"Back up a minute here, Adrian," Dr. Neven Bell held up his hand inside his office, "I don't quite see how any of this would be your fault."
"It's just...I fell for her whole story hook, line and sinker," Adrian admitted, leaning forward in his chair, a dismal look on his face, "I can't help wondering, if I hadn't been taken in and found out what had happened, maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't have come to this, with her facing capital murder charges. They're going to try her as an adult; I talked to the DA's office, and he's going to press for life without parole given how much Shute suffered in his last minutes; only the fact she's under eighteen's sparing her the death penalty right now," he let out a frustrated sigh, "There's no way I CAN'T help but think I helped bring this on her."
"Well, it's understandable a person might think that," Dr. Bell nodded, "But Adrian, I'd like you to wash all those thoughts out of your head, because I can tell you that you have nothing to worry about; Wendy herself is entirely to blame for all this."
"But a life sentence at seventeen," Adrian swallowed hard, "If the jury votes for that...to think I sent a young woman to a life of hard time...I mean, if she were a big hairy thug or an arrogant blowhard like Dale Beiderbeck or Patrick Kloster, I wouldn't have any problems, but she's just seventeen, and...what I'm saying...maybe at the hearing I should beg for leniency for her on...what do you think?"
"You should do whatever you feel is right, Adrian," Dr. Bell advised him, "I can't really help you with the final decision. Every person has their own set of guidelines for what's..."
The buzzer on his desk rang at this moment. "Telephone for you, Dr. Bell," came his secretary's voice through the intercom.
"Be right out," Dr. Bell buzzed her back. "So, we'll continue once I take this, Adrian," he told the detective as he strode for the door, "And try to realize that you can't control everything everyone does--and that in many ways it's for the best that we can't."
Adrian nodded softly. Once his psychiatrist had left the office, his gaze inevitably turned towards the back wall, where Dr. Kroger's painting hung. The detective rose and trudged slowly towards the sad reminder of happy times that would never come again. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked out loud to the painting, "If, if you're there, give me a sign of some kind, what should I do?"
He paused as if he was expecting Dr. Kroger to somehow appear and give him the answer. Nothing happened at all, however. Adrian hung his head and returned to his seat. Apparently that outlet was indeed shut down forever now.
The office door swung open. "You won't believe this, Adrian," Dr. Bell told him, looking rather amazed himself, "That was Wendy Whitehurst's attorney on the phone. She's begging to have a word with you as soon as possible."
"Now why would she want to drag me through this further?" the detective sighed.
"She apparently insists she didn't kill her coach, and she's frantic that you help prove it," his psychiatrist reached for his coat behind his chair, "I'll tell you what: you're the last patient I had scheduled today, so if you wouldn't mind, I'll come along with you on this one; if you need any help--and if she'd need an extra person to talk to--I'll be right there--if that's OK with you."
"I, I guess it's just fine," Adrian nodded, following Dr. Bell out the door. He would certainly prefer a witness if Wendy was trying to use him again.
Traffic in San Francisco was heavier than usual, and so it was a good forty minutes later that the two of them arrived at the precinct. Stottlemeyer, upon hearing their tale, shook his head, but nonetheless pulled out the report he'd filed for Coach Shute's murder. "I think she's yanking your chain again, Monk; what we've got here's pretty airtight even by your standards," he told the detective, handing him the papers. He raised an eyebrow as Adrian tamped them down on the desk so they were all lined up properly before he started reading them. "But if you want to go through with an interview, I guess I can't really find any way of stopping you. Lieutenant," he called to Disher, hunched over his desk and watching an episode of the Eppes brothers' TV show on his portable television set, which Disher hastily shoved under the desk at the sound of his name, "Go get Wendy. Monk's thinks there might be something we didn't see."
Disher nodded and scurried off towards the holding cells. With a resigned sigh, Stottlemeyer lifted the set up from the floor and set it back on the desk. "They say TV's addictive, Monk; with him that's a no contest," he confided in his consultant, "Especially with this show. Too bad you weren't connected with us then," he told an inquisitive looking Dr. Bell, "Last Christmas we spent the holidays with these guys here," he pointed at the faux Charlie Eppes on the screen, "Not as interesting as some of the other people we've come across over the years, but you probably would have liked them. They use math equations I could never hope to learn to solve the crimes."
"Interesting indeed," Dr. Bell nodded, intrigued, "You'll have to keep me informed; I wouldn't mind coming along if I have the spare time. It seems like vacations are quite eventful for all of you."
"Not all of them, but since I've gone along with Monk, absolutely," the captain confirmed for him. "And speaking of which, Monk," he turned back to the detective, "How it coming with the show from that Fourth of July trip with Hanley or whatever his name was?"
"It was Hinkley, Captain," Adrian corrected him, "Benjy almost had the final outline done when I last talked to Sharona about two months ago. Tim Kight should have it ready for air in about six months; they just need a title."
"Yeah, that's another one you should have been there to see," Stottlemeyer confided in Dr. Bell, "This lunatic guy at our hotel thought he was a high flying superhero. Not exactly the kind of thing you'd expect to get a show out of, but I guess kids'll like it."
Adrian couldn't suppress a small smile. If only his boss could know for sure that Ralph Hinkley was in fact a real high-flying superhero--although not terribly good at the flying part. It was at that moment Disher returned. "She's all set," he told them, "Room C."
"The one with the odd number of chairs?" Adrian frowned, "I thought I asked that in these...?"
"Monk, all the other interrogations rooms are taken," the lieutenant said with a shake of his head, "And really, we've got a backlog today."
"Now Adrian, you can't expect to make too much progress if you freeze up at each and every odd number that presents itself," Dr. Bell goaded him. Adrian shrugged in concession and lead his psychiatrist into the interrogation room. Sure enough, Wendy was already seated there, wearing prison garb and with a towering, armed guard standing right behind her. The detective took immediate note that a mere seven hours in prison had already done a number on her, as she looked deathly pale and listless. "Monk, I know this looks bad!" was her opening plea as he sat down and twisted the phone cord around to get the kinks out of it, "But I didn't kill Coach, I swear!"
"We'll, we'll let the evidence decide," Adrian said calmly, "Allow me to introduce Dr. Neven Bell, he's the best psychiatrist in the San Francisco area..."
"I'm not a lunatic, you have to believe me!" Wendy all but screamed at him.
"I don't think he was insinuating that," Dr. Bell reassured her, "I came here on my own free accord to help decipher what the story with your circumstances are. Now if you could, please tell us everything that happened between the time you were exposed as having conspired to get rid of your teammate till the moment of your arrest."
Wendy swallowed hard. "After I left the gym," she began hesitantly, "I went into the bathroom and cried my eyes out. I realized then and there the gravity of what I'd done," she stared intently at Adrian, "To see Julie didn't like me anymore, that's, that's what made me realize how stupid I'd been; I never wanted to lose her. I also began to see what it looked like from Shannon's point of view; I did almost kill the two of us, I realize now, so I'd be upset if she'd done it to me. So I decided I'd go to Coach and at least try to beg his forgiveness. He wasn't in his office, but the janitor said he'd seen him heading towards the weight room. I went in there and found him dead. Before I could do anything, the police showed up, assumed I'd done it, and, well, here I am now. Tell me you believe me, Monk!?"
She fixed him with a desperate pleading glance. Adrian glanced down at the report. "Part of me wants to, Wendy," he said slowly, his eyes staying glued to the papers in the folder, "But I have to consider that you set me up to get at Shannon too."
"I know, I know, and I was wrong, Monk, I swear to God I'm sorry I used you like that!" the words rambled frantically off her tongue, "I've never been so scared in my life in here; maybe I deserve to be here, but I don't want to stay...what I'm saying is...!"
"We get the idea, Wendy," Dr. Bell dragged another chair over from Wendy's side of the table (Adrian wasn't too comfortable with this, as this wrecked the evenness of each side of the table). "Now tell me, what do you think drove you to make this grave error of yours?" he inquired as he plopped down, "Something in your childhood, perhaps?"
Wendy hung her head. "I had to win the gold, it was as simple as that," she conceded, "I'd lose my chance if Shannon or her father spoke up, so I felt I had no choice but to do it."
"So you'd say you have a winner's complex?"
"I need to win that gold," she told him emphatically, "Otherwise everything I've spent my whole life at will be worth nothing, nothing at all."
"I see," Dr. Bell nodded slowly, "Well, let me get straight to the point here, Wendy; you're putting too much value in areas you shouldn't. A gold medal may look great, but really it's only a piece of metal, one that'll decompose over time. So, your mother, how does she feel about this mindset of yours?"
"My mother's been pushing me hard to be the best all my life," she admitted, "I owe everything to her; she trained me hard from day one to get to the Olympics."
"Hmm," Adrian mumbled softly, looking over several pages of the report. "What, did you find something!?" she asked him breathlessly.
"No, just, just taking a few things here into account," Adrian remarked, "Well, you're sure you'll stand by your statement of what happened, Wendy? It says clearly here on the report your prints were the only ones found on the rope that was used to strangle your coach, and security cameras inside the building confirmed no one else but you entered that weight room before or after your coach. You had motive, opportunity..."
"I swear to you on my life, Monk, I'm not a killer!!" Wendy screamed at him. She slumped forward and broke down sobbing, "I'm just a tremendous failure at everything!"
"Now I wouldn't say that," Dr. Bell comforted her, "If you are by chance truly innocent, and are sincere in wishing to repent, I think you'll find your life still has meaning. Now about your relationship with your mother; would you say she dominates every decision you make?"
"No, of course not," Wendy shook her head quickly--too quickly, Adrian thought.
"Well, I'm merely pointing out that the typical behavior of a parent would naturally rub off on their child or children in the absence of any other strong force," the psychiatrist stated. It was at this point Stottlemeyer stuck his head in the door of the interrogation room. "Sorry Monk, your time's up," he told the detective.
"I'd, I'd like to examine the crime scene, Captain, just to make sure everything here on the report lines up," Adrian told him.
"Well, I suppose we could try, but believe me, Monk, I think we're just wasting our time pushing this any further," Stottlemeyer gave Wendy a clear ugly look. "I'm telling the truth this time, Captain Stottlemeyer, I swear to you!!" she had picked this up.
"Perhaps, but I should give you fair warning, Wendy, that if you are lying to me again here, I'll have no choice but to go along with whatever the D.A. suggests you get, even if it is life," Adrian warned her solemnly.
"I understand," she lowered her head, "If you see her, tell Julie how sorry I am. If I can't have anything else out of this, I just want her forgiveness."
"I can't guarantee anything," Adrian pointed out, "It's all up to how she feels from here on."
He rose and rearranged the chairs back to their original order once Dr. Bell had gotten up as well. "Thank you for your help," he told his psychiatrist, "I think we have a better understanding of everything now.
"So tell me," Dr. Bell asked once they'd left the interrogation room, "Do you think it was her?"
"If it isn't," Adrian glanced back at the guard escorting Wendy back to her cell, "I might have an idea who the killer could be."