Mr. Monk Goes to Germany (12 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Mr. Monk and the Stakeout

We trudged back down the hill to Vigg’s house. The police were gone but they’d left the property surrounded by the single strip of crime scene tape. It was the only sign that a double murder might have taken place on that quiet street.

We continued on towards the center of the village, using the church spires and the watchtower to guide us.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked.

“I’m going to ask Hauptkriminalkommissar Stoffmacher to arrest Dr. Rahner and send him to San Francisco to stand trial for murder,” Monk said.

“Don’t you think they’re going to need more evidence than his extra finger and the word of a dead bomber?”

“It’s obvious that he’s guilty of something,” Monk said.

“Because you say so?”

“Because he has eleven fingers,” Monk said. “All you have to do is look at him to see that he’s unbalanced.”

“It’s a physical abnormality,” I said. “It doesn’t mean anything. ”

“Who knows what other ways he might also be unbalanced? ”

“His finger isn’t a physical manifestation of deeper problems. ”

“Of course it is. It’s nature’s way of warning you,” Monk said. “Would you eat a chicken that had two heads or a fish with three eyes?”

“Probably not,” I said. “But we’re talking about a person’s character, not edibility. You can’t judge somebody on the basis of a physical defect. That’s unfair and insensitive.”

“You know what they say. If you wouldn’t eat a person, you shouldn’t trust them.”

“Who says that?”

“My new neighbor,” Monk said.

“You’ve only spoken to him once, and I was there,” I said. “He didn’t say that.”

“It’s common cannibal wisdom.”

“Since when are you an expert on cannibals?”

“Since one of them moved into my building,” he said.

Even if there was a conspiracy against Monk, I was fairly certain that Dr. Kroger’s diagnosis of his mental health was absolutely accurate.

We found Stoffmacher at his desk in the police station, holding a mirror up to his face and examining his mustache, touching it up with a tiny comb. He didn’t seem too pleased to see us standing at the front counter.

“I have no news to share,” Stoffmacher said without getting up from his desk. “We haven’t found Bruno Leupolz or your eleven-fingered suspect.”

“We have,” Monk said. “He’s at the hotel on the hill.”

“Leupolz?”

“The other guy,” I said.

Monk said, “His name is Dr. Martin Rahner and he’s attending the same seminar as my psychiatrist. What do you think of that?”

“It’s not uncommon for psychiatrists to attend psychiatric conferences,” Stoffmacher said. “Regardless of how many fingers they have.”

“I think it’s a conspiracy,” Monk said. “My shrink has been helping my wife’s killer evade capture all of these years.”

Stoffmacher set down his mirror and his comb. “That sounds crazy.”

“That’s exactly what my psychiatrist wants you to think,” Monk said.

“Especially coming from a patient who followed his psychiatrist here from the United States,” Stoffmacher said.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Monk said. “Who would believe me?”

“It’s a convincing argument,” Stoffmacher said.

“His or mine?”

“His,” Stoffmacher said. “And he hasn’t even made it yet.”

“But you aren’t falling for it,” Monk said. “Because I’ve already proven to you at the Leupolz crime scene that I’m thoughtful, intelligent, and rational.”

“Do you expect me to arrest them?” Stoffmacher asked.

“That would be nice,” Monk said.

“Do you have evidence of their guilt or any outstanding warrants for their arrest?”

“Are those necessary in Germany?” Monk asked.

“We follow the rule of law here,” Stoffmacher said. “We are a civilized country.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have cobblestone streets,” Monk said.

“What?” Stoffmacher said.

I spoke up quickly before Monk could make himself look any crazier. “Mr. Monk would appreciate it if you would do a background check on Dr. Rahner and keep an eye on him.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Stoffmacher said. “But I’m afraid the homicide investigation is taxing our resources as it is. All my officers are occupied right now looking for Bruno Leupolz.”

“I understand,” I said.

“I don’t,” Monk said. “Leupolz is dead.”

“We don’t know that,” Stoffmacher said.

“I do,” Monk said. “Don’t worry—bodies have a way of turning up. So you can investigate Dr. Rahner and watch his every move until someone finds the corpse.”

“If there is a corpse to be found, we’d like to be the ones to do it,” Stoffmacher said. “Good day, Mr. Monk.”

“The hell it is,” Monk said and walked out.

I followed after him.

Monk stepped carefully from stone to stone, almost as if he was playing hopscotch.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to irritate Stoffmacher? ” I said. “We need his help.”

“He’s hiding something,” Monk said.

“His irritation,” I said.

“What if he’s in on it too?”

“I thought you weren’t going to let paranoia overwhelm you,” I said.

“I’m not,” Monk said. “But this entire town is twisted. Look around.”

“Good idea,” I said.

“What is?”

“Let’s look around,” I said. “We can’t do anything until we hear from the police in San Francisco or the police here. We might as well get a sense of the place in the meantime.”

“I have the sense,” Monk said. “It’s nausea.”

“So do you have a better idea?”

Monk motioned to the hills. “I’ve spent years looking for my wife’s killer. He may be up in that hotel right now. I am not letting him get away.”

“What are you going to do?” I said.

“I’m going to keep watch outside the hotel,” Monk said. “If he tries to leave, I’ll be on him like his shadow, if his shadow had ten fingers instead of eleven.”

I couldn’t go sightseeing while he maintained his vigil, so I reluctantly went along with him. We walked up the road to the Franziskushohe, stopping at the bridge that crossed the tiny stream. The low walls on either side of the bridge gave us a place to sit.

“This is the only way to drive into or out of the property,” Monk said.

“Actually, it’s not,” I said. “There’s a logging road at the far end of the parking lot and a dozen hiking trails. If he wanted to leave, we’d never know it.”

“How do you know?”

“There are maps and historical markers along the trails,” I said. “I looked at one of them.”

“We’re going to need more men,” Monk said. “But in the meantime you’ll have to go on patrol.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll stay here,” Monk said. “You walk the trails.”

“I can’t be on all the trails at once,” I said.

“It’s the best we can do,” Monk said.

“We?” I said. “I’m the one who has to do all the walking. Why don’t you go on patrol?”

“I might encounter nature,” Monk said.

When he put it that way, the idea of an afternoon spent walking through the woods in peace seemed a lot more attractive than sitting on the bridge with him.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

“Check back with me hourly,” Monk said. “Let’s synchronize our watches.”

That was easier said than done. It took us twenty minutes to synchronize our watches to the exact second, and another two minutes on top of that just to confirm they were ticking at the same rate.

Once we were done, I went up the hill to check whether Dr. Rahner was still at the hotel and to get a map of the trails.

The woman at the front desk informed me that Dr. Rahner was delivering a lecture in the ground-floor conference room. She gave me a trail map. It was in German but the illustrations were easy enough to follow.

Before heading off on patrol, I walked around the hotel looking in windows until I saw a ground-floor room full of people. I crept up close, ducked behind a bush, and peeked inside the window as inconspicuously as I could. I was worried that if anyone saw me—the crazy woman who’d tried to kill one of the attendees—they might call the police. It wouldn’t help our cause if Stoffmacher thought I was nuts, too.

I could see Dr. Rahner behind a podium, giving a Power-Pointpresentation. Dr. Kroger was in the audience, taking notes. His nose was swollen. I felt a little twinge of guilt. I don’t usually go around socking people. If Dr. Kroger turned out to be innocent, I was going to have to get him a fruit basket or something.

Now that I’d established that our target was still there, I slipped away, picked a trail at random, and started wandering. Within a few minutes, I was swallowed up by the dense forest and the temperature seemed to drop a good ten degrees. Since my mission was to patrol possible avenues of escape, I chose paths that allowed me to circle the property.

It was a waste of time, but I found it relaxing. The only sounds I heard were birdsong, the wind rustling through the trees, and my own footsteps on the dry leaves and dirt. There was nobody there but me.

I didn’t see anything but trees and brush. There were no storefronts full of things to buy and no advertisements trying to seduce me into spending my money.

The air was fresh and rich with the scents of pine, flowers, and moist earth. It was so nice to take a breath and not smell exhaust fumes, cigarette smoke, or something being fried.

But I did smell something familiar, something that reminded me of home, and not in a pleasant way. I sniffed again and followed the scent.

I didn’t have to go far. The trail led to a clearing with a muddy pond surrounded by weeds. There was a persistent buzz in the air, but it wasn’t from an electrical line.

It was from the flies, the ones drawn to the body of a man lying facedown on the trail. He was wearing jogging shorts, a T-shirt, and a bright white pair of new running shoes.

I didn’t have to take his pulse to know that he was dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mr. Monk Meets Nature

I had a cell phone, but I didn’t know if I had reception. And even if I did, I didn’t have the number for the police station or know how to call information to get it.

I had no choice but to leave the body where it was, mark its location on my trail map, and go back to the hotel and ask the woman at the front desk to call the police.

So that’s what I did.

The woman at the front desk, the same one who gave me the trail map, looked at me with confusion after I told her what I wanted her to do.

“I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

“I’d like you to call Hauptkriminalkommissar Stoffmacher at the Lohr police station and tell him that I found a dead body on one of the trails.”

“A dead body of what?”

“A person,” I said. “A man.”

She was already pale, but she seemed to get even paler. If she lost any more color, someone might mistake her for a corpse, too.

“You saw a dead man?”

That’s what happens when you travel with Adrian Monk. He doesn’t even have to be with you.

“Yes, I did,” I said. “That’s why I’m asking you to call the police.”

“Was it one of our guests?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” I said. “Tell Stoffmacher I will meet him at the bridge.”

I walked out and headed down the hill. I could see Monk pacing, looking at his watch and glancing up at me. I didn’t have to see his face to feel his disapproval. I was late for my hourly check-in, but I thought I had a good excuse.

“We synchronized our watches,” Monk said as I approached. “So you know you’re twenty minutes late with your report.”

“Dr. Rahner is still at the hotel,” I said. “And either I found Bruno Leupolz or the homicide rate in this town is skyrocketing.”

“What are you talking about?”

It was nice not to be the one asking that question for a change.

“I found a dead man on the trail,” I said.

“You left it there?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” I said.

“Stay with the body and send a passerby back to notify the police.”

“It’s a wilderness trail,” I said. “There was nobody else around.”

Monk scowled. “That’s why they should have security cameras out there. And lights, paved roads, and sidewalks.”

“Then it wouldn’t be a wilderness trail anymore,” I said.

“It would be an orderliness trail,” Monk said, “which is always better.”

Two silver-and-blue police cruisers came up the road and stopped at the bridge. Officer Schust and another cop I recognizedfrom outside the Vigg house were in one car, Geshir and Stoffmacher in the other.

Stoffmacher and Geshir got out of their car and approached us.

“I understand that you discovered a corpse?” Stoffmacher said.

I nodded.

“Are you sure?” Geshir asked. “Maybe he was just napping.”

“I know a dead body when I see one.” I took out my map and pointed to the spot. “He’s right here, on the trail beside a shallow pond. You can’t miss it.”

“Why don’t you show us?” Stoffmacher said.

I started for the car with the two detectives but then noticed that Monk wasn’t joining us. I looked back to see him still standing on the bridge.

“Aren’t you coming?” I asked.

“I can’t abandon my post,” Monk said.

“What post?” Stoffmacher said.

“He’s standing watch,” I said, “making sure Dr. Rahner doesn’t leave the hotel.”

Stoffmacher motioned to the police car with the two officers inside. “That’s why they are here. I’m locking this area down. Nobody will come or go without my authorization.”

“Who is watching the trails?” Monk asked.

“No one. I don’t have enough men for that,” Stoffmacher said. “But I will station an officer at the hotel to make sure that nobody leaves the property.”

“But the building has several entrances and exits,” Monk said.

“And there are security cameras at all of them, which my officer can monitor from his position in the lobby,” Stoffmacher said. “Satisfied?”

“I can live with that,” Monk said.

“I’m so relieved,” Stoffmacher said.

Geshir drove the four of us up to the hotel parking lot. We got out of the car, found the trailhead, and started walking.

“Be careful,” Monk said. “There’s nature everywhere.”

He sank his head into his shoulders and drew his arms in as close to his body as he could so he wouldn’t brush against anything as he stepped gingerly down the trail.

“I understand that you don’t believe in coincidences,” Stoffmacher said. “So perhaps you can explain why our first homicide in five years happened on the day that you arrived.”

“Bad luck,” Monk said.

“And then when someone goes missing who you presume is dead, it happens to be your assistant who stumbles on the body and proves you right.”

“Worse luck,” I said.

“Attention, more nature,” Monk cried out. “Take evasive action!”

“Why?” Geshir said. “There’s nothing that can hurt us.”

“Oh really?” Monk pointed to something in the dirt along the edge of the trail. “What do you call that?”

“Rabbit droppings,” Geshir said.

“Perhaps now you won’t be so cavalier about our safety,” Monk said and then pointed to a low-lying branch. “Leaf alert! Leaf alert!”

Monk ducked far lower than necessary to avoid the leaves and then looked back as if he was afraid they might give chase.

Stoffmacher turned to me. “Isn’t ‘bad luck’ just another way of saying ‘coincidence’?”

“Not really,” I said. “Maybe it is in German.”

I turned my head away, as if my attention was caught by something, but really I didn’t want him to detect the lie all over my face. I need not have bothered. At that same moment Monk let out an agonized shriek and started hopping around on one foot, which got everyone’s attention.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Please, God, get it out.” Monk grabbed Geshir for support and lifted up his foot to me. “Hurry.”

I squatted and examined the bottom of his shoe, expecting to see his foot impaled on a nail or a railroad spike. But there wasn’t even a thorn.

“I don’t see anything,” I said.

Stoffmacher leaned down next to me. “Neither do I.”

“Are you both blind?” Monk shrieked. “It’s right in the middle of my foot!”

I squinted and made out a pebble only slightly larger than a grain of sand stuck in one of the treads of his shoe.

“You mean that tiny pebble?” I said and used my fingernail to flick it out.

Monk sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

Stoffmacher regarded Monk in disbelief. “You could feel that?”

“If someone plucked your eyeball out with a fork, would you feel that?” Monk said.

“Of course I would.”

“Then don’t ask stupid questions,” Monk said and began limping along. “How much farther is this body?”

“Not far,” I said.

“Good,” Monk said. “Because if we have to go much farther, the four of us could end up just like him.”

“We could step on rabbit droppings and die,” Geshir said with a grin.

“If I step on rabbit droppings, don’t wait for nature to take its merciless course,” Monk said. “Just shoot me.”

Stoffmacher leaned towards me and whispered, “I wouldn’t take your job for all the money in the world.”

“And I get paid considerably less than that,” I said.

“Then why do you do it?” he asked.

“To visit exotic places,” I said.

That’s when we began to smell the body. We came upon the actual corpse a few moments later. Monk saw it first and held out his arms to stop us from going farther. His hand brushed a leaf and he yanked it back as if it had been burned.

“Wipe!” Monk motioned to me frantically. I fished a wipe out of my purse and gave it to him.

He cleaned his hands, gave me the used wipe, and took two cautious steps forward. Stoffmacher slipped on rubber gloves and asked Geshir to call the coroner and the forensic unit. Geshir nodded, took out his cell phone, and made the call.

Monk cocked his head and held his hands out in front of him, as if feeling for heat rising off the ground as he walked.

Stoffmacher reached into his pockets and produced two little shoe covers that looked like blue shower caps. He put them over his shoes, then took two more out of his pocket and handed them to me.

“What is he doing?” Stoffmacher asked.

“I call it Monk Zen,” I said as I slipped the covers on my shoes. “I think he’s trying to sense what’s out of place.”

Monk stopped, looked at his feet, and started to whimper.

Stoffmacher glanced at me. “Is that normal?”

“That’s a flexible concept when it comes to Mr. Monk,” I said and started towards him.

“Stand back!” Monk yelled, holding up his hand in a halting gesture. “Nobody move!”

“What is it?” Geshir asked. “Are you standing on a land mine?”

Stoffmacher gave Geshir a withering look. “A land mine? Why would there be a land mine here?”

“I don’t know.” Geshir motioned to Monk. “Ask him.”

“This is worse.” Monk spoke very slowly. “At least with a land mine the hot kiss of death comes quickly.”

“What could be worse than a land mine?” Geshir said.

“The ground around me looks dry, but it’s actually moist,” Monk said. “I have mud on my shoes. It’s too late for me, but not for you. Go. Save yourselves while you still can.”

Stoffmacher muttered something in German that I’m pretty sure was profane, marched past Monk, and crouched beside the body. Geshir joined him.

Monk remained frozen in place, wincing. I stayed with my boss like the loyal assistant that I am. Plus, I had no desire to lean over a smelly corpse.

The dead guy appeared to be in his late forties. He had two days’ worth of stubble on his fleshy cheeks and was pale-skinned, but maybe that was just because he was dead. His head was turned to one side, his eyes and mouth wide open.

“He’s in exercise clothes and wearing running shoes,” Stoffmacher said. “He must have been jogging through the forest when he died.”

“He was murdered,” Monk said.

Geshir searched the man’s pockets with his gloved hands and pulled out a thin wallet. He sorted through it.

“It’s Bruno Leupolz,” Geshir said. “His credit cards are still in his wallet. There’s also about sixty euros in cash.”

“I don’t see any blood or signs of violence,” Stoffmacher said. “No cuts, not even a bruise.”

Geshir looked back at Monk. “You were wrong. He wasn’t shot.”

“Maybe he was poisoned,” I said.

“Whether he was poisoned or not,” Stoffmacher said, “this doesn’t fit with Monk’s theory of what happened in the house at all.”

“It fits mine,” Geshir said.

“That Leupolz accidentally killed Vigg while trying to shoot himself,” Stoffmacher said.

Geshir nodded. “Leupolz was so distraught over what he’d done that he ran into the woods and poisoned himself.”

“Why not do it in his apartment?” I asked.

“He was trying to distance himself from what he’d done,” Geshir said. “That’s why he made it look like Vigg killed himself. Leupolz didn’t want to die a murderer.”

Stoffmacher nodded approvingly. “You may be on to something.”

“The only thing he’s on is a feather,” Monk said.

“What?” Geshir said.

“Lift up your left foot,” Monk said. Geshir did. There was a feather in the mud. “That feather is the same as the ones we found in Leupolz’s apartment.”

“So what?” Stoffmacher said. “It makes sense that he might track things with him from his own apartment.”

“The pillow exploded when the killer used it as a silencer,” Monk said. “That’s why there were feathers all over the apartment. That feather proves I was right.”

“But there weren’t feathers all over the apartment,” Geshir said.

“Because the killer cleaned most of them up,” Monk said.

“But Leupolz wasn’t shot,” Stoffmacher said. “So there was no killer, no silencer, and no exploded pillow. This body proves that you were wrong.”

Monk shook his head. “We’re missing something.”

“What’s missing is a coherent explanation for these two deaths,” Stoffmacher said. “We need to go back to the beginning and rethink all of our assumptions.”

“You mean
his
assumptions.” Geshir gestured to Monk.

“Yours, too,” Stoffmacher said. “Mine as well.”

“You have assumptions?” Geshir said.

“I do, occasionally, think about the investigations I am conducting,” Stoffmacher said. “I just don’t feel the need to share with you everything that runs through my head.”

“You are both getting lost in irrelevant details,” Monk said. “You need to step back and concentrate on what’s truly important here.”

“And what would that be?” Stoffmacher asked.

“My shoes,” Monk said. “They are covered with mud.”

“There is a dead body in front of us,” Stoffmacher snapped. “Your dirty shoes don’t matter!”

“What about his?” Monk said, motioning to Leupolz. “How did he get up here without getting a speck of dirt on them?”

We looked at Leupolz’s running shoes. They were bright white and perfectly clean, the laces tied in a neat double bow.

That certainly complicated things.