Author: DragonLady
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Monk is the property of USA Network
and Mandeville Films.
Rating: PG-13
Chapter 3
"Have you spoken to Sharona's sister?" Stottlemeyer nodded. "Yeah, she'll
keep Benjy with her until we find, well, until we have some answers." Some-
thing caught Adrian's eye. While Stottlemeyer talked, he walked over to examine it.
Monk bent over the small button. "This has been moved from where it
originally fell." Stottlemeyer tilted his head. "How can you tell that?" It
was voiced with surprise, and not a little disbelief. Monk straightened. "Well,
there had to have been a struggle. Sharona wouldn't go quietly with anyone." He
almost smiled when he said that. "Next, the placement of the button is too precise,
it had to be somewhere where I'd find it, and you wouldn't."
Stottlemeyer exhaled loudly. "Well don't touch it, he mighta left prints." Monk
shook his head. "I doubt it. As I said before, he wants me to find him, not you."
Six years earlier
"I told you, I had the flu, I couldn't make it to work that day because I was sick." Monk
clasped his hands behind his back. "Really, you don't mind if we search your
apartment?" Sergeant Faulkner shook his head. "You do whatever you feel is necessary,
but I'm telling you, you got the wrong guy." Monk nodded once. "We'll see."
At Faulkner's apartment, Stottlemeyer stood with his arms crossed while Monk walked
through the various rooms. Adrian touched nothing, simply looked. After about three
minutes, he returned to the main room. "This proves it, he's guilty." Stottlemeyer
felt dumbfounded. "How do you figure, there's nothing here that implicates the guy!"
Monk smiled. "Faulkner was at home with the flu on the night of the murder right?"
Stottlemeyer nodded. "So where is the flu medicine, or the Kleenex, or cans of soup?"
Monk strode past his partner. "Hey, where you goin'?" Adrian didn't pause a step as he walked away.
"To read him his rights."
Faulkner knotted his hands into fists as the two officers interrogated him. "Tell us again
where you were on the night of Allie Kitterson's murder." Though familiar with police
procedure, the Sergeant spit out his answer with mounting frustration. "I told you, more
than one, I was at home with the flu. I called in the day before, you can check with my
immediate superior." Monk leaned forward. "How long had you been dating Miss
Kitterson?" Faulkner leaned back in his chair. "What? I never heard her name until
you guys came busting in on me accusing me of murder! Look, I told you the truth.
Unless you got some evidence to the contrary, this conversation is over." Monk
slammed his hand on the table as Faulkner started to stand. "Sit down!" Stunned, the
Sergeant sat. "Only one part of your statement is true. The fact that you called in to
report that you were sick. However, you weren't sick, you were just faking it. Instead,
you used that time to call Allie Kitterson. Phone records show a call placed to her
residence from your apartment at 10:09pm. You wanted to make sure she'd be at home.
The next night, you drove to her residence walked up to her door, and knocked. When
she answered, you asked if you could come in. She knew you, therefore she started to
open the door wider to allow you to come inside. At that point, you grabbed her and
shoved her back. Her arm hit the door, causing the scratch I found near her elbow. She
tried to run past you, you swung at her, hitting her in the temple. Death was
instantaneous." Faulkner clenched his teeth. "All right, say I did know her. Hell,
say I dated her. You still have no proof that I killed her." Monk pulled a small
evidence bag out of his pocket. "Sergeant Faulkner, could you please identify this
for me?" Faulkner leaned forward. "That's my army ring, so what." Monk turned the bag.
"You were wearing this the night you went to visit Allie. When I examined her
body, I found an odd wound where she'd been struck. It was caused by your ring. You
hit her so hard, the symbol on the ring imprinted into her flesh. I took the ring down
to the crime lab, you know what they found? Tiny flakes of Allie Kitterson's blood
caught in the grooves. Guess you didn't clean this as well you thought."
Present day
"I was in lock up for nearly five years. Good lawyer. Still laugh at the look on Monk's
face when they read the verdict. He was hoping for First Degree, tough luck." Sharona
pulled her knees in tighter at the coldness in Faulkner's voice. "Yeah, Monk wanted me
to get life. They got enough of it as I see it. I just wanna return the favor." Sharona
rattled her cuffs as she adjusted her legs. The noise seemed to pull Faulkner back to the
present. "Spose' you want make use of the facilities huh?" Faulkner stood, leveling a
gun as he tossed Sharona a pair of handcuff keys. "Unlock your cuffs, leave the keys on
the bed. You have five minutes. When you're done, come back, put the cuffs back on."
As soon as the bathroom door was shut, Sharona turned to lock it,
crud, no lock. She looked around the small room for something, anything she could use
to aid her escape. The room was barren save for a toilet, a roll of paper, and a sink,
sporadically lit by a flickering bulb. She doubted a roll of toilet paper would be much
of a weapon. "Not unless I want to wipe him to death."
Five minutes later, Sharona emerged from the bathroom, and back to the cuffs.
Carefully, she placed the cold metal around her wrist, leaving it as loose as possible.
Faulkner was watching however. Once she was secure, he approached, placed the gun
against her temple, and tightened the cuff a few more notches. "Perfect. You sleep
tight now, sweetheart." Sharona sighed with relief the second she was alone again.