"Now this is what I call a trendy place," Disher remarked as they climbed out of his car and stared at the upscale yellow Columbus Avenue house that they knew Karen now called home—Stottlemeyer had often groused about how he could only guess she could afford her new place on a single person's salary. "I wish I could find…Monk?"
The detective was squatting on the front lawn, clipping away at individual grass stems in the yard. "These blades, they're not even," he remarked out loud, "I don't know who she hires to cut this lawn nowadays, but she should not pay him extra, that's for sure."
"Well then why don't we let them do their job, especially since…" Natalie started to tell him, but she trailed off as a familiar car came cruising up and slid into a parking space near them. Moments later the door opened and Karen slid out. "I got your call," she told Disher, a strong tinge of frustrated resignation in her voice, "Is this really important?"
"Uh, yeah, Karen, it kind of is," Disher told her, "We need to talk to you about a criminal investigation we're in right now."
"Are you alone?" her eyes glanced suspiciously up and down the street, as if expecting her ex-husband to pop out of nowhere at a moment's notice.
"Yes we are," Disher admitted, "In fact he doesn't even know we're here right now."
"Then come on in," she waved them toward the front door. "Leave it," she told Adrian very firmly upon noticing he was still clipping the grass.
"Well I just think you'd like them to be even and…" Adrian stopped when she gave him a look that would burn up steel and pocketed his clippers. He followed everyone inside, into a well-decorated den that just screamed of liberation, he felt. "I'm guessing this probably has something to do with Arthur Schmidt's death," Karen spoke up before anyone else could, "I saw it on the TV this morning before I went to the set."
"Actually, yes," Disher said, "And congratulations on landing your first big directing role, if I may say so."
"I don't approve of flattery like you're giving, but thank you," she informed him, "It is an honor than someone's finally giving me a chance at a major motion picture after all those years of documentaries. And personally I find oppressed miners standing up to federal troops during the Gold…Monk!" she snapped abruptly at the detective as he leafed through a copy of her script on the coffee table and reached for a pair of nearby scissors, "That is my master copy! Nothing can happen to it."
"Well these pages are a little too thick in spots, see?" Adrian held up the script for her to see, but quickly put it back down again when he received another piercing glare. "I guess you could fix it on your own though," he quickly added, "So you knew Arthur Schmidt, then?"
"I'm sorry to say yes," Karen plopped down on the couch, "The louse was helping to finance my picture. He made some undercover deal a while back with the head of production that kept him on board, even though he clearly knows nothing about art. Every day he'd send down one of his corporate flunkies to the set just to criticize everything I did. In fact, reliable sources told me earlier in the week that he was going to just pull the plug on the whole production next week because he felt I was too far over budget. Now you look at our expenditure listings," she withdrew a set of sheets from the drawer of the nearest cabinet and waved them in Disher's face, "Does this look like I'm even one cent over budget to you?"
"Um," Disher squinted at the papers, "I don't understand a single thing they're saying on this, but I guess I'll take your word for it. Anyway, Karen, the real reason we're here is that…well…I not quite sure how to say this…we found an old rifle in Schmidt's car with your fingerprints on it."
"Ah, so he's the one who stole them after all!" Karen snorted.
"Stole?" Natalie asked.
"I put in an invoice for vintage 1850s era rifles for the federal troops to use during the climax," the director told her, "I want this to be as historically accurate a picture as possible. Schmidt objected with the paltry excuse that we didn't have the money for it. So last week I got four of them from the distributor and put them in my trunk while I went to check the lighting on one scene we were setting up for. I'm gone five minutes and the trunk's empty. I questioned the whole crew, but no one saw anything. I should have known it was Schmidt anyway."
"Um, why didn't you tell us then?" Disher had to ask, "We would have ordered an investigation on…"
"Because it would have ended up on Leland's desk, and my business is no longer his!" she barked at him unexpectedly. After a minute, she took a deep breath and said, "Forgive me, but if you'd lived with Leland as long as I did, you wouldn't want him looking into your business either."
"So you did handle the rifles, then?" Adrian asked, flicking at the chandelier.
"Yes, I did," she told him, "That's why you got my fingerprints. It's a shame someone killed Schmidt, because I would have loved nothing better than to drag his sorry rump into court on theft charges, but at least I can rest easy knowing someone gave him what he deserved. How did he die anyway?"
"He was stabbed four times with something sharp, and shot once through the neck," Natalie said, pulling Adrian away from the chandelier, "We'd just like to know, for the record, Karen, where were you last night?"
"On the set, filming a major scene," Karen told her firmly, "You can ask anyone on the crew, they'll back me up. And you can forget about accusing me if he was shot; you know as much as the next person that I hate guns and would never shoot anyone. Now really if you have no further questions, I really have to get going; we'll be shooting on Russian Hill until midnight."
"Um, I guess we're good; Monk?" Disher asked him.
"Uh…yes, yes we are," Adrian said. His eyes were gazing intently at a small spot of discolored paint on the painting over the fireplace, but with Natalie firmly clutching both his hands at the moment, there wasn't much he could do. "Thank, thank you for your time, Karen," he told her, somehow bringing himself to shake her hand.
"I'm going to ask you not to say anything to Leland about this," Karen warned him as he waved to Natalie for a wipe, "As I said earlier, this is none of his concern, especially since I didn't kill Arthur Schmidt. And tell him that if he doesn't abide by the court's ruling this morning, the judge will have no choice but to increase the payments again."
"Well, I'm not sure I can make a guarantee if…" Adrian started to protest.
"I asked you if we have an agreement?" Karen pointed a finger in his face. "Yes, sure, I won't say anything," the detective said quickly.
"Then you can excuse me, since I have lots of work to do," the director walked into the kitchen and started gathering up cases of equipment. Her visitors slipped out the front door. "Talk about being uptight," Natalie remarked once they were outside, "She's definitely taking life way too seriously lately."
"Well the important question is," Disher turned to Adrian, "What do you think, Monk?"
"It's kind of the middle," Adrian climbed into the back seat, "It just doesn't seem like her not to report the rifles stolen. That's not the Karen I knew all those years."
"So you're saying she's lying to us?" the lieutenant asked.
"I wouldn't exactly say she's lying," Adrian leaned over the seat and started playing around with Disher's rearview mirror, which was crooked, "But something still doesn't seem right here. Especially with this mirror. Why they issue ones with…"
There was a loud snapping noise as the mirror broke off in Adrian's hand. He stared at it for a few seconds, then handed it to a disapproving Disher. "Anyway," the detective added as Disher started the car and pulled out into traffic, "Let's just hope the captain's in a reasonable mood when we get back."
Reasonable, however, would not have been an accurate description of Stottlemeyer's mood at all when the three of them returned to the precinct. The moment they set foot back in the squad room, the sound of crashing could be heard from the captain's office. A quick peek in the door revealed him snatching random items off his desk and hurling them into the wall in frustration. "Oh it's you guys," he greeted them when he realized they were standing in the doorway watching him, "Don't mind me, I was just blindsided in court. That legal loser Tepperman sold his theory to the judge that just because I've got a bigger place, I should be paying double the alimony I'm currently paying. DOUBLE! I can barely afford paying the rent, even with help from Linda, and he says I should go broke trying to pay off everything he claims I owe at once! And you want to know what's worse? She just sits there with this satisfied grin on her face and enjoys watching him run me into the dirt! We've come to the point where she actually enjoys seeing me hurt and hurt bad! I never kicked her when she was down…!"
He slumped into his chair and covered his face. "Almost twenty years," he mumbled, deep hurt welling up in his voice, "You think you love someone, and they go do things like this to you. You just can't trust anyone these days, I can tell you that." He took several deep breaths and added, "But I guess you don't want to spend all day listening to my problems. They told me you went out on a lead; did you find anything that could help put this case on ice?"
Adrian squinted his eyes shut in discomfort. He had vivid memories in his head of just how unpleasant Natalie had become when he'd initially decided to rule Jimmy Cusack's death a suicide even when he knew otherwise. Stottlemeyer, the detective had strong reason to suspect, would probably take a similar lie in this instance at least ten times worse. But at the moment, he just couldn't bring himself to tell his superior what he knew. "Uh, no," he said quickly, "It, it turned out to be a dead end, no connection at all. You find anything out?"
"Apart from the fact my ex-wife lives to rub my face in the dirt, no," the captain snorted, "Lieutenant, did you get the fingerprint analysis on that rifle back yet?"
"Uh, yeah," Disher twisted about uncomfortably himself, "They did find Schmidt's prints on it. That's about it."
"Well then, things look like they're still wide open," Stottlemeyer rose and paced around his office, "The papers are all over this, so I hope we can eventually bring this to a quick end."
"Um, Schmidt's wife said her son had threatened to kill him," Natalie said quickly.
"Ah, good, some progress," the captain nodded, "You guys go check up on that, because I'm afraid I'm in too bad a mood to really go out there today. In fact, I think I'm going to need a coffee right about now, so if you'll excuse me a minute."
He trudged out the door. His associates exchanged nervous glances. "There's no way we can keep it from him forever," Disher spoke their minds in one swoop, "We've got to figure it out and hope she's not really involved after all."