"So you're back, Charles," Lagos greeted Adrian as he sat down at the judges' table next to the track around Candlestick.

"Just, just for a little while, I think," Adrian said. He glanced at the track. "Hurdles?"

"Men's four hundred meter hurdles," Parkinson confirmed it for him. He raised his eyebrows as the detective hustled out and started lining the hurdles up in perfect lines. "As it is," the African judge continued once he'd returned to their table, "This looks like our last day together anyway; word has it the regular judges agreed to terms with the I.O.C. and will be back to work tomorrow." He pressed the intercom button next to his seat. "All runners to the track for the four hundred meter hurdles."

"Well, I, I guess it was good while it lasted, I suppose," Adrian shrugged. He watched the runners (from Switzerland, Paraguay, Mali, Trinidad & Tobago, Mexico, the U.K., Belgium, and Tanzania) take their places at the top of the tracks. "Um, wait, wait," he held up his hand at the contenders, "Could you line up from tall to short, or short to tall?"

The runners stared at him incredulously. "We can't change it, Charles," Krajic said, frustrated, "The order is set long before. So let's just get this over with. Just watch no one fouls anyone or commits a lane violation. Runners, on your marks," he announced, "Get set, go."

The hurdlers took off down the track. In seconds the Mexican runner stumbled over the second hurdle in line and knocked it over. Adrian seized up, but somehow managed to will himself to remain seated until the runners crossed the finish line (the Tanzanian finishing first), then leaped up and raised up all the hurdles back up into place and lined them back up properly again. "You really didn't have to, Charles," Lagos told him wearily, handing the detective the gold medal, "Let's go award these."

Adrian dug out a wipe and cleaned the medal off as best he could. He followed the others over to the medal podium in the infield, where the winners were now standing. Adrian grimaced to see the Tanzanian had torn open his shirt in victory, exposing his chest. "Here, here, good work," he mumbled, turning his head away and tossing the gold at the man.

"Hey man, what's your problem!?" the Tanzanian demanded, "You don't like me or something!?"

"Oh, well, uh, no...I mean, no, not no,...uh, no meaning yes...." Adrian struggled to find the proper way to apologize, "Uh, someone get him another shirt, please," he called to anyone who cared to listen."

"I can do it," Cadorna took the gold medal from the ground and hung it around the Tanzanian's neck. She sided up alongside Adrian and whispered gently, "You only needed to ask."

"Huh?" Adrian asked uncomfortably. Luckily, his attention was distracted as the Tanzanian national anthem started playing and the Tanzanian flag (along with the British and Trinidadian flags for second and third respectively) was hoisted up the winners' flagpoles by the stadium's south side. "Stop, stop!" he waved his hands at the flag raising crew, "You can't! Not until we get the flagpoles all the same height!"

There was an aggravated roar from Lagos. "Charles, the winner's flagpole is SUPPOSED to be higher than the others!" he said as calmly as he could. He rounded on the detective. "Tell me the truth, you're not really a judge, are you!?"

"Um," out of the corner of his eye, Adrian saw Disher charging onto the infield, waving a piece of paper in his direction. "Give, give me a minute to get back to you on that," he told an astounded Lagos, and rushed off towards the lieutenant before the judge could say anything else. "What've you got, Randy?" he asked him.

"The captain just got the hard copy of Greg's statement to the police about the other day," a puzzled-looking Disher held up the paper for Monk to see, "Read right here; he says he never did attack Wendy, that he got disgusted with the whole plan, threw the bat and stilts in the garbage, and left the stadium."

"So someone else attacked her then?" Adrian frowned, "Who, then?"

Instinctively, he scanned the massive crowd for Marissa Whitehurst. As luck would have it, she was in the second to front row in front of the long jump pit, with her arm around a scraggly man that Adrian could tell even from a distance was six foot three--the same height as Wendy's attacker--without the benefit of stilts--had been a few days ago. "Randy, call the captain and Travers; tell them to get a trace on that guy there," he pointed.

"The old guy with the wild hair?" Disher frowned.

"No, there," Adrian took the lieutenant's hand and pointed directly at their target, "I think things may have been going on here that Wendy was completely unaware of."

"All pole vaulters to the field, please; all pole vaulters to the field," came the call over the loudspeakers. Disher nodded and picked up his pole from the nearby bench. "Well, wish me luck, Monk," he told the detective grandly, "I have a good feeling I'm going to make history here today."

"So they laughed how long?" Natalie had to know as they walked down the hall towards the main conference room in Candlestick's bowels, where Wendy's hearing was to be held.

"At least a good ten minutes," Adrian informed her, "Moses--he's, he's a nice man otherwise--said it was the first time he'd seen a vaulter not go over the pole at all and fall backwards. But the lieutenant did manage to stay upright a good twelve seconds before he fell; a nice even number is something..."

The doors to the conference room swung open ahead of them. "Mr. Monk, in here," an I.O.C. page waved the two of them inside, "We'll be starting in a few minutes."

"Your name tag, it's not on straight," Adrian pointed out to him. The page ignored him. Inside the conference room, the rest of the gymnastics team plus Shannon's father were seated on benches along the right side of the room, conversing amongst themselves. Mrs. Whitehurst was also there, leaning against the wall on the left side and looking quite confident, much to Adrian's amazement given the circumstances. No sooner had he and Natalie come in and taken their seats than Stottlemeyer entered as well, leading Wendy with him. The girl turned to the detective and desperately mouthed, "Help me, please!" at him. Before Adrian could say anything, the door to the side of the dais in the front of the room swung open, and the nine member I.O.C. executive council slowly trudged out and sat down at the tables set up next to the lectern in the middle of the dais. Ghazi stepped up to the lectern and tapped the microphone several times. "Can I have your attention for a moment?" he addressed everyone present, "Please be seated," he rapped a gavel on the lectern, "We shall hereby commence this hearing to determine the eligibility to compete further in these games of one Wendy Angela Whitehurst. Is Miss Whitehurst present at this moment?"

"Right here, your Eminence," Stottlemeyer spoke up, pointing at Wendy. She weakly raised a hand in compliance. Ghazi leaned over the lectern, a stern look on his face. "Well then, Miss Whitehurst, I'm sure by now you're well aware of the charges that have been made against you," he told her with an iron glare, "Attempting to disgrace a fellow teammate, making false claims, and perhaps even murder. There is no room in the Olympic movement for someone who would dare to cheat like that, I will tell you right now. So let us hope for your sake something good can come out of this for you. As is procedure, you may have the floor now. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Wendy cautiously stepped forward towards the microphone. "I...I just want to say how sorry I am it came to all this, Mr. Chairman," she said in a crackling voice, "I...I wasn't thinking straight, wasn't thinking about how my teammates felt, and after time in jail, realize that I'm not the person I thought I was at all. But I am not a murderer, I can swear to you now!"

"But the evidence that was found at the scene was overwhelming; you had every reason to do it," spoke up another board member--Belarussian, Adrian surmised, "And to kill the man who threw you out would seem the perfect revenge, I'd say."

"If I may," Stottlemeyer raised his hand, "We at the S.F.P.D. have been looking into the matter, and we have reason to doubt it was Wendy after all. If you'd allow it, I'd like to present Detective Adrian Monk to tell you what we've found. Monk?"

He waved the detective forward. "Honorary members of the board..." Adrian began, "Could you take some drinks of water right now? We need to get your glasses there even, and..."

"Mr. Monk, we are running a hearing here," a Norwegian board member interrupted him, "Tell us what you have found."

Adrian nodded and related to the I.O.C. the evidence he'd collected. "Wendy Whitehurst may be an egotist and a liar, but she is not a murderer," he concluded.

"So do you believe she should be reinstated?" Ghazi inquired.

"Um..." Adrian thought it over hard. His gaze fell on a desperate Wendy, then to her teammates, clearly hoping he'd say no, then her mother, all but demanding with her eyes that he say yes. "Um, well, gentlemen, the question..."

"Mr. Monk, a simple yes or no will do," the Norwegian board member told him impatiently, "Should Wendy Whitehurst be reinstated!?"

Adrian searched his soul. The truth was, the answer wasn't as simple as yes or no from his point of view. "I believe Wendy is sorry about trying to frame Mark Walker to disgrace his daughter," he said slowly, "Take that into account, gentlemen, but the final decision is all yours."

Low murmurings crept through the room. "Thank you Mr. Monk, you may take a seat," Ghazi told him, "We will now hear evidence for and against banishment. Is Mark Walker present?"

"Indeed I am, Mr. Chairman," Shannon's father strode forward, looking more than eager to share his opinion about Wendy. "Gentlemen of the board, allow me to tell you what I've gone through over the last few days for the simple reason that I wanted to tell the truth," he said firmly, "As you may be aware by now, my daughter was almost killed a while back due to the arrogant negligence of that...that...that sniveling little tramp before you now," he pointed accusingly at a thoroughly humiliated Wendy, "She came to me afterwards and pleaded me on her life not to say anything about it, because she didn't want to lose her precious endorsements; never mind that she never worked to get on this team, that she bullied and pushed aside anyone who..."

"Now you hold it right there!" Mrs. Whitehurst jumped to her feet, offended, "You know as well as I do that Wendy worked hard to get on this team since the day she was born; I myself trained her harder than any..."

"Order, please, order!!" Ghazi rapped his gavel on the desk, "Continue Mr. Walker."

The man nodded firmly. "Imagine, if you will, being handcuffed in the middle of watching fencing matches, dragged to the police station and booked for something you know nothing about," he told the board, "Scared that your life has just been ruined for something you don't even understand. That, gentlemen, is what I've gone through. So in a nutshell, do not give that filthy little weasel over there," he shot another harsh finger at Wendy, "Another chance, because she deserves nothing but hard time after what I've been through--and may I remind you all that what Monk just told you is not concrete; he said he's not sure who the killer is, and..."

"I, I am eighty-seven percent sure, Mr. Walker..." Adrian tried to interrupt.

"So that's a confession that you don't know," Shannon's father almost mocked him with his comeback, "Wake up, Monk; Wendy tricked you before; she's just tricking you now. That's all I have to say."

He walked back to his seat to a few claps of applause. "Thank you," Ghazi said solemnly, "And now we call forward Mrs. Marissa Whitehurst for an argument against banishment. Mrs. Whitehurst?"

Wendy's mother stepped forward. Adrian needed to know just one more thing to up his certainty level to near one hundred percent. "Natalie, was Wendy's mother a gymnast too when she was younger?" he whispered in her ear.

"Yes, actually, and a pretty good one," Natalie whispered back, "Why?"

"Just curious. Did she make the national team too?"

"Twice, but the first time was for the Moscow games, and those got boycotted, and then she broke her leg just before the Los Angeles games and had to retire. Mr. Monk, are you insinuating what I think you're insinuating?"

She fixed him with a firm look. "I probably am," Adrian whispered back. He turned forward to listen to Mrs. Whitehurst's defense of her daughter. "Gentlemen of the board," she told the I.O.C., "It's true my daughter has made terrible mistakes over these last few days, but I can assure you she is a good person deep down, and that her confessions of guilt are genuine. And let me point out that the Walker family there may have been the victims here, but they were themselves victimizers of Wendy for months beforehand; Shannon there is far from a saint herself, a jealous little jerk unwilling to let go of her place in the sun and..."

"That's a lie, you dirty...!!" it was Mr. Walker's turn to leap to his feet.

"ORDER!!!!" Ghazi slammed the gavel down on the lectern. "Mrs. Whitehurst, please stick to the matters at hand," he informed her firmly, "We need to know for sure that Wendy would not try the same thing again if we were to grant new eligibility for her."

"You have my assurances that Wendy will do nothing else of the sort again," she told him definitively, "And in response to the other side's allegations about not enough evidence being presented to her innocence, well, gentlemen, the American dictate is innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. If you look close enough, you'll see Mr. Monk has raised enough doubts that Wendy is the monster the other side there," she gestured with equal contempt at the Walkers, "claims she is. Listen to me on this. Give my daughter the chance she deserves. I would do the same for all of you if it were you."

Thank you. You may take a seat," Ghazi informed her. "The evidence being heard," he proclaimed, "We will retire to render a final decision. When we do so, I will not tolerate any outbursts of any sort."

He and the other board members rose and walked towards their private chambers on the side of the dais. Everyone else in the conference room rose up and began shuffling about. Adrian saw Mrs. Whitehurst heading for the hall. He hustled after her. "Mrs. Whitehurst, if I may have a minute," he called to her.

"Yes, Mr. Monk," she turned to face him.

"That, that was a rather defense of Wendy, if I do say so," he buttoned her cardigan all the way up, "Natalie tells me you were quite good back in the day yourself, but it never quite worked out."

"Well, unfortunately, life tends to hit you with curves, Mr. Monk, as I'm sure you know all too well yourself," she told him, "But no matter; they're going to reinstate Wendy, and she's going to win the gold like we planned from the start."

"I'm sure you did," Adrian stepped closer to her, "Tell me, is that your boyfriend attending the meets here today with you?"

"Um," she seemed surprised he'd seen the man, "Yes, in fact, we've been going steady for a while, although truthfully Wendy hasn't quite warmed up to him yet."

"I see," Adrian nodded, "Funny thing is, though, he does tend to match the description of her attacker the other day."

Mrs. Whitehurst froze up for a minute, then broke into an uneasy laugh. "Oh, well, that, that is an interesting coincidence," she said quickly, "I don't, I don't quite know what..."

"Well I'm pretty sure I do," Adrian put his hands on his hips, "The whole plan to discredit the Walkers was your idea, Mrs. Whitehurst, wasn't it? You put Wendy up to it. But you could sense her own boyfriend had reservations about going as far as you wanted, so you got your own to take care of the job for you. Wendy said the blow hurt more than she'd thought it would; that's because it came from someone who had no qualms about swinging that bat hard, especially if the two of them don't like each other as you say. It seemed perfect, since everyone would suspect the Walkers attacked your daughter out of jealousy. But then everything got exposed and Wendy was thrown off the team. You couldn't live with that, not when you've spent her whole life pushing her to win your gold medals for you that you never got to win on your own. So you decided to step things up a notch."

"What are you going on about now, Mr. Monk?" she grew defensive, "If you're insinuating..."

"Here's what I think happened, Mrs. Whitehurst," Adrian advanced right in front of her, "You murdered Norm Shute. Wendy had to win the gold for you, and he was going to block that. You knew how tall he was, so you knew where the noose would have to be to hang him. But things didn't go as you planned yet again; you knew his height, but not his weight, and he proved too heavy and broke the noose just as he died. This shot a big hole in your plan to make his death look like a suicide, so you ran and left your daughter to take the fall unknowingly for you. Or does Wendy know you did it?"

He fixed her with a stern gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Monk," Mrs. Whitehurst grew much colder now, "If you're thinking I'm that cold-hearted..."

"We all have the capability to be that cold-hearted, Mrs. Whitehurst; I was for forty years," Adrian shuffled about uncomfortably; it was a little hard, even after two years, to come to terms with the realization that he'd been just as wrong for holding such a complete grudge against his father for forty years as the man had been for driving off on his family in the first place. "I know you can be as cold-hearted as I think; you have so much to gain if Wendy wins; maybe a book deal of some kind about how you paved her path to stardom, not to mention complete redemption for your own failings. Am I touching some nerves here?"

The sound of the doors from the board's chamber opening inside the conference room caught their attention. "Looks like they're about to make a decision," Mrs. Whitehurst said haughtily, "I have to be going; I have to be there when my daughter's reinstated."

She strode inside the room. Adrian followed less surely, not entirely sure what the decision would be. Like a row of monks, the I.O.C. board solemnly shuffled back to their seats on the dais. Ghazi approached the lectern. "Wendy Whitehurst," he fixed her with a piercing glare, "The executive council has reached a split ruling on your reinstatement. Therefore, it is protocol for the International Olympic Committee to maintain the ban on eligibility until further notice."

Wendy hung her head as low murmurs and even a few claps rippled through the room. "However," Ghazi raised his hands, "Given that Detective Monk has brought up significant doubts that you committed murder, we have decided to make this ban conditional at this time. Mr. Monk," he gestured the detective forward, "The gymnastics finals are tomorrow at five. If by that time you can find positive proof that someone other than Wendy is in fact the killer, we will reinstate her in full for the competition. If not, then the ban shall be enacted for the rest of this Olympiad, with the possibility of being extended for life. Is that understood?"

"Very clearly, Mr. President, sir," Adrian nodded.

"Very good. This meeting is hereby adjourned," Ghazi declared, rapping his gavel on the lectern. He and the board shuffled towards the door as people started walking away. "Let's go then," Stottlemeyer took Wendy by the arm.

"I don't want to go back to jail," she pleaded desperately.

"You're not going back to jail," the captain reassured her, "But you'll still be under our supervision until Monk gets that positive proof, so we're going back to your dormitory, where you'll be under twenty-four hour surveillance through tomorrow at least. This way, please."

He led her out the door. Adrian saw her mother turning the other way out the door. He hustled after her. "You'd better not try to destroy any evidence, Mrs. Whitehurst," he warned her, "I will..."

"You'll do nothing, Mr. Monk," she turned on him and thrust her index finger into his chest, "You have no proof I killed Norm Shute and you know it. Mark my words, you'll find the real killer sooner than you think, so you'll feel quite sorry you tried to pin this on me."

"So you'd be willing to betray your own boyfriend to save yourself?" Adrian picked up what she was getting at, "Yes, you're a very warm person indeed, Mrs. Whitehurst...although the fact you'd let Wendy drink so recklessly in the first place is proof enough..."

"As I was saying, the police will find that killer in time, and you'll have little choice but to confirm what they find," Mrs. Whitehurst told him almost mockingly, "And then my daughter's going to win that gold that she's deserved since the day she was born, and nobody's going to stand in her way this time. And let me point out, Mr. Monk," she held her finger to his face as he started to speak up again, "I'm the only family Wendy has. If you press charges against me and throw me in jail, even if you happen to be right and I am the killer, she'll be all alone in the world. Now, tell me, would you have the courage to walk up to Wendy after that and tell her to her face that you had the gall to take away her family? To take away the only friend in the world she has to satisfy your own personal sense of justice? Well, do you, Mr. Monk? I asked you a question; do you!?"

She glared in her face. Adrian stood still, letting everything she was saying sinking in. "I didn't think so," Mrs. Whitehurst nodded, a confident smile on her face, taking his apparent silence for compliance with her viewpoint. "Well then, I think you know what to do, Mr. Monk. Or rather, what not to do."

She turned and sashayed up the hall. Adrian stood in place, silent, knowing deep down that she was absolutely right.