Author: DragonLady
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Monk is the property of USA Network
and Mandeville Films.
Rating: PG-13
Chapter 1
"I don't understand why you're doing this."
"Don't you? It should be obvious, and quite simple. Revenge. He destroyed
my life, I'm going to destroy his."
The woman clenched her teeth in anger. "His life has already been destroyed! And
as for your life, he was doing his job when he arrested you! You're a criminal, you
got what you deserved!"
The man smiled softly. "A feeble attempt. And foolish." He said as he leaned back against the wall.
The woman's eyes flashed with rage. "You coward." Her voice cut off sharply as his hand whipped out and slapped her. She gasped at the sudden pain. Without expression,
the man leaned back again. "Now, before this grows too distasteful, I would like to
clarify something." Here he leaned forward again, a sickly smile spreading his face.
"The only coward is your weakling boss. And trust me, no matter how smart Monk is,
I'll still beat him, and at his own game." So saying, he walked calmly from the room, shutting the door gently behind him. Sharona bowed her head. "Please Adrian,
don't find me."
Six years earlier...
"Uh, Monk?" Adrian glanced up from the glove box. "Yes?" Stottlemeyer cleared his
throat. "You, uh, you gonna rearrange the glove box again?" Monk smiled briefly.
"Yeah, sorry, old habit." Stottlemeyer nodded. "Kinda like carrying around a rabbit's
foot?" Monk shuddered. "Well, I wouldn't go that far." The radio suddenly crackled
to life, and Stottlemeyer grabbed for it eagerly. "All units, there is a 245 in progress
on Hill and Dower please respond."
"This is unit 15, we're about five minutes from there and on our way."
"Copy that unit 15, I'm sending another cruiser your way. Be advised, the assailant
has fled the scene and is reportedly armed."
"We copy that dispatch, over."
Monk tightened his belt as the police cruiser slid around a corner, narrowly missing a
light pole in the process. "You think maybe you could cut that a little closer next time?"
Stottlemeyer grinned at the nervousness he heard in Monk's voice. "Hey, couple years
from now you'll be telling me I drive too slow." Monk didn't respond, just gripped the
dashboard tighter.
Moments later, they slid to a halt in front of a one story house that was painted an
alarming shade of blue. "Boy I hate that color." Muttered Stottlemeyer in disgust.
Monk didn't respond, his attention was focused on another color. "Oh God."
A woman lay before them, half out of the open door of the house. While Stottlemeyer
secured the scene, Monk carefully knelt beside the body. In the distance, he registered
the fast approach of another police car. Ignoring the distractions around him, Adrian
examined the corpse on the ground. The woman was young, no older than twenty-
five. She was wearing a green T-shirt, jeans, and was barefoot. Her hands were clean,
and there was no sign of struggle aside from a scratch on her arm. Death had been
caused by a blow to the temple. Monk studied the wound closer. There was bruising
around the impact point, and a small amount of tearing. However, very little blood
marred her skin. Frowning, he leaned forward, there was something about the shape
of the wound...
"What have we got?" Monk jerked at the sharp voice. "Jeez, don't sneak up on me,
you're worse than Trudy!" Stottlemeyer found himself unable to even smile at Monk's
admonishment as he gazed at the body. Monk stood, shifting his feet slightly. "She
knew her killer. The individual was likely male, and about a foot taller than the victim."
"There was little struggle, if any. The killer was also very strong, it took only one blow
to kill her." Adrian stopped as the other police cruiser pulled up. Dispatch had also
sent an ambulance. Two of the new arrivals began taping off the scene. One of them
handed Monk a pair of latex gloves, which he quickly passed to Stottlemeyer. Grunting,
the older man slipped them on and began bagging while another officer snapped
pictures. Monk remained off to the side, digesting what he'd seen.
The Next Day
Stottlemeyer shook his head. "You're kidding me!" Monk clasped his hands. "Why
would I lie?" His partner started to say something, then stopped, chuckling in
disbelief. "Well, before we go and slap the cuffs on, would you mind explaining
how you know this is our guy?" Shrugging, Monk crossed his arms. "Well, first
of all, time of death. The woman,"
"Allie Kitterson"
"was killed about ten minutes before we arrived." Stottlemeyer nodded. "Yeah,
I know the time of death. I still don't know how that explains your killer."
Frustrated, Monk ran a hand through his hair. "That has more to do with it than you
realize. Please, just let me finish." His partner held out his hand, and Monk continued.
"When I examined the body, I found a shallow wound on her arm. At first, I thought
this might have been caused by her attempt to fight off her attacker, but the placement
was all wrong. It was on top of her arm, near the elbow. If the killer had grabbed her
from behind, she wouldn't have been able to reach him with her arm, the angle is too
extreme. If he'd attacked from the front, there would have been bruising on her wrists
and hands." Stottlemeyer nodded. "Next, I examined the bruise on her temple. There
was something about the shape of the wound that bothered me. I know I'd seen it before.
It wasn't until today that I realized why I'd recognized it."
"Bruce Faulkner." Monk nodded. "Sergeant Bruce Faulkner."