Mr. Monk and the New Lieutenant by Hy Conrad Page A

possibility of heart damage and had connected him up to a cardiac monitor. A patrol officer was assigned to his door, which was probably unnecessary since Trudy Stottlemeyer had returned and taken command of the room like a mother grizzly.
    As for the note, the department’s forensics unit had come up empty. Lieutenant A.J. was investigating what civilians might have had access to the captain’s desk during the time in question. And since the firm of Monk and Teeger had been involved in most of the captain’s big cases in the past ten years, we had been retained to check into those cases—and our memory banks—for leads.
    I had just cross-referenced a list of trials involving Judge Oberlin of the California State Superior Court and Captain Stottlemeyer of the SFPD. I tried to be generous with the dates, not to let any possibility slip through. There were nine cases that could fit the time frame, some of them with multiple defendants. I printed out a brief summation of each case, slipped them into a manila folder, and centered the folder in Monk’s in-basket.
    â€œWhy isn’t he trying to kill us, Natalie?”
    â€œExcuse me?” I actually knew what he was talking about, but I guess I wanted him to lay it out.
    â€œOur thallium killer didn’t mention us. If it was a case we were part of, wouldn’t he want to kill us, too?”
    â€œWhat’s the matter? Are you feeling left out?”
    â€œJust curious.”
    â€œMaybe he does intend to kill us but doesn’t want to give us advance warning. Feel better?”
    â€œOr maybe it was a case we weren’t involved in. The killer said seven years. Didn’t we go to Germany seven years ago?”
    â€œWas that only seven years?” I wondered out loud. “Seems like a lifetime.”
    In some ways it was a lifetime ago. That was back when Monk’s first psychiatrist, Dr. Kroger, was alive, long before Monk had solved his own Trudy’s murder. Back then he was still dependent on his sessions with Charles Kroger—three times a week on a good week. So when the doctor left to go to a medical conference in Germany, Monk felt he had no choice. He drugged himself on antianxiety meds and booked us on the next flight. Between solving a few murders in Germany and a few more in Paris, it wasn’t what you’d call a vacation. But the adventure did take us away from the San Francisco criminal court system. That month or so for us was a blank spot.
    â€œDid the captain testify in any cases in front of Judge Oberlin while we were gone?” Monk had already picked up the folder. He flipped through the pages and found the dates quickly enough. “Huh,” he said, examining the few paragraphs of sketchy detail. “Two cases. Both with the captain as lead investigator, both pleaded in front of Judge Nathaniel Oberlin, and both ending up in convictions. Who knew?”
    I smiled. “It seems the captain is capable of making arrests and getting convictions without you.”
    â€œI never doubted it. Leland is a competent professional, one of the very best.” Monk rotated his shoulders in a little shrug. “But you’re right, Natalie. I’m surprised.”
    â€œSo these are the cases we focus on,” I suggested. “I’ll call Lieutenant Thurman and get the complete files.”
    â€œThurman?” Monk shuddered. “What a moronic jerk. And I say that with full apologies to all the moronic jerks who maybe aren’t quite as bad.”
    â€œDon’t work yourself up, Adrian.”
    â€œI’m not working myself up.”
    â€œLike it or not, we have to get used to him. The captain is going home for some bed rest. Until he’s back at full capacity, A.J. is in charge.”
    â€œIn charge?” Monk moaned. “No, that’s unacceptable. What about Lieutenant Devlin? She can come back, at least until the captain is safe.”
    â€œI already