Read Online Mr. Monk and the Dirty Cop by Lee Goldberg - Free Book Online

bright eyes and playfully rubbed noses with her and was rewarded with a big, toothless smile.
    Monk cringed and looked away, his gaze locking on something on the floor beside the changing table. He cocked his head from side to side, trying to figure out what he was looking at.
    It was a white plastic container that resembled a large thermos. I recognized it immediately, of course, as any parent would.
    “What is that?” Monk asked.
    “It’s a Diaper Genie,” Carol said. “You put a disposable diaper inside, twist the dial that’s around the opening, and it seals the diaper in a plastic bag.”
    I had one of those when Julie was a baby. It meant I didn’t have to wash cloth diapers like my mother did or deal with a garbage can full of disposables. Even emptying the Genie wasn’t too unpleasant. All you had to do was open the bottom of the Genie over a trash bag or your outdoor garbage can, and the sealed diapers came out in one large string resembling plastic-wrapped sausage links.
    Now, thanks to the Diaper Genie, my daughter can claim a small measure of immortality—her dirty diapers will endure for centuries in a landfill somewhere for future anthropologists and archaeologists to examine for clues about how she lived.
    “How sturdy are the bags?” Monk asked.
    “The bags are triple-layered to hold in the smell and the germs,” Carol said, handing him one of the cartridges of refill bags. “It’s a godsend for mothers.”
    “For us all,” Monk said.
    He studied the cartridge with wide-eyed wonder. “So let me get this straight. Are you saying that whatever you put inside this Genie is individually wrapped and sealed?”
    She nodded. “I only use it for diapers and dirty wipes.”
    “But you could use it for other things,” Monk said.
    “Like what?”
    “Everything you throw out,” Monk said.
    “Why would I want to do that?”
    “It would save you the time of manually separating and bagging all the items in your trash.”
    “Who does that?” Carol asked.
    “Who doesn’t?” Monk replied, then held his hand out to me. “Wipe.” My hands were full with the baby, so Carol handed him a wipe from the box on the changing table.
    He cleaned his hands, dropped the tissue into an open bag in the Diaper Genie, and twisted the outer ring, which cinched the bag shut and opened a new one.
    His eyes sparkled with joy.
    “Wow,” he said, then motioned to me for another wipe.
    Carol handed him the box and then gestured for me to follow her into the hallway.
    “Now I see why the captain brought you,” she said.
    “Why?” I asked.
    She glanced at Monk, who wiped his hands again and dropped the tissue into the Diaper Genie. “You’re dealing with the same problem that I am.”
    I shook my head and bounced the baby. “Mr. Monk isn’t suffering from dementia. He’s just eccentric.”
    “That’s what we used to say about my dad. He thinks he’s still running his bar. Most of the cops he used to know hang up on him when he calls in the wee hours of the night with his tips. The few who visit rarely come back a second time. It’s too depressing.”
    “What about his old customers?”
    “They are either dead, in jail, or people I would never allow to set foot in my house.”
    I thought about how he mistook the baby for an old drunk and me for a hooker. If that was any reflection on his clientele, Carol’s unwillingness to invite them into her home made a lot of sense.
    “It must be hard on you, taking care of him and your kids,” I said. The baby grabbed my nose and gave it a squeeze. I made a face and she giggled with glee.
    “The mornings aren’t so bad. My son is in preschool until after lunch. When I bring him home, that’s when it becomes a menagerie around here,” she said. “Dinnertime is especially hard. It’s hell to cook dinner with my dad installed in the kitchen, running his bar, and having conversations from twenty years ago with people who aren’t there. It entertains the kids,