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

I think that statement pretty much answered the question of whether or not Monk still needed psychological counseling, but I let it go. Instead, I shared with Monk everything that Dr. Kroger had told me about Dr. Rahner and the “perfect storm” of coincidences.

“Dr. Kroger insists that there’s no connection between this eleven-fingered guy and the one responsible for Trudy’s murder,” I said. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“Neither do I,” Monk said. “About Dr. Kroger or about myself.”

“I called Captain Stottlemeyer and asked him to look into Dr. Kroger’s story. Whatever he digs up should help us determine the truth,” I said. “But what you believe about yourself is entirely up to you, Mr. Monk. It always has been. You decide who you are. No one else has that power.”

“Ever since Trudy was killed, I’ve been told that I’m not psychologically or emotionally capable of functioning on my own or being a police officer anymore. I believed what they told me.”

“You think it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy,” I said. “They tell you that you’re a certain person and you become that person.”

“It could be a conspiracy to make me think I’m crazy when, in fact, I’m the epitome of sanity.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.

“It was Dr. Kroger who said I couldn’t take care of myself, who said I needed a nurse,” Monk said. “What if Sharona was in on it, too? That way they could brainwash me day and night.”

“Sharona would never do anything to hurt you,” I said. “She cares about you, just like I do.”

Monk looked at me, scrambled to his feet, and backed a good three feet away from me as if I was contagious. I knew what was coming next.

“Maybe you’re in on it, too,” he said, pointing his finger accusingly.

“You found me, Mr. Monk. Remember?”

“No, Captain Stottlemeyer did,” Monk said. “Come to think of it, he also won’t support my reinstatement. Maybe he’s in on this, too. Maybe you all are.”

“Okay, now you’re just being paranoid,” I said.

“Am I?” Monk said. “Did Dr. Kroger tell you to say that? Does he want to add paranoia to the crippling self-image he’s crafted for me?”

“Mr. Monk, listen to yourself,” I said. “You’re becoming unhinged.”

“I’ve solved every murder I’ve ever investigated except the killing of my wife. And now I know why. Everyone has been working against me, clouding my mind with lies and illusions so I wouldn’t see the truth.”

“If I am in cahoots with Dr. Kroger, why did I help you to come to Germany?” I said. “Why would I risk exposing our conspiracy? I’d have to be incompetent to do that.”

Monk mulled that over for a moment. “You’ve got a point.”

“And you would have asked yourself those same questions if you’d given it one moment of thought,” I said. “You have to calm down and think things through.”

“If you were part of it, you would have found a way to stop me from getting on that plane,” Monk said. “At the very least, you would have tipped Dr. Rahner off that I was coming so he wouldn’t be here when I arrived.”

“That’s right. Now think about Captain Stottlemeyer,” I said. “If he was on their side, would he have hired you as a consultant to the police, let you build up your confidence, hone your skills, and reestablish your reputation and credibility as a detective?”

Monk nodded. “No, he wouldn’t. He would have shut me out and made me think I’d lost my mojo.”

“I agree with you that something very strange is going on here, Mr. Monk, but you can’t let paranoia cloud your judgment.”

“I have to clear my mind and concentrate only on the facts.”

“Now you’re talking,” I said.

“Because if I give in to paranoia, they win.”

“They?” I asked.

“Everyone who is out to get me,” he said.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Mr. Monk and the Stakeout

We trudged back down the hill to Vigg’s house. The police were gone but they’d left the property surrounded by the single strip of crime scene tape. It was the only sign that a double murder might have taken place on that quiet street.

We continued on towards the center of the village, using the church spires and the watchtower to guide us.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked.

“I’m going to ask Hauptkriminalkommissar Stoffmacher to arrest Dr. Rahner and send him to San Francisco to stand trial for murder,” Monk said.

“Don’t you think they’re going to need more evidence than his extra finger and the word of a dead bomber?”

“It’s obvious that he’s guilty of something,” Monk said.

“Because you say so?”

“Because he has eleven fingers,” Monk said. “All you have to do is look at him to see that he’s unbalanced.”

“It’s a physical abnormality,” I said. “It doesn’t mean anything. ”

“Who knows what other ways he might also be unbalanced? ”

“His finger isn’t a physical manifestation of deeper problems. ”

“Of course it is. It’s nature’s way of warning you,” Monk said. “Would you eat a chicken that had two heads or a fish with three eyes?”

“Probably not,” I said. “But we’re talking about a person’s character, not edibility. You can’t judge somebody on the basis of a physical defect. That’s unfair and insensitive.”

“You know what they say. If you wouldn’t eat a person, you shouldn’t trust them.”

“Who says that?”

“My new neighbor,” Monk said.

“You’ve only spoken to him once, and I was there,” I said. “He didn’t say that.”