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Authors: Lee Goldberg
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SEVEN
Mr. Monk Goes to the Police Station
M onk and Julie went from the hospital to police headquarters. Although Devlin hadn’t called them in, Monk was too keyed up to go home and there were two unsolved murders that he needed to investigate.
I know what you’re thinking. Two murders? You probably remember only one, the murder of David Zuzelo, the high school math teacher who was thrown from the balcony of his seventeenth-floor apartment the previous night by someone he knew.
That’s because I told you about Zuzelo in detail and only mentioned the other murder in passing. But I did say that Zuzelo’s death was actually the second case that week that had appeared to be an accident at first but that Monk quickly proved to be a homicide.
The victim in the first case was Bruce Grossman, a big name in local business circles, a CEO-for-hire who took over troubled companies and got them back on their feet. In fact, to show you what a small world it is, Grossman ran the Burgerville restaurant chain after their CEO was murdered, a crime that Monk solved years ago.
He’d been jogging in shorts and a T-shirt through Land’s End, a rocky and heavily wooded park on the northeastern edge of San Francisco, a spot known for its spectacular views of the Golden Gate Bridge. But he’d decided to go off-trail into the fenced-off area, lost his footing, and fell over the edge of a cliff to the rocky shore far below. If Grossman had fallen a few yards farther out, the waves would have pounded him to pieces and carried what was left of him out to sea. Instead, Grossman’s broken body was hauled up more or less intact, and Monk was able to see his muscular, tanned legs.
And that’s how Monk knew that Devlin, who’d met him at the scene, was wrong about Grossman’s death being an accident.
If Grossman had scaled the fence and run along the cliff’s edge, he would have had to go through the same junipers and prickly brush that Monk had navigated, a terrifying experience that took him an hour and a half and that he likened to crossing a minefield.
And yet, Grossman’s legs were unscratched.
This proved that Grossman didn’t fall off the cliff. He was thrown, contrary to Devlin’s initial conclusion.
That was why she’d been so irritated at Zuzelo’s place when Monk proved that she’d been fooled again by a murder disguised as an accident.
So Devlin wasn’t very happy when Monk and Julie walked into police headquarters on that Sunday and she had to tell him that the forensics report from the crime lab had confirmed his observations in Zuzelo’s apartment.
“Zuzelo was, in fact, murdered,” Devlin said, sitting at her cluttered desk outside of Stottlemeyer’s office.
“You say that as if it’s a surprise,” Monk said. “I’m never wrong about homicide.”
“One of these days, you will be. You quickly jump to some pretty big conclusions based on some very tiny details, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’d like independent confirmation of your findings.”
“It’s your time to waste, though I think it would be better spent cleaning your desk.”
“I like my desk the way it is,” she said. “Are you here for a reason?”
“We have two open homicide investigations.”
“I do,” she said. “I’ll be sure to call you if I need a consultation.”
“You never call me,” Monk said.
“And what can you deduce from that?”
“Whoever killed David Zuzelo had to be buzzed in to the lobby,” Monk said, ignoring her question. “Do you have any security camera footage of him?”
“Gee, I would never have thought of that,” Devlin said, hitting a few keys on her computer. An image came up on her screen of a man wearing a hoodie who was standing at an angle that blocked his face entirely from view. “But it’s useless.”
“The killer knew exactly where to stand to avoid being photographed,” Monk said. “He’d cased the place.”
“We have an even worse angle of him leaving,” Devlin said
Mr. Monk Goes to the Police Station
M onk and Julie went from the hospital to police headquarters. Although Devlin hadn’t called them in, Monk was too keyed up to go home and there were two unsolved murders that he needed to investigate.
I know what you’re thinking. Two murders? You probably remember only one, the murder of David Zuzelo, the high school math teacher who was thrown from the balcony of his seventeenth-floor apartment the previous night by someone he knew.
That’s because I told you about Zuzelo in detail and only mentioned the other murder in passing. But I did say that Zuzelo’s death was actually the second case that week that had appeared to be an accident at first but that Monk quickly proved to be a homicide.
The victim in the first case was Bruce Grossman, a big name in local business circles, a CEO-for-hire who took over troubled companies and got them back on their feet. In fact, to show you what a small world it is, Grossman ran the Burgerville restaurant chain after their CEO was murdered, a crime that Monk solved years ago.
He’d been jogging in shorts and a T-shirt through Land’s End, a rocky and heavily wooded park on the northeastern edge of San Francisco, a spot known for its spectacular views of the Golden Gate Bridge. But he’d decided to go off-trail into the fenced-off area, lost his footing, and fell over the edge of a cliff to the rocky shore far below. If Grossman had fallen a few yards farther out, the waves would have pounded him to pieces and carried what was left of him out to sea. Instead, Grossman’s broken body was hauled up more or less intact, and Monk was able to see his muscular, tanned legs.
And that’s how Monk knew that Devlin, who’d met him at the scene, was wrong about Grossman’s death being an accident.
If Grossman had scaled the fence and run along the cliff’s edge, he would have had to go through the same junipers and prickly brush that Monk had navigated, a terrifying experience that took him an hour and a half and that he likened to crossing a minefield.
And yet, Grossman’s legs were unscratched.
This proved that Grossman didn’t fall off the cliff. He was thrown, contrary to Devlin’s initial conclusion.
That was why she’d been so irritated at Zuzelo’s place when Monk proved that she’d been fooled again by a murder disguised as an accident.
So Devlin wasn’t very happy when Monk and Julie walked into police headquarters on that Sunday and she had to tell him that the forensics report from the crime lab had confirmed his observations in Zuzelo’s apartment.
“Zuzelo was, in fact, murdered,” Devlin said, sitting at her cluttered desk outside of Stottlemeyer’s office.
“You say that as if it’s a surprise,” Monk said. “I’m never wrong about homicide.”
“One of these days, you will be. You quickly jump to some pretty big conclusions based on some very tiny details, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’d like independent confirmation of your findings.”
“It’s your time to waste, though I think it would be better spent cleaning your desk.”
“I like my desk the way it is,” she said. “Are you here for a reason?”
“We have two open homicide investigations.”
“I do,” she said. “I’ll be sure to call you if I need a consultation.”
“You never call me,” Monk said.
“And what can you deduce from that?”
“Whoever killed David Zuzelo had to be buzzed in to the lobby,” Monk said, ignoring her question. “Do you have any security camera footage of him?”
“Gee, I would never have thought of that,” Devlin said, hitting a few keys on her computer. An image came up on her screen of a man wearing a hoodie who was standing at an angle that blocked his face entirely from view. “But it’s useless.”
“The killer knew exactly where to stand to avoid being photographed,” Monk said. “He’d cased the place.”
“We have an even worse angle of him leaving,” Devlin said
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