Lee Goldberg - Monk 03 - Mr Monk and the Blue Flu by Lee Goldberg

Author:Lee Goldberg [Goldberg, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-09-21T20:00:00+00:00

13

Mr. Monk Goes to Headquarters

Monk stood in the doorway to the homicide squad room in stunned silence. I was pretty astonished myself.

Porter, Chow, and Wyatt, their assistants, and Officer Curtis were at their desks, either talking on the phone, using their computers, or sorting through papers, and were only gradually becoming aware of our arrival. But seeing them all hard at work wasn’t what was so amazing.

It was the squad room itself. In our absence it had been transformed into a showroom for the principles of balance and order.

All the desks were lined up in rows and spaced apart so evenly, it looked as though someone had actually measured the distance between them to the centimeter.

The telephones, lamps, legal pads, computer monitors, keyboards, pencil holders, and other desktop items were each in the same spot on every desk, as if they’d been permanently glued in place.

Every pencil cup contained exactly four pencils of equal length, four pens (two black and two blue), two pairs of scissors, and two rulers.

Every poster, photograph, map, and bulletin board on the walls was centered, straightened, spaced evenly apart, and arranged by size, shape, and color. Even the papers, photos, and notes on the individual bulletin boards were aligned by size, shape, and color.

The place had been thoroughly Monked.

The only corner of the squad room that remained untouched was Captain Stottlemeyer’s office, which, by comparison, looked as if it had been ransacked.

By the time Monk had taken it all in, everyone in the office had set their work aside and turned to face him. He was so moved by what he’d seen that he could barely summon the breath to speak.

To be honest, I had tears in my eyes. I was happy for Monk and genuinely touched by what these strangers had done to show their appreciation and respect for him.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I won’t let you down.”

He wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the words. He simply smiled, nodded a few times, and retreated to the interrogation room that he was using as his office.

Wyatt grimaced. “What the hell was he talking about?”

“He’s obviously nuttier than a can of cashews,” Chow replied.

“He sure is,” Porter agreed. “Whoever he is.”

I was confused. I went over to the coffeemaker, where Jasper, Sparrow, and Arnie had congregated. I guess that made that corner of the room the assistants’ lounge.

I met Jasper’s gaze and gestured to the detectives. “How did they ever manage to pitch in and do all of this?”

“They didn’t,” Jasper said. “Sparrow and I did it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s obvious that Monk suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder.”

“You mean he’s a freak,” Sparrow said.

“He’s already under an unusual amount of stress,” Jasper continued, ignoring Sparrow’s remark. “A disorderly environment would be crippling for him. The more comfortable he is in his surroundings, the more likely it is that he’ll perform at the peak of his abilities.”

All true. But that begged a cynical question.

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