner, thankfully untouched.

"I don't have to do anything you say," Sharona slurred, "You never did anything for me."

'Now that's, that's not true," he said, trying to stay calm, "Think of all those times I saved your life, like down in the sewers when…"

Noticing she was about to upchuck, he ran as fast as he could to the vomit bags and brought over several at once. He closed his eyes, unable to watch it unfold in front of him. Once she was done, he quickly sealed the bags, dumped them in the trash, and started washing his hands crazily. "You're lucky Benjy's with Natalie's family," he tried his best to scold her, "You're not setting the best of…"

"Five years with you, and not one word of thanks," she continued ranting, "But obviously you didn't need me."

"Of course I needed you," he said, drying his hands off with an untouched towel, "Sharona, you helped pull me out of my funk more than anyone or anything else."

"Yeah right," she snorted,"where'd I put that can?"

'You're not having anymore," Adrian told her, "I can tell you've had enough. And you did help me, honest."

"For what? You never paid me anything, Adrian."

"I paid you."

"Oh sure, too bad you'd have to use Little Miss Perfect to find it."

"Little Miss Perfect? Natalie's not perfect, far from it."

"Well you could have fooled me," Sharona wasn't buying it. She lurched toward the counter, apparently looking for more beer, "She's certainly more perfect than I am."

"I think you need to lay down for a little bit," Adrian hesitantly reached for her hand.

"I'll lay down when I'm good and ready!" she retorted, "Since you invited me here, I can sit where I want, snack when I want, go the bathroom when I want,do whatever the hell I want. Are you listening to me, Adrian?"

The detective in fact wasn't. His face had lit up like a Christmas tree. "That's it!" he exclaimed, making some obtuse hand gestures, "That's it! Sharona, you're a genius!"

"I am?" she asked, not looking directly at him.

"Yes!" he took hold of her arm and gave it a vigorous pumping, "Yes! You solved the case! We've got the…!"

His expression dropped again. "But that would have to mean…" he said slowly, looking abruptly stunned. He made a few more gestures, then rushed into the living room, where Julie's laptop had been left after she and the other children had been relocated. Wiping down the latch, he opened it—and scrubbed down the entire keyboard and mouse pad.

"What's all the shouting about?" Ambrose had reentered the apartment.

"Sharona helped me solved the case," Adrian lowered his hands over the keys, only to stop and wipe them all off again. "Unfortunately, the attack on your house happened to be a bit…"

Would you rather I check whatever you're looking for?" Ambrose asked him. Adrian nodded. "Type in Newark Central High School of New Jersey, Class of 1982," he asked his brother.

Ambrose did just that. "What are we looking for?" he asked.

"Go to the pictures section," Adrian told him, "There, that one," he pointed at one of what looked like a shop class. "Wait a minute," Ambrose frowned once he enlarged it, "I noticed all this morning and last night when I went to get some milk, this guy was parked near the corner, he was staring at the apartment with…" he gasped when he read the caption at the bottom. "Oh my God, I don't believe it!" he exclaimed, "You mean, all along…?"

Adrian nodded grimly. It was at this moment that Stottlemeyer ran into the apartment. "Great news Monk," he announced, "The Harts filed the injunction incorrectly, so it doesn't stick. We're back on the case."

"Good timing ,we just solved it," Ambrose told him.

"You solved it?" Natalie entered the apartment as well.

"Sharona solved it," Adrian told her, "Natalie, what kind of car does your family drive?"

"Oh, I guess they'd use the Lincoln if they were going on a trip down here."

"What specific brand and year?"

"Uh, I think it's a 1995 Continental, license plate JGLOWTHR."

"Captain, call the motor vehicle pool," Adrian told his boss, "Tell them we want to locate that car and get a police escort on it as soon as possible."

"Why?" the captain asked, looking befuddled.

"Because he knows," Adrian said cryptically, looking very dark, "He's known for some time now."

"What, you're saying…it was the same guy who did in Trudy that stole the waste and poisoned Clarissa and Taylor?" Stottlemeyer couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"No, but the bombings have a distinct connection," Adrian looked grim as to what that connection was supposed to be.

"I'd better call them then," Natalie looked worried. She dialed her cell phone, then sighed in disgust. "Forgot to recharge!" she grumbled, "Here, hold this Mr. Monk, I'll see if I can find the charger."

She handed the phone to Adrian. "I'll call," Stottlemeyer told her, "It's really that serious, huh Monk?"

"Exactly," the detective closed up the laptop. Ambrose reopened it and turned it off for him. "We've got to get to the Howard plant," the detective went on, "We'll catch the suspect there."

"Well Monk, we'd never get there before midnight if…chopper," Stottlemeyer snapped his fingers, "I can get a chopper for us."

A loud snoring sound came from the kitchen. "While, while you're out see if you can get about, oh, thirty-eight cups of black coffee," Adrian suggested, "Make sure they're all nice and even. We're going to need to take her with us. You've got to come too, Ambrose."

"Me?" Ambrose asked, nervous, "Outside?"

"You'll thank me later," Adrian told his brother.

"I, I don't think I can," Ambrose gulped, "I think I've done enough traveling for this year."

"That man outside would be gunning for you too, which would be very easy if you stay here," Adrian informed him. Ambrose shrugged. "Well, if my life's at stake, might as well," he reasoned.

"Anyway, get that helicopter quick, Captain," Adrian told his boss, "We'll have to hurry if we want to catch him red-handed."