A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up…not as fast as I used to be…hehe…Please continue to read and review. Thanks!

Chapter 4:

Mr. Goren Learns a Lesson

Bobby Goren woke up with a throbbing ache in his jaw and a sharp pain in his right eye. The light streaming in through the window told him it was morning but he had hardly slept the night before. Yes, it had to do with the fact that Alex Eames was sleeping next to him, but no, no, and no it was not for reasons one might think.

The truth of the matter was, they'd just said "goodnight" to each other and had gone to sleep. Well, Alex had. Bobby, on the other hand, was lying awake thinking over the Broadway murders. He'd been falling asleep when Alex started softly snoring. He was able to get past that, but then, just as his eyes began to droop once more, she delivered a swift kick to his jaw. He didn't know how the hell she managed to do it, or what she must have been dreaming about, but it was followed by another kick to the same spot and then, a bit later, a kick to the eye. He nearly cried out, but then remembered that he was in San Francisco in the apartment of the fastidious Adrian Monk. So instead, he gritted his teeth together and tried to sleep.

Alex rose just then, a smile on her face. She sat up, stretched and looked over. She'd nearly forgotten that Bobby was lying next to her.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Alex asked.

"Your foot," Bobby muttered.

XXX

Adrian Monk had been up for a couple of hours. He had cleaned his floor, where the detectives from New York had slightly scuffed it the night before. He had also steam cleaned the carpet. He had noticed that Bobby Goren's big feet, though rid of shoes as Adrian had asked, were large and slightly malodorous. He was certain the smell was still in the carpet, so he'd gotten up extra-early to clean. His phone rang just then, startling him.

"H-hello," he answered.

"Monk, I need you, Goren and Eames at the station house," Stottlemeyer ordered. "I've got a list of people and places for you all to cover. Disher's gonna go with you guys too. We need to get on this case before our guy strikes again."

"Oh-okay. I-I don't think they're even awake yet, but…we-we'll be there as soon as they're ready."

Monk knocked lightly on the door to the guest bedroom.

"H-Hello?"

There was no answer.

He opened the door. "Rise and—ahhh—I-I-I…"

He stood, embarrassed, but with his eyes still glued awkwardly on Alex, who was in the middle of dressing for the day and stood wearing only a bra and her slacks.

"I-didn't mean to—I'm sorry—I-I-I…"

Alex blinked. What the…why wasn't this moron leaving? She grabbed her shirt and held it to her chest. She wasn't sure whether to be offended or amused. Clearly Adrian Monk was aghast (though she didn't think she looked that bad).

Monk closed his eyes and reached blindly for the doorknob, for a way out. He stumbled out into the hallway, running directly into the wall. Well, he thought it was the wall. Then he looked up and realized it was Bobby Goren.

"You…okay?" Goren looked at him inquisitively.

"I-I-I…"

"See a ghost?"

"I-I-I…"

XXX

They had been standing on the sidewalk near the late Marsha Fleck's apartment for almost an hour, waiting for the super to come with the key. For once, San Francisco was not mired in fog, and Bobby felt himself loathing the shining sun, which was beating down upon them with surprising intensity, and causing his eye (now a nice purple shade) to throb even more. Of course he'd left his sunglasses in the squad car back in Manhattan.

Monk checked his watch. The super was way over due. He could tell the New York detectives were getting restless. He was sure they were used to running around chasing dangerous criminals all day, so it didn't surprise him a moment later when he saw Bobby Goren bust open the door to Marsha Fleck's apartment.

"What-what are you doing?"

"Going in," Bobby shrugged.

"We-we should really wait for the super," Monk said nervously.

Bobby ignored him, going in, wishing Eames, who was back at the station house making phone calls with Disher, was with him.

"Are you going to go in after him?" Natalie asked.

"Stottlemeyer said to wait for the super," Monk said. "I'm waiting for the super."

"Right," Natalie said. "And it's a billion degrees out here. I'm going to go in and see if Detective Goren needs help."

"But-but…" Monk tried to protest as she went into the apartment. He was left by himself out in the hot sun. It wasn't fair. Natalie was supposed to help him.

XXX

At the station house, Eames and Disher had been making phone calls, trying to find family members of Marsha Fleck's to no avail.

"Her driver's license did say Marsha Fleck," Alex frowned. "As did her social security card…"

"She could have changed her name," Randy said. "Lots of actresses do it."

"You'd think if she changed her name she would pick something better than Marsha Fleck," Alex said.

Randy smiled at her, a little surprised at her sarcasm, but liking it all the same.

"Okay," he said. "If you're such an expert…what would you choose? If you had to change your name, I mean?"

"I did change my name," Alex said. "When I went on the lam…then I joined the police force to really trip up the authorities…"

Randy stared at her.

"I'm kidding, Disher," she snorted. This guy was kind of adorable.

"Okay…then what would you pick?" Randy persisted.

She thought for a moment. "Kathryn…I always liked that name…with maybe something Italian-sounding for a last name…"

"Kathryn," Randy nodded. "They could call you Katy."

She smiled. "What about you?"

He was much quicker with his answer.

"Edmund Covington the Third," he grinned.

Eames' phone rang at that moment, interrupting them.

"Eames," she answered.

"I found some documents," Bobby said. He sounded a little weird, out of it.

"Bobby what's going on?" Alex asked.

"I'm in Marsha Fleck's apartment," Bobby said.

"Oh good, the super finally arrived?" Alex asked.

"Well, no so I just went in," Bobby said.

"What?" This was not like Bobby Goren, not like him at all. "Bobby what do you mean you just went in? Without a warrant? Without the super there…"

"My head hurts," Bobby said, sounding like a little kid. "But I found a note from this guy who was soliciting her to be her agent. It sounds pretty forceful. Apparently she turned him down in the past."

Alex sighed, the palm of her hand going to her forehead. "Bobby, go outside. Now. Before you find any more incriminating evidence that we can't use."

XXX

"You mean to tell me that you just waltzed in there without a warrant or the super?" Stottlemeyer couldn't believe it. Marsha Fleck had not owned the apartment. She hadn't been killed in the apartment. They'd needed permission, and they'd had it, so long as the super was overseeing the search.

"I-I…"

Stottlemeyer was getting angrier. This man was just as bad as Adrian, with his stutterings and nervous twitching, and the squinting.

"I don't know how you do things over in New York, Detective," the captain continued, "But here in San Francisco we wait till we have proper permission to go search places, and we listen to instructions when they're given and we sure as hell don't make it our business to get potentially vital information thrown out of court!"

"Captain," Monk called from Disher's desk. "Captain, Disher, look at this."

The captain, Randy and Alex went over to Monk, while the chastened Goren stayed silent, clenching his jaw in frustration.

"I got these files," Monk said, "After the super arrived. They were in Marsha Fleck's personal stuff. According to this playbill, from one of her early plays, a community theatre deal, she's originally from Staten Island."

"And?" the captain asked.

And…the answer clicked in Bobby's aching head. He knew it! He knew! Pick me!

"And, that's also where Diana Vale is originally from," Adrian finished, before Bobby could voice anything.

"Well, well," the captain smirked. "Good job Monk. That's called doing things the right way."

"My judgment was impaired," Bobby spoke up suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Stottlemeyer turned to him.

"It was a mistake, an honest one, and I hardly think it's your place to make judgments about the entire New York City Police Department based on one incident involving one officer," Bobby said.

Stottlemeyer rolled his eyes. "You screwed up my case, Goren. I don't blame NYPD. I blame you."

A timid junior officer came up to the captain just then, tapping him on the back.

"What!" Stottlemeyer's mood was going from bad to worse.

"Sir you have a phone call," the officer said, "From NYPD. There's been…another incident back there. The lead from Phantom of the Opera."