"So it was Marissa!?" Natalie seemed rather shocked as Adrian related what he'd surmised outside Candlestick once the rest of the hearing participants had left.
"You don't believe me?" he raised an eyebrow.
"Well, yes, I believe you, Mr. Monk, it does make sense, but I'd never have imagined her a murderer," she admitted, "She always seemed so warm all the years I knew her."
"So what we need now is positive proof that'll seal her," Adrian paced in circles, stopping to flick at the antenna on the car parked nearest to him, "Nothing we've got right now can do that. I'm wondering if we can see how much Wendy did know; if she can turn evidence against her, we might have a solid case."
"Evidence against who, Monk?" Stottlemeyer and Disher were approaching from the gate. "Weren't you taking Wendy back to the dormitory?" the detective frowned.
"Her mother asked for a minute alone with her," Disher explained.
"Which way did they go?" the detective inquired quickly.
"Around the east side of the stadium; Monk, what're...." Stottlemeyer trailed off as Adrian burst into a job around Candlestick. He lurched to a stop as the Whitehursts came into view by a deserted ticket window. Adrian slid to a stop and ducked behind an outdoor concession stand and held up his arm at everyone rushing up behind him. He listened to the heated conversation going on. "...told you before, everything is going to be just fine, now will you just grow up!" Mrs. Whitehurst was shouting at her daughter.
"But I told you, I don't want it anymore!" Wendy was desperately protesting, "I just want to go home and put it all...!"
"Are you quitting? I didn't train you to quit on me!" her mother bellowed, "You're staying here in San Francisco and winning that gold tomorrow!"
"Are you listening to me!?" the girl screamed at her hysterically, "I don't want the medal anymore!! I don't belong here! Everyone else on the team's better without me! I'm just a...!!!"
It happened without any advance warning; Mrs. Whitehurst slugged Wendy hard across the face. "Just shut up!!" she roared at her, "I'm incredibly disappointed in you, young lady! I didn't raise you to be a coward!! After everything I've done for you over the years to get you to this point, you have no right to throw it all back in my face!! You are not quitting this Games, and that is final!! And,...!!" she thrust her finger right in Wendy's face, "If you try to quit behind my back, you're on your own! I won't help you in any way with anything from now on, and you certainly won't be welcome back home in my house; you can live your own life here and be miserable, because I'm the only friend you have in the world! Do you understand me!? I said, do you understand me!!!??"
She raised her arm, clearly ready to strike another blow. Apparently not willing to let this happen after having seen everything unfold, Stottlemeyer stepped out of his hiding place and walked briskly towards them. "Mrs. Whitehurst?" he called out. The woman immediately dropped her arm and flashed a big false smile. "Oh, Captain, um, well, you timed it just right, I was just finished discussing our hopes for tomorrow with Wendy; she's all yours now."
"I'm sure you were," the captain said sardonically. "Let's go," he gestured Wendy forward, "Oh my, that's a rather ugly mark there on your face there."
"It's nothing really worth noting, Captain," Mrs. Whitehurst quickly cut in, "She slipped on the floor by the bathrooms as we came out here and fell on her face. Didn't you?"
She flashed her daughter a murderous look that all but telegraphed her to keep quiet. Wendy hastily nodded. "Well, we might want to get a doctor to look at it anyway," Stottlemeyer remarked, "Probably nothing, but then again, you never do know."
He gave Mrs. Whitehurst a murderous look of his own. "Actually, while you're here," he told her, "I think I'd like to ask..."
"Sorry, Captain, but I've got an important matter to attend to at the moment," she said quickly, walking towards her car parked nearby, "If I were you, I'd keep your eyes open; the real killer of Norm Shute should be revealed any time now."
"I think we already know well who it is," Adrian growled, "So why..."
"Mr. Monk, if I may remind you, you don't have positive proof of anything right now," Mrs. Whitehurst told him with more than a tinge of cockiness, "If you're insinuating I did it, let me remind you I'd be well within my rights to sue you for more than you have. It certainly wouldn't do all those loyal fans of yours any good to know you got obsessed with bring in the wrong person and ruined your life in the process. Now if you'll please excuse me."
She climbed into her car and drove off before the conversation could go any further. "Oh well," Stottlemeyer shrugged, "as I was saying, this way," he gestured Wendy to follow him. Adrian racked his brain for any clue he might have missed as everyone walked back around the stadium to the captain's cruiser, but none was forthcoming. Which left one final option left to pursue. "Um, Wendy," he spoke up once they were out on the road, breaking an awkward silence among everyone, "I'm wondering, would you say your mother's driven you hard to get to this point?"
"Why do you want to know?" her voice was very soft.
"Oh, just wondering," the detective told her, "She just seems the type to want you to win the gold no matter what."
"Well, she does have a point," the girl said, "People don't care about you if you don't win the gold; they don't care that you even exist. Without the gold, nothing you do's worth anything."
"That's not true at all," Natalie told her, "Wendy, a lot people don't care who wins or loses. I for one am grateful you brought Julie all those hours of friendship over the years; that counts for something in my book."
"Too bad it's too late now," Wendy looked blankly out the window, "If you want to, Captain, you can shoot me; nobody'll care now."
Stottlemeyer hit the brakes in shock. "You really think killing yourself's going to solve anything!?" he spun around, aghast to be hearing such a negative statement.
"It's better than living what I'm living now!" Wendy put her face in her hands, "If I can't go home, I just want to die!"
"Wendy, listen, there's still so much good you can do for a lot of people," Disher broke in, "Listen, we all saw what your mother did to you; Monk thinks she's the killer. If you know anything..."
"I don't, sorry," she shook her head.
"Wendy, you can't do any good protecting her," Adrian pressed, "She left you to take the fall for the murder; that's not what a parent's supposed to do. She's out of control, Wendy, and she'll keep on hurting people unless we do something to stop her, and for that we need your..."
"I can't!!" she all but screamed in his face, "She's my mother, she's the only friend I have! I don't want to be alone in the world!!"
"It's hard to face that, I know, but she's not your friend," Natalie told her, "Friends don't manipulate you for their own purposes, or leave you to take the punishment for their actions. Now Wendy, please, we can help you if you help us, but you've got to do the right thing."
"I don't even know what the right thing is!" she wailed, "It's not as simple as you say it is!"
"I know, I know, but if you'll just trust..." Stottlemeyer all but begged her.
"I'm sorry, but my answer's no," she told him, "She's still my mother. Now please, just take me back to the dorm and forget the whole thing."
She gave him a firm look. "OK, if you say so," the captain nodded glumly. The rest of the ride back to the dormitory at Stanford was just as quiet as the beginning had been. Stottlemeyer hailed down a guard on the level Wendy's room was on when they reached it. "Keep a closer eye on her than I'd said earlier," he whispered to the man, "She's hinted she might be suicidal; don't want to take any..."
"I can hear you," Wendy piped up loudly and strongly, "Don't bother; I told you, it doesn't matter if I live or die anymore. Nothing matters."
Adrian heard the clicking of doors up the hall. The other members of the gymnastics team were back in their rooms for the night and had apparently heard her outburst. Surprisingly, more than a few of them looked sorry for her wretched condition. Wendy had noticed them popping out of their rooms as well, for she took a few steps towards them and fell to her knees in front of them. "I'm so sorry, all of you, I didn't think about anything," she sobbed, "You don't deserve to have me associated with you. You don't have to forgive me..."
"Damn right we don't!!" Shannon's voice rose up in anger from the back of the pack, "Why the hell are you even still here!? Word came in your replacement's coming in from Lansing, so why aren't you on the plane back...!?"
"All right, all right, that'll do!" Stottlemeyer raised his hands irritably, "Everyone back to bed, please! We've got a long night ahead of us, and you all need to be ready for your big day tomorrow."
"You didn't answer my question; why is she still here!?" Shannon was far from placated.
"Miss Walker, I really don't think it's any of your concern, but our investigation is ongoing, and we have strong proof Wendy here was framed by someone else," the captain told her, clearly straining to be patient with her, "Now I understand how you'd be still upset over the whole matter, but..."
"But nothing!!" she roared, "This piece of trash is twisting your arm, you idiot, and you're stupid enough to fall for it! And you, Monk!" she pointed an accusing finger at him, "You're a whole lot stupider than on TV to gullibly believe everything she...!!!"
"I SAID BACK TO BED!!!" Stottlemeyer lost his cool. The gymnasts, Shannon included, hastily shuffled back to their rooms. "What!!??" she protested, noticing the dirty glances they were now giving her, "I'm standing up for us!!"
Stottlemeyer shook his head. "Don't take that too seriously," he said, helping Wendy up, "Now just have a good night's sleep and please don't try anything rash. Don't forget what we told you."
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," she shook her head, trudging into the room as Disher opened the door for her.
"And don't forget, our offer's open if you change your mind," Adrian added, "I think you know how to reach us."
Wendy didn't respond as she flopped down on the bed. Stottlemeyer shook his head. "Keep a close watch on her, Lieutenant," he authorized Disher, "I want her alive in the morning."
"I'll do what I can, sir," Disher seemed a little nervous of the weight of what he was being asked, but steadfastly took his place by the door. The captain sighed as he and his associates walked down the stairs to the parking lot. "I'll tell you, that blow we saw clearly wasn't the only way she's been abused by her mother," he confided in them, "To leave her with that bad an outlook on life and not care that her daughter doesn't care if she dies or not..."
"Exactly," Natalie agreed, "I'd never put Julie through that kind of life; I've told her before it doesn't matter to me if she wins anything, as long as she tries hard and enjoys what..."
"Hold on, I think you've got a message, Captain," Adrian interrupted. Sure enough, the radio in Stottlemeyer's car was buzzing. The captain rushed over and pulled it through the window. "Yeah, what've you got?" he inquired.
"Uh, Captain, you're not going to believe this," the officer on the other end told him, "Wendy Whitehurst's replacement on the Olympic team just got attacked getting off the plane. We think it's the same guy."
An abrupt silence filled the parking lot. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!!!" Stottlemeyer muttered in disgust under his breath. "All right, we'll be there as fast as we can," he told the officer.
Twenty-five minutes later, they pulled up in front of the Continental arrival gate at the airport, where a knot of police were waiting for them. "All right, exactly what happened!?" Stottlemeyer breathlessly asked the nearest one as he sprung from the car.
"OK, it was pretty much the same as what happened to Wendy Whitehurst the other night, Captain," the officer explained to him, "Victim's one Emily Southerton from Lansing, she was the last one cut from the team and got the call to come in as Wendy's replacement. She got out of the gate, the attacker came out of the nearest bathroom, cracked her one in the chest, then bashed her over the head for good measure."
"Oh my God," Natalie grimaced horribly; clearly from her expression Adrian could tell she was imaging such a terrible fate happening to her own daughter, "Is she all right?"
"Unconscious when the ambulance got here, but they think she'll be all right," the officer assured her, "She certainly won't be able to be in the Games, though, and if this keeps up, I don't know who'd want to be."
"Did anyone get a look at the guy?" Adrian asked, straightening their informant's badge.
"Green and yellow jacket and ski mask, just like the guy from the other day," the officer told him, "But when he was running away, he took off his ski mask in the garage for whatever reason before he got in his car. Security camera in the corner got a pretty good look at him and his license plate, and here's what came up when we ran it through."
He handed Stottlemeyer the relevant information. "Lyle Campbell, formerly of Texas, served four years for assault and battery," he mused out loud, "Yep, easy to see why Marissa Whitehurst would want to date a mutation like this guy; he makes for good easy muscle in a..."
"Hey Captain," another cop came running up out of breath, "We've got a trace on him, Captain; he's stuck behind a traffic jam northbound on I-880 in Hayward near the Winton Avenue Exit; we're trying to get units out there before it clears up."
"Good work; I want everything you got north and south of there up and running to bring him in," Stottlemeyer ordered him, "Monk, Natalie, it's showtime."
He waved them back to his own car. "He only got up to Hayward in all the time it took us to get here?" Natalie was puzzled.
"That's the old Nasty Nimitz for you; it isn't always as bad as they say it is," Stottlemeyer gunned the engine and tore off towards the airport exit, narrowly missing a collission with a shuttle bus pulling towards the curb. "OK, I, I don't think we need to be in THIS much of a hurry!" Adrian whimpered, gripping the door handle hard.
"That jam could clear up at any moment, Monk; I've got to go fast if we want to get there in time," his superior countered, swerving hard onto Interstate 280, "That's why we're taking the shortcut over the bay and heading him off."
"Well," Adrian grimaced as they just missed another collision with a van, "It would indeed help if we got to Campbell as quickly as possible; now that he's carried out this task and sent a message to anyone that might take Wendy's place, Marissa really would have no further use for him; maybe she's already set something up to...TRUCK, TRUCK, TRUCK!!!!"
Stottlemeyer swerved hard around the tractor trailer in the far left lane. "Natalie, siren, under the seat," he instructed her. Natalie picked it up--only to have Adrian snatch it away and wipe it down. "Just, just have to make sure," he told her, "Make sure you put it on the center of the roof when...that's not the center, Natalie."
She had stuck it on the roof as far as she could reached out the window, which was far from the center. And Adrian didn't dare to climb out and fix it, especially when they were going at least forty miles an hour over the speed limit. He thus resorted to the only thing he could do; he closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was in the middle of a white, static-free room with Trudy standing at the other end, beckoning to him. For once, this worked surprisingly well, and he had no further qualms for a good ten minutes, when Stottlemeyer's radio crackled again. "Jam's cleared, Captain, he's going close to a hundred now, approaching the Davis Street Exit in San Leandro," the officer nearest to the pursuit informed him, "He fired back at us, but he was moving too fast to hit us."
"Stay at a safe distance, but don't lose him," Stottlemeyer instructed him, "I'll be about six miles ahead of him once I get over the bridge here; get a roadblock set up there at 23rd Avenue; I want him alive, so just aim for the tires if we have to stop him."
He floored the gas pedal and peeled down the ramp onto Interstate 880 northbound--going in the wrong direction, of course, although traffic had already been blocked off down the road. Adrian shut his eyes as tight as he could to block out the fact they were now going over a hundred the wrong way, but it was too much a factor to ignore. "Stop, stop, please, stop!!" he begged weakly, "I'll give you anything!"
"Monk, what do you think I'd want from you other than to act your age!?" the captain asked, frustrated. Perhaps mercifully, they'd reached the roadblock the local police were setting up; already three cruisers and several sawhorses were in place. Stottlemeyer braked to a halt behind the blockage. "OK Monk, you and Natalie get over on the shoulder out of harm's way," he instructed them, "If he goes through this, I don't want you in the middle of it."
"Right," Adrian felt his stomach to make sure it wasn't about to explode from the wild ride as he climbed out. "Oh, but first..." he reached over and pushed the siren to the middle of the roof, "There, nice and even now."
"Come on, Mr. Monk," Natalie impatiently dragged him to the side of the road. More cruisers were starting to pull up to add to the roadblock, and a helicopter could be heard buzzing in the distance. The officers all cocked their guns and took their positions behind the roadblock in anticipation. It was no more than five minutes later, accompanied by the wailing of sirens, that two pinpricks of light appeared in the distance. Even from a distance, though, Adrian could notice something out of the ordinary. "Uh oh," he groaned softly.
"What?" Natalie asked him.
"He can't stop," Adrian gestured at Campbell's car, which was swerving all over the road much faster than it needed to, "I'll bet Marissa tampered with his brake line," Adrian lamented, "She gave him just enough pressure to get to the airport and get the job done taking out Wendy's replacement. Captain!" he cried out to Stottlemeyer, hunched over the hood of the nearest cruiser ready to open fire, "He's got no brakes!"
"What!?" Stottlemeyer turned, his associates' words being drowned out by the sirens and helicopters, "What's that, Monk!?"
"Watch it!" came the cry before Adrian could say it louder. Campbell, seeing the roadblock waiting for him, had tried to swerve down the 23rd Avenue exit ramp, but had overshot it by just a little too much and hit the concrete embankment so fast that it sent him spiraling through the air down to the street below, landing, most inopportunely, on top of a gas truck. Adrian dared to hit the ground as a huge explosion rocked the street below; even when down he could still feel the heat from the massive fireball. Once he reasoned it was safe, he trudged glumly to the edge of the overpass and glanced down at the wreckage below (at least, he could see, the truck driver seemed to have escaped the inferno with at most minor injuries and was crawling about on the road next to the blazing wreckage of his rig and Campbell's car), knowing full well that he just might have lost the last chance to convict Marissa Whitehurst of her crimes.
"It's got to be here somewhere, it's just got to be," the detective was mumbling almost hysterically the next afternoon, walking in tight circles around the weight room Norm Shute had been killed in.
"Well you're not going to see it if you get all hyper, Mr. Monk," Natalie tried to calm him down.
"How can I, we're almost out of time here!" he howled. A quick glanced at his watch confirmed no more than twenty minutes till the gymnastics finals would begin, and things had gotten even worse. Once word of the attack on Emily Southerton had gotten out, any further replacements that could have come in if Wendy wasn't reinstated had declined to do so out of fear the same fate would before them. Thus, the U.S. team was faced with the possibility of disqualification if they didn't had enough players to compete, Ghazi had informed Adrian when the detective had met him at the door of Maples Pavilion when he'd come back to look for a clue he might have missed, and that had only served to put more pressure on him to deliver now.
To make matters worse, there came a tapping on the weight room door. "Oh don't tell me you're still out looking for something you already have, Mr. Monk?" Mrs. Whitehurst's voice was undeniably cocky now as she slid into the weight room, an arrogant smile plastered on her face. Adrian blood pressure spiked. "Do you always come to rub in it to people you think you've beaten!?" he growled, "Of course you do, that fits your character perfectly. I know you killed off Lyle Campbell last night, Mrs. Whitehurst; it'll only take a quick check to confirm his brakes were tampered with."
"But you can't prove it was me that cut them, so why bother?" she told him smugly, "If I were you, I'd just get back to the stands and watch my daughter win the gold."
"Is that all you care about, the gold medal!?" Natalie blew up herself. She stormed right up to the woman she'd once considered a friend, "I thought I knew you, Marissa, but the truth is you're a monster of the worst kind! I saw you hit Wendy yesterday; no mother should EVER get away with something like that, and we're going to bring you down no matter what it takes!"
"Temper, temper, Natalie," Mrs. Whitehurst yawned, "Someone might think you have anger management problems. As I've said more times than I've cared to, there's no way either of you can prove I did anything wrong. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some important things to take care of before the competition."
She turned and marched out the door with her head held high. "She's going to try and sabotage the other gymnasts," Adrian groaned, "Tamper with the equipment, drug them, something to make sure Wendy wins the gold."
"Doesn't she even know that Wendy isn't officially reinstated yet?" Natalie had to inquire.
"You saw how overconfident she is, Natalie; she assumes that all the proof points to Campbell and they'll assume he did it alone, and they'll have to reinstate Wendy then, but Mr. Ghazi said that's not how it would work. But she'll carry out whatever she wants to carry out regardless, so we've got to find whatever's in here," Adrian started walking in faster circles around the room. "What is it we're not seeing?" he whimpered, glancing maniacally into every square inch of the weight room, "We know she hanged him from the vent, but how did she do it!? It's right here; why can't I see it!!??"
"All right, I know you're upset, Mr. Monk, but I think you really need to calm down now," Natalie tried to calm him, "We can't solve this if you're uptight like this."
"I can't help it!!" he snapped, "It feels like I've got the whole weight of the world on my shoulder, pressing down like a four hundred pound iron...!!"
He stopped and started making several hand gestures. His face suddenly lit up. "I know how she did it," he exclaimed, "Natalie, call the captain, the I.O.C., and campus security; Marissa Whitehurst's going to..."
Suddenly the entire room began shaking. "Earthquake!" Natalie surmised correctly. In a flash she dragged Adrian into the corner and smothered him as weights and other items crashed to the floor. Fortuitously, it was no more than fifteen seconds later at most that the earthquake stopped, and everything returned to normal. "Well, that wasn't really that bad," Natalie conceded, climbing back up to her feet, "Probably no worse than a four and a half, I'd say. Shouldn't even delay the competition, I'd bet. Now you were saying, Mr. Monk? Mr. Monk?"
Adrian apparently didn't hear her. He glanced around blankly at the toppled weights and cracked walls. A low sound escaped his throat. "What, what is it?" Natalie leaned towards him."
"Boolash, den offa morv, rallet," Adrian mumbled softly.
"Huh?" she frowned.
"Boolash den offa morv, rallet," Adrian turned towards her, his eyebrows raised in puzzlement that she'd be questioning him.
"Mr. Monk, you're not speaking in English," she put a hand to his head, "Are you sure you're all right?"
Ammu shork stiffstickle tag," Adrian rolled his eyes as if she'd said something dumb, "Normat, effa zop raz maddix yob twol dum zet oblo yob timmit."
He gestured wildly for her to follow him out the door. Natalie pulled out her cell phone as she did. "Captain, it's me," she told Stottlemeyer, "Mr. Monk solved it, but we've got a problem."