Mr. Monk Goes to Germany by Lee Goldberg (general ebook reader .TXT) 📕

suicide and then ran off with Leupolz’s valuables.”

“That doesn’t explain the ashes in the fireplace,” Monk said, blowing a tiny pillow feather off the tabletop.

“Maybe Leupolz didn’t like what he was writing and burned it himself last night,” Stoffmacher said. “I’ve heard that writers are highly emotional people. He certainly wouldn’t be the first frustrated author to burn a manuscript.”

Monk shook his head. “We’re missing something.”

“Bruno Leupolz,” Stoffmacher said. “Once we find him, the mystery will be solved.”

“I don’t think so,” Monk said.

“Rest assured,” Stoffmacher said, “he will talk.”

“Not if he’s dead,” Monk said.

“Look around,” Geshir said. “There’s no blood, no signs of a struggle, and no corpse. If you don’t include the dead man next door.”

“I know, but you said this is a very safe neighborhood and most people leave their doors unlocked,” Monk said. “So why would a common burglar come here with a gun?”

“He wouldn’t,” Stoffmacher said wearily.

“But a killer would,” Monk said.

“So why isn’t there blood?” Stoffmacher said. “So why isn’t there a body? What happened here?”

“I don’t know,” Monk said. “But there’s a pillow missing.”

Stoffmacher and Geshir shared a confused look.

“What pillow?” Stoffmacher asked.

“Leupolz has a double bed,” Monk said. “But only one pillow. The other one is gone.”

“What difference does that make?” Geshir asked. “Pillows aren’t valuable.”

“But they can make a decent silencer,” Monk said. “The shooter used the pillow from Leupolz’s bed to muffle his gunshot. That’s why no one heard it. He tried to clean up the feathers afterwards, but it’s not easy. That’s why there’s still some Hungarian goose down and feathers here and why he tracked some into Vigg’s apartment.”

“Why would someone want Leupolz dead?” Stoffmacher asked. “And why wouldn’t he leave the body? And why would he bother to disguise the death next door as a suicide? Why not leave both bodies? Why leave Vigg and hide Leupolz?”

“I don’t know the answers to those questions,” Monk said. “But I will help you figure it out if you help me with something.”

Ah, so there it was. Monk hadn’t forgotten his goal; he’d simply been setting his hook. I’d never known him to be quite so manipulative.

“What is it you want?” Stoffmacher asked, brushing a bit of down off his sleeve.

“Somewhere in Lohr is a man with six fingers on his right hand. I need you to find him.”

“Why?” Geshir asked.

“Because he hired someone to kill my wife.”

Monk briefly explained what had happened to Trudy and what led him to believe a man with eleven fingers was responsible for her murder.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss,” Stoffmacher said. “But how do you know it’s the same man if you haven’t actually seen him before yourself?”

“I know he is the same way I knew everything I discovered here today,” Monk said.

“Here you had evidence,” Stoffmacher said. “Where is your evidence that this eleven-fingered man you saw is the killer you’ve been seeking?”

Monk tapped his chest, right above his heart. “Do we have an agreement or not?”

Stoffmacher nodded. “I’ll have my men start looking for him as soon as we find Bruno Leupolz.”

“My wife’s killer could be gone by then,” Monk said.

“He may be gone already, but this case comes first.”

“There’s no urgency to find Leupolz,” Monk said. “He’s dead.”

“We don’t know that. We don’t know anything. If you have any insights, I’d like to hear them. In the meantime, we’ll be in touch as soon as we’ve learned anything new,” Stoffmacher said. “I’d tell you to have a pleasant stay, but I don’t think that’s really possible now.”

He had that right.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mr. Monk Makes a Discovery

Stoffmacher was right: We couldn’t just go back to the bed-and-breakfast and wait. And I doubted I could work up much enthusiasm for sightseeing after what we’d already seen. This is why I don’t recommend hanging around corpses on a vacation.

There weren’t a lot of options open to us. Ordinarily we’d go off and start investigating on our own. But that wasn’t possible here. We didn’t have the authority, we didn’t know the town, and we didn’t speak German.

I was at a loss as to what to do next. But Monk wasn’t.

“Dr. Kroger needs to know about this,” Monk said as we stepped outside the duplex of death.

“Can’t it wait until your appointment tomorrow?” I said, trying to give Dr. Kroger a little peace, not that he deserved it.

“This is a major development in the investigation of Trudy’s murder,” Monk said. “He’s the only one who truly understands what I have been through because he’s been there from the start. He’s felt my pain. This is going to mean as much to him as it does to me.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go or anything else we could do.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

I needed some air, so I suggested that we walk up to the hotel. Monk was fine with that.

“Do you want to take the road or one of the trails through the forest?” I asked.

“The road,” Monk said. “There’s less nature.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

“It is,” Monk said.

“What’s wrong with nature?”

“It’s full of dirt, germs, bugs, and animals,” Monk said. “And the things that animals leave behind.”

“We all leave things behind, Mr. Monk. It’s natural.”

“See?” Monk said. “Nature again. We spend most of our lives cleaning up after it.”

“You