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

over to look at the photographs in the collage. Mildred held on to the poster board protectively, as if it was some fragile artifact that Monk might break. I joined him and nodded towards the apple.

“You’re not going to eat that, are you?”

Monk bit into it with a loud crunch.

“Does that answer your question?” he said with his mouth full.

“Do you realize that apple hasn’t been washed and you’re eating it with dirty hands?”

He took another bite just to be contrary and nodded at me.

I glanced at the collage. Dr. Rahner was in nearly every picture. He was very photogenic. There were a couple of shots of me, too, and in all of them I was being forcibly restrained.

“Those are nice pictures of you,” Monk said to me, his mouth still full. “You should ask her for copies as souvenirs.”

His suggestion gave me a wonderful idea. I smiled at Mildred.

“You take marvelous pictures,” I said to her.

“Thank you,” she replied cautiously. “It’s my passion and my art.”

“It shows,” I said. “Do you happen to have your camera with you now?”

“I don’t go anywhere without it,” she said.

“Would you mind taking a picture of me and Mr. Monk? This is an unforgettable moment and I want to be able to share it with all of our family and friends.”

“It is?” she said incredulously. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I said. In fact, I couldn’t wait. “Will you pose with me, Mr. Monk?”

“Of course,” he said and put his arm around me.

Mildred took out her camera and, once she did, she seemed to get into it. I think she realized that now she’d be able to show all of her friends the crazy swamp monsters she met in Lohr.

“Let’s have some big smiles,” she said, demonstrating with a smile of her own.

We smiled. Monk gave my shoulder a squeeze.

She took two pictures and, standing a safe distance away, showed one of them to me on the tiny screen of her digital camera.

Mildred got us in all our filthy glory. She even got the half-eaten apple in Monk’s other hand.

“It’s perfect,” I said and gave her my e-mail address and cell phone number so she could send the digital photo to me. “I will cherish this and so will Mr. Monk.”

“I’ll send them to you tonight,” she said. And, I figured, to everyone in her address book.

“Make sure I get one,” Monk said.

“Oh, I will,” I told him.

Dr. Kroger was the first to show up in the lobby. He let out a gasp when he saw Monk.

“Hello, Doc.” Monk held out his arms. “Give me a hug.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Dr. Kroger said.

“Come on, you know you want to,” Monk said, gesturing him forward.

Dr. Kroger held his ground and looked past Monk to me. “He’s on Dioxynl.”

“Gee,” I said. “How could you tell?”

Stoffmacher approached Dr. Kroger. “I am Hauptkriminalkommissar Stoffmacher and this is Kommissar Geshir. You are the doctor who prescribed this drug to Mr. Monk?”

Dr. Kroger nodded. “It relieves his anxieties and phobias and alters his personality to some degree.”

“Some?” I said as Monk dropped the apple core into an ashtray and wiped his hands on his wet, mud-caked pants.

“But neither his judgment nor his competence is the least bit impaired by the medication, if that’s what you are wondering, ” Dr. Kroger said. “He can be held responsible for his actions, though he’s not a danger to himself or to others.”

“How can you look at us and say that?” I said. “We were nearly killed tonight.”

“That’s not my fault,” Monk said. “It’s his.”

He gestured to the stairwell, where Dr. Rahner was emerging. His hair was wet and his clothes were crisp and clean.

“Sorry you had to wait,” Dr. Rahner said. “I was taking a shower.”

God, how I envied him. I was cold, my hair was matted, and my entire body itched from the drying mud.

“Trying to wash off the odor of gasoline?” Monk asked him.

“My sweat,” Dr. Rahner said. “I just got back from my nightly jog.”

“And an attempted murder,” Monk proclaimed.

Dr. Rahner glanced angrily at Stoffmacher and said something unfriendly to him in German.

“We’re here because Mr. Monk believes you killed two people,” Stoffmacher replied in English.

“Maybe three,” Geshir added.

“I’m aware of that,” Dr. Rahner said. “What surprises me is that you’re taking him seriously. I thought we discussed this.”

“We did, and I’ve brokered a solution to the problem. I’ve offered him this opportunity to present his case in exchange for his promise not to harass you any further after tonight. He has agreed. Now it is up to you.”

Dr. Rahner turned to Dr. Kroger. “He’s your patient, Charles. What do you think is best?”

I spoke up. “I think it’s a mistake. Mr. Monk is not himself. We should put this off until tomorrow when his medication has worn off.”

“Adrian is the same man,” Dr. Kroger said. “Only freed of his most obsessive-compulsive tendencies.”

“And his detective skills,” I said. “He might fumble something tonight that he wouldn’t if he was at the top of his game.”

“It doesn’t take any skill to solve these murders,” Monk said. “They are already solved. All the evidence is right here. I’m just presenting the obvious.”

It was true that we already knew how and why Dr. Rahner committed the murders; all that was missing was the evidence. If Monk was right, and the evidence was in the room, there