"Oh don't mind Shannon, Mr. Monk," Julie told him, somersaulting across the balance beam, "She's been jealous of Wendy ever since she made the team. She used to be their big star, so any chance to slander her would be right up her alley."
"Now, now that is your own deduction, or did Wendy tell you that herself?" Adrian had to ask, frantically chasing her along the length of the beam with his arms outstretched in case she fell.
"Yes, it's what I deduced from everything I've seen and heard," she said somewhat defensively, balancing on her right arm much to Adrian's great discomfort, "I thought you could trust what I tell you by now. And there's no need to do that; I'm not going to fall."
Adrian was far from sure of this, but nonetheless he decided it would be better to respect her wishes on the matter and stepped back away from the beam. Still, his mind was racing over what Shannon had told him earlier. While he did trust Julie's word wholeheartedly, something deep inside him was now wondering exactly how trustworthy Wendy's word was. Now that he thought of it, it was a little unusual that her initial request once Stottlemeyer had arrived on the scene was to insist she be allowed to tape her cereal commercial. And she had seemed much, much calmer following the attack than one ordinarily would in the same predicament--as he recalled, she acted rather calm after her initial burst of grief following the assault and seemed far more able to walk about without problems afterwards, not exactly what one would expect following a bat attack.
"Oh, you're just imagining things," he shook his head firmly, "Julie's right; you've been approached by a jealous young woman. Then again, maybe she's got more up her sleeve than she'd be willing to let on."
And he knew who to talk to about that. Reluctantly leaving Julie to her own devices, he walked over to Coach Shute, now watching a short-haired blond girl try vaulting the horse. The moment she touched the mat and rumpled it up beyond belief, though, the detective couldn't stop himself from lunging forward and pressing the creases out of it. "Are you schizo or something?" the girl asked him with raised eyebrows.
"Just, just making it sanitary for whoever tries this next," Adrian told her, waving wildly at Natalie on the bleachers for another wipe.
"I thought I asked you to take a seat, Mr. Monk?" Coach Shute asked him wearily, waving the girl off to the parallel bars.
"Sorry, sorry, but maybe you can help me," Adrian zippered the coach's jacket all the way up before he took the wipe from Natalie as she came behind him, "Shannon, I'm wondering, she and Wendy, have they...?"
Coach Shute let out a low laugh, but not one of humor. "Somehow, Monk, I had a feeling you'd be asking me about that," he remarked, "I'll be honest, sometimes I really feel like letting the both of them go; they don't like each other at all, and I'm worried that'll poison the rest of the team. Why, do you think what's happened to Wendy might have something to do with this feud?"
"Well first, when exactly did it start?" Natalie asked, puzzled intrigued lining her brow; clearly Wendy having a feud with anyone was news to her.
"About a year ago when Wendy first burst to our attention," the coach laid it out for her and her employer, ignoring Adrian's attempt to wipe down both the horse and the springboard, "Shannon's been captain for about a year and a half, and I can tell very clearly she doesn't want to share the spotlight with anyone else. I don't want to take sides in something like this, particularly since Wendy hasn't treated Shannon as well in return, even though I beg for my players to treat others with the utmost..."
The sound of the door to the pavilion hall opening made him turn. Several other international teams wearing every color of the rainbow were milling about. Coach Shute nodded and blew his whistle. "OK ladies, that's..." he stopped and abruptly gasped for air as Adrian seized the whistle and almost suffocated him trying to pull it off and clean it. Natalie quickly pulled it out of his hand and fixed a withering glare at him. The detective shrugged and took several steps away from the coach. "As I was saying, ladies, that's practice for tonight," Shute continued once he'd gotten his breath back, "Lights out by ten; we're back here tomorrow morning."
Slowly the American gymnasts shifted away as the international teams from countries such as Albania, China, Sweden, Belarus, and even Pakistan filed over to the equipment, although the Russians, featuring some of the largest and most muscular female gymnasts Adrian had ever seen apparently got first dibs. "They, they seem rather good," he couldn't help commenting as one executed an admittedly sensational somersault on the parallel bars.
"Yep, from what I've seen in film, they look like the team to beat this year," Coach Shute nodded, "We just barely beat them out for the bronze last time around, and they've been training like crazy to medal this time."
"I remember watching that one, Mr. Shute," Julie came up behind him, winded from her own "workout" but still looking in full spirits, "They threw the chairs at the officials when they lost."
"Oh yeah, they were quite lucky they didn't get the DQ then and there," Coach Shute reminisced, "Oh, and I must say, not bad on the bar there yourself," he commended her, "If you'd made a serious effort to enter, maybe I would have given you a look during the national preliminaries."
"Well, if I had the money, Coach, maybe I could have paid her entrance fees," Adrian couldn't help noticing a sour note in Natalie's voice as she said this, as well as the fact she was looking right at him. He couldn't help rolling his eyes: she was always underpaid in her mind and would use any situation to complain about it despite the fact every piece of evidence he saw shot down her claim completely. "Anyway, getting back to the topic at hand," he said quickly to get off the subject, "Mr. Coach, you'd...would you think it possible that Shannon or someone connected to her might want to try and harm Wendy to get her out of the way?"
"I can't believe anyone I'd know as long as I have Shannon would actually try something like that," Coach Shute looked stricken at the very prospect, "Then again, Shannon has been acting kind of strange and secretive lately, so I can't help wondering if something's going on. She is a hard-driven young woman, I'll admit that, but I don't think she'd pull a Tonya Harding. Then again, some of the people in her family, they strike me as...are you all right there?"
For Natalie was now stone still, staring almost misty-eyed at the current team to take the mat. Adrian recognized the flag patterns on their uniforms immediately: it was the Kosovo delegation, trying out for their very first Olympic games. Earlier in the year, when they'd seen on the news that Kosovo had voted successfully for independence, she'd broken down completely on the spot in the living room, a bit too overwhelmed with the realization that her husband's efforts had been worth something so momentous in the end, Adrian figured. Or perhaps it was because she could no longer take any mention of Kosovo well until whatever the truth of Mitch's fate really was came out--he didn't know and had decided it would be better off not to ask. Without even realizing it, he'd put his hand briefly on her hand and tapped it gently, only to snap to his senses and pull it immediately away once she looked back up. "Oh, uh, just, um..." he stumbled for something that wouldn't sound dumb.
"Need a tissue?" Coach Shute came to his rescue and held one in front of Natalie's face.
"No, um, thank you," she said quickly, "Just...just...some memories of..."
"Hold on," Adrian had noticed the rather small Kosovoan gymnast trying the vault, "That one there, she looks a little too young if you ask..."
"I've heard of her," Julie told him, "That's Zlata Tadic. NBC ran a piece on her before the games started; her family was all killed by Serbian militias during the worst of the fighting; she basically sold the farm to get this far."
"Which is easily the most sappy and convoluted tale I've ever heard in my life," Shannon grumbled as she walked by them, duffle bag in hand.
"I wasn't talking to you," Julie hissed at her.
"Well," Adrian admitted, "It does sound like some kind of story that a hack writer might come up with to make her sympathetic," he paused to mull this over, not noticing the Teegers' disapproving look at him for the statement. "Well, anyway, thank you, Mr. Coach, we'll, we'll keep you informed of what we find out next."
"Please do," Coach Shute shook his hand again, "But please, just do me one favor; try not to come around here for practice anymore," he was practically pleading this point.
"I, I don't think you'll be seeing from us again," Adrian reassured him, disposing his latest used wipe into the garbage can outside the main floor. "Call the captain once we're out of here," he instructed Natalie as they walked toward the pavilion's exit, "Tell him to do a background check on Shannon's family. If one of them had that seat at the volleyball game," he couldn't help noticing Shannon hanging by the locker room door, staring at him intently, "We just might have this locked up."
A half hour later, Adrian found himself in downtown San Francisco at the newly constructed "Raindrop" venue for the platform diving competition. He fiddled with his judges' tie for the umpteenth time, unable to get the thing as straight as he would have liked, as a diver from Canada started climbing the ladder to the top of the platform. "So, um," he tried to break the ice with his fellow judges, "Any, any of you do this before?"
"Once in a competition in Slovenia three years ago when my brother-in-law came down with severe indigestion," Krajic admitted, "I'm an equestrian judge by nature, though, so at least I'll be happier tomorrow when we do that up in the north of the city.
Adrian tried to suppress a shudder. Horses tended to do things he was not comfortable with. He glanced to the top of the platform as the Canadian diver took her position at the edge and sprung backwards in a double somersault. She landed with such a hard splash that the judges were all inundated. That was all Adrian needed to determine his final score. He hunched over his electronic judging pad and typed in a score of 0.0, then rifled through his briefcases stacked behind the table for paper towels. "Oh come on, Charles, it wasn't that bad," Lagos chided him, noticing.
"You, you must have a pretty high threshold for these things," Adrian lauded him, reaching up to hit the button to display his score. The Canadian diver did not take his scoring all that well; with a carnal roar she charged up to him and grabbed him by the collar. "ZERO!!" she bellowed in his face, "WHAT THE HELL ZERO!!"
"That splash, it was way too big, completely unacceptable," Adrian meekly explained, "In fact, I think getting we judges wet like this warrants an automatic disqualification, am, am I right?"
He looked to his fellow judges, who slowly shook their heads. "Well, uh, then, I, I guess you get a ten, even," he said weakly, pressing the buttons to change his score. The Canadian nodded and let him go. "Nice, nice friendly Canadians, always so polite," Adrian told his fellow judges, swiping at his shirt to straighten out any creases that had been left behind. He glanced back up the diving platform as the next contender, a Chilean, approached the edge of the platform. This diver's form was fine, and she made far less of a splash when she landed, but Adrian counted three spins in the air before she splashed down; odd numbers of maneuvers warranted a decrease in points as far as he was concerned, so he typed in 6.0 as his final score. He couldn't help noticing the score his fellow judges were typing in next to him. "Why, why are you giving her that?" he asked Parkinson, awarding the Chilean a score of 7.3.
"I think it only fair given the form and style, Charles," Parkinson said wearily, "Why is that important?"
"I'm, I'm just pointing out it's an odd number, and," Adrian rifled through his pocket, "I'd be willing to pay you ten dollars if you round it down to 7.0 or up to 8.0. Same for you and you," he pointed to Cadorna and Lagos's respective scores of 8.1 and 7.7, "Don't, don't worry, I've got enough money."
The other judges stared at him increduously. "This, this is rather important," the detective pressed his point. Sighing, Parkinson extended his hand for the money and typed in 7.0 as his score. "But you'd better have a good reason for this, Charles, or this is going right back to you," he said firmly.
"You'll thank me later," Adrian said as they all revealed their scores. The Chilean didn't notice the evenness of everyone's scores, but did leap in delight; her score was good enough for second at the moment. Adrian glanced backwards while the next diver (from Australia) climbed to the top and noticed Disher talking with a rather excitable Natalie in the front row. The lieutenant was holding what appeared to be a tape in his hands. "Time, time," the detective raised his arms just as the Australian was about to jump. She swayed and toppled backwards into the pool with no form at all, landing with a spectacular splash. The other judges groaned. "Another bathroom break?" Parkinson asked, rolling his eyes.
"It'll, it'll be faster this time," Adrian reassured him, "And, and she can do it over again when I get back."
He rose up and bustled towards the exit before any of them could protest further. Natalie and Disher had apparently anticipated this and were waiting for him. "You were right again, Mr. Monk," the former told him, "Randy ran a check on seating earlier in the day at the volleyball stadium. Shannon's father had that seat, and he was dressed the same as Wendy's assailant."
"He didn't confess, but we've got the tape of the interrogation here for you," Disher held it up, "I think it's pretty airtight, he's got motive and opportunity, so take a look at it when you get a chance."
Adrian could hear the crowd getting very restless back in the arena. "Right, uh, hold, hold on to it for me," he told the lieutenant, "I really can't afford to go the bathroom anymore tonight."
"I'm telling you, officer, you're making one hell of a big mistake!" Shannon's father was yelling at Stottlemeyer on the interrogation tape. Adrian caught a cursory glance at it on the large portable TV he'd pushed out in front of the Raindrop's pool. The crowds had long gone home for the night, but Adrian was still wide awake and on a mission to make the Raindrop as clean as possible for the next night when the 200 and 400 meter relays would take place in the pool. He hit the pause button so he could push his third disposable mop of the evening along the length of the pool, trying to clean up all the puddles of water lying about. It had taken him a good two hours, but he'd finally managed to pick up every single piece of garbage that the fans had left behind; a pile of garbage bags near five feet tall by the locker rooms bore proof of that. The right side of the pool now being completely dry, the detective unscrewed the now useless mop brush end and dumped it into an open garbage bag by the judges' table. He returned to the TV--by which he'd left the next mop brush--and hit play again while he attached it. "Well if we're making a mistake, Mark," Stottlemeyer calmly and confidently told Shannon's father, "would you mind explaining why you fit the exact same height as the guy who attacked Wendy Whitehurst today?"
"I never saw Wendy at the volleyball game!" their suspect bellowed, thumping both hands down on the table, "I was in the bathroom, yes, but up in the upper deck, not on the level she was attacked on! Ask any of the people around there; they would vouch for me!"
"Mr. Walker, you do understand the gravity of what you're accused of, don't you?" Disher informed the man as Adrian started assembling his pool vacuum to take clean out the bottom of the pool, even though this would take about an hour and a half at the at the least, "Assault and battery carries a maximum penalty of fifty years to life in this state, and the judge isn't going to take endangering a minor well. And when you're in there, you never know, you might get cornered by six big hairy guys who'd like..."
"Lieutenant," Stottlemeyer raised an irritated eyebrow at his associate as Adrian dipped the vacuum into the pool. "Look, Mark," he turned back to the suspect, "There's so much stacked against you here, you might as well just confess: your daughter got jealous Wendy stole attention from her, she wanted to get it back, she asked you to..."
"Damn you, officer, have you even listened to a word I've said!!" Mr. Walker barked at him, "It's Wendy you need to be looking at; she's trying to get at Shannon, not the way you say it! I've seen sides of her you haven't; did she bother telling you she got absolutely drunk and almost killed my daughter after their first practice as teammates!? Shannon begged her to stop, but she kept on driving and almost plowed into a semi head-on; Shannon was lucky to only have a bruise on her arm from hitting the door, and if I...!!"
"Well Mark, certainly we'll look into that in time, but the fact is, we're here for Wendy being attacked with a bat, and even if what you're telling us is true, that would give you more reason..." Stottlemeyer continued talking, but Adrian no longer heard any of it, for his vacuum had surprisingly hit something on the bottom of the pool. He looked down and jumped in shock to notice a large blue figure that had blended perfectly with the bottom of the pool swiftly stroking towards the wall and climbing up. Adrian obligingly leaped back as Travers, covered head to toe in blue camouflage, splashed to the surface. "Monk, watch where you're going!" the security chief demanded, pulling his hood off, "You might just have blown my cover!"
"You, you mean you were down there all night and no one noticed?" Adrian was shocked no one had noticed.
"Life in Vietnam taught me the importance of stealth and camouflage, Monk," Travers stated proudly as the detective hastily mopped up the floor under him, "I can be anywhere and no one could notice."
"So, did, did you find out anything of note down there that could help with this case?" Adrian paused the interrogation tape again.
"If the Commies were in here, they're being discreet about it," Travers took a small waterproof video recorder from his beltline and started playing back the footage he'd shot underwater, "Maybe if we take a closer look we can get a better idea of what..."
Just then there came the sound of someone pushing against the front door of the Raindrop. Adrian jerked upwards and held up his hand. Making a "ssshhh" gesture at Travers he, hustled up the stairs, waving the security chief to follow him. Peering around the corner, he noticed a teenage boy walking anxiously back and forth out front. A preliminary glance also told Adrian he was five foot eight--the exact height of Wendy's attacker. "See him?" he whispered to Travers, "He might be a suspect. I think..."
He trailed off as he noticed Travers was now changing into a bush disguise. "Well then, Monk, let's get a little closer and see what we can find," he told the detective, handing him some branches. After checking to see the boy starting to walk away, the security chief crept the the emergency exit, turned off the alarm, and slipped outside into the real bushes. Adrian sighed, not willing to walk around where animals had trod or done worse, but he nonetheless bent over and trudged into position behind Travers within good sight of the boy, who was walking back and forth in tight circles, glancing at his wrist. They had apparently timed their move just right, as the lights of a taxi came blazing into the Raindrop's parking lot. The boy straightened up and began tapping his foot impatiently as it pulled up by the curb. Out of the cab stepped none other than Wendy, walking briskly and with only the slightest hint of injury. "Well it's about time, Wendy," the boy said impatiently, "I've been waiting out here close to an hour for..."
"They needed multiple takes on the commercial, Greg," Wendy said calmly, waving off the cab, which pulled up several hundred feet to the main entrance, "I don't like it either, but I have to get paid."
"What do you mean you HAVE...?"
"Greg, come on, it's been a long day, and I'm not in the mood," Wendy sounded impatient herself, "And another thing, you were way too hard with that bat today; it hurt more than I thought."
"Wendy, I..."
"Don't bother, it's all right," she put a hand to his lips as he started to protest, "You did good anyway. I just heard they brought in Mr. Walker. It's only a matter of time now. It'll be..."
"Wendy, this was wrong!" Greg snapped out loud, "I'm sorry I ever agreed to help you with this!"
"Well it's too late now, Greg, you're in this as much as I am," she told him coolly, "Don't worry, there's no way the cops can trace anything to you. Monk's not nearly as bright as he is on TV."
It occurred to Adrian that this conversation needed to be recorded. "Quick, your TV thingee, record this," he hissed to Travers, who nodded and turned on his device. Unfortunately, Adrian had spoken a bit too loudly, as both teenagers turned. "What was that?" Greg asked nervously.
"It's just the wind, now would you just relax," Wendy told him.
"How can I relax!?" he barked at her, "Monk may not know you conspired to get Shannon out of the Olympics now, but he'll find out in the end; the guy's thrown people in prison for far more impossible crimes than this, he'll...!"
To his and Adrian's completely surprise, Wendy grabbed him by the collar. "I said relax!!" she shouted at him, "Monk trusts me completely, you're in no danger, so just stop your whining!" Taking several deep breaths, she added more calmly, "Look, I've told you, this is necessary. Shannon's going to spill about that accident several months ago; I'll lose every single endorsement I've got if that information goes public. So I just need her out of the way until the Olympics are over; no one will believe her if she's sent home in disgrace. Now there's no danger for you, Greg; you don't have anything else to do, they won't find you at all."
"But an innocent man is in jail, Wendy! Doesn't that mean anything to you!?" Greg was getting mad himself, "Look, you never told me any of this would happen; I should just tell...!"
She seized his collar again. "You're not listening to me, Greg!" she yelled, "I've worked for years on end to get to this point, and I will not let Shannon wash it all away! Now don't worry about her father; they'll probably let him go for lack of evidence anyway, but Shannon will know to keep quiet then. Now if you love me, you'll just go with the flow and keep quiet until it's over. So do you love me!?"
She gave him a piercing glare. Greg glowered and lowered his head. "I suppose," he grumbled.
"Good," Wendy gave him a kiss, "Come on back to the dorm with me, I've got the drinks," she gestured for the cab.
"I'm not thirsty, Wendy," he turned and started walking towards his car near the south entrance, "I don't know when I'll be thristy again."
"Your call, but you're missing a good time," Wendy shouted after him. With an indifferent shrug, she walked up the sidewalk to the taxi and climbed in. Greg stopped walking and stared after the taxi for a moment as it pulled away, then kicked the nearest garbage can in frustration, sending trash flying everywhere. Adrian shuddered in distaste. He waited until Greg had climbed into his own car and driven off into the night before pulling out his collapsible claw and rushing over to pick up the garbage. It was tough to come to terms with everything he'd just heard, but it appeared Shannon was right all along; Wendy HAD been using him for her own purposes.