Mr. Monk and the Dirty Cop

Mr. Monk and the Dirty Cop
Mr. Monk Is Miserable
Mr. Monk Goes to Germany
Mr. Monk in Outer Space
Mr. Monk and the Two Assistants
Mr. Monk and the Blue Flu
Mr. Monk Goes to Hawaii
Mr. Monk Goes to the Firehouse

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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Printing, July 2009

OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

Goldberg, Lee, 1962-
Mr. Monk and the dirty cop: a novel/by Lee Goldberg.
p. cm.
Based on the television series created by Andy Breckman.

eISBN : 978-1-101-10425-5

1. Monk, Adrian (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Private investigators—Fiction. 3. Eccentrics
and eccentricities—Fiction. 4. Psychics—Fiction. I. Monk (Television program) II. Title.
PS3557.O3577M723 2009
813’.54—dc22 2009000960

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

http://us.penguingroup.com

To Valerie & Madison . . .
and to Oreo for keeping me company
while I wrote late into the lonesome hours of the morning.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND AUTHOR’S NOTE

This is the first
Monk
novel in several years that wasn’t written on different computers in various cities, countries, and modes of transport. I wrote the entire manuscript at my desk in Los Angeles.

I would like to thank my friend, author Michael Connelly, and cops-turned-authors Lee Lofland and Paul Bishop, for their advice on police matters.

And, as always, I am indebted to Andy Breckman, the creator of
Monk,
for entrusting me with his characters and for his unwavering support and enthusiasm.

I also would like to thank Gina Maccoby, Kristen Weber, and Kerry Donovan for making it all possible.

While I try very hard to stay true to the continuity of the
Monk
TV series, it is not always possible given the long lead time between when my books are written and when they are published. During that period, new episodes may air that contradict details or situations referred to in my books. If you come across any such continuity mismatches, your understanding is appreciated.

I look forward to hearing from you at
www.leegoldberg com
.

CHAPTER ONE

Mr. Monk and the Old Lesson

M
y name is Natalie Teeger. I’ve spent a good chunk of my life trying to figure out who I am, who I want to be, and what I want to do.

Although I don’t have the answers to those questions, I’ve pretty much reconciled myself to the fact that I’m not going to be a rock star, a U.S. senator, or an international supermodel.

I’m also probably not going to discover the cure to some horrible disease, host my own TV talk show, bring peace to the Middle East, or come up with a handy invention that completely changes the way we live.

Not that I necessarily aspired to any of those things in the past, but now I’ve officially stopped searching for a career and dreaming of lofty achievements.

I’ve set more modest goals for myself—like finding a steady boyfriend, doing the laundry before I run out of clean underwear, and paying off my credit cards in full each month.

There was a time when I was desperate to define myself through a career, but I couldn’t seem to find one that suited me (not that I was ever entirely sure who “me” was). Along the way, I tried all kinds of jobs, from blackjack dealer to yoga instructor, but nothing stuck; nothing felt right.

Who I turned out to be, and what I’ve ended up doing, found me rather than the other way around.

I certainly didn’t plan on being a widowed single mother with a teenage daughter, or working as the assistant to a brilliant, obsessive-compulsive detective.

Yet here I am.

If who we are is a reflection of what we do, how we perceive ourselves, and how others see us, then I suppose I am a loving, supportive mother to Julie and a capable, reliable, and hardworking assistant to Adrian Monk.

I’ve been fulfilling those roles comfortably, and more or less happily, for many years now, and yet I still feel as if I haven’t found myself.

I guess it’s because I’m not doing something that I always dreamed of doing or that feels like the perfect expression of who I am and my natural talents, not that I have a clue what they might be.

I envy people who don’t have those problems—and that seems to be just about everybody I know.

Take my late husband, Mitch, for example. From the time he was a kid, he always wanted to be a fighter pilot, a husband, and a father. So that was what he set out to accomplish, and he succeeded.

Mitch died being the man he wanted to be and doing what he knew he was meant to do. I’m sure that even in his last moments, he never doubted that. When I think about him and how he died in Kosovo, that certainty, along with the knowledge that he knew how much he was loved by me and Julie, gives me a measure of peace.

Adrian Monk is another good example of what I mean. He craves order, predictability, symmetry, and cleanliness. Early in his life, he longed to be an inspector for the California State department of weights and measures, but that soon changed. As early as grade school, he exhibited an amazing knack for solving little mysteries, like who stole the money from the bake sale or who was responsible for vandalizing a locker.

He wasn’t driven by nosiness, or curiosity, or a need for attention, or a quest for justice, but rather an overpowering compulsion to restore balance and order to the world around him.

To him a mystery is a form of chaos, a mess that has to be cleaned up or an imbalance that has to be corrected. It’s his uncontrollable need to literally straighten up, to put things back where they belong, that enables him to see the little details everyone else misses and solve the crimes that boggle everybody else.

Justice isn’t a philosophical, moral, or ethical ideal for him. It’s a balance that must be maintained. In a way, he became an inspector of weights and measures.

There’s absolutely no doubt that Adrian Monk was meant to be a detective. It is the natural extension of his personality, his talents, and his psychological disorder.

Everybody knows it. And he does, too. There are a thousand things he is insecure about (exactly a thousand, by the way, he has them cataloged and indexed) but being a great detective isn’t one of them.

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