Disclaimer: I don't own monk. sorry i keep forgetting to say that.

"–. The killer was waiting for him, he set everything up, and waited for this guy to climb up with that…that…thing."

"Monk, how can you possibly know that from here?" Stottlemeyer asked, gesturing at the building 20 feet away.

"There's a dent in the chimney, like someone was leaning against it, and the rope is tied to the tree, not lying on the ground somewhere." Monk replied, still looking in revulsion at the horrible thing on the roof.

"Chambers, check the chimney for a dent, will you? And send over the witness, Mr, uh, Mr, Mr. My-Name-Is-Unpronounceable while you're at it." Chambers ambled over to a man dressed in a fur coat, said something to him, and went over to check the Chimney.

The man in the Fur Coat sauntered over to Monk and Stottlemeyer, looking at them haughtily. He opened his mouth, revealing teeth that made monk feel nauseated, and asked, "Will this take long, Mr. Stottleminer? I have and appointment with the governor's wife imminently."

Stottlemeyer glared at him, and then asked him to recount what he saw.

"I was about to fall asleep in my limousine when I glanced out the window. There was a man killing another one on the roof. At the time I thought nothing of it, what do peasants matter to the cream of society? When I woke up, however I decided to report it to the police while I waited for a servant to bring me my breakfast. May I return to my appointments now Mr. Strutlemayor?"

As the man turned to leave, Monk interjected "Wait, just a minute, Mr, Mr,"

"Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist. What is your question?"

"Do you own a boat, Sir?" Monk asked.

Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist replied arrogantly, "Three. Why?"

"Just wondering." Monk replied. As Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist walked away, Monk checked his shoulders and began to Monkify the crime scene. A glint of metal caught his eye.

"Captain, found the shell casing." Monk reported, picking it up. "Lane and Westing, nine-millimeter."

"Thanks Monk." The captain said, extending his hand. With one hand Monk gave it to him, with the other he snapped and said "Wipe. Wipe. Sharona what-" Monk turned to her, only to find she wasn't there.

A/N: sorry, I miscalculated. In this story, Monk is 46, not 42. Sorry.